summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order
a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump
a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!
y/n_rb
liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and 1,183,932 others
y/n_rb: Bahrain here we come! This is gonna be our season!
view all comments
user1: you’ve got this girl!
↳user2: represent! So incredibly proud to be able to support a woman in f1!
↳user1: it’s been so long…
oscarpiastri: glad to have you here!
↳logansargeant: not sure I’d go so far…
↳y/n_rb: wow logie just say you hate women then!
↳oscarpiastri: yeah that’s not very feminist of you
↳logansargeant: I’ve been cursed by the universe
↳logansargeant: LET ME BE CLEAR — I DO NOT HATE WOMEN
↳logansargeant: it’s just y/n_rb is every intrusive thought you’ve ever had with a dash of no impulse control or thought-to-mouth filter
↳y/n_rb: hey!
↳oscarpiastri: no that sounds about right — just add a dash of no media training too
↳redbullracing: oh no…
↳y/n_rb: I have a contract! You ain’t getting rid of me so easily!
↳redbullracing: we’re scheduling media training sessions right away
↳logansargeant: good luck!
maxverstappen1: it’s great to have you on the team!
↳y/n_rb: oh my god it’s Max Verstappen!!
↳maxverstappen1: …we’ve met before?
↳y/n_rb: still!
↳user3: it’s not even the start of the season and she’s already bullying both her old F2 competitors and her teammate 😆😆
user4: proud y/n fan here! Having followed her since her F3 days I can say with full confidence that I’m so glad we’re gonna have a new grid terrorist again!
↳fernandoalo_oficial: 🤨🤨🤨
↳user4: besides you of course Mr Rookie sir
fernandoalo_oficial: ¡Hola! ¡Me alegro de verte finalmente aquí! hello! glad to finally see you here!
↳y/n_rb: Mr Fernando sir I’m a big fan! Do you have a couple of minutes to answer a few questions?
↳fernandoalo_oficial: Sí?
↳y/n_rb: score!
↳maxverstappen1: oh no
↳logansargeant: no no no
↳oscarpiastri: please don’t
↳redbullracing: the training book doesn’t have a chapter on what to do now…
↳y/n_rb: smile and wave boys. Just smile and wave
f1
liked by logansargeant, maxverstappen1, liamlawson30, and 2,197,284 others
f1: contact between redbullracing’s y/n_rb and alpinef1team’s pierregasly turned dangerous when y/n flipped! She was quickly freed from her car and airlifted to the nearest hospital. Still conscious during the crash and waving to the fans while taken to the helicopter, no further information is known on her injuries.
view all comments
user5: oh my god that was so awful
user6: I’m still sat in shock
maxverstappen1: Based on the text messages I’ve received in the last 10 minutes, she’s fine.
↳logansargeant: how many did you get? Cause I’ve gotten 82 in the last 3
↳maxverstappen1: 187 in 10 minutes
↳oscarpiastri: 23 in the last minute
↳liamlawson30: too many for the group chat. It broke my phone
↳user7: not even on the grid and still terrorizing them 😂 liked by y/n_rb
user8: why did they have to play her radio though…
↳user9: no that was fucking awful
↳user10: I don’t think I’ll be able to forget her screams
↳y/n_rb: skk food bsny!!
↳logansargeant: and that’s the concussion typing 😆
logansargeant
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, pierregasly, oscarpiastri, 2,284,469 others
logansargeant: “Tell that frenchie that I lived bitch!”
view all comments
user11: oh thank god
↳user12: that was one of the most harrowing crashes I’ve seen
user13: if that’s not a Gen-z response I don’t know what is
↳user14: I’m just glad she’s ok
pierregasly: 😑😑
↳pierregasly: well I guess I’m glad she’s ok
↳logansargeant: “JUST SAY YOU DONT LIKE WOMEN FRENCHIE!”
↳pierregasly: I LIKE WOMEN
↳y/n_rb: qe kniw TROPID$$$ SHIILS CSKL TJE PILICE ON U
↳logansargeant: I’ve taken her phone again but she meant “we know TRIPOD!!! SHOULD CALL THE POLICE ON YOU”
↳pierregasly: oh so she’s good
↳logansargeant: as good as she’s ever been
oscarpiastri: glad to see she’s ok!
↳logansargeant: some pretty shredded vocal cords and a nasty concussion but yeah she’s fine
↳oscarpiastri: ouch! Sending a gift basket!
↳logansargeant: “if that thing has a stupid apple in it I’m gonna save it and stuff it down your throat you stupid Aussie!”
Darius woke, blinking sleep out of his eyes, confused. A deep throb pulled at his neck, a horrible muscular ache.
As the world took on focus, he tried to shift his arms. He couldn’t move them, his legs were also immobile, dragged down like lead weights had been hung from his body. The overwhelming helpless feeling started to flood back in to his awareness and the sinking in his gut returned. His eyes snapped open to a brilliantly white, small but spotless room.
Looking around he noticed a small cot on the opposite side of the room, a metal toilet and an ominous drain in the centre of the floor. Shackles and eyebolts adorned every surface including the ceiling. With another surge of adrenaline Darius became fully aware of his position.
He was chained tightly to the white wall, held vertically and spreadeagled, utterly immobile and defenceless. An icy chill flooded through his veins. Shit, it started to come back, Dr Hudson, volunteering… oh no no no….. fuck. Saving his team. Saying he would be the new test subject. No no no…….
This is going to be so painfully unpleasant and this facility was obviously new. No one would know where he is. Fuck…. Fuck.
Darius tried to calm himself taking deep slow breaths, they normally gave the test subjects analgesics. It won’t be that bad, he just had to push through until help came. It was so quiet down here, Darius mused if he was the only test subject in this place. In the silence he heard the distant drop of water. He felt so cold and had no idea of knowing what time of day it was, held deep underground.
After what seems like an age the door finally opens and a heavily muscled military lacks steps in. He doesn’t say a word as he unchained him. He forced Darius to his knees and cuffed his hands behind him.
Once secured he is pulled up and frog marched him down corridor and through swinging doors into a pristine room, more sophisticated that anything he’d been in before. A large operating table with monitors and medical equipment stood to the right. A curtain screened off a bay at the back of the room that had figures moving behind it. Banks of screens. A testing station stacked with test tubes and fridges and centrifuges, weigh scales. To the left a chair with restraints and more worryingly a padded table also with restraints.
Darius’ heart beats at a frantic pace knowing that this is all for him, fear sweat broke across his body. He has a good idea what procedures will be performed and an additional terror at the unknown extras that are obviously lined up all part of dr Hudson’s payback.
Two of the military thugs, grab his shoulders and pull him toward the padded table, up closer it resembles the ones seen in execution chambers. He struggled only to receive with a vicious punch to stomach, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh. He is manhandled to table and strapped in with padded leather bucked restraints. Too thick to bite or chew through even if he could reach.
Darius stops struggling against the straps as Dr Hudson enters the room. He walks straight to Darius and runs a hand through his hair and leans in to whisper.
“I like you like this. I like the idea of you broken, Im going to cause you 100x the suffering and humiliation you caused me. I will break you. I’m going to fuck you up for diminishing my work and discovery. I’m going to perfect that serum and you’re going to help me by donating your unwilling body”.
It won’t be that bad, it won’t be that bad. Darius chants through his head despite his racing pulse.
Dr Hudson pauses for dramatic effect. He steps back from Darius with a cruel smile of his face. “Don’t worry you’re not going to be alone in this”.
Darius in confused as Dr Hudson crosses the room and pulls medical curtain aside hiding the figures that he glimpsed when he was first bought in. His heart shrinks and his stomach shrivels as he sets eyes on the figure. AJ. AJ strapped to a padded restraint table like his, held vertical whilst medical staff bustle around him. Daruis looks over at AJ. They are facing each other, both restrained to their beds. AJ is gagged and muzzled, a delicate looking collar wraps tightly round his neck, bobbing slightly when he swallows. With disgust Darius realises it’s a shock collar. AJ is still bleeding badly from his back, have they not repaired the stab wounds yet?, multiple IVs snake into his veins. The staff are taking bloods, base line readings. Daris finally meets AJs terrified eyes, glazed with fear and tears.
“No” Darius shouts, “you promised just me”.
“But this will break you faster”, smirked Dr Hudson. He presses a button on a remote Darius hadn’t seen and the shock collar on AJ ignites. AJ’s body seizes up, his screams drowned out by the muzzle. Tears run down his face and into the leather straps of the muzzle.
Darius thinks back to the consideration and dignity they showed the experiments when they were part of the original research program, he shivers again as a memory floats forward, yeah……not much at all.
“But before we begin I think a welcoming present for you”. His stomach swooped as the table was raised, Daruis would now be standing if not still strapped helpless to the table surface. Dr Hudson suddenly appears back at his side with a long leather whip. Darius’ breath stutters, loud enough for the doctor to hear and grin. As he moves to give himself room. Darius pushed his head back into the table and tries to brace himself. A whip to the stomach is going to be far more brutal than the back. All that soft flesh on his stomach and chest.
“Make sure you count these or I’ll start over. We’re only just beginning and I want to see your body broken and bleeding. I want to see your pain and fear, a nice appetiser in torture before i pin your rib cage and abdomen open.”
“Humm in fact we’ll keep the two running simultaneously, torture and vivisections, delightful.” Dr Hudson purred.
“You may have volunteered to save your team but that’s now irrelevant. You have no say or control over what happens to your body or AJs, the only thing you’ll feel from now on is agony. My revenge, your endless screams and pleas for mercy. I hope you enjoy as much as I will.”
Dr Hudson drew his arm back and with all the strength coiled within him, swung the whip at Darius’ exposed stomach. It split his skin instantly like a spring bud bursting into bloom as pain exploded across his navel and ran down his legs like a fiery electric current. His whole body flew into flight mode and fought uselessly at the restraints. Some prior training kicked in under the agony and panic as he heard himself gasp out:
He’d been parking the car, making sure it was secure in the underground parking lot: driving in central New York was an absolute nightmare.
He’d parked. Taken a few steps. And a sharp pain in his neck made his hand fly up even as his body crashed down.
Scott groaned. Dried blood made his neck itch, and he spent a moment wondering what he’d done this time and how much trouble he’d be in with Virgil. But as he made to wipe it away, his mind caught up with such force his entire body jolted.
He couldn’t move his hands. They were tied behind his back. No. Not tied. Shackled. He could feel cold bracelets locked around his wrists, an adornment once so frequent, now not missed. Instinct made him twist; attempting to both see the restraints and test his movement range he had in case he could get his arms in front of him. It was a no on both accounts.
He was bare chested and bare foot, left in just his jeans minus his belt. It was no surprise there was nothing but cuffs around his wrists: leaving his watch would’ve been too helpful.
Drawing his legs up, Scott carefully stood, checking his balance before straightening. He couldn’t break his fall, and he had no idea what they’d hit him with. The room spun a few rotations before he fixed his gaze on a singular spot, and, thankfully, the dizziness passed.
Not that looking around actually helped, though. He was in a small room; no windows, only a bare bulb lighting the space. Some boxes were shoved to one side, but Scott didn’t think they’d contain anything helpful. Someone was being far too careful about all of this.
Nausea swirled in his stomach and Scott knew it wasn’t just whatever was in that drug. It was taking every mantra he’d ever been taught to keep his breathing calm and under control. He’d regained consciousness in a situation like this once before, and the scars still marked both his body and mind.
But he’d grown up. He was no longer that young pilot sent into a war that almost broke the USAF. He didn’t fly a fighter jet to try rescue people anymore. He succeeded in saving people, above politics and wars and government struggles, flying the most advanced ship there was. Everything he’d seen, everything he’d experienced, had only made him stronger.
So why was his chest heaving as if he’d just completed a circuit of the island at his top speed in the midday sun?
The door opening did him a favour, really. If they’d left him much longer, their work would’ve been done for them as panic sank its claws into Scott. But the sound and movement allowed him to shake the beast free, banishing it back to the reinforced cage at the back of his mind and slamming another lock in place. Whoever was about to come through that door would not get the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.
Two men came in. There were ski masks over their faces and they were dressed head to toe in black, leaving no skin – or, rather, no identifying marks – in view. Neither spoke, but grabbed him under the arms, striding for the doors before Scott got his feet under him.
He knew it was a power play: keeping him in this half-bent position, almost deferential. But he’d played these mind games before, and instead of thinking of the vulnerability of his position, he used the time to glance around, trying to get some clue as to where he was.
The place was as non-descript as the two men. It gave him nothing to work with.
They didn’t go far before they entered another room, just as bland as the previous one. The two let go as suddenly as they grabbed him, throwing Scott onto the hard floor. Without his hands to break his fall, he landed heavily but twisted at the last second to take the impact on his shoulder. That was going to leave a bruise.
Without speaking, one of the men drew on a pair of leather gloves, cracking his knuckles as he did so. Scott took a deep breath before forcing himself to breathe steadily as he twisted into a kneeling position. They didn’t need to speak to make it clear what was coming next and he knew a bruised shoulder was about to be the least of his worries.
They were methodical, dispassionate almost. Trained heavies through and through. But that didn’t make their beating any less effective. With his hands bound, there was little Scott could do other than curl his knees into his chest, trying to protect his torso.
Pain radiated in pulses every time their fists or boots connected. Scott knew he could handle this: he’d been through much worse.
If only handling the memories was as easy.
Each blow sent his mind jolting back to another cold, empty room, where, once more, he’d been on his knees, hands bound, helpless to defend himself as the men surrounding him did what they wanted. They kept going, raining down blows, as they waited for the one word that would stop everything. Sometimes it came in seconds; other times, Scott passed out before he heard it. Forced to take everything they threw at him, waiting, just waiting...
“Enough.”
It was a heavily accented voice, dripping with malice and pleasure combined.
Curled up on the floor, gasping for breath, Scott probed his split lip carefully with his tongue. That sharp burst of pain jolted through him. He was in the here and now, that hadn’t been memories imposing themselves.
Slowly, he looked up.
A man in fatigues stood before him. He was gaunter than he’d been the last time Scott had seen him. His previously groomed beard was tangled and his eyes sunk deep into now-hollow cheeks.
But it was him.
Scott’s heart raced, hot and cold racing across his body. He tried to control his breathing, refused to give him the satisfaction, but doubted it did any good. This man had always been able to read him, always been able to sense when Scott was on the edge of losing control or feeling particularly defiant. He’d always known how to push him over that edge, too.
As soon as Scott looked up, a backhand sent him spinning to the side. Scott straightened up, refusing to make a sound.
“Captain Tracy.” The voice dripped with satisfaction. “I told you that you would not escape.”
A muscle throbbed in Scott’s cheek as he clenched his jaw. This man, that voice... It had filled his nightmares for years. On occasion, it still did.
A hand gripped his chin, forcing him to look up.
“It’s been a while, yes? But now you are back where you belong. On your knees.”
“You’re not where you belong,” Scott said, wrenching his head away. “Aren’t you locked up?”
He refused to let this man see his fear, although the answering sneer revealed he might already be too late for that.
“I had promises to keep,” Commander Tahu said. “I had revenge waiting. You. You are my vengeance. Because of you, I spent all the years in a filthy cell.”
“While I’ve been living in luxury on a tropical island.” Even broken, Scott had never fully given in to Tahu. Right now, he was so far from that terrified prisoner that he couldn’t resist.
Tahu nodded and Scott braced himself. The two guards fell on him again with fists and boots until he was, again, curled up on the floor. This time, straightening hurt and Scott suspected at least a fractured rib if not worse.
A hand gripped his hair, a few strands tearing from his scalp as he was hauled upright again. The grip didn’t lessen, craning his head back. Scott struggled against the grip, but it only tightened, making tears sting his eyes. He fell still, not wanting them to mistake the tears for anything other than an involuntary reaction.
His head was turned until he was looking at Tahu again. The commander had picked up something from a small side table where a box Scott had previously noticed but discounted sat. But it wasn’t a box. It was a battery of some sort; three dials lined one side and, once he was certain his prisoner was watching, Tahu made a show of turning one to the right.
In his hand was a stick. Scott had seen it before, had been on the receiving end before.
He pushed away, despite nowhere to go while on his knees with a hand in his hair. He still had the scars from the last time the prod had been pressed against him: his lower back was littered with small cylindrical scars from a device like this. His arms fought against the restraints but Tahu knew him well: he’d known Scott’s tendency to slip ropes when he’d put those cuffs on him.
“I see you remember this,” Tahu said in delight.
“Go to hell,” Scott spat. Defiance felt foolish now. He wanted that thing away from him.
“Oh, I’ve been there. In that filthy cell you put me in.”
“I put you in a cell?” Scott laughed, but it was a hollow and bitter sound. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“They came for you. You Americans. Your soldiers and your commanders. They came for you and your men and destroyed everything.”
“You were holding a USAF squad captive. What did you expect?”
The hand on his hair lessened, giving Scott enough movement to watch the second guard move to the side of the room. He dragged another small table from a stack of them and positioned it in the centre. Scott knew what was coming but he still had to bite back a whimper as he was pulled to his feet. He tried to resist, tried to make his body a dead weight, but the two guards weren’t having any of it and forced him forward.
The grip moved from his hair to the back of his neck as they slammed him down face first over the table. A cry of pain tore up his throat, but Scott clamped his mouth shut even as his injured ribs protested at the violent movement.
Scott tensed, bunching his muscles before trying to wrench upwards, but the guards kept a strong hold of him, forcing him back down. Out of the corner of his eye, Tahu walked forward, the rod held loosely in one hand, as if it was an inconsequential thing. Scott couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
“I like you better broken,” Tahu said in an almost conversational tone. “Your defiance is fun, but I got my pleasure stripping it away the first time. Now, I want you to pay for what you Americans did to me. I want you to scream.”
That was the only warning Scott got before the rod was shoved against his bare back. Jolts of electricity ripped through his body, his limbs spasming as he fought to breathe. He couldn’t stop the gasp from slipping free, having learnt the hard way in the past that clenching his teeth while the current ran through him wasn’t a good idea.
It lasted only a few seconds.
It lasted for all eternity.
Then, finally, just as Scott was certain he was about to black out, the current faded.
They didn’t need to hold him down any longer. He slipped from the table, landing on the floor in a heap, body twitching on its own accord as he struggled to catch his breath. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead, running into his eyes, but with his hands bound, there was nothing he could do about it. Breath rasped in his throat, fighting its way to his lungs.
Once again, a hand took his chin. This time, Scott didn’t have the strength to pull away. There was nothing he could do but look into Tahu’s gloating face.
“You didn’t scream.” His tone was almost conversational. “I wanted you to scream. Let’s try again. Get him up.”
The guards hooked their hands under his shoulders, drawing him to his feet. Tahu turned the prod towards him but before it could make contact, a noise drew his attention. Scott heard it too. The rhythmic thud-thud of a helicopter. It didn’t pass over but got louder and louder – as if it was coming down on their very roof.
Tahu snapped something. A solid kick to the back of his knee made Scott hit the ground, but one of the guards ran off, drawing a gun as he did so.
Scott looked up just as Tahu glanced at him. The commander did a double take, peering intently at Scott. Despite the pain still racing through his body, one corner of Scott’s mouth twitched into a semblance of a smirk.
“You’ll never make me scream,” he rasped. “Not again.”
“I know you,” Tahu sneered. “I’ll make you whimper and beg, just like before, yes?”
“You don’t know me. You never did.”
“I know what’s inside you, boy. I know you’re weak.”
It was the best thing he could’ve said. Ignoring the blood coating his lip, Scott chuckled.
“You don’t know what’s inside me.”
“I-,”
“You have no idea what’s inside me.”
He could hear running feet, shouts, and the occasional burst of gunfire. Whoever had landed on the roof was now inside, and they were coming in, hot. Tahu glanced at the door, then back at Scott. Scott’s smirk grew but he said nothing.
Finally, Tahu bit.
“There’s only weakness inside you,” he started, then paused when Scott shook his head.
“I’m not talking deep and meaningful. The world moved on while you were locked up. I bet you didn’t know there were such things as consumable trackers, did you?”
Tahu looked at the door again. “Impossible.”
Scott carefully got to his feet, testing his legs before he let them take his full weight. For possibly the first time, he drew himself up to his full height on his own accord and looked Commander Tahu straight in the eye.
“Do you really think my father would let me be wandering around New York on my own when we knew you’d got out?” He didn’t mention the nightmares that had plagued him since the news broke, only stopped by an interesting offer from the military.
“You lie!”
“You’re predictable,” Scott said. “We all knew that, given the chance, you’d come for me. You were kinda vocal about wanting revenge. So,” he gave a shrug the best he could with his hands tied behind his back. “We gave you that chance.”
Tahu snarled, but the answering gunfire just a floor above them made it hard for him to deny Scott’s words. Scott kept his expression impassive, hiding how hard his pulse was racing.
There was no way he was going to miss the chance to bring the man back to justice, so when the military had given him an offer, he couldn’t refuse. His father had been furious at the idea of using him as bait, but Scott had pointed out he was possibly the only one Tahu would risk coming to the city for. The man’s hatred of him was only matched by Scott’s terror-turned-loathing of the man who had kept him and his friends captive, torturing them not for information, but sport, until a rescue had finally kicked the door in.
Tahu lashed out, his hand curling around Scott’s neck, grabbing him by the hair as he dragged him forward. Scott involuntarily yelled, but whether it was his voice or chance, the door slammed open at the same time. Men and women spilled in, their weapons rising as one.
Tahu moved fast. Whatever else he was, he was a soldier in his own right, and he’d survived the war, only finally taken down by his refusal to give up his American prisoners. He knew what he was doing.
He was behind Scott, an arm across his chest, pinning him back, almost before Scott knew he’d moved. Repulsion made him arch his back, pulling away from the hold in a visceral refusal to be this close to the man. But Tahu’s grip was secure and Scott stilled when the rod, still humming with building electricity, rested directly over his heart.
“One flick of my thumb,” Tahu said softly. His words were almost a caress, invoking a full body shudder from his prisoner.
But they’d also been loud enough to carry, and the military force stopped advancing. Hands fell away from weapons, and one stepped forward. Scott recognised the instant switch to a hostage negotiation rather than taking the room by force.
No way!
He was not going to be Tahu’s bargaining chip. He was going to be the reason that Tahu was locked up for life, not why he managed to get away a second time.
He slammed his head back, using his extra inch of height on the man to smash into Tahu’s nose. The man yelled, his grip loosened, but the rod jerked between Scott’s heart and throat. Either place could cause irreparable damage. He couldn’t pull away – Tahu had instinctively tightened his hold at the pain, and pressed his knee into the back of Scott’s, forcing him off balance.
“I know you, little boy,” Tahu murmured in his ear, the same insult he’d used for months. “You’ve never been able to escape, and you never-,”
Whatever his taunt was going to be (Scott doubted it would be anything original), it never came.
Scott let his body drop. He didn’t fight, he didn’t do anything, really, just went limp. Tahu wasn’t expecting it: he was pulled off balance as Scott fell against his arm. Instinct made him step forward, trying to save himself, but it didn’t work.
Scott twisted, sliding free of Tahu’s grip and keeping low, making it as hard as possible for Tahu to get the rod anywhere near him. It also meant the military had a clear shot.
They didn’t hesitate. As soon as Scott was clear, a single shot rang out. Tahu yelled, falling back. He hit the same table he’d just held Scott down against before crashing to the ground. People swarmed forward, shouting orders, weapons ready, and all Scott could do was stay where he was and hope that no one trampled him.
Hands grabbed him. They weren’t tight, but they were firm, pulling him out of the way. A hand pressed against his head, keeping him low, and Scott had to resist the urge to buck against it. They were helping him, saving him, it was totally different to how the men had held him before...
He kept reminding himself of that as they bustled him to the other side of the room and out the door, before straightening up and letting him do the same. Shouts were coming from the room: Tahu was not going quietly.
“Get these off me,” Scott demanded, lifting his bound hands the best he could. One soldier shouldered his gun and made short work of releasing the cuffs. Scott rubbed his wrists as he drew his hands back in front of him, then, turned towards the room they’d just come from.
“This way, sir.”
“I can help.”
He had to help. He had to see Tahu taken down, had to know the man would soon be locked up again. More than that, though, he wanted to be the one to do it. He wanted Tahu to know that, regardless of what he’d thrown at a young Captain, he hadn’t destroyed him...
“This way.”
There was a note in the soldier’s tone that made Scott glance around. He wasn’t being given a choice. They had their orders to follow. Although they would know that he had training, that he’d been in their position, they’d also know that he left the Force and, as far as they were concerned, had been relaxing for the last few years. They weren’t going to let a civilian back into the room.
Scott sighed but let them lead him out of the building. It came as a surprise to find it was only mid-afternoon. He’d been taken in the morning, yet it felt like days had passed since he had been in the parking lot. It still took a moment for his eyes to adjust and his escort managed to smoothly hand him over to the medics without Scott noticing, let alone putting up a protest.
When one pressed a hand against his ribs, he jolted, brought back to the moment.
“I’m fine,” he told them.
“Don’t believe a word,” a familiar voice said.
Scott’s jaw dropped as his father strode up to them, bypassing all the perimeter fences the army had placed around the building.
“Wha-?”
“You’re not the only one with a military past, Captain, and, well, I outrank you. Outrank most of the people here if they weren’t too busy tarnishing me with the ‘civilian’ badge of honor.”
“Dad-,”
Scott didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been conscious the first time he’d been rescued from Tahu, but he did remember his father being by his side the second he woke up – and every moment after that.
His dad’s hand landed on his shoulder but he didn’t seem to want to do anything else in case it caused Scott pain.
“I’m okay,” he said softly. He didn’t mean physically, although he’d handled worse during his time with International Rescue. Emotionally, mentally, he was fine. Tahu hadn’t broken him again.
His dad smiled softly at him, as if understanding what Scott was really saying.
“Please don’t let him out of your sight until he’s been given the all clear,” Jeff asked the medics, who traded knowing smiles. Clearly, they had their fair share of soldiers ignoring injuries. “And you-,”
Scott jumped, realising he was being addressed again.
“I’m never letting you be used as bait again.”
“F.A.B,” Scott said with a smile. That was a plan he could get on board with.
