Fractured Reflection, Chapter 2
Anyone who has not read @scribbles97 version here needs to go and read it right now. Pure perfection.
Ch 1
Same warnings as before: TW: POW, TW: torture
--
There was something in his throat.
He couldn’t breathe.
God, he couldn’t breathe!
He rasped, gagged, trying to thrash his head, anything to get away from it. What were they doing to him now? This was new; he couldn’t handle new.
“Easy, Scott. Lie still.”
He’d heard that voice. He’d heard it time and time again lately. Reassuring, soothing, calm. He figured he must’ve either given in to the delirium that had been dogging his footsteps since that last time in solitary, or he was falling asleep more and more, losing himself to dreams.
“Son, listen to me. You’re safe. It’s helping you breathe.”
Scott forced himself to open his eyes. He didn’t want to. If he faced it, then it became a reality, and he couldn’t deal with a new form of torment. But he had to know… that voice.
Three attempts.
That’s how many times he fought to get his eyes open but found they were sticky and heavy, not wanting him to look around. Finally, though, he forced them open, and almost immediately had to screw them shut again.
He had never thought his cell had been in darkness. Not compared to solitary. But this, wherever he was now, was flooded with light. Warm, inviting, bright light that made some small part of him relax.
“Try again,” the same voice prompted.
Scott managed it on the first go this time. There was no denying it. That was his dad looking back at him. Scott frowned, trying to bring the man into more focus, trying to make sure it wasn’t his eyes playing tricks on him.
“I’m here,” his dad said softly. “I’m right here. You’re okay. It’s a tube, Scott. It’s helping you breathe.”
He tried to say something, but he couldn’t.
“The doctor is on his way. Just lie still for me. It’s going to be okay.”
Scott didn’t know how much time passed. People bustled around him. He recoiled when the doctors tried to remove the tube. He knew, he knew, they were there to help, but as soon as he felt their hands on him, he just couldn’t. Eventually, it was his father gripping his own hand that made him relax enough for them to be able to get it out.
They fitted a small oxygen tube to his nose; adjusted something going into the crook of his arm; spoke words he didn’t fully understand. Medically induced coma. Multiple surgeries. Extended recovery time. Just rest…
No. That last one was his dad again. When the room was blissfully empty, silent of all but that reassuring voice soothing to his ears.
He was so tired. He had no choice but to drift away again.
But sleep wasn’t a respite anymore. It didn’t transport him away from his nightmare, it took him straight back there. No sooner had his breathing started to even out when he jolted away again, gasping, sweating.
“I’m here. I’m here, son.”
Time had lost all meaning to him while he was in that place. But it wasn’t any better now. In this white room with strangers coming and going, drifting in and out of consciousness, hands on him whether he wanted them or not.
And through it all, a hand gripped his own, a voice murmured softly in his ear that it was going to be okay.
Eventually, though, Scott opened his eyes, and kept them open. Something had changed. He didn’t feel the darkness immediately encroaching; didn’t feel the usual surge of panic rush through him.
The pressure on his hand was still there, but there wasn’t an immediate voice. Scott blinked slowly and for what felt like the first time, rolled his head to the side.
He was there. His father. Just as he promised he would be.
The man looked as haggard as when Scott had last seen him, just as drawn and whey. He was sitting in a chair by the bed, hand gripping his son’s, but snoozing.
Scott swallowed, a dry tongue attempting to moisten dry lips. He slowly, carefully, continued to look around the room.
He was in the hospital, that much he’d figured out. They were the only ones in the room, so no doubt a private ward. Soft and rhythmic beeping echoed around him and some distant part of his mind knew it was coming from him, that he was being monitored.
He didn’t hurt as much as he thought he would. As his vision focused better, he saw a line going into his arm and figured that was the reason why. His fingers were splintered, their immobility making him wonder if he’d rebroken them at some point.
He looked down at himself. A cool, white sheet covered his body. He didn’t know what the damage was. Didn’t think he wanted to know.
“You’re awake.” The pressure on his hand shifted as his dad sat up, leaning forward. The concern in his gaze made Scott want to look away. But he couldn’t as a hand gently cupped his cheek.
“You’re awake.” His dad repeated. For a second, Scott wasn’t sure if maybe he was dreaming after all because he was certain there were tears filling the man’s eyes. He’d never seen his dad cry before. But then he blinked and Scott thought maybe it was his blurry vision that had tricked him into thinking that.
“How-,” Scott began, then coughed. “How long?”
“Three weeks,” his dad said. “They thought it best to put you into a coma, carry out as many of the surgeries as they could and give your body a chance to heal before you woke up.”
Scott thought if he felt fuzzy now, it must be nothing compared to how he’d have felt if he remained conscious for the last three weeks. But that hadn’t been what he wanted to know. He shook his head, mutely trying to tell his dad what he really wanted to know.
His father dropped his gaze, staring at the hand clasping Scott’s.
“Six months,” he whispered.
Scott went rigid. Six months he’d spent in that hell. He couldn’t work out if it felt like forever, or only yesterday that they were caught. His hand shifted, aiming towards his throat, wanting to ask. But he didn’t have the strength to complete the movement.
His dad understood though.
“You’ve had several surgeries, Scott.” His voice was steady. “You had a collapsed lung by the time we got you to hospital. After that, they thought it best to help you as much as they could.”
His voice might have been steady, but the grip on his hand betrayed how the man was truly feeling.
Scott could only stare. After the number of times he’d coughed up water, fighting for air in the past… god, the past six months… it was now, once he’d been removed from that place, that his lungs had finally decided enough was enough. But he also wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t sure his ribs had ever fully healed from the first time one had fractured: they’d never been given the chance.
“I called for you,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse, whether through lack of use, misuse, or the fact that he’d had a tube down his throat an hour before, he didn’t know. “I called, and you didn’t come.”
He knew it was irrational. It was nothing short of miraculous his father was here now. How had they found him? What about the rest of his team? Were they safe? Were they alive? He’d clung on to ‘gone’ meaning rescued, but in the indefinite time that had passed between then and now, he was finding it hard to believe.
“I’m sorry.” His dad’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I did everything, Scott. Everything I could to find you, and it wasn’t enough. Not until…”
He trailed off. Scott didn’t have the strength to ask. He just blinked slowly, staring around him, trying to take in that it was a hospital. Not some trick; not some figment of his desperate imagination. He was actually in a hospital.
“I wasn’t-,” his voice broke. Hot tears leaked from the corners of his eyes but he didn’t have the strength to brush them away. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to. But a warm, calloused hand was there, cupping his cheek, a gentle thumb wiping at his eyes. Just the way the man had when he was a little boy and had fallen off his bike, trying not to cry in front of the babies, trying to be strong for his father.
“I wasn’t strong enough,” he finally bit out. Maybe his father hadn’t wanted to find him? Scott had been weak. He’d broken. Screamed and begged. Two things that he swore he’d never do. Discussions and practice drills were nothing like hearing a bolt drawn back and knowing they were coming for you again.
“No.” The grip on his face shifted. It wasn’t tight, but commanding. The bed dipped under the weight of another as his dad shifted so that he was sitting next to him, leaning over to look him in the eye without Scott having to move.
“You’ve been so strong. You held on, Scott. You fought-,”
“I didn’t.” How long had it been since he offered even a token resistance when they’d come for him?
But his dad was shaking his head, still maintaining eye contact.
“You fought to stay alive. You fought to protect your team. There are other ways of fighting than just with your fists, son. You’ve been so strong: I’m so proud of you.”
Lips brushed against his forehead, a gesture he couldn’t remember happening for years. Not since before their mother had gone. Maybe once, when his dad had promised him he would step up, allow Scott to become the teenager he was supposed to be and not a parent to four grieving brothers. There was a promise in that kiss. That, more than anything, made Scott believe his dad meant what he was saying.
But how could he know that Scott had fought to protect his team? Unless he was just guessing because the man knew what his son was like? But maybe…
“Jen?” he whispered. He couldn’t bear to say any more. His dad shifted back, creating space between them, but making sure he stayed in his son’s eyeline.
“Is fine,” he said warmly. “So are the other two. Gary and Sienna are safe as well. They’re alive, Scott. They’re okay. And they didn’t give up on their Captain.”
He hadn’t failed. Not completely, anyway. After all of this time, half of his team had managed to make it home.
“How-?”
“Later, Scotty.” His dad smiled at him. “You need to rest now. We’ll talk more when you wake up.”
Scott shook his head. At least, he tried to. But it made the pounding in his skull turning into a crescendo and it was all he could do to stop himself from crying out. He couldn’t face sleep. He couldn’t face going back there, but he also couldn’t stand the idea that this was the dream. If he closed his eyes, what was he going to wake up to?
“It’s okay.” A gentle hand was running through his hair. He used to love the feeling of his parents combing their fingers through his hair. But there was nothing there now, just a coarse stubble.
That confused him. It hadn’t been cut in the prison. It was better for them long: gave them more to grip onto as they forced his head underwater. It was only then that he became aware that he was clean shaven as well. Six months of growth had been cut away. He felt weird without it now: as if that had been some sort of barrier between the man he’d been before being captured, and who he’d become in that hell hole.
“I can’t,” he whispered. The tears were running again. “I can’t, don’t make me, please, don’t make me go back there…”
“Easy.”
An incessant beeping drowned out his father’s words. Deep down, Scott knew that it was something to do with him, and that it would draw attention of whoever else was nearby. He wasn’t supposed to be drawing attention. That’s what he’d told the others: keep their heads down, don’t make the guards look twice.
“I-,”
He couldn’t breathe. Again.
The room started to disappear as he fought for breath, darkness clouding his vision. He scrabbled at the sheets covering him, needing to get away, needing a wall against his back.
He didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear hurried conversations or see the movement as something was inserted into the IV running into his arm.
All he knew was that the darkness was taking over everything. But it stopped being so cold and frightening. Instead, he focused on the firm grip on his hand, his father’s low, rumbling voice as he spoke words Scott couldn’t make out to someone he couldn’t see.
He wasn’t choking the next time he woke up. But there was no grip on his hand, either. Scott couldn’t bear to open his eyes. He still felt he was lying on something soft, but he couldn’t risk it being a trick.
After a long moment, though, he had to know. If this was some new form of torture, he’d learnt that hiding away from it made no difference. It still found him: it always found him.
He looked around. It was the same room as before. The same lighting. The same medical paraphernalia surrounding him. The same reassuring beeping of monitors that told him he wasn’t alone.
But he was.
There was no one else here with him. The chair by his bed was empty. His father had gone.
Scott bit back the sob that threatened to rise up. He knew it. Knew the man couldn’t face looking at him, knew that he’d let him down…
The door opened.
“Scotty?”
Scott gave a soft gasp, half breath, half sob.
“You weren’t there,” he muttered. A hand covered his own again.
“I’m here,” the voice promised. “I’m right here. I’ll never leave you, Scott. If I’m not in this room, I promise you that I haven’t gone far.”
“I needed you, and you weren’t there.”
He vaguely wondered what noise a monitor made at the sound of his heart breaking. But nothing changed, only a minor hitch in the rhythmic tone as a pair of arms wrapped around him.
For months now, Scott had been letting himself remember happier times with his family. It was the only thing that had kept him sane, although he hadn’t realised that at the time.
But feeling his dad’s strong grip holding onto him, he didn’t just remember.
He let himself be that little boy. His arms were trembling with the effort, but he forced them to rise so he could return the grip, needing to know that his dad had him and he was safe. How long they stayed like that, he had no idea, but was aware of the beeping settling into a steady rhythm. His eyes fluttered shut, safe in his dad’s hold.
Sleep took him again.
No one was touching him when he woke. But he could sense the presence in the room, knew that his dad was sitting right by his side, just like he promised. Then he became aware of a one-sided whispered conversation.
He slowly opened his eyes, rolling his head to one side. His father had a communicator open, talking quickly, albeit quietly. Scott took the chance to just look at the man.
He looked as drawn and haggard as Scott felt. Somehow, he knew the bags under the man’s eyes, his ashen complexion, went back more than a few months. Scott knew how the military worked: they’d have been missing for a while before it was reported to their families, just to make sure they hadn’t simply fallen off the radar and turned back up a week later. He knew his father’s nightmares had started long before Scott had been reported missing.
Had they reported him missing? Or had they told his family he was dead?
Jeff was staring with an unseeing gaze at the wall on the other side of the room. Scott forced himself to listen in to what was being said.
“-soon. He’s not ready.” The man listened to a moment. “Just… talk to them. Say whatever you have to, John. I don’t care how you explain it, just..”
His gaze shifted, and Scott managed a weak smile as his dad looked at him.
“Handle it. He’s awake.”
He snapped his communicator shut and lent forward.
“Scott.” There was so much warmth, so much love, in that one word. Scott could only blink back, his emotions too strong to form proper words. That was not the tone of a man who’d be disappointed in him.
He nodded at the communicator without a word. His dad smiled, albeit a stressed one.
“Your brothers,” he said in a fond, exasperated way. “They…”
He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s okay. You don’t need to worry about them.”
“Not here?” Scott muttered. Maybe it wasn’t his dad he needed to worry about? All too clearly he could remember the images his mind had shown him: the betrayal and disappointment in his siblings’ expression as he didn’t fight back against the guards coming for him.
“If they could organise themselves, they would be,” his dad said with an eyeroll. “But they all have different ideas of how to get here and-,”
“You said no?”
“Do you know where you are, Scott?”
“Hospital?”
“A military hospital,” his father confirmed. “There’s people here, when you’re ready, who want to speak to you.”
For the first time since awakening in this bed, Scott realised he could once again understand what his father wasn’t saying. Command wanted a debrief, and right now, Jeff Tracy was the only reason they weren’t already in this room.
“They didn’t ask anything,” he muttered. “Not by the end.”
“Scott, it’s okay…”
But it wasn’t. He had to tell someone.
“I don’t know what they wanted,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I did, why they came for me.”
It must’ve been something he’d done that made them keep him behind. If what his father said was true and the rest of his team was safe, why hadn’t they let him go as well? He didn’t remember any ransom note, no video as they tortured him…
“It was me,” his father said heavily. “They kept you because of me. Because they wanted money. Like they could put a price on your life.”
“You… paid?” Scott shook his head. “You shouldn’t have! I’m not worth…”
It didn’t matter what sum they’d asked for. Money gave them the resources to do this to more people, and it’d all be his fault!
“No.” His father’s voice was low, but calm. “I didn’t. If I thought it would have got you back, if I thought it would end this nightmare for you, then yes, I would’ve given them whatever they wanted. Never doubt that. But there were other ways.”
Scott stared at him. “How did you find me?” he asked quietly.
Jeff just smiled at him, repeating his earlier action of cupping his cheek gently.
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I did. And, Scott? I’d never stop looking. No matter what I had to do, where I had to go… I’d never stop looking, never stop trying to bring you home.”
Scott held his eye. There was nothing but the truth there. He believed it. His dad wasn’t disappointed in him and didn’t think he was weak. He wanted him back.
“I don’t remember,” Scott said. “I’m assuming you demanded proof of life, but I don’t remember…” He trailed off, shaking his head. He didn’t recall them ever taking a picture, filming him, even recording him.
“It doesn’t matter,” his dad said quickly. “All that matters is that you are alive, and you’re back.”
They sat in silence for a while. Talking was exhausting him. Scott couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation this long.
Just as he felt his eyes drifting shut, another thought occurred to him.
“The boys?”
This entire conversation had started because John had been in touch.
“This isn’t the sort of place I want them,” his dad said, a hint of steel in his voice. “They don’t need to be exposed to the sort of people in charge here.”
Whatever had happened with that ransom, or even how the rest of his team had been saved, Scott had a feeling his father wasn’t exactly happy with the way things had been handled.
“You won’t keep them away,” Scott murmured. “Not if John’s on the case…”
He liked that idea. All of them working together to thwart their dad’s plan of keeping them away.
“Do you want me to keep them away?”
It wasn’t the question he’d expected. More than anything, he wanted to see his family. But like this? Unable to sit up by himself, to see the horror and pity in their eyes, not being able to reassure them that he was okay when he truthfully had no idea what state he was in?
“I-,” he needed them desperately but that didn’t mean he wanted them right now.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to decide that now. They’re still trying to persuade Gordon it’s too far to swim.”
Scott smiled, but it was a shadow of his previous grin. He was just so tired. He didn’t realise he’d drifted until he heard his father whisper for him to get some sleep.
But he’d had enough sleep. Unconsciousness didn’t claim him in the same way, which let his subconsciousness take over…
Screaming.
That was all he could hear. It was all around him. Why wasn’t someone doing something to help, couldn’t they hear that someone was in trouble…
“Scott!” It wasn’t the first time his name had been called. Not captain. Not a number. His name.
The screaming stopped and his thrashing calmed. But his heart was racing, sweat cooling on his skin and making him shiver. He’d been back there: they’d been dragging him to that room again and he couldn’t! He couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t survive this…
“Scotty, look at me. You’re awake. It’s over. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital, remember?”
Scott obeyed. That was all he knew right now. Look. Look at the man calling his name. His dad. His dad was here. Scott remembered: he’d come for him; saved him; got him to safety; promised to not leave his side.
But even as his breathing started to even out, Scott couldn’t say anything.
“Scott?”
He mutely shook his head. It was too much. Talking, even thinking about it, was bringing it back too much. He couldn’t do it.
He drew away, huddling in on himself the best he could given his body didn’t want to obey him. He’d spoken before. They’d had entire conversations. But as part of him started to accept that maybe he was safe, the strict compartments he’d forced his mind into over the last six months started to dissolve.
He hurt from the torture but his dad was here. He was in a safe space but he still couldn’t move. His body craved rest but his mind refused to let go of his new reality.
As the walls he’d built over the last six months started coming down, Scott didn’t dare open his mouth.
He wasn’t sure if he’d just start screaming again.
