#scott whump
Okay, WARNING, DO NOT read this if you sympathy puke.
@the-original-sineater and I were throwing ideas around again and got talking about chemicals. We started talking about fluorine compounds (which are terrifying) and ended talking about thioacetone, the same family of chemicals that skunks have weaponised.
Then I had ideas.
Enjoy.
“JOHN!”
Scott’s voice was strained, even strangled, as he radioed in from the site of Fischler’s latest enterprise- chemical manufacturing this time, investigating new polymer compounds. Something had gone terribly wrong (of course) with hundreds of distress calls suddenly lighting up the cell tower networks and with reports of a chemical spill from the factory, International Rescue had been dispatched. Scott had gotten there first to scout out the area and John had been waiting impatiently for the update since Fischler (typically) wasn’t answering his calls to explain what he’d been working on this time.
“Thunderbird One, rep…” John started to answer, but Scott cut him off.
“Get One out of here and tell Virgil to go back!” The words almost ran into each other as Scott tried to get them out as quickly as possible.
“What’s going on?” Confusion and concern warred with each other as John reached out to use One’s sensors to scan the area. Finding the Thunderbird out of range- chemical spill SOP being to position oneself well upwind for safety’s sake- he brought up the remote piloting controls to send Thunderbird One in for a closer look. Moments later he was thanking anyone listening that Scott’s answer came just before he could order the Thunderbird to go in.
“Thiolacetone!”
He heard Scott gag, then came the prelude gasp and the clicks of a helmet being unlocked. John, realising what was coming next and knowing he was a sympathy puker, swiped his hand through the ‘mute’ command just before he could be treated to the sound of the eldest throwing up.
“EOS! Pull One out of there before the wind changes and she gets contaminated!” John snapped out the command, then touched the icon for Thunderbird Two. “Virgil, do not approach the danger zone!”
“What’s going on?” Virgil’s hologram popped up. The third born was clearly baffled, but tracking showed him obediently killing Two’s forward momentum and switching into a hover.
“Fischler was using thioacetone at the factory.” John told him, fingers flying over his holograms as he hunted out the appropriate decontamination procedure.
“He was what?!” Virgil blurted out. “And Scott…?”
“Is currently throwing up.” John grimaced. “The molecule is considered ‘sticky’. He has to be considered as contaminated, I’m looking up the protocols now to see what we can do.”
“Someone want to clue me in here?” Gordon’s hologram came up. “We’ve got decontamination units on Two, why not use those?”
“Thiolacetone is the most offensive-smelling chemical known.” Virgil glanced over as he filled Gordon in. “Remember that polecat you met? That’s a mild example of what the thiol chemical family can be like. A single drop of thiolactone inside a building can be detected in seconds from a quarter mile away and it takes some serious work to shift that stuff, it lingers.”
Gordon blanched. “Ah, so, what do we do?” He asked, glancing between his siblings. “It’s not like we can just strap Scott to the hull and fly back with him that way.”
“It’s deeply unpleasant but not fatal.” John reported as he rapidly skimmed through the official Material Safety Data Sheet, found what he was looking for and brought up a map of the area. “The GDF can deal with this, but we need to get Scott out of there.” He touched the icon that linked him with Scott to bring him into the conversation. “Scott, I’ve got you on audio only, one way link. You need to go two streets north from your location, there’s a pool supply store at the intersection of Harris and Bluell. You want pool bleach containing calcium hypochlorite. When you have it, put your helmet back on and use it to scrub down your uniform as best as you can, it’ll neutralise the thiols. Give me two beeps with your bracer controller if you understand.”
Beep beep.
Assured that Scott understood and seeing his symbol starting to move in the right direction, John turned his attention back to Virgil and Gordon. “While Scott scrubs, go back to the island. I want a decontamination station set up on the landing pad at Mateo and get Alan to configure a helicopter POD to collect Scott. It’ll have to be ditched in the caldera for a month or so after we’re done, just to make sure none of it makes it home.”
“Copy that.” Virgil nodded. “What should we have set up?”
“Screens to mark out the ‘red’, ‘orange’ and ‘green’ zones, with the ‘green’ as up-wind as possible.” John instructed. “In the ‘red’ zone scrubbing brushes and a strong bath of calcium hypochlorite for Scott to soak in while in uniform, a fresh water wash station to rinse off with afterwards, and a biohazard self-incinerating container for his uniform- everything he’s wearing has to go. In the ‘orange’ more brushes, a second bath at skin-safe concentration with its own wash station and a chemical sniffer to see if there’s any traces of it left on him. In the ‘green’, towels and a fresh set of clothes, sealed in a box.”
“I can use the bio-degradable plastics that Brains just finished developing to fabricate it all.” Virgil nodded as he processed the instructions. “Once we’re done, I can send a clean POD to pick up Scott and remote pilot the dirty POD to knock everything into the sea before I scuttle it.”
“F.A.B.” John nodded. “Scott, did you copy all that?”
Beep beep, answered him, followed by a rapid cascade of beeps in Morse that spelled out S-M-O-N-E-M-R-D-R-F-I-S-C-H-L-E-R-P-L-S.
“Murder is bad, Scott. Too much paperwork.” John deadpanned in defiance of the smile that tugged at his face.
I-D-N-T-C-A-R-E
John wasn’t sure how Scott managed to use the monotone beeps to convey the sense of multiple exclamation marks to end that statement, but he did.
“I promise, I’ll do something, okay? Now, did you find the chemicals?” John asked, fingers dancing over his communications controls as he updated the GDF.
Beep beep.
“We’re on our way back to the island, the POD should be there in the next forty five minutes, just hold on, big brother.” Virgil jumped in.
Beep beep.
0o0o0
Three hours later a wan and weak Scott, his hair tousled and rough from the chemicals and still quite pink from the scrubbing he’d put himself through, was huddled in his ouch-wear on the green couch. He had a cup of ginger tea in hand, heavily sweetened with honey, and slowly sipped it as he recovered from vomiting up what had felt like everything he’d eaten for the past six months.
“How are you feeling, Scott?” John asked as he came into the lounge, still in his space suit, sat down next to the eldest and reached out to pat his back comfortingly.
“Getting better.” Scott rasped. “But I’ll take a decontam gel bath over thiol exposure any day.”
“Noted.” John shuddered, he loathedthe radiation decontamination gel baths. “But this should cheer you up.” He brought up a file on his bracer and turned it to show Scott. “The local workplace health and safety inspector sent this to me, Fischler Industries just copped a multi-million dollar fine for the spill and Langstrom himself is personally liable for a five million dollar fine, plus potential jail time if the prosecutor can make the charges stick. Which I’m pretty sure they will.” John preened, looking like the cat that got the cream.
“Fischler Industries will have to fold.” Scott perked up considerably. “But how can you be sure? The guy’s slipperier than an eel.” They’d tried something similar after the weather drones to shut down Fischler Industries, but while Langstrom was a second rate inventor, he was a first rate salesman and contract writer and could find the loopholes in pretty much any law. He could cause a disaster and walk away almost completely unscathed.
“The local authorities may have had some ah, help, finding the evidence before Fischler could wipe his hard drives.” John smirked.
“Good.” Scott grinned weakly, sipped his tea and said no more. He’d long ago learned that if he didn’t ask exactly what his brother had done, if Colonel Casey asked, he wouldn’t have to lie.
More ideas happened! This will get on Ao3 eventually.
Translations- wāhine toa- warrior/strong woman
Whānau Room- family room
Te Reo Māori- Māori language
CW: injuries
Despite the late hour the parking tower was still nearly full, but he found a good spot just after Thunderbird One arrived and just before the police could send a unit to guard the aircraft now resting on the cricket ground in the Domain Park beside Auckland Hospital. Through the gaps in the decorative artwork over the parking tower he could see the ambulance as it turned out of the entrance to the park and roared down the road towards the ambulance bay of the hospital. Tim jogged down the stairs and across to the public entrance to the emergency department, showed his credentials to the orderly and was waved straight through to the rescus unit. Jess was already there, leaning against the wall in a good vantage point that was out of the way of the nurses, doctors and orderlies as the two medics briefed everyone.
“Haast Eagle.” Jess demanded, just loudly enough that he could hear her over the noise of the rescue unit and what sounded like a very disoriented Trouble shouting for his brother from behind the curtain.
“Pouakai.” Tim automatically replied and took his place to lean against the wall beside her. She nodded sharply and retook her position.
Each of the teams- Australia, New Zealand and a specialist hospital in San Francisco- had worked out their own shibboleth- a way to immediately expose anyone who wasn’t one of theirs. For the Aotearoa team, it was English and Te Reo Māori translations- for anyone who hadn’t grown up in the area or spent significant time in the country, anything in Māori was an instant giveaway, non-locals would always mispronounce it.
“What happened?” Tim asked, wincing at a crash of something being knocked over, a yelp from Renaissance and a panicked cry of ‘Virgil!’ from Trouble. From the earmarks he was pretty sure they’d be called in to help calm the brothers fairly shortly. Disoriented and distressed Tracys needed a particular touch to defuse them, and familiar faces always helped.
“Rescue went bad.” Jess replied, her delicate Eurasian features pulled into a grimace. “Oil rig in international waters, the roughnecks got upset when Renaissance had to seal the pipe permanently and came after him when he rappelled down onto the platform to finish the job, Trouble jumped in to assist. Someone hit Trouble over the head with something and he’s got a knife in him- the bandolier slowed it, but he’ll still need surgery. Renaissance has a few broken bones, but what they’re worried about the most is internal bleeding.”
“Was Trouble wearing his helmet this time?” Tim asked, glancing over at another cry from behind the curtain. He knew about Scott’s prediction to take his helmet off at a rescue, and he’d heard about the threats levelled at him from most of the family to ‘weld the damned thing to your neck’ to remind him to keep it on.
“For once he was.” Jess nodded towards the taller of the two paramedics who had by now found their own corner so they could finish up their paperwork. “He was saying it would have been a funeral if he hadn’t been, going by the damage to the helmet.”
“Well that’s something.” Was Tim’s remark. “So if Trouble is at least concussed and has a knife in him and Renaissance is badly beaten, how’d they get One over here?”
“They got into the cargo section and Coppertop remote flew it over.”
“That makes sense.” Tim looked over as yet another doctor arrived, subtly scanned her with the holographic detector that they’d all been issued with and returned to the briefing once she checked out. “Any word on Coppertop’s assistant?” He asked curiously.
“Nada.” Jess shook her head. Eight months ago they’d become aware that the Tracys had scooped up a new person somewhere along the way. The Boss refused to elaborate and they didn’t ask- if it was a secret, the less people who knew about it, the better. If they needed to know, she’d tell them. But they weren’t exactly paid to keep their eyes shut and and ears blocked so the various Emergency Protection and Security Teams had put their heads together and pooled what little information they had- she appeared to be female, worked mostly with John but would speak to the others if they called her, and was addressed as ‘Eos’- but if that was her real name or a code name wasn’t clear. At their best guess she seemed to be based on the island because no one had seen her yet. She hadn’t even ventured out for a conference like what Wizard would occasionally leave the island to attend.
Jim over in San Francisco had come up with her code name and dubbed her ‘Canary’ because she didn’t sing like one. She barely even chirped with the amount of communication she made outside of the immediate family.
“You two!” One of the medics had stuck their head around the curtain and waved at Jess and Tim. “We need a hand with Scott!”
“What do you need?” Jess instantly asked as she stepped forward and vanished behind the curtain.
Tim stayed where he was and kept an ear out- standard protocol with a disoriented Trouble and no family present yet was to let the female team members take the first shot at calming him down. Seeing a male in uniform, even though it was the TI navy blue, usually had the opposite effect until his brain kicked back in.
He heard Jess speaking to Trouble in a low, soothing voice, then Hope appeared at his elbow. “Haast Eagle.” He immediately demanded.
“Pouakai.” Hope snapped, the tall Māori woman looking every inch the wāhine toa she was as she cast her gaze over the area. “What’s the situation?”
Tim quickly started to brief her, but one of the doctors approached and interrupted them.
“We’re taking them both through to surgery now.” He reported, looking between the two of them. “Tell the family that they’ll have to wait in the Whānau Room until we’re done, it’s going to be a good couple of hours at least.”
“Can you give us any more details, doc?” Tim asked, taking his phone out to message the rest of the team and The Boss.
“Scott’s got a grade two concussion and the knife is close to his brachial artery. Virgil definitely has some internal bleeding going on- it’s minor, but it still needs surgery. We should be able to get away with laparoscopic for him.” The doctor reported.
“Thanks doctor.” Hope nodded to him. “Jess and I will be outside the theatres.”
The doctor didn’t look happy about it, but nodded and turned back to give instructions to the staff. A EPT member outside the OR had been standard procedure ever since a journalist managed to bluff their way through security in Melbourne and got into the observation gallery that looked into the operating room that was being used that day.
“Tim, when Janet gets here, you two take a break until they’re in recovery, then take over.” Hope instructed.
“Got it.” Tim nodded as he flicked the information out to the relevant parties.
The noises behind the curtains changed, orderlies appeared and Jess rejoined them. “You got the update?” She asked as first Renaissance, then Trouble were wheeled out on the hospital beds, their uniforms in shreds.
“Yes, you and me are on OR duty.” Hope nodded curtly, beckoning for Jess to follow as the last of the nurses passed them and they fell in behind.
Left alone in the rescus ward, aside from the ward clerks finishing up the paperwork and the various orderlies and nurses now beginning the process of tidying up and re-setting for the next patients, Tim checked his phone for any replies, found none, messaged Janet with their updated orders and went to go find himself a seat at the cafe in the main lobby to wait until it was his turn to stand guard over his assigned Tracy.
Crossposting from Ao3
TAG AU- So a bunch of people asked very nicely for a continuation of the Lost Tracy chapter from the Fury challenge, then Sineater and my hubby let me bounce ideas off them and this is the result.
Be warned, this is why I was desperately needing to post fluff the other day because I finally finished this thing.
CW- mention of terrorist attack, dead body, historical injuries, Fury has his name for a reason, lots of emotional trauma, you’d better have heartstrings reinforced with cahelium
https://archiveofourown.org/works/39066474/chapters/97725201
