Prologue

"Scott."

Scott Tracy lifted his head from the edge of the bed, blearily looking at a blurred figure. A few blinks, and the blurriness resolved itself into his next-in-line brother, Virgil. He pushed himself away from the bedside and back into the straight-backed chair, looking first at the figure lying still on the bed and then at the vitals monitor above it.

"It's my turn, Scott. You go and get some sleep." Virgil said softly, laying a hand on his brother's rumpled shoulder. Scott shrugged it off irritably.

"No. I'll stay. You get some sleep." he grumbled, turning back to the figure under the covers.

"Scott!" Virgil's voice was sharp, causing his brother to look at him with narrowed eyes. Having gotten Scott's attention, Virgil moderated his tone. "You aren't doing him or yourself any good just sleeping in the chair. Pour yourself a glass of Scotch and go sleep in your bed. It's my turn to watch."

Scott looked hard at his brother for a few moments, then his shoulders relaxed and he nodded. He looked back at the person over whom he had been standing vigil. The figure with the bound ribs hidden by the covers. The neatly set arm sitting on top of the blanket. The dark bruise on the temple that was the greatest cause for concern because it signalled a concussion. The small scrapes and cuts and bruises elsewhere that the sheets didn't hide.

"How many times has he sat here, waiting for us to wake up?" Scott asked, more to himself than anyone else.

'Too many times, Scott, too many times." Virgil answered.

Scott got up, and moved over to the bed. He picked up the hand that lay on the covers, taking care not to disturb the IV needles in it, and squeezed it gently. Then he stroked the silvery salt-and-pepper hair away from the forehead and whispered softly, "I'll be back later, Dad."

He left the room, looking back only once to see Virgil sitting in the chair, close to the bed, holding their father's limp hand.