Summary: Intrigued by various discussions regarding why and how Gerry Anderson picked the names of only five of the first six Americans in space for the Tracy boys' names, this is a story that explains my version of "why." Based on an actual event that happened in my family.
Rating: T or PG-13. Deals with death.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Still haven't come up with enough money to make the Thunderbirds mine. All those characters still belong to whomever does have said rights. And MacDonald's–of course–belongs to MacDonald's.
Although no canon name was ever given to Grandma Tracy, I've christened her here, so that I (and every adult in this story!) can call her something other than "Grandma." No canon name was given to Jeff's wife, either, although the accepted name is Lucy/Lucille, and I've used it. Lydia, Phillip, and Keith belong to Avatar2, and I've promised that they'll be returned when Lucy doesn't need them anymore.
White Night
"If March comes in like a lion, it goes out like a lamb."
It was definitely "lion" out there. The Midwest was like that. And she seriously doubted that five more minutes–regardless of the local mythology–would make a significant change in the weather. Leaning her head against the window, she watched the snow whirling in gusts about the nearly empty parking lot. It wasn't a heavy snowfall, but enough to spoil any early thoughts of spring flowers. Just enough to be a nuisance for driving . . . and flying.
"Lucy?"
"Momma!"
She turned to the familiar voices, moments before two small tornadoes hit her, hugging for all they were worth. "Scotty," she murmured, "John-John." Arms around them, she looked up at her mother, holding her formerly youngest son. The eighteen-month-old squirmed impatiently, and his grandmother set him down, steadying him. He toddled over, pushing his way between his brothers.
"Virgil, look at you," Lucy said brightly, "You're getting pretty good at walking, aren't you?" She glanced around at the three of them. "Ready to go see your brothers?"
They made a slow procession down the hall, Virgil and John holding her hands, with Scott bouncing along next to his grandmother. She leaned toward her daughter, speaking softly above the boys. "Keith's gone to get Jeff's mother; her flight just arrived. Jeff should be getting in around eleven, unless this weather gets worse."
"Thanks, Mom," Lucy sighed. Her attention shifted. "No, Virgil. This way," she said, redirecting the toddler from an open doorway.
They paused by a video screen. Lucy disengaged her hands long enough to tap in an access code on the keyboard. The monitor buzzed and flickered to life.
"Why can't we see them?" Scott asked.
"You will," Lucy said quietly, "But they're very sick, and the hospital won't let you hold them unless you wash up really good." She smiled briefly, anticipating the response from the two older boys. "You have to scrub and scrub with a brush and special soap, all the way up to your elbows." Twin "yucks" sounded, and both boys made faces. "And then put on special clothes."
"There," her mother said, pointing at the monitor.
Lucy reached for the computer mouse, zooming the view on one of the incubators, focusing on the infant inside. "That's Walter," she said. She lifted Virgil to her lap, so he could see. "See, Virgil. That's one of your new brothers." Adjusting the view again, she added, "And there's Gordon."
"They look the same," Scott said, watching the screen with interest..
"They're twins," Lucy said, "Identical twins."
John squirmed, pushing against Scott. "I can't see," he complained.
"I'll give you a lift," said a voice behind them. Her brother stepped forward, swinging John high in the air, jiggling him, and making him squeal.
"Uncle Keith!" yelled Scott, bouncing exuberantly, "And Grandma Jo!"
Lucy stood, shifting Virgil to her hip. "Josie," she said warmly, greeting the older women standing behind her brother..
"Lucy." Jeff's mother folded them in her arms, hugging her and Virgil tightly. She released them, then reached for Virgil. "So you're a big brother now," she said, settling the boy against her. She glanced over at Lucy's mother, nodding in acknowledgment. "Lydia."
"Josie," she returned, "Good flight?"
"It was all right," Josie responded, "Didn't know if we were landing here or heaven-knows-where." The picture on the monitor caught her attention. "Is that them?"
"Uh-huh." The two grandmothers leaned forward, studying their grandsons.
Lucy moved toward a couch, a tired smile on her face. The older boys had abandoned the view screen, preferring to tussle with their uncle. The trio wrestled for awhile, then–urged by Keith–they drifted over to an aquarium in one corner of the room.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Keith headed over to the older women. "Jeff's flight is delayed," he told them, "O'Hare's getting hit worse than we are, and they're diverting planes. No telling where he'll end up." He paused for a moment, watching the monitor. "And Phillip's unit moved into Baghdad this morning, and communications are still snarled. Red Cross is gonna keep trying."
Josie set Virgil down, and laid a hand on Lydia's shoulder in sympathy. As much as she'd wished for children other than Jeff, she didn't envy Lydia the worries of a child off to war. Especially after losing her husband to one, just after Lucy was born. And while there were plenty of things that could go wrong in a rocket ship, at least nobody was shooting at Jeff.
Virgil had crawled on his mother's lap, and was drowsing there. His brothers once again tumbled about the floor, arms and legs flying precariously close to the few breakables in the room. "Boys," Lucy called, warningly.
"Boys!" echoed Josie, much more sharply, and for the moment, the wrestling halted.
"I'll take 'em home with me," said Keith.
"You still have to pick up Jeff at the airport," Lydia protested. The thought of Keith with three small boys was daunting, to say the least.
"We'll stop at McDonald's. They can eat and run themselves out."
"Well . . . ." Lydia was still hesitant. She glanced at her daughter. Lucy looked so tired and worried, but she didn't want to leave the hospital tonight. Not while the babies were in such a precarious situation. And Lydia didn't want to leave her, even though Jeff's mother was there too.
"We'll be fine, Mom," Keith assured her, "By then, they'll be slept out, and I'll just take them along to the airport." He headed toward his sister, curled on the waiting room sofa with Virgil. The boy's dark head lay on her shoulders, damp and flushed, mouth open as he slept. His brothers were engrossed with the nearby aquarium.
"Give him here," he urged. Lucy surrendered the boy–albeit reluctantly. "C'm'ere, Bud," he said, settling the child on his own shoulder, the small, dark head a brilliant contrast against his own pale blond. "Let's find someplace more comfy. Then later we'll go get Daddy."
"Thanks, Keith," Lucy sighed. She stood and stretched, hands resting on the small of her back.
"Hey," he said softly. They looked at each other silently. "No problem." He turned to his nephews and called," Scotty! John-John!" The boys ran eagerly toward him. Settling Virgil securely on his shoulder, he gestured for the other boys to hold hands, with John nearest him. Giving the women a quick grin, Keith led his charges toward the elevator.
The three women watched them go. Then Josie turned to her daughter-in-law. "Lucy?" she asked quietly.
"It's kind of funny in a way," Lucy said, an odd note in her voice. Her gaze fixed on the monitor, and she hugged herself tightly. "Pneumonia's not such a big thing anymore. About as critical as the common cold. Unless . . . " She fell silent, jaw clenched, refusing access to her tears.
"Some rare strain," Lydia explained, "Doctor says if they make it through tonight, there's hope." She looked knowingly at Josie, and the two women stepped away from Lucy, conferring softly. "I'm going to get Lucy to lie down and rest," Lydia told Josie, "then I'll be back to watch with you."
Josie nodded. "She's worn out," she agreed, looking at the younger woman. "There's naught to do but wait, until Jeff gets here." She watched the other woman urge her daughter toward the waiting room. Lucy laid her head on her mother's shoulder as they walked.
Josie turned away quickly, allowing Lucy her moment of grieving. She headed for the NICU desk, stopping a nurse to ask, "My grandsons? Can I see them?"
"Of course," the nurse said. She lead Josie first to the scrub room, watching as the older woman scoured her hands with soap and brush. She then lead her into the small room where two incubators stood.
So small. Well, twins usually were. Surrounded by tubes and wires and monitors though, they looked even smaller. She looked at the rocking chair where Lucy would sit and hold them, one at a time, then back at the nurse. "Can I . . . can I hold them?"
Compassionately, the nurse nodded. "One of them, because you'll have to keep the oxygen tube near him," she explained.
"All right." Any chance to hold those babies before they. . . . She laid her hand on the bassinet closest to her, then settled herself in the rocker.
The nurse lifted the tiny body, moving him with practiced care, then hesitated. "If you'd unbutton your blouse," she suggested, "he can snuggle on your skin. It helps them with their body temperature."
Feeling just a little risqué, Josie opened her blouse, and allowed the nurse to settle the infant on her chest. The nurse laid a light blanket over them, then–as Josie folded her arms around the boy–adjusted the oxygen hose. "Just check it now and then, make sure it's near his face," she said, "There. Okay?"
"Okay," Josie agreed, looking down at the small head covered in pale reddish fuzz. The boy squirmed, turned his tiny face up at her, and smacked his lips. She smiled, holding him gently closer. If you're gonna die tonight, might well be in my arms as in that cold cage over there.
She must have dosed, as an insistent squealing startled her. Josie checked that the oxygen tube hadn't slipped away from the baby, then noticed the commotion at the other incubator. What was happening over there? Where's Lucy? And Lydia?
Time had flown while she dozed, but now it crawled. She bent her head, singing softly to the warm baby on her chest while she tried to watch the happenings in the room. One hand held the oxygen tube close to his face, and she beat back the fear threatening to envelop her.
The doorway darkened, and she knew Lucy and Lydia stood there. The atmosphere in the room shifted. Lucy's hand rose to her mouth in denial, and Lydia held her close. Josie hugged the baby as tightly as she dared.
Eternity snapped, when the doctor stepped away from the incubator, and moved toward the doorway, toward Lucy. Before the woman could say anything, Lucy shook her head, and moaned, pulling away from her mother.
Stricken, Lydia let her go, and watched as her daughter walked over to the incubator. One of the nurses hurriedly disconnected wires and tubes. Lucy picked up the still form, and held it close, keening softly.
"Mrs. Tracy?" Another nurse had stepped over to Josie. "I'll take Gordon now." Reluctantly, Josie surrendered the baby. She stood, buttoning her blouse, then looked back at Lydia.
Lucy's mother looked as stricken as her daughter. She watched as the nurse laid Gordon back in the incubator, the boy kicking in protest, then at her daughter holding the small body of his brother. "I should've been here," she whispered, "I should've held him."
"Lucy needed you," Josie said, pitying the woman. And I'd've made the same choice. And felt that same way. "And she still does."
They moved forward, one of them on either side of Lucy and Walter. Both curious and worried, Josie glanced at her watch.
Jeff wasn't due for two more hours.
Fini
Author's Notes:
"White Night" - not only referring to the snowstorm, but also to those nights when one can't sleep, held in thrall by whatever situation, muse, or mode that commands you. Borrowed from L.M. Montgomery's "Emily" series.
NICU - Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.
My home state has a saying: If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. It will change.
Age calculations based on the movie, and Gordon and Walter are about three weeks old.
July 2007, Author's Addendum: When I originally wrote this, I never thought that I would reenact my great-grandmothers' situation. Heaven help all authors, for what you write could bite you in the a--.
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