Alan Tracy finally gave up the attempt to sleep as useless.
It wasn't entirely surprising he couldn't get his mind sufficiently still to fall asleep; this day, he'd seen one of his brothers attacked (even if they hadn't recognized what it was at the time), seen the others leave without him to rescue John in the beleaguered Five only to find out it was just a distraction to leave the Island vulnerable.
Even thinking about it now made his blood boil. His brother, attacked; his family, abandoned, all because a madman wanted to get his hands on their awesome (in the original, old sense of the word) machines, invading and wreaking their home in the process. (Though Alan was honest enough with himself to admit the design and décor left something- namely taste- to be desired. A multi- millionaire Jeff Tracy may have been, a decorator he was not.) International Rescue paralyzed- how many calls had come in during the Hood's debacle, how many people had waited, desperate, for help that would never come?- the Thunderbirds hijacked, their reputation and motives for the first time called into serious question.
And the man himself… the memory of those eyes made Alan shiver and almost glad sleep wouldn't come. His faith in his father had been shaken, however briefly; some of the blinders of a childhood spent both idealizing and resenting his father were beginning to come down, and Alan hated himself for doubting Jeff. He hated being able to identify with the Hood at all; Alan, too, knew well the pain of being left behind. And the Hood had been able to make him feel vulnerable in a way Alan never had before, never wanted to again. He'd been completely separated from his family for the first time in his life, for the first time had to confront head- on both their and his own mortality. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he found himself shaken. He'd managed to hold it together today, managed with Tin- Tin, Fermat, and the others' help to do what needed to be done to bring his family home. He'd piloted two Thunderbirds, saved a tram car full of people, outrun and ultimately outmaneuvered the Hood, done it for the most part without the help of his father and brothers; but he knew how close they'd come to utter disaster. Alan realized, for the first time, just how heavily he relied upon his family.
And to tell the truth it scared him a little. What use was he without them? To need them so much; to have the very thought of them being taken away make his palms sweat and his stomach roil… Alan's life was and always had been centered around his family. From his dearest ambition to his deepest fears, everything Alan Tracy was was tied up in who his father and brothers were and what they had done.
What use was Alan Shepard Tracy, alone?
Without his father to protect him, Grandma to love and mother him, Scott to guide him; without Virgil and John's constant steady support, and Gordon, his partner in crime?
For that matter, without Fermat to think things through for him and Tin- Tin to just be there?
Alan was so tired; weary in body and mind, but the thoughts refused to leave, circling inside his head clamoring for answers and attention until he thought he'd go mad if he stayed still a second more. He threw back the covers and rose from bed, aimlessly wandering the halls.
Or at least, he'd thought he'd been wandering aimlessly. Without conscious direction his feet found their way to the infirmary and he paused in the doorway.
John was visible, deep in medicated slumber. His pale hair and skin melded into the white sheets, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance. There was a chair by the bed; Kyrano had probably ushered his father off to his own room. Alan's approach was slow, almost reluctant.
This was the brother he'd come closest to losing today.
John was also the one he knew least. He'd spent the majority of Alan's life in space, a face on the vidscreen, a disembodied voice. Alan abruptly realized he had no real clue of who John was, that the most profound thing he knew about his brother was that he held a deep and abiding love for the stars.
What had he almost lost today?
Exhaustion caught up with him and Alan sank into the chair by the bed, folding his arms on the mattress and resting his head upon them. For some reason he was more at ease here.
-
Jeff Tracy cannot sleep.
Every time he closes his eyes he sees his sons floating amid the wreckage of Thunderbird Five, hears John's desperate call. He sees Alan dangling by one hand above the Mole, sees the Hood stomping his boot down on Alan's fingers, sees his son getting thrown back time and time again but refusing to back down. He sees his own frustration and anger on Scott's face, stoic despair in Virgil's, John's pain, Gordon's fear.
He sees Alan's eyes when he realizes that the Hood had not been lying about being left for dead by none other than the head of International Rescue. Sees the terrible significance of his own words, "You can't save everyone," dawning in those blue eyes.
He's alternated between stalking the halls like a restless spirit and sitting beside John's bed, reassuring himself his son is alive and will recover, since they got home. He's been lying fruitlessly in his bed for two hours to pacify Kyrano, who has been siphoning the guilt he knows Jeff will not accept into worry.
Kyrano has retired to his own quarters by now and Jeff cannot stay still a moment longer.
He flings back the covers and takes again to the halls, heading unswervingly for the boys' rooms.
He reaches Scott's first. The corners of his mouth turn slightly upward; his eldest has succumbed to his own exhaustion and, no doubt, Virgil's urgings and is sacked out across his bed, frowning even in sleep.
Virgil himself managed to get under the covers before crashing and his face would appear calm to a casual observer, but Jeff notices a muscle in his jaw working and the clenched fists. He goes over to the bed and gently rubs the tensed hand, working his way up to his son's shoulder until Virgil relaxes completely.
Gordon tosses and turns, a snippet of angry mutter escaping him every now and then. Jeff murmurs nonsense in a comforting tone and brushes back the auburn hair, pulling up the blanket when the younger man quiets.
His steps falter as he passes John's room but he doesn't pause; John he will save for last.
It's Alan's room he heads for now, and he stops and blinks in the open doorway.
Alan is not in his bed.
Jeff stares, feeling his stomach drop and twist in a way it hasn't since his youngest was at least five. His eyes snap to the bathroom, but no sound or light emits from the doorway.
Don't panic. he reminds himself sternly. Perhaps he isn't the only one who can't sleep this night, and after the day he's had Alan deserves a bit of leeway. If he still hasn't returned by the time Jeff comes back from checking on John, then he'll deal with it.
Having arrived at a plan of action Jeff wastes no time in getting to the infirmary only to pause again in the doorway. This time the smile spreads across his face in full bloom.
Of all his sons, these two are sleeping soundly.
Jeff leaves them and returns to bed; sleep comes within the hour.
-
Virgil Tracy yawns in the sunny tropical morning and trudges to the infirmary; John's meds should be wearing off by now. Scott, usually up before him, drags himself out of his room. They don't bother exchanging greetings.
They head for the infirmary together only to stop dead in the doorway.
Alan is mostly out of the chair and seems to be trying to slump as much of his body as possible onto the bed; one arm is bent rather uncomfortably under him and the other is hanging carelessly at his side. His head is pressed against John's side; his brother's good arm is draped around him, hand resting on the soft blonde head.
A smile comes to Scott's face; Virgil snorts softly and heads for the medicines as the eldest brother makes his way to the youngest.
"Morning, Sprout," he says quietly, putting a hand to Alan's shoulder.
Alan jerks awake with a yelp; his legs kick out, sending the chair backwards into the bed behind him. He winds up half under it with the chair on top of him.
Scott raises his eyebrows. John is now rousing, if reluctantly; Alan stands up, leaving the chair on the floor.
"'m… go… bed." he says, seeming to find this a reasonable explanation and giving Scott a look the man recognizes as a fuzzy mental note to kill him later.
"Ready for your meds, little brother?" Virgil inquires cheerfully of John.
He smiles very slightly and murmurs, "Mm." It's good enough for now.