A/N: Okay. Some of you know what's been going on with me, and you can probably see why I've written this. It's going to sound a little weird, but I've been really stressing, so this is for Jo, Chantelle, Dani, Julie, PJay and Keeley for being such amazing friends when I'm freaking out. I've done it to all of you at least once, so this is for you. It's linked to Bound and Determined, so look for possible links to the current plot, for those who've read them both. Xx
Disclaimer: If not for Sylvia and Gerry Anderson, I would not be able to play in this wonderful playground, so no; I do not own the Thunderbirds.
I've done this far too many times to count.
I've mostly come up here when my brothers have annoyed the hell out of me and I need an escape, but the last time I came up here for this particular reason was years ago, and I'm not even sure that they're still unaware of where I've gone every time I need to be alone.
Despite it being fall back on the island, here in Lawrence the weather is just heading towards the spring, and the old tree in the front yard is still hidden by the leaves of the out-of-place evergreen that towers above it. But I'm far from thinking about the weather.
I'm perched on one of the thickest branches at the top of the tree, arms wrapped around my knees, head atop them and fingers clenched tight into my palms. I feel my shoulders shake; fighting with my body's impulse to cry aloud at the injustice of what our family has been dealt, but my mind is numb. My thoughts are stuck fast; like molasses trapping flies. I've held it in enough to be able to get out here, to my sanctuary. But now I'm here, hidden and safe, the walls have come crashing down.
It's not the best feeling in the world. My heart races way too fast; sweat beads cold on my brow despite the briskness of the day, and my breaths come sharp, short and searing as my feelings explode out of me.
Everything has just built until the pressure is at exploding point. It's all beginning to catch up to me; the old, mostly suppressed memories of four years ago mixing with the more recent events from the Hood's attack, and how close I'd come to losing my entire family.
I'd managed to suppress my feelings and the paralysing terror that had emerged at having been trapped up on 'Five up until dinner this evening, but when I saw Johnny shatter there at the table, there was no escaping the price for that. I'd had to remind myself up there, forcefully, that my brothers barring John that one time have never yet seen me break down like this. It took everything I had to not shatter on the spot when I realised that there was no way out of the crippled station.
For the longest time when I was recovering from my… experiences in Afghanistan, I wouldn't take the merest step close to anything even resembling an aircraft, unless I had someone manipulate and trick me into getting into it. I can't remember how they first managed to get me to the island.
My brain has blocked that particular memory file from being opened, a big, red access denied bursting into the recesses of my brain whenever I try it. I just remember the panic attacks that often result. Only my father knows that they exist, but he actually thinks that they ceased years ago. I haven't the heart to dissuade him of that notion, to tell him that his eldest son is any less than the strongest he can be.
It's stupid, isn't it? That my brothers think that I'm invincible; that Big Brother Scott will never crumble, that I'll always be the pillar that holds them up. It may be disillusioned of me, but I would much rather be alone to deal with things than have to have my brothers believe that I'm not the unbreakable tower of strength that they think I am. I hate that I break down into scrambled pieces because of the irrational fear I have of being trapped in a plane.
Thunderbird One I can somehow stand because I basically designed her from the engines outwards. I know her. I know that she's safe. 'Five is Johnny's 'bird. To me, she isn't safe at all; not when we can be cut off from the security and safety of Earth, and not even be able to be afforded the built-in reassurance of an ejector seat.
My hands, bearing the scars of years of physical labour, both in the Air Force and in International Rescue itself are cramping in my anguish; the pain reminding me that I am still alive, my family is still alive. But alas, it doesn't come without that realisation of reality; of how close we all came to dying only four days ago. My father's dream almost became our death sentence. But we were all safe in the end.
Until yesterday.
There is nothing I can do to control what is happening to my family now. The pain and irrational guilt it causes burns white hot in my choked-up throat, and I can't help but realise that I am powerless to help them as we are forced to endure what is coming.
Wasn't it enough that we were almost murdered? Isn't it enough that my littlest brother has the mental fingerprints of a madman ringing his neck; that my red-haired brother hasn't been this sort of quiet since his recovery? Is it too much to ask that Virgil doesn't need to check the lot of us over, repeatedly, to ensure that there is nothing that he or Brains had missed when we returned the 'Birds to the island, after John had been taken to hospital? Is it really too much to ask that I am able to look into the eyes of my immediately younger brother and not see terror there, lost in the confusion of his head injury and the fog of medications that stop him from screaming aloud in agony?
It isn't fair, and that is why I'm currently in a tree, trying to understand the harshness of a world I have for the last couple of years, with my brothers, tried to save from itself.
How on earth are we going to manage? I only know that we will, in the end. Somehow.
I sigh deeply, steadying my breathing as I shake off the residual anger, terror and shock that seep through the shield that holds it all within my chest. I crack the fingers and knuckles on each of my hands, soothing the stiffened joints; wincing at the particularly savage stabbing from my left wrist as the shock travels up from the long-healed fractures.
I grab hold of the thick, smooth trunk with one hand as I savagely swipe the errant tears of hot fury and emotional agony from my eyes, and stretch my legs, resolutely shoving away all the feelings that I refuse to face any longer.
As I stand up in readiness to swing down to the ground, the wall rises again; the pitted ridges and gaps filling themselves until nothing remains but Scott Tracy; son, Field Commander and Big Brother.
They will never have reason to believe that I am not as unbreakable as tempered steel.
They will never see me crumble.
A/N: So how was that? Anything at all; theories, comments? Let me know what you thought. I look forward to hearing from you all. Thank-you all so much for reading.
-Pyre Xx