Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.
AN: this, I guess, could be considered as a tie-in to 'Hidden Identity', but set a few months later, as there is a brief mention to a character from that. However, I'm hoping that it isn't too confusing if you haven't read it. Anyway, hope you enjoy.
A Brother's Dedication
"John?" Gordon peeked his head around the door of Sick Bay. "How is it?"
"Sore," John grumbled, trying to scratch the skin underneath his leg cast. "But no pain relief. It's sore, but not that sore."
The boys had returned from a semi successful rescue in Peru after there was an explosion in an overground oil storage area. The oil had spontaneously combusted and a fire had raged, propelled by the availability of free fuel. Thankfully, there were no fatalities, and that was always considered as a win in International Rescue's books, but there were several severe injuries to both parties – civilians and rescuers. Unfortunately, International Rescue operatives had borne the worst of the injuries.
Scott, at Mobile Control, had been rendered unfit for duty as some shrapnel had managed to fuse its way into his shoulder after a smaller second explosion. It wasn't bad enough to warrant a trip to the nearest emergency department, but it was serious enough to leave him on sick leave for a month while his shoulder healed. John had suffered from a few broken bones because of instability and metal fatigue in the storage area. Virgil was ensconced in the Firefly while John led all the trapped workers to the safety of their machine. It was at this point when a solid beam collapsed onto John's leg, shattering it in three places. Unable to bear his own weight, John had collapsed as angry, red flames engulfed him. Driven by a fierce desire to save his brother from an untimely and unnecessary death, Virgil had dashed out of the Firefly without wearing his breathing apparatus. As a consequence, he had suffered from smoke inhalation. All in all, it could have gone better.
"Virgil? You feeling better?"
Virgil nodded and gave Gordon a thumbs up, while coughing up half his lungs.
"I'll put your oxygen mask back on," Gordon cheerfully responded, ignoring the filthy look Virgil shot him. As the second youngest brother, it was a rare experience for Gordon to smother his older brothers. He relished each and every opportunity. Now that the tables had turned, Gordon knew Scott, John and Virgil were feeling as frustrated and fed up as he would when his brother became this overbearing and overprotective. Scott wasn't the only one who excelled at being a smother hen. But that shouldn't have been a surprise; Gordon had learnt from the best. Besides, Alan was stuck up on Thunderbird Five, and he had asked for an update.
"Scott? You okay there? Handcuffs not too tight? It's for your own good, y'know. Gotta get the shrapnel out sometime soon."
Scott merely growled, narrowed eyes like slits, shooting Gordon a look that clearly said if you ask me how I am one more time, I will castrate you.
Due to Scott's inability to remain put in Sick Bay, and to prevent any escape attempts before they occurred, Brains had restrained Scott by handcuffing his good wrist to the nearest heavy, inanimate object. Virgil was slightly better when it came to being a patient, but he, too, was known for some escape attempts. However, a solemn promise to stay in Sick Bay while Brains performed some tests had prevented Virgil from being physically restrained.
Gordon diverted his attention back to John, who had his electronic data pad resting in his lap while he absentmindedly attempted to scratch the skin under his cast.
"Stop it, John," Gordon scolded, lightly slapping his hand. "Brains said no."
There was an awkward pause. John took the opportunity to work on his data pad. Gordon flopped at the foot of John's bed, curiously trying to peek at the data pad, but John kept its contents out of eyesight. He wasn't ready to show it to Gordon just yet. It wasn't ready, and this needed to be perfect before he unveiled it.
A few scribbles here, a couple of variations there, and it was finished. John read and reread over it a few times before nodding in satisfaction. "Hey, Gordon, wanna read it?"
Gordon nodded eagerly, bounding forward like a puppy that was playing fetch.
"Just keep it to yourself, Gordy. The others will see it in due course."
"Scouts honour, John."
And on that note, he began to read…
This dedication structured in the same way as my book; split into seven parts. This is for my seven stars.
Mom, I love you. Please, don't ever stop shining. I know you are here with me, now and always.
Dad, for teaching me to go above and beyond my wildest expectations. For encouraging me to be a better person, every day of my life. For nurturing my love of stars with a telescope. For boldly going where no man has gone before.
Jade, for showing me that while the stars shine brightly, they pale in comparison to the blinding light of love. Your decision to take me up on my offer of coffee (the second time around) was probably one of the best moments of my life.
Alan, for making me remember that every star is a dream, and every dream is a star. No star is out of reach, and no dream is unattainable either. For following through with your dreams and achieving them.
Gordon, for performing the star cycle in front of my eyes. Rejuvenating, re-energising and recycling after your accident. And no, I'm not going to say you are my favourite brother of all time. You are one of the many favourite brothers of all time.
Virgil, for capturing the magical elements to a constellation for my glow in the dark star ceiling when I was twelve. It helped keep the monsters away, too. For your special composition, preserving the sparkle of the stars. For all the poetry in motion you produce, without even realizing it.
And last, but not least, to Scott, my favourite big brother, if only by default. You are the only man I have ever known who can cook one hell of a lasagne, wash clothes (separating the red from the whites), while also making curly hair look effortlessly cool. You must be God's gift to women. For looking out for me and looking after me for, well, eons. For everything I know you'll do for me in the future. Now, if you'd just learn that orange at a set of traffic lights does not mean go very fast, you'd be absolutely perfect.
Gordon swallowed, chewing on his lip nervously. "That's amazing, John. I can't believe you felt that way. I am so honoured that you're willing to speak so highly of me." Placing the data pad back in his lap, Gordon moved in for a hug. "But, I so am your favourite brother of all time."