Disclaimer:The Thunderbird Universe and all the characters I use in the story were created by Gerry Anderson and are now the property of Granada. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and no money is made with this fanfic.
Summary: You've never experienced a reaction quite like this, and to be honest, it intrigues you. Scott Tracy, meet your challenge.
An experiment with a different POV and also a genre I normally only touch with a ten-foot pole. There are two things I dread: humour and romance. This story is supposed to be about the second.
My thanks to Pen who, once again, pointed out my mistakes and helped me with my language troubles. Alas, English and its many meanings...
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A Melody of Moments in Time
by kaeera
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There are those who brighten immediately when they hear about it, awe and the slightest glimmer of adventure in their faces.
"I'm with the Air Force."
"Oh really? That's so exciting, you have to tell me more about it!"
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There are those who are worldlier, older, more experienced; who look at you with suggestion burning in their eyes, a promise of a night without regret.
"I'm with the Air Force."
"Oh really?" A purring voice. "Care to take a different kind of flight tonight?"
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There are those in awe of you, who stop speaking the moment they realise who you are. Those evenings are kind of uncomfortable.
"I'm with the Air Force."
"..."
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Then there are those who hate everything military, in whose pacifist minds, military is connected with all bad things happening on this planet; weapons, fighting, mindless following, mass destruction, war.
"I'm with the Air Force."
"Oh God, and here I thought you were actually a nice guy!"
Those are always a bit of a disappointment.
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But there never, ever was a reaction like this, not in all your military and college and whatever experience; not on the campus, not in the bars, not even when you had just started your career.
"I'm with the Air Force."
"Oh, that's nice", she replies absently. "Isn't that some kind of military organisation? I believe the janitor in my complex used to work there...he's always talking about scrubbing the floors on some big ships. Do you have to do that too?"
You're intrigued.
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That was the first time you met. She was in your Aeronautics class, a lecture both military and non-military folks shared. As a woman, she was singled out at once – they were only two other females in the group – and you had been the unfortunate one to be paired up with her. You were reluctant at first; but then curiosity overtook you. Because she was different.
You're not stupid. You know you're good looking and the women flock you. Not that you care all that much. Sure, some casual flirting, a few heated nights, and maybe even a couple of relationships – but they all lacked seriousness. You'll become annoyed by the female attention and return into the well-known male zone of your buddies and colleagues.
She doesn't even notice you're there. Not on purpose – you've experienced that too, females that want to play 'hard to get' – no, simply because she forgets. And if she does notice, she will smile – absently, always absently, her mind on different things. She will treat you like a tool, a means to solve the current problem. Maybe she'll even treat you like a colleague. But she never treats you as Scott Tracy, good-looking and charming son of Jefferson Tracy.
You're not quite sure why, but it irks you.
And you're even more intrigued.
Once, you asked her what she was studying. Physics, you were told, with a side degree in Anthropology and Sociology. Confused at that seemingly contrasting choice of subjects, you inquired further.
"Physics deals with how things work", she had explained, smiling that absent smile of hers. "Whereas Anthropology deals with humans. I want to understand both."
She aces all her classes, but, so you feel, she lacks a distinct factor to understand human beings:
A social life.
Not that she cares, from what you hear. She's happy spending the whole night working over some obscure theory or another; and when she goes out, it is with her friends to drink coffee.
You are a good team. You don't talk much, but you share some sort of camaraderie. Her name is Fiona and you think that you could be good friends; it's a first, because all your other friends are guys. But it is impossible to see Fiona as a female, really. She's more like...a scientist. Yeah. A scientist.
You talk about air planes and physics and family. Your family is always a good conversation topic, because something has always happened; and Fiona, who has two siblings, can relate too well. Though you don't hear much about those siblings; after a while, you get the feeling that there's some kind of story hidden there, but you don't pry.
She likes hiking, and often enough, she'll simply disappear for the weekend, taking day-long trips through the odd National Park. You laugh when you hear that she always takes her notes with her; apparently, she works best under the starlit sky.
You can relate. After all, you work best when you're high up; you've been known to sneak on rooftops before finals, to study in peace and quiet.
At the end of the term, you hand in your joint paper, receive an A+ and a honourable mention, and part ways. You're busy with the Air Force, and she's on the way to being one of the top scientists in the world.
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When you meet her again, she is sitting in a room full of panicked scientists. An earthquake has just destroyed half of the university where she works, and yet she's calm and collected. Over the years, she's become taller. Her hair is short, still dirt-blonde and right now full of dirt.
Her dark eyes focus on you and then she smiles. "I know you," she says, once again with that absent smile. "You're Scott Tr-"
You barely manage to clap your hand over her mouth in time. "Not here," you whisper hastily.
She nods, eyes twinkling. "So that's where you went."
"Yeah. Well." You smile, feeling a bit uncomfortable. It's weird meeting her that way. Years have passed and you've both changed. Yet you remember those times when you would sit in the library together, being friends and chatting over physics. She must have long ago surpassed you, you reflect, at least in her academic pursuits.
"You're helping people. That's nice," she continues making small-talk. You never know what she's thinking.
"Well. You know how it goes." A shrug. She recognised you – that could be a problem – but you know you can trust her. She must be the most trustworthy person on this planet, mainly because she forgets everything immediately. Everything that's not work-related, at least. "I just wanted to...are you okay?"
She looks down at herself. "I'm fine." Smile. Again. It's different this time.
You nod. "I have to go back. Stay with the others. You should be safe now."
"Oh, I never was afraid," she replies.
As weird as it sounds, but you believe her. Fiona McLoughlin doesn't panic.
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She is contacted, of course. Full personality check. Conversation with the IR representative, and then with Penny herself. Promises not to tell. They all deem her trustworthy, despite the fact that she works at a research institute in France. After she's cleared, you find yourself talking to her over the Vidphone. You swap stories, you discuss physics and family. You've been right, she has long ago surpassed your academic skills.
Once Brains went past your room and overheard the conversation (you had left the door open). He peered in to say hello – and then you had to leave the room for half an hour, because you were getting tired of listening to a conversation you couldn't follow.
It's nice having a friend again, you think, and realise that you missed it, even though you didn't notice. Your life on the island is very much isolated.
You will try to be friends again, you decide, because somehow, you can talk with her about everything. And since she knows about your job – only yours, not about your brothers – you don't have to lie. You hate lying, but it has become a part of your life.
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Your brothers make jokes about your scientist friend. John wants to know what you're talking with her about. Nothing much, you shrug, and lean on the handrail of the balcony.
John smiles. Not like you, he says, amused, you're not the type to chit-chat.
We don't chit-chat, is your indignant reply. We have conversations.
Exactly, John laughs and walks away. This confuses you, and you frown at his back. But he never explains.
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The research institute shuts down because of the fire. She finds a new job, a new career, this time in Australia. She has never cared much about where she lives, so moving doesn't bother her. You find it strange; what about her family, her friends, her life? You ask her that question in one of your conversations.
This is the first time you've seen her face darken. She hasn't spoken with her family in years, she says darkly, and as for a life – well, you always knew that she was married to her job, didn't you?
And she signs off without saying another word.
You are surprised. This is the first time she wasn't smiling absently.
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You're worried, but you don't want to admit it. She hasn't called in a while, even though it was her turn. You don't want to intrude – you know how wrapped up she can get – but the last conversation is still a ghost in your mind. And so you try to distract yourself in the gym and stalk through the house like a 'bird waiting for its eggs to hatch', as Gordon words it so nicely.
Then there's Tin-Tin who'll pass you by with this knowing smile and pats you on the back. "It'll be fine", she whispers. "I know how you're feeling."
You simply snort, because really, you aren't feeling anything and what is she talking about, anyway? Fiona is a friend, and it's normal to be worried about friends.
Tin-Tin nods, but doesn't seem to believe you. "Never thought you'd be like this," she smirks and you wonder whether some of the evilness of her uncle runs in her blood. "But it's almost...cute."
Then she runs, because even she knows when to stop, and calling Scott Tracy 'cute' was definitely over the line.
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When you finally talk to Fiona again, almost a fortnight has passed and you've been on three rescues, one of which managed to sprain your right wrist. She looks harried and not at all like Fiona, because once again, her distracted smile is missing. You realise that you don't like her without her smile. It makes your heart ache, somehow.
She talks about her work, about the new thingummy (you forget the name as soon as she mentions it) they're working on, but something's off. So you ask her, despite the fact that you hate feelings and all that stuff connected with it. But, or so you think, you are friends and that's what friends do for each other, right?
She tries to smile, but her lips tremble and that makes your heart ache even more. Maybe you should go and see Brains about it; it's not good to have heart problems when your job entails flying a high-speed rocket.
What is wrong, you inquire, and stare at her with that gaze you know makes women weak.
She ignores it completely, leaving you baffled and slightly insulted.
It doesn't matter, Fiona says, she doesn't want to burden you.
It's not a burden, you want to shout, but your mouth stays closed.
She signs off.
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The days pass and slide into weeks. You've started to call her more often; not because you're worried, but because the rescue business is slow and you have so much time on your hands. At least that's what you tell your brothers.
It's always the same. She appears to be normal, but you notice that something is off and ask.
You never get a reply.
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Then comes the day when you can't reach her. At all. She doesn't take your calls and when you finally dial up her workplace (for the first time ever), they tell you that she has taken a holiday. But it doesn't escape you that they seem to be very astonished to receive your call, as if nobody ever did so before; and there's some whispering going on in the back of the room.
You don't care. If you received a penny for each whisper, you'd be able to start your own business empire.
She is obviously avoiding you, you conclude, and wonder why. Maybe it's time you pay her a visit. What a coincidence that your father needs you for a business deal which is just in the area. Or maybe it isn't coincidence; when you leave, your brothers smirk at you and Tin-Tin smiles.
It doesn't matter, you decide, because the hell, you can take a vacation whenever you want to, and unlike Alan's, your holiday account is still full; you use them so rarely. What for? Your life is International Rescue. Other people don't understand, cannot relate.
Fiona did understand. She had seen you work. She even discussed with Brains about some of his inventions. Maybe that's why you want to keep her as a friend. She's a new perspective in a life that's always exciting, and always the same.
So you fly to the mainland and you wonder what will happen.
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You know her address, so you drop by without phoning first (why should you? She never replies anymore). It's a six-storey building, small flats, with a yard full of trees. Peaceful, calm, and not too far away from the University.
Fiona opens the door and stares at you. Hi, you say with a sheepish grin and feel out of place. Maybe you shouldn't have come. Maybe you're intruding. But Fiona looks horrified and happy at the same time, and despite your sudden appearance, she lets you into her apartment.
It's how you imagined it to be and yet not. Shelves of books, not all of them academic; a few potted plants that have long ago given up their struggle with life; pictures on the wall that show Mayan temples, courtesy of Fiona's other subject and interest; a huge table near the window with a PC and stacks of paper; and boxing equipment in the corner.
It's the punching bag that throws you. You didn't know that she boxed, you breathe in amazement.
Fiona shrugs. She doesn't box, she only vents, is her reply. Because sometimes life is too much and then she needs to beat something up.
This brings you right on the topic you wanted to talk about. Abandoning all jokes, you gaze at her and ask how exactly life has been too much.
She makes a strangled sound and then all dams break.
"I don't know who I'm fooling!", she twists her hands, her face distraught. "I was always interested in humans, but I forgot how to be a human myself."
"I liked to keep myself apart, because it's easier, because I thought I was happy."
"Human emotions are too complicated to work with. It's too easy to get hurt. I've been hurt before. Many times. Distance is safe."
"But then I come home and my flat is empty."
"And nobody is waiting for me."
"And I go to work and my colleagues talk about me. In the old workplace, we got along fine, but here they ignore me. I spend my lunch breaks alone."
"And I realised I was alone."
"And it scared me."
She shows more feelings than you've ever seen in all the years you have known her. "So why did you ignore me?" you ask softly.
"I am a burden." She stares at you. No tears, because Fiona McLoughlin isn't a person who cries, but she's close. "You are different. I wanted to make it easier for you."
You don't understand and say so.
Her face darkens. "I am not stupid," she says. "You are popular. People like you. You and I belong to a different crowd. I figured it was only pity."
"You never used to think that way," you reply, shocked.
"I had my eyes opened," she snaps, harshly.
You ponder this for a second. "Tell me," you finally order and sit down on a wayward chair. "Tell me everything and start at the beginning. I think I deserve that much."
She looks as if she wants to refuse at first, but then she relents and sits down at her desk.
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Fiona tells you everything. About her twin sister, who died when she was nine. About the hole her death left behind, because they had been closer than any other siblings. About how her parents couldn't deal with it and broke up, her mother taking her brother and her father taking her. He was a scientist, she explains, a brilliant mind, but not an affectionate person. It used to be okay, but after her sister's death, he became as cold as a rock.
She detached herself from the world, because she found out that not loving hurt less than loving people and losing them. Science was the only part of her life where she could connect with her father, and so she did it with a passion. She found comfort in the numbers and clarity of mathematical problems.
Friends? She had a few, but she didn't care. She was always busy, and when she finally enrolled in college, she had her goal clear in mind. Spending time with you was a bonus; she was hesitant at first, but then she always found herself looking forward to your study meetings.
You are pleased. It had really irked you that she hadn't shown the slightest interest at all.
Fiona continues her sad tale. After you parted ways, her father died. But he had left her enough money to complete her education; and when she finally received her honours, there was nobody in the audience to cheer for her. She could have called her mother, but she hadn't seen the rest of her family for years – the had moved hundreds of miles away, to make the break complete.
So she started working and everything was fine. She even made some friends – people she could spend lunch break with. You get the feeling that lunch break is important for her, somehow, but you don't understand why. You will ask later.
Then the earthquake happened, and she lost her job. But she met you again, and for a while it was great sharing such a wonderful secret. As long as you talked, she admits, she didn't care about the fact that she had to move to the other side of the planet.
Then, however, work became bad. Her colleagues were jealous, she was being snubbed. Snubbing Fiona McLoughlin is a hard thing to do, you remember, mostly because she doesn't even notice you're there. But maybe she's become more perceptive, or maybe they were especially mean; it got to her. All those mean little comments met their mark, and when Fiona finally examined her life, she found that she was 26 years old – and had nothing.
Was that the reason why she stopped replying, you want to know.
No, she answers and shakes her head. Your conversations saved her, because it was the only thing she could look forward to. But then two things happened.
First, a co-worker overheard her talking to you over the vidphone (you never called her, but she's called you a couple of times from her workplace; that's how you got the number).
When Fiona ended the call, she was greeted by sneers. Who was it, they wanted to know.
My friend, she replied.
No way this guy can be your friend, a lab woman laughed (oh, and women can be so cruel, you know that). He must be talking with you out of pity. After all, what can you offer?
It stung, and it made her think. But despite her doubts, Fiona has never been a weak person. She refuses to be misled by nasty comments. So she continues to talk with you, but she's wary.
Then, the second thing happened, and this really brought things to the boil.
You sit in the chair and feel your heart aching again. Damn, really, you should go and see Brains, but listening seems to be much more important right now. It's the first time in years you haven't thought about IR, about your stress, about Thunderbird One.
Fiona looks like she's never looked before. Lost. Her short hair stands up in spikes; her dark eyes shimmer with emotion. She's a woman, you realise with sudden clarity; she's a woman and you've never noticed it.
"I met my brother", Fiona says and gazes out of the window. "After years of not meeting, I met him. He was on a trip. And he kind of looked me up and mailed me."
You don't know what to say. "Isn't that a good thing to happen?"
"I thought so, too. The last time I saw him, I was eleven years old. That's when he and my mother moved away."
"But...?" you venture, because nothing else is coming.
"He came and visited me. His name is Colin." She pauses, her mind stuck in the past. "And he didn't come alone. He brought his family. He has two kids." Again, a pause. "I've been an aunt for years and I didn't know." Something glimmers in her eyes. "He named his daughter after my twin. Maureen."
"Oh." What are you supposed to say, to do? You don't know.
Her face is serious. "And I realised that I've been stuck all this time. I've been stuck in a loophole in time and wasted my life away. He got his life back on track and he's happy. My mother is happy – she can play the doting Grandma. Maureen's probably happy, too, wherever she might be. But I'm screwed up and I didn't even notice."
She doesn't cry, but she's close to breaking.
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You don't know how long you've been sitting there. There were times when you were thinking that you might be missing out, too. Not many; usually when you were flat on your back with some kind of injury. You wouldn't exchange your life for anything in the world; but you have to admit that it can be harsh. No casual drinking, no close friends, no routine (not that you like routine, but sometimes, you wonder), no favourite bars where you 'hang out' and know the crowd.
"You're not screwed up," you finally say, because you've met screwed up people and she's definitely not one of them. Even now she has her life under control, and you admire that.
"Aren't I?", she replies, and there's the absent smile again (oh, how you missed it!), only this time it is tinged with sadness. "I have no one. I have nothing."
This is your clue to say something. You are, after all, friends.
"You have me."
It's easier to say than you expected.
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After that, you talk for quite a while. Fiona starts making coffee and you remember that she drinks it black. Years of night-time research have deadened her taste buds, she jokes, and it eases the heavy atmosphere a bit. She asks about International Rescue, and you enjoy the sensation of retelling some of your rescues. Maybe your father wouldn't approve, but she yearns for a change of topic, and you are happy to give her one. Before you know it, hours have passed and the sun has slid below the horizon.
"So we really are friends after all?" she asks timidly. You have never seen her timid. It makes your heart swell, somehow.
"We've always been," you reply, because what else is there to say? It is, after all, the truth.
And then she smiles. It's the first time she fully looks at you – there's no absent-mindedness in her gaze, no preoccupation – she focuses on you and you alone. You've never understood the sentence 'her smile was lighting up the whole room', hell, you even laughed about authors who wrote such stupid phrases, but now you can feel it happening. Everything seems brighter, happier, lovelier, and your heart thuds painfully in your chest.
You begin to wonder whether friends are supposed to feel that way.
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After that, life takes its regular course again. You talk quite often. She's looking for another place to work; with her credentials, it should be no problem. You try to help her and ask Brains. He just looks at you and says that International Rescue could always need another scientist, especially one as brilliant as her. You laugh at the joke and shake your head. There's no way she could work for IR.
But Brains doesn't smile, and you get the feeling that he sees some things you can't see. And that irks you, because Brains is supposed to be the one who is socially inept, and not you.
Weeks turn into months and, without realising, Fiona's calls have become an ingrained part of your life. So much that you don't even frown when your brothers enquire about 'that scientist of yours' – she has become a part of the daily routine.
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It's your birthday and she has sent you a box of brownies and a coffee mug. It's clear that she hasn't much experience in giving birthday presents – you try to remember the last time a woman gave you such a present. The coffee mug is huge, with a magnetic bottom that stirs the liquid automatically. It would have been quite useful if not for the horrible yellow colour and the inscription that reads 'Warning. Radioactive Content. May cause burns'.
You suspect that it's some kind of scientist joke.
It's ugly, but you use it anyway.
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Christmas passes and you give her a new lab coat because she complained about her old one being worn out. It reads 'Genius' on the nametag, and comes with a mug (revenge is sweet) that reads 'Only little-minded people need to tidy up. A genius rules the chaos'. She was (to your immense surprise) happy about it.
This is the first time you have given a woman such gifts. It used to be flowers or jewellery, or maybe invitations to a fancy dinner. But then again, you're friends, and isn't that what friends do? Give each other useful presents?
Yet you catch yourself thinking about her again and again.
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Your father talked about making her an IR representative. She knows enough, he said, and she seems trustworthy. And they can always use a clever mind; maybe she can help Brains.
You're flabbergasted, but pleased nonetheless. You know that this will make her happy. She has brought her life back on track and made tentative friends, but it's still hard for her. This will be a big improvement.
When you tell her the news (in person, using another one of those vacation days you had stored up), her eyes widen and she almost squeals. This is the best thing that ever happened to her, she babbles, and proceeds to invite you to dinner. You think that it's weird to be invited instead of being the one who does the inviting, but this is Fiona, and nothing about her is normal.
So you go out and enjoy a nice evening at a steak house (because neither of you likes those fancy restaurants). She talks about her latest hiking trip, asking whether you'd like to join her. You have only been hiking on Tracy Island and ache for something else; so it doesn't surprise you when the 'yes' slips out of your mouth before you've even thought about it.
When you fly home the next day, you can't stop smiling.
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You make the trip a month later; a three-day weekend in a small National Park. It's beautiful, wild and free, as if the time moves at a different pace than in the normal world. Luckily, there are no rescues; the world has granted you a reprieve.
You talk about many things, but at night, you stare at the sky and stay silent. It's a comfortable silence and you enjoy it. There are not many people you can be silent with.
Fiona asks about your family. By now, she knows about all of them. She has never met them in person, but she could as well have. She seems to like hearing about your brothers, so you re-tell Gordon's latest adventure. It makes her laugh, and you catch yourself thinking that her laughter sounds like music in your ears.
You are horrified. There must be something wrong with your mind if you think like that.
Fiona talks about her family too. She finally visited her brother. She likes her niece and her nephew, though she has no idea how to deal with children. You give her a few tips, because dealing with younger children is what you've done for half of your life. From the sound of it, Maureen seems to be a little devil, whereas her younger brother Thomas is more the shy type.
You like to listen, because it gives you a feeling as if you know them.
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Then there's a long time of nothing. You remember pain. You remember voices. You remember falling.
It's like floating, only there are people talking to you. You don't understand the words. Sometimes you will wake up to see blurs, but the pain is too intense to say anything. You slip under almost immediately.
You feel hazy. It's the painkiller, you are told, but your mind can't focus. There are faces you recognise, but something seems to be missing. Hours blend into days. You don't notice.
Was there ever a time without pain? You try to move your body. It doesn't react. You want to panic, but even that doesn't work.
And then she's there, leaning over you with concern in her dark eyes. Her face is haggard, her short hair windblown. You want to ruffle through it, like you always do when she's sad, but your arm is weighed down by something heavy. She speaks to you, but you can't make out the words. But the voice enters your brain and...it is as if a switch is turned. You close your eyes and are finally able to rest.
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When you wake up the first time, you realise that days have passed. Everything aches. Brains is there and tells you about the burns your body sustained. Your whole front is a mess from where the burning pillar fell on you. You weren't supposed to go into the building, but you saw the child and just reacted. The child was saved, but you had to be dug out with the Firefly.
Burns are the most painful injuries. That's why Brains kept you in the artificial sleep. For a while, it was a touch and go situation – it seems that you developed resistance to one of the painkillers and had an allergic reaction to another – and they feared for your life. It seems that you were hallucinating badly enough for them to call Fiona; because she's here, standing right behind Brains.
You don't ask why, but you have the feeling that you called her name several times in your sleep.
It makes you wonder why.
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And you do have a lot of time for that. Wondering. Because burns heal slowly, even with the artificial skin Brains applied to your chest and arms. So you find yourself lying flat on your back and staring at the ceiling. Your brothers visit you, of course, making jokes and trying to keep you entertained. Your fathers drops by twice a day, trying to hide his worry under a gruff demeanour. Grandma makes you apple-pie and talks with twinkling eyes about the 'nice young lady' upstairs. It takes you a while to realise that the young lady is Fiona; apparently she has taken a leave of absence and is staying here for the time being.
You don't understand. Isn't it a breach to security? Who allowed her to stay? And why? Just because you called her name? You feel embarrassed. But you're glad that she's here, because she makes the dull hours in the infirmary a bit brighter.
She has never been to a tropical island, and in the times you spend sleeping (which are a lot), she explores the island. It's a paradise for hiking, she whispers, and you have never seen her so carefree. It's as if she belongs here.
This worries you, because she doesn't belong here. What will your father, your brothers say? Fiona is a stranger. And you were always one to follow the rules.
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The first time you're allowed to get up, you walk into the living room. It feels good to be up, even though every step hurts and your chest burns as if someone had poured tabasco into your wounds. The whole family is there, as if this was a day to celebrate (and maybe it is), with Fiona standing in the corner, torn between glowing and feeling out of place. You're surprised to know what she's feeling; but then again it's written on her face as clear as in letters. And somehow, seeing her there gives you an entirely different sensation; it feels right.
You sit down on a chair, trying not to show how exhausted the short trek made you. You want to think about what you just discovered – could it mean...? – but there's no time. Family engulfs you. Grandma brings you chocolate cake, your slice twice as big as everyone else's. You take it with a grin, because you know that as soon as you're healthy again, you'll go back to sharing. This is one of the benefits of being injured.
Fiona gets a slice, too. You watch her. According to what you've gathered, she must have been here for a while already, staying in the guestroom. Your brothers certainly act familiar around her, and she flushes under one of Gordon's well-meant jokes. You frown, because Gordon shouldn't do that; he doesn't know Fiona, doesn't know about her problems, none of them do.
Only when John steps closer to you, once again that mysterious smile on his lips, saying something about your bad mood, you realise that you've been glowering at them.
You try to pull yourself together. Just annoyed, you appease, because you hate staying in bed.
Didn't look like it, John replies, looked more like you were jealous.
Jealous? You? You want to deny it, but to your horror, you can't. You never lie to your brothers. You don't even lie to yourself. You think. So yes, you are jealous – of your own brother – why? Because he's talking with Fiona, who's your friend.
Really just friends?, John whispers and slinks away.
The words leave you reeling. Indeed. Really just friends?
Then why be jealous?
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It's late at night and you've had the time to contemplate your feelings. You think back to the rescue when you met her again, that earthquake over nineteen months ago. Things have changed, and only now you see how much. And now she's here, in your home, and it seems as if she has always belonged here.
With sudden clarity, you realise that you want her to stay.
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It's days later when you finally gather the courage to approach Fiona. She's sitting on the beach and you slowly make your way towards her. Walking still hurts, but it gets better with each passing day.
The wind blows in your face, making you feel more alive than in the stuffy infirmary. Fiona turns around and smiles at you. It makes you warm all over. Her smile isn't absent at all, you notice; in fact, it hasn't been absent for months. Instead there's genuine laughter and a happiness that has never been there before.
"Hi," you say and sit down beside her.
"Hi!", she beams back. "I really envy you, you know. This place is amazing!"
You look at the sea, at the sun sinking down towards the horizon, at the glittering waves and the blue expanse of sky over your heads. "Yes, it is." You admit.
"I'm going to miss it," she sighs.
"You can always come back and visit."
Fiona chuckles. "No offence, Scott, but if that means for you to get hurt again, I'd rather not come back. When your father called me, I thought my heart would stop. I couldn't imagine a life without you."
Your heart clenches together, and this time it's not because of your injuries. "I'm the same," you whisper.
"You?" She laughs. "Scott, who are you kidding? I must be one of your many friends. You work for International Rescue; you are famous, you're good-looking..."
"You think I'm good looking?"
She blushes (Fiona McLoughlin blushes? That's unheard of!). "I do have eyes, you know, even when they're occupied most of the time."
You can't banish the wide grin from your face, but you don't really want to. Then you remember what else she said and your face becomes serious. "I'm not kidding you," you say, concentrating in her eyes. "Why do you think my father called you, and only you?"
She shrugs. "You were delirious."
You frown, thinking that rescuing hundreds of people is far easier than having this conversation. Still, you plod on, because you're Scott Tracy and a Tracy never gives up or turns tail. "Don't you think that it must have some meaning?"
"I try not to think," she replies softly. "So far, only bad things have come out of it."
"That's not true!" you protest, because how could you have met if Fiona hadn't used her brain? If she hadn't been so different? And it dawns you that this is exactly why you're so drawn to her. She's different, she's exciting, she's strange. She needs you, but at the same time, she's strong. She knows you. Knows who Scott Tracy is, knows what you think, do, feel, because you've told her all about it.
"I need you," you blurt out, and it's the first time ever since your mother died you've uttered these words, the first time your words portrayed what you were feeling, without any hiding or distracting.
Fiona starts. Looks up. Something sparkles in her eyes. You don't know what it is, but it makes your heart flutter again. Stupid heart. You're not used to it behaving that way. Rescuing people is way easier.
"Why?" she asks, the simple question leaving you, once again, at a loss off words.
You don't like that. You might not be a master of words like John, or have the ability to quip like Gordon, but you always know what to do. If something needs saying, you say it. But the question is complicated, because it sums up all the things that have been running through your head ever since you woke up, and maybe even before that. "Because," you evade. That answer had always worked when you were a kid.
"Why?", she repeats, and you curse yourself for forgetting that she is a scientist. And if you think more closely about it, it never worked when you were a kid either. Stupid memories.
You sigh and look at the horizon. "Because I think I've fallen in love with you."
There is a silence after that. When was the last time you uttered a sentence such as this? Did you ever? You remember saying stuff like 'like you', but the dreaded L-word – did it ever leave your lips? You are a grown man. You pride yourself on your strength. Why do you feel so off-balance, so insecure? Pull yourself together, Scott Tracy!
It takes a tremendous effort, but you manage to look at her again. Fiona's expression is something you've never seen before. She stares at you with wonder in her eyes. "You mean it?"
"Yes." This is at least an answer you can give honestly.
She starts beaming. You watch amazed how the smile stretches over her whole face. "I never thought...oh Scott...I thought I was the only one!"
This is nothing like you expected, and you have difficulties getting your thoughts back on track. "Wait...does that mean...did you just say...you are...?"
"I feel the same," she breathes softly.
You feel very stupid all of sudden. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Well...uh...that's great..."
"I thought I'd go mad when I saw you injured like that," Fiona confesses. "But at least something good came out of it." She beams again, and you catch yourself thinking that you could get used to this; having your conversations on the beach instead of over the vidphone. The fact that she is sitting so close to you that your feet touch is a bonus.
"You really are in love with me?"
She chuckles. "I have been for a long time." She watches as you take her hand and entwine her fingers with yours. "But then again, you know what they say. Women are always smarter than men."
You laugh, and your heart is soaring again. "I guess that in this case, I can confirm that statement."
"Good."
You don't know what is going to happen next, but you have the feeling that Fiona McLoughlin will always intrigue you. And that absent smile of hers – that's yours, and yours alone.
Fin.
Comments and criticism much appreciated - I really want to know whether this style of writing worked for you or not. Please be honest! Thanks a lot.