TITLE: Sheltering Arms
AUTHOR: Meercat
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: drama, angst
SYNOPSIS: TV-verse. Jeff finds himself responsible for three children. Will IR survive? Chapter 2, putting events in motion.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never were, but don't I wish. If they were mine, they'd still be on (an in) the air and a Certain Director would have never gotten his hands on them! Not making no money off this (drat and doubledrat!). All original Thunderbird characters and sets belong to Gerry Anderson. No copyright infringement is intended.
SPOILERS:None for the series, but there are references to my previous story, "Phoenix Rising." You don't have to read it to follow this one.
SPECIAL THANKS:A very special thanks to Sam Winchester, beta extreme!
Chapter 2
Putting Events in Motion
The hospital was a place of organized chaos. Jeff could think of no other term to describe it. He'd overheard three accident scene investigators discussing the situation. Over 300 cars, trucks and drones clogged the bridge. At last count, 87 people were dead and 226 were injured badly enough to require medical attention. Most of the victims--including Jeff and the Albright children--were being transported to Saint Catherine's Hospital.
Jeff himself had gotten off light with a bruised elbow, a few minor contusions, and abrasions. He'd been on the outer edge of the worst impacts. The people at the center of the disaster were found dead more often than not. Several miraculous rescues were attributed to the speedy arrival of International Rescue.
Thunderbird 1's slipstream had nearly knocked Jeff Tracy off his feet when it first arrived in the danger zone. Twelve minutes later, he felt the deep thrum of Thunderbird 2's landing retros as the freighter craft came down to earth.
Throughout the morning, before being transported to the hospital, he'd caught fleeting glimpses of his boys. Their distinctive blue, sashed uniforms made them easy to spot in a crowd.
While the hospital staff examined the children, Jeff stepped into a private corner and called Virgil. He needed a status report and wanted to reassure his anxious family that he was indeed unharmed.
"Thank heavens you're all right," Virgil said in place of a proper greeting. Virgil's expression of relief morphed into an anxious frown. "Wait--is that a hospital bay behind you? Dad!"
"I'm not hurt, son, I promise. How are Scott and the boys doing? I saw them arrive. Tell Scott he should be more careful with his slipstream. He nearly knocked me on my keester when he did his first recon fly-by. And who's piloting Thunderbird 2--Gordon, Alan, or John?"
"Would I be this calm if Alan had control of my 'bird?" Virgil smirked. "It's Gordon. John and Alan are along to handle the Firefly and the Domo." Virgil's eyes darted up to the incident clock mounted on the panel above the visual pickup. "Scott checked in nine minutes ago. The EMTs are so overwhelmed, he's personally escorting the last of the survivors to the hospital. The accident scene is pretty much at the mopping up stage. It shouldn't be too much longer before they can lock it up and go home."
"Good. That's good." Reassured on that front, Jeff changed mental gears, saying, "Son, I want you to do something for me. Contact Fred Tabor. He should be at his office here in New York. Ask him to meet me in the ER of Saint Cat's as soon as possible. It's urgent."
"Fred Tabor? Wait, isn't he-"
"Yes, he's the lawyer who helped us put Erasmus Blake behind bars for the rest of his miserable life."
Jeff deliberately blocked memories of Erasmus Blake's trial and the terrible events that led up to it. The man had kidnapped, tortured, and shot Jeff's youngest son, Alan.(1) That horror was well and truly behind them. He had to deal with the here-and-now, starting with the legal ramifications of this morning's drama.
"Why on earth would you need a lawyer right now? The accident ... Dad ... it wasn't your fault, was it?"
"No, the accident wasn't my fault," Jeff groused. "One of the victims who died today left behind three minor children. Before she passed on, she made some pretty serious accusations against her husband and gave a dying declaration. Her claims need to be investigated. If they prove true, I want her wishes documented and observed. Fred Tabor is the best there is. I want him to handle the legal side of this situation. Call him for me, would you? Tell him to bring a camera and whatever forms he needs to document a dying declaration involving the custody and guardianship of three minor children."
"Will do," Virgil acknowledged. "Dad, are you sure you're-"
Jeff Tracy scowled at the face on his watch. "If you ask me if I'm all right one more time, I'll leave you on that station until your hair turns white!"
Virgil hastily relented. "Okay, okay. No need to get nasty."
Spotting one of the children's doctors in the corridor, Jeff whispered to his telecom, "I have to go. Send a car around to Saint Catherine's hospital, would you? I'll need a ride to the office as soon as we're finished here."
"Will do. Thunderbird 5 out."
Jeff stepped out of the shadows and caught the middle-aged, potbellied medic's attention. "Doctor Netherton?"
"Ahh, Mr. Tracy, there you are. Yes, I'm Jack Netherton, head of Emergency Pediatric Medicine here at Saint Cat's. The EMTs from the scene, Collins and Sawyer, tell me Amanda Albright gave permission before she died for you to authorize treatment for her three children."
Jeff controlled his sudden start of surprise. He hadn't given much thought to how far or how fast the mother's blessings might extend. He was so used to getting his way, it hadn't occurred to him that the doctors would question his right to provide medical consent for the children.
He wasn't about to look too closely at this unexpected gift, so he nodded and said, "Yes, she did. How are they?"
"Troy has a hairline fracture of the right radial bone, here, an inch or so above the wrist." The doctor indicated the location of the break by pointing to his own arm. "We've put it in a temporary brace. Once an orthopedic assistant becomes available, we'll apply a cast." Dr. Netherton smiled and rubbed the side of his nose. "He's already requested a green one."
"And the two girls?"
"The younger girl, Kylee, is asleep. There's not a scratch or a bruise on her. The car seat protected her from any injury. The older one, however-"
"Yes, I saw the bruises and cuts. Any other injuries?"
"Nothing physical, other than a few superficial bruises and some cuts from the glass. One cut on her hand needed three stitches--that was the worst of them. However, I am more concerned about her mental state. She seems to be ... cut off. Withdrawn." Netherton shrugged and rubbed the side of his nose once more. "It's understandable, I suppose, given the circumstances. Still, this is something I plan to keep a close eye on." The doctor studied Jeff's expressions quite closely. "Are you aware that the bruise on her face existed prior to the accident?"
"I guessed as much from the yellowing around the injury."
Netherton crossed his arms over his chest and met Jeff's gaze head on. "How long have you known the family?"
Jeff studied his watch, this time as a true timekeeping device. "All of three hours now. I was at the accident scene, one of the first victims, northern end of Frohman Bridge. I discovered the family trapped in their vehicle while helping to triage the wounded."
The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Three hours--and you have parental authorization to treat?"
"More than that, Doctor. The mother made a dying declaration that names me as the children's guardian. My legal representative is on his way. According to the mother, the father is abusive. She said he was responsible for the bruise on Megan's face. The child confirmed it. Until I know the truth one way or another, I cannot leave three innocent children in questionable hands. Until I discover all of the facts of this matter, I will assume full responsibility for Megan, Troy, and Kylee Albright. Whatever care or needs they have, they get. Understand?"
"Abusive, you say?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, doctor, there is something you can do. I want a complete workup on all the children. I want every injury documented, old and new. I want to know about every bone they've ever broken, every bruise, every scar--anything you can find on them or in their past medical history that might indicate prolonged abuse. If what the mother said is true, I want proof to take to court. If her claims are false, I want proof of that, as well."
"Certainly, Mr. Tracy. If there's something there, I'll find it, you have my word on that."
Dr. Netherton bobbed his head, rubbed his nose one last time, and hurried back to his patients.
Jeff ducked back into the shadowy corner and activated his telecom. "Jeff Tracy to International Rescue, London. Come on, Penny."
Within a few moments, a sculpted face crowned by a wealth of perfectly coiffed blonde hair filled his watch face. In the background, he could see the maroon and gold walls and part of the ornate marble mantle of the Creighton-Ward Stately Manor.
A cultured voice rich with centuries of British aristocracy said, "International Rescue, London. Lady Penelope speaking. How are you, Jeff?"
"I've been better. Been worse, as well. Penny, could you do me a favor? I need all the information you can find on Dillon and Amanda Albright. The EMTs gave me her address--5942 Rosenberg Towers, number 2245, Manhattan. They have three children: Megan, age eight, Troy five, and Kylee three. Amanda died today in the Frohman Bridge disaster."
"I saw the news broadcast. Since The Boys were there, I paid particular attention." Penny's gaze lingered on the scrapes along Jeff's jaw. "Judging by your roughened appearance, I would say that you were in the thick of things."
"Before she died, Amanda Albright claimed her husband was abusive to herself and the children. To protect them from further violence, she named me as their legal guardian. I don't know how well a person's dying wish will hold up in court, but before I do anything so drastic and irreversible as permanently accept responsibility for three small children, I want to know what's real and what's not."
"Count on me, Jeff, dear. I will have a full report for you within the hour. International Rescue, London, signing off."
"Thank you, Penny. I'll call you again as soon as I can. Jeff Tracy out."
No sooner had he lowered his arm than a voice behind Jeff called his name.
Fred Tabor wove his way through the bustling nurses, frenzied orderlies, confused patients, distraught relatives, stretchers, drug carts, wheelchairs, and other medical paraphernalia that filled the ER. A tall, wide-shouldered man only a few years younger than Jeff and just as well maintained, Tabor smiled and waved to Jeff in greeting.
"Fred, thank you for coming so quickly."
The lawyer accepted the Tracy patriarch's firm handshake.
"Anytime, Jeff. I must admit, I'm intrigued by the cloak an' dagger routine." Beneath his polished and professional voice lay hints of Tabor's original Texas drawl. "The details provided by your son were both sparse and mysterious."
"For good reason. Let's find someplace private to talk."
Jeff led Fred Tabor into the privacy of a small, glass-walled waiting area. Seated on the tiny room's only couch, he spent a half-hour explaining the events of the morning in precise detail.
He concluded by saying, "I have agents looking into Amanda Albright's claims. I should know something probative within the next one to two hours. I don't feel comfortable releasing the kids to someone else's care until I'm certain they will be safe with their father. I accept full responsibility, Fred. Tell me what I need to do."
Tabor thought hard for a long moment then asked, "This declaration ... it was duly witnessed?"
Jeff nodded. "Two emergency responders and several bystanders all heard her words." He handed over a sheet of notepaper. "Here are their names and contact information."
"Good," Tabor said as he slipped on a pair of pewter-framed glasses and read down the list of names, addresses, and preferred methods of contact. "Excellent. This'll help tremendously."
"My main concern is getting the proper legal documents in place before Dillon Albright learns what has happened," Jeff admitted to the lawyer. "I don't want him trying to take the children before I can make my decision either way."
"Jeff..."
"What's wrong?"
Tabor sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. Let me get the witness statements, a copy of the accident report, an' autopsy results. Once I have all the information, I'll be able to advise you better."
Fred Tabor slipped the contact list into his case.
"First off," the lawyer said, "I need to obtain affidavits from the witnesses and present them to a judge who can issue temporary guardianship to you."
"And second?"
"We'll need a full medical workup to determine the children's state of health an' to document any sign o' prior abuse."
"Already started. Dr. Jack Netherton is Head of Emergency Pediatric Medicine at this hospital. He'd already noted the aged bruise on Megan Marie's face. If there's something there, either on their bodies or in their medical records, he'll find it."
"Excellent. Now, third. After the children are released from the hospital, we need to get them to a location where Dillon Albright can't easily find you. Stay in the city--we don't want to give the appearance of spiriting the children away. Just make his access to them as difficult as possible."
The smile on Jeff Tracy's face was anything but gentle. "That I can do."
As he pulled various electronic pads out of his black leather attaché case, Fred Tabor glanced at Jeff and asked, "Jeff, what do you know about the Parental Declaration Act, more commonly known as Monica's Law?"
Jeff searched his memory, frowning until he found a faint recollection. "Not much, I'm afraid."
"It bears a striking similarity to this case. Clara Ohm was in a multi-car accident, a pile-up on a fogged-in freeway. Again, eerily similar to your own experience, only hers happened in California. She'd been in the process of divorcing her husband an' had two restraining orders against him, claiming battery an' assault on both herself and their ten-year-old daughter, Monica. As she lay dying in the wreckage, she made a verbal statement to everyone around. She wanted her best friend to take guardianship of the daughter, not her husband, the child's biological father. Clara Ohm died before she reached the hospital. The case moved through the courts for over two years before a judge awarded custody of the child to the father, citing that a previous written statement by the mother took precedence."
The details sparked Jeff's memory. He snapped his fingers and nodded.
"I remember now. Only a few months later, the child nearly died from a beating."
"She survived but was partially paralyzed. When she grew up, Monica Ohm lobbied long and hard. She finally helped to pass Monica' Law, which gives precedence to death statements like her mother's in cases where abuse, criminal activity, or negligence is present."
"'Present'," Jeff sighed. "Not 'suspected'."
Fred sighed and shrugged. "That's where we may run into trouble. As far as we know, there's no evidence against Dillon Albright other than the mother's dying declaration an' a few highly circumstantial injuries that could be attributed to accident or misfortune. We have two good things going for us. There are plenty of witnesses to Amanda Albright's dying declaration. This includes both her verbal statements and her state of mind at the time of her death."
"Meaning?"
"She wasn't delusional or suffering from a debilitating head injury." Tabor glanced toward Jeff for confirmation. "She wasn't, was she? Suffering from a head wound?"
"No, Fred. There was no blow to her head, not even a tiny cut. All of her injuries were from the waist down." Jeff reassured him. "You said there were two good things in our favor. What is the second?"
Tabor grinned at Jeff Tracy over the top of his half-moon reading glasses. "Your money."
Startled into laughter, Jeff Tracy leaned back in his chair and stared out through the glass walls of the small waiting room. Beyond them, he spotted Megan Albright tucking the blankets tighter around little Kylee even as she sang a soft song to calm Troy, who from the looks of things had decided he didn't want a heavy old cast after all.
(1) see my story, "Phoenix Rising"
