Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds. The following story has been written purely for entertainment purposes - no profit is being made by the author.
My heartfelt thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, and thanks also to Whirlgirl and Josie - both of whom I couldn't reply to personally. I'm glad I didn't upset too many people with the previous chapter. I was very concerned about how Virgil's performance would be received back there (I honestly thought I'd thrown myself to the lions with that one). I hope you enjoy this chapter, though. It contains a big dose of brotherly fluff.
Chapter 4: Desperate Measures
Alan Tracy was devastated. His aching heart left tattered and torn, anguished soul in dire need of rescuing. It was the end of the world, and there was only one thing he could do about it….
"I need a drink."
With his mind set, Alan petulantly marched along the corridor towards the main living area. His heavy footsteps echoed callously throughout the sparse confines of the hallway as if to ridicule his desolation and further mock him for his tactless endeavour. Trembling hands futilely wiped the hot tears coursing down his cheeks. He hadn't meant to hurt Tin-Tin, and what was Virgil's problem, anyway?
He heard voices drifting from the lounge as he approached. He slowed his pace and then, advancing with caution, peered inside.
Damn. Why did they have to be in there?
Quickly brushing away any remaining traces of tears, Alan took a deep breath and entered. His two eldest brothers were so engrossed in their chess game, they failed to notice the troubled young man walk in.
"Checkmate!" John declared, folding his arms and smiling triumphantly at a bemused-looking Scott.
"What? You cheated!"
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"I did not. You're only saying that because you're a bad loser."
"Am not."
"Are too…"
When his brothers began exchanging playful insults and wrestling each other to the floor, Alan sighed and headed over to the drinks cabinet next to his father's desk.
He had no idea what he was pouring into his glass, nor did he care. He swiftly downed its contents; wincing in disgust as the bitter liquid seared the back of his throat. He poured another.
"Stupid Virgil," he mumbled, feeling the need to blame his brother for what he was doing, in order to somehow justify it.
Alan was so intent on drinking himself into a stupor, he failed to notice the silence at first.
Then, it registered.
Slowly, he turned around. Sure enough, his brothers had stopped their antics and were now watching him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. It was a well known fact that Alan had a low tolerance to alcohol, and it was most unlike the youngest member of the Tracy clan to even contemplate having a drink, let alone actually doing so.
"Hey, Al. You okay?"
"Alan, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" Alan shot back, deliberately gulping down yet more of the vile-tasting potion in full view of both men.
Scott and John exchanged worried glances and quickly converged on their brother.
"Okay, that's enough." Scott yanked the empty glass out of Alan's hand.
"Hey! What'd you do that for?"
"This is gonna go straight to your head," Scott said firmly, holding up the glass in gesture. "And you should know better."
"I'm old enough to have a drink if I want one."
"Yeah, just one," John put in mildly. "Not several."
"It wasn't several!"
Scott picked up the crystal decanter, examining in disbelief what little remained of the amber liquid. "Gosh, Alan. How much have you had?"
"Just a couple of shots." Alan felt his cheeks flush slightly at the lie. But he remained defiant, folding his arms across his chest for good measure. "I don't see what the big deal is."
"You're not gonna be any use on a rescue if you're intoxicated, Al," said John. "We could get a call-out at any time. You know that."
Alan cast him a moody scowl. "I don't care."
But when he caught a glimpse of Scott's disapproving glare, Alan lowered his head, instantly regretting the sudden movement when a dull throb radiated from behind his eyes. He groaned quietly. The tears he'd recently shed were the most likely cause of his headache, but pride ensured his unwillingness to let this fact be known to his brothers. He would rather have them think it was the alcohol.
"I'll go get him some coffee," said John, quickly sprinting away.
"Make sure it's not decaf!" Scott called after him.
Alan slowly ran a hand down his face and sighed. The anger that had coursed through him a short while ago had now dissipated and was replaced with guilt, self-pity and regret. Feeling shameful for what he had just done, he closed his eyes and clenched both fists, bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught of choice words from a disgruntled brother. He waited. Nothing happened. He dared himself to open one eye, and flinched when a warm hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"Listen, kid. I'm not gonna yell at you, okay? I just wanna know why you felt the need to drown your sorrows, instead of coming to talk to me about what's bothering you."
Confounded by Scott's unexpected calmness and ever-present ability to read his mind, Alan found himself unable to respond. He knew that if he looked at his brother, his self-control would weaken for sure. He hadn't cried in front of Scott for a long time and had no intention of starting now, not if he could help it. He continued to avoid eye contact with his brother, choosing instead to keep his gaze firmly fixed upon his own feet.
"Alan, what's wrong?" enquired Scott, his tone soft and inviting. "You were full of beans earlier on. What's happened?"
Alan hesitated, not quite sure of how, or even where, to begin. Everything was in such a mess. He opened his mouth, only to clamp it shut again. He wanted to tell Scott about what happened, but he was suddenly anxious.
What if Scott thinks I'm a thoughtless jerk, too?
Fresh tears pricked the corners of the young man's eyes as Virgil's harsh words echoed through his mind. He bit down hard on his trembling lip, mentally cursing his fragility and wishing he wasn't so quick to succumb to his emotions. Determined not to breakdown, he used all the strength and resolve he could muster and willed himself to keep it together.
Scott gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "C'mon, kiddo. You can tell me. What's the matter?"
Alan considered for a half-minute, slowly coming to the conclusion that it would be in his own best interests to confess and risk the chance of Scott condemning him, just as Virgil had. He was apprehensive, of course, but he knew Scott would keep on questioning him until he got an answer, and there was little point in making things more difficult for himself. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard in preparation for his reply.
"I did something real stupid," he muttered, his throat involuntarily constricting with every word as he struggled to keep his surging emotions at bay. "And now they hate me."
"Who hates you?"
"Tin-Tin and Virgil. I…I've ruined everything…"
In a vain attempt to prevent the swell of tears escaping, Alan closed his eyes. But a single tear broke free and swiftly rolled down his cheek before he had the chance to turn away and hide it from his brother.
"Oh, Alan. C'mere."
Scott took a small step forward and wrapped his arms around the young man's shoulders, pulling him into a comforting hug.
Realising he was fighting a losing battle to uphold his composure, half-blaming the effects of the alcohol but secretly knowing otherwise, Alan bitterly relented and returned his brother's embrace. He buried his face into Scott's warm shoulder and began to quietly cry.
Upon hearing Alan's muffled sobs, Scott hugged him tighter. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed, a slight urgent concern emanating from his tender voice, which often accompanied the elder Tracy in his eagerness to console a brother in distress. He gently rubbed a hand over Alan's back. "It's gonna be okay."
"No, it isn't," sniffed Alan, miserably. "Everything's gone wrong. And it's all my fault!"
"Shh, easy now," Scott hushed, cradling the young man's head against his shoulder. "It's all right."
Scott continued to rhythmically caress his brother's back and whisper soothing words until finally, Alan's crying ceased.
Tired and forlorn, Alan allowed himself to relax in his brother's secure hold. He knew Scott would want to hold him for a little while longer, at least until the elder Tracy was satisfied he'd been suitably reassured. It was something Scott always did. And given his current emotional state, Alan was only too happy to cast away his inhibitions and stay put.
"What am I gonna do with you, Alan Tracy, hmm?" Scott murmured in thoughtful affection, breaking the comfortable silence between them both.
"Shoot me?" Alan offered, dolefully.
Scott let out a soft chuckle and inched his brother back slightly. "Why on Earth would I wanna do a thing like that?"
"It's no more than I deserve."
"Hey." Scott gently pushed his brother away and held him at arm's length. When Alan refused to look at him, he cupped the young man's chin and eased his head up. "Now, you listen to me, kiddo," he ordered mildly. "Nothing is ever that bad. And I won't have you talking like that, you hear?"
Alan breathed a heavy, pitiful sigh. "I'm sorry."
Scott's taught frown loosened, his stern expression changing into one of compassion and understanding. "How 'bout we go sit down and you tell me all about it?" he said softly.
Staring into his brother's kind eyes, Alan nodded, his whisper barely audible. "Okay."
Maintaining a delicate grip on Alan's arm, Scott carefully guided him over to the couch and, with a subtle push, eased him down. Alan slumped back and allowed his weary body to sag into the soft, luxurious padding. Scott settled next to him, wrapping a protective arm around his brother's smaller frame, holding him close.
The ache between Alan's eyes began to nag him once again. Moaning quietly, he pinched the bridge of his nose and gently massaged the tender area, hoping the repetitive action would offer some form of relief. He wasn't quite sure if this was the result of the tears or the alcohol now. Perhaps it was a combination of both.
Scott lightly brushed a thumb over his brother's shoulder. "You okay?"
Alan tilted his head upwards to meet the elder Tracy's concerned gaze. "Headache," he muttered, weary eyes half-closing.
"Uh-huh," Scott murmured knowingly. He remained sympathetic, nonetheless. "That's what happens when you drink too much of Dad's whiskey, kiddo."
Alan grimaced in recollection. "I wondered what that stuff was."
Moments later, John returned, coffee cup in hand.
"It's about time," Scott announced, making a point to look at his wristwatch. "I was gonna send out a search party. What took you so long?"
John hurried over. "You said no decaf. I had to look everywhere for this stuff. And then Grandma caught me making it and thought I was sneaking it out for Dad. She would've got suspicious if told her it was for Alan, so I had to convince her it was mine before she'd let me go. It was no easy task, believe me."
Scott chuckled. "I can imagine."
Aiming a cynical smirk at the elder Tracy, John pushed the chess board aside and lowered himself down onto the small table opposite the couch.
"Here you go, Al," he said kindly, holding out the drink for his brother. "This'll make you feel better."
With a little help from Scott, Alan sat upright. He took hold of the cup and scrunched up his nose when he peered inside. He hated black coffee. The sight and smell of it made him feel queasy at the best of times, and his present condition only served to heighten his aversion. By now, the young man was starting to think that this day was one of the worst of his entire life.
Encouraged by his brothers, Alan reluctantly sipped the hot beverage. His stomach churned in protest with each intake, but - much to his surprise and relief - he managed to polish off every last drop, and was only too glad to hand the empty cup back to John once he was done. He then sank back into the couch, grabbed a nearby cushion and held it close to his chest.
"Come on, Al," said John, tilting forward to rest a reassuring hand on his brother's knee. "You'll be okay."
"You've got no idea," Alan grumbled, absently seeking comfort by leaning into Scott's side.
Scott drew the young man into a one-armed hug and gently rubbed his shoulder. "C'mon, kiddo. Tell us what happened."
To be continued…
Author's Notes: I wish Scott and John were my big brothers. They're awesome. Gotta love 'em, huh? And I think I've developed a taste for Alan angst after writing this *grins menacingly*. Poor guy. Now I know why writers like to whump him so much.
Anyway, I'm a little concerned that I may have written Alan slightly out of character here. I've always considered him to be a bit of a spoilt young man (I was gonna type 'brat', but it seemed too harsh), who's been pretty much sheltered and protected for most of his life, seeing as he's the youngest. And out of all the Tracy boys, I see Alan as the weakest when it comes to emotional discipline. But don't get me wrong, it's not that I dislike him. I actually find his naivety quite endearing. I just hope his behaviour in this chapter didn't distract from the story too much.
Please take a few moments to let me know what you think. I can't get any better if I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Thanks.
