A/N: Hiya, everyone! Yes. This is the disembodied voice that commonly rattles on at the start of a chapter… I know that I promised a post yesterday, but the stupid assignment I needed to gather stuff for, unfortunately took up more of my time than I had intended. For that, I heartily apologise!
Seriously, if I had my way, I'd write and type until my fingers bled, much like they did last week on my steel-string guitar… Hmm. That really stung…
As always; thanks for all the amazing reviews I've been getting; they really make my day that much brighter…
And also; please excuse my rambling at the start of that note, there. It occurred to me the other day that really, we avid fanfictioners commonly talk to thin air, as do most of the last two generations. Ha! You'd think that we were all insane the way we just randomly spout nonsense into cyberspace, assuming that someone, somewhere is gonna eventually read it, and perhaps actually care… Ahem… *Waves hand vaguely* Just ignore me and my overactive, over-analytic brain!
Soooooo…. here's the next chapter; all two-thousand-and-three-quarter words of it…
Please enjoy!
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 couldn't be sure of the exact point I zoned out, but the last thing I could clearly remember was my father; holding up a mask to one of the few oxygen tanks we had in our possession, and his tired voice cajoling me to stay awake. But how in the heck do you stay awake when there's basically no oxygen to assist you in being aware in the first place?
Mostly, what I recalled after that were impressions more than thoughts and feelings. I remembered watching rather bemusedly as I saw Virgil drift sleepily past my head; his eyes closed and limbs splayed around him, then Gordon as he lurched somewhat violently into my makeshift cot, sending me swaying from side to side.
I was sure that I was supposed to be feeling something as I was shaken about; annoyance or pain, maybe? I felt myself struggling to comprehend the reason why I could see my family floating about me. I knew somehow, from somewhere in my muddled brain, that humans really weren't meant to fly, that's why they had built rocket ships, after all...
I giggled then, as my brain realised that with the slight exclusion of my brother Gordon, — who I was sure was at least three-quarters fish— it seemed that the majority of my family were born with wings rather than feet.
That particular thought amused me for what seemed like an exhaustingly long time. The tiny part of my mind that seemed to be reasonably coherent whispered that that there was something seriously wrong; I was really not known for my sense of humour, nor a tendency to randomly start giggling. Honestly; that was something I would expect from fifteen-year-old Tin-Tin, as sensible as she was, rather than John Stick-in-the-Mud Tracy.
"Eurrgh…" It was concerned but gentle, the voice that brought me back to awareness. Belatedly realising that the 'John' the voice was calling was actually me, I blearily opened my eyes, a grunt escaping from my mouth.
Scott came into focus; his face pale, tired and dirty. Aside from a large, greying piece of gauze covering the gash along the hairline near his temple, and the way he was gritting his jaw, my elder brother seemed remarkably well, and steady on his feet for someone I quite clearly remembered almost falling over from nausea and dizziness not long ago.
Speaking of nausea… I became unpleasantly aware that my own stomach seemed rather unhappy with the return of my awareness, and was churning like when I had gone on the whirligig that time at the Bentley county fair when I was twelve, not to mention the fact that I felt chilled, shivery and sticky with sweat.
Feeling as though I was on a real hammock, as opposed to a rigid metal board, I barely had time to croak something that sounded barely human, before I was trying not to choke on bile and stomach acid as it spewed past my lips. Cautious hands rolled me gently to my left; and I realised that I had been untied from where I had been lying flat on my back. I felt someone rubbing my shoulder blades as I lay there heaving, trying to regain control of my lurching gut.
My head was pounding as the world swung up and down, my eyes tearing up with the agony that reverberated through every part of my body. I gave a weak grin to my eldest and second brothers as I clenched my jaw in misery, somewhat uncaring of exactly when Virgil had gained the ability to teleport.
Clearing my throat, despite the fact that the taste of bile appeared to have seared a burning line up my oesophagus, I gagged slightly at the disgusting taste of vomit that lingered in my mouth. Thanking whoever it was that had blessed my immediate younger brother with the power of mind-reading, I sipped gratefully at the water from the ration-pack that Virgil held to my lips, sighing lightly in relief as both the sour taste and burning sensation dissipated somewhat.
"Are we sure that it's just a head injury?" I asked him hoarsely, actually worried about this particular fact. "I feel like I've got flu or something…"
I wearily closed my eyes against the sudden all-over aching of my limbs; not wanting to see the looks that I knew misters Medic and Smother-Hen were giving each other. Yes, I felt that awful that I was actually admitting to being ill and in pain in my desperation for relief from my never-ending state of all-out agony.
It's true though. I thought as I felt someone's fingers card through my filthy hair, gentle and soothing in the face of my overall feeling of ill-health. I had only felt this awful once before in my life, and even then, it wasn't so abrupt in its commencement. I had been feeling off for weeks before I had become so sick.
I glanced up around the station, my attention diverted by the flickering lights of the sparking consoles, much like Gordon at five-years-old, when fish were suddenly dropped into the conversation, and I realised that there was more to the buzzing sound in my head that first met the eye.
Apparently, while I had been out cold the station's power had been returned, and I felt endlessly stupid for not noticing before that my brothers were actually kneeling on the floor beside my face, and not floating freely through the air.
I let out a weak grin at the tenacity of my youngest brother and my extended family, realising that they had come through for us. That was even as I noticed that my headache was back with a vengeance. So much worse than before, as it seemed that I could barely move, due to fear of vomiting again.
I blinked, trying to zone in on what Virgil was saying, as he re-tied the straps that held me firmly against the backboard. I heard him mention something about London, and that the three kids and Lady Penelope had taken Thunderbird One.
I sniggered at that, despite the utter agony it sent ripping through my skull. As the only one of the aforementioned four who even remotely knew how to fly the reconnaissance plane, Alan had better run if he had even thought about scratching Scotty's 'bird; our brother would surely find his hide flayed if he did.
I suddenly found myself rising into the air again, though the sensation was markedly different to the last, due to the actual presence of good ol' gravity. I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I was carried by Gordon and Virgil through the docking tunnel, and we came to a halt next to the airlock of Thunderbird Three. I shifted rather ineffectively as I tried to adjust my discomfort. Straining against the stiff agony of my spine, I suddenly yelped slightly; feeling my back crack painfully as my foolish efforts gave off, and I suddenly noticed something that made me gasp out loud.
"Virgil!" I cried. "My feet!"
I couldn't see them myself, of course, but really? Who doesn't know when they're moving their own legs?
I grinned maniacally as I heard exuberant yells of joy, as they all hovered over my lower limbs. I bit back a chuckle as I realised how absurd it was that four grown men were so fascinated with ten itsy pieces of nail and skin attached to an even bigger set of appendages, but it was all worth it as Virgil made me wiggle them following the removal of my boots and socks.
I grinned in sheer joy at my Dad as he returned to his place at my head, smiling broadly at me in a mixture of relief and love. I had never before realised exactly how much I loved my feet than I did at that very moment.
As they lay me down on the floor outside the airlock of Three, all of us still grinning somewhat idiotically at the good news, I realised something that left the lot of us in a right state of quandary. Well, me the most anyway.
We had literally nowhere for a five foot eleven guy to be laid out flat on the ground, nor was there anything to tie a cot down on in the first place.
As much as the orange-hued craft was used for space rescues every now and then, there was no conceivable way that I would be tethered securely enough to not exacerbate my injuries. I scowled as the lot of them immediately started bickering over how we were going to overcome this latest obstacle.
After almost five minutes of listening to their raised voices reverberate painfully through my aching head, as they ran through various scenarios (none of which included me moving even an inch from my current position), I raised my voice to be heard. I was finding that my usually endless patience was fraying rather rapidly, probably as a result of the head injury.
"Oh, for the love of all that's holy!" I cried. "Just let me up already!"
They turned to stare at me; a mix of incredulous, pitying and impatient expressions varying from one face to another, and I had to hide a grin at their absurdity.
Raising an eyebrow, I said very slowly and firmly, "Just untie me, would you, and then I can sit in one of the jump-seats."
Cutting off Scott as he went to protest, I continued; raising my voice sharply to override any further objections, as much as it made my brain protest at the sound. "I don't care if you tie me down so I can't move; or flatten the damn thing entirely; you can put me back on the board afterwards…"
I kept going, ignoring the dumbstruck looks I was receiving. "I've been bumped around enough already: a little more ain't gonna hurt… Just get us the hell outta here!
Dad frowned, part in suppressed amusement, partly in mingled concern for me, and disapproval over my language, but nodded nevertheless, though I knew that he clearly thought that the idea was daft. I had just regained movement in my legs, and there was no guarantee that the jouncing I would receive as we re-entered the atmosphere wouldn't return them to their previous state of uselessness. But, I told myself; it was the only way we would be able to get me back to earth, and by God, I would pilot the damn ship myself, one handed and no-legged if it meant I would get there sooner.
I watched my brothers impatiently for a second, and when it appeared that none of them were going to move within the next split-second time-frame, began to swipe my left hand blindly for the ties of the rope that bound me flat to the board. I smirked slightly, as the idea that I would try and rise myself jolted my siblings into action. Virgil and Scott untied the restraining ropes over my torso and legs, and Gordon assisted me in slowly moving into an upright position.
Dad winked at me as I looked up at him, and I knew that he knew exactly what my strategy was from the very beginning. I had known that I couldn't move myself, but if the action got my block-headed brothers to get a bomb beneath their backsides, I couldn't really see the problem. I could sense my father's concern though, seeing his brow tighten and crease in worry as I winced with the movement of my stretching muscles.
"I'm as fine as I'm gonna be guys." I said wearily, after gripping white-knuckled to Gordon's shoulder as I was carried by my ginger and chestnut-haired brothers over to the seat nearest the airlock, my voice cracking slightly with pain as I was settled into it.
As Scott lowered the safety harness, hovering unnecessarily over the straps across my midsection, I saw him waver for a moment, and I recalled his own injury. Grinning menacingly to myself, as I contemplated what I was about to do, I spoke with the intention of getting the attention off of me.
"Hey Scotty," I asked in a measure of genuine concern and another of slightly plotting vindictiveness. "Are you okay? You look a little pale there."
As predicted, Virgil's gaze flicked immediately to our eldest brother, and I saw Gordon shoot me a sort of approving grin, mixed as it was with concern for both me and the Stubborn-Butt. We both knew that Scott would use any of us as an excuse to wave away his own difficulties, so why not return the favour?
As Virgil practically dragged Scott over to another seat, I caught Dad's eye with a smile as he settled into the co-pilot's seat down the front.
He obviously planned to allow one of the younger guys to fly us home. He knew all of our tricks, being the guy who had raised us and all; and he had obviously reckoned that in this instance, we were big enough and ugly enough to settle our arguments amongst ourselves.
Once finished ignoring Scott, and his insistence that he was plenty fine to fly Thunderbird Three back to earth, Virgil tried and failed to dislodge Gordon from his already-claimed position as main pilot, parking himself resignedly in the middle seat.
Then he must have realised, judging by the sudden brightening of his expression, that his current position ensured that he could keep an eye on us invalids, and also easily converse with the able-bodied people down the front.
There was a rumble of engines, and Gordon's voice announcing the completion of pre-launch procedures, and suddenly, I was blinking profusely as white lights popped in my eyes with the rapid onset of G-force dizziness. I gulped heavily as my gut lurched again, panting shakily as we levelled out. I sneaked a peek over at Scott, who like me, was obviously feeling a little green around the gills.
"Okay over there, Scotty?" I grimaced rather than grinned as I had planned, as a savage pulse of pain rammed into my body all of a sudden.
Whoa. I thought woozily as my brain thought fit to plunge me into dizzy-land again. Eyelids fluttering as I tried to both clear my head of cobwebs, and blink sweat from my forehead out of my eyes, I realised that I hadn't exactly heard my brother's answer.
"Uh…" I whispered, sure he must have replied. "Scott… You 'kay?"
"Johnny," the voice that replied really didn't sound like my brother. "Do you mind shutting up?" I winced at the hissing sound my bother let out as it echoed in the passenger hold. "My head feels like the Mole is drilling into it, and I feel like I'm gonna puke… Does that answer your question?"
I had to chuckle at the absurdity of that statement. He expected me to can it, but probably also wanted an answer to his own enquiry. I replied nonetheless, even if it was only to peeve him off a little.
"Sure." And I couldn't help but add softly and slightly self-accusatorily, because what I asked was in hindsight a rather stupid query considering the condition of my own head. "That's exactly how I feel, Bro. That's exactly how I feel."
A/N: Yay! Johnny can move his legs again! Now you lot have no excuse to piff the whole hardback series of Harry Potter at my head, or threaten me with the Hood or various unspecified objects. You know who you are… *Glares at readers*.
I really, really hope to get another chappie out by Friday night my time, but again, no promises. I hope that I can keep you entertained with the upcoming chapters; there are some really huge plot changes on the way! Please review!
Pyre Xx.
