We've reached part seven of nine! We're drawing so close to things being finished at long last! A big thanks to Shadowfox8 for the betaing! Starting with this chapter, the chapters are longer than they were in previous postings. I wonder how this is going to end? Happy, sad... Who knows just yet! Even I'm still debating, switching between ideas! The story is ever evolving with each readthrough something new is added to the chapter. ;3
.~*Part Seven – Fading Hope*~.
9/12 – 6:10 a.m. EST
Bus Station
Scott sipped his coffee out of the gas station cup as he walked alongside Fermat and the rest of the surviving Wharton Academy group. They were headed to the bus station, so they could board a ride back to Massachusetts. He was carrying not only Fermat's duffle bag, but Alan's as well, while Fermat carried the trophy he and Alan had won. Each of the students were carrying two bags, bringing back to the school the missing group's belongings for their parents to pick up.
Having to pack up Alan's things into his bag had been one of the most difficult things Scott had done. Given his profession, that was saying a lot. Bodies, destruction, and explosions – give him that any day. Gathering his baby brother's items together into a sole pack without him around was pure hell.
Fermat had mentioned that there had been more items, but Alan had paid extra to ship the Christmas presents – the model Thunderbirds that Scott recalled his brother talking about with their father before the trip – back to California to be picked up a few days prior on the tenth.
So many of his baby brother's intricate personal items. Clothes, notebooks with doodles drawn in. Scott had to laugh at one picture he had come across – a picture of a teacher being barbequed by Thunderbird One, who Fermat later explained to be Alan's least favorite teacher due to her rudeness towards him. His next find also puzzled him – racing magazines.
The eldest brother found himself questioning the magazines, but believed he had an answer – the beautiful women on the pages. Alan was a typical teenager, after all! Besides, he had never really shown any interest in cars before. Or, if he had, no one had taken any notice.
Fermat's laughter at Scott's inquiry, however, was making him think otherwise. Couple that with the racing engine that the young engineer explained Alan had not only designed but built, and Scott had come to realize he did not know his baby brother as well as he thought he did. How many secrets did the youngest Tracy hold within?
After the bag had been packed the previous night, Scott had stayed up sitting on his brother's bed while Fermat fitfully slept. How his father had expected him to sleep, the Tracy son did not know. However, he had managed to rake in at least three or four hours of sleep before Fermat had woken him up, stating that they needed to get going.
The morning was chilly, and Scott was not quite sure if the fog in the air really was fog or if it was lingering dust. It might have even been a mixture of both.
The streets were silent as the group walked, kicking up dust with each step. The entire Manhattan Island was covered in the crumbled remains of what were once mighty buildings. Like a dirty snowfall, the dust was craftily brushed along every small crevasse, while it piled up like drifts in other areas. If it had been snow, Scott would have still hated the sight. Living on Tracy Island, one did not get to spend winters with snow, thankfully. Cold, cruel, and unforgiving was all snow was to him after his mother's death.
He hated having to fly to, well, anywhere in winter. Avalanche rescues were especially hard for him and the rest of his family. He knew that, like himself, his brothers and father were always anxious about such rescues given their history with the murderous white cold.
Yet, this was not snow. It was only a cold stark reminder that so many had been murdered in a senseless act. His brother included.
The group slowed to a stop when they came across a wall filled with pictures and a headline with big, bold, sickeningly colorful letters. HAVE YOU SEEN ME? Surrounding the words were flowers, family photos, descriptions, pleas for information. Scott's heart ached as he stared at the images. Closing his eyes for a moment, he set down his cargo, passed his coffee over to the nearest person, and pulled out his wallet.
Feeling the eyes of the student group upon him, he opened the leather wallet and flipped to the pictures of his family. Pausing over the one of his youngest, he smiled, looking at the image. It was a picture of Alan up near the satellite relay, sitting on a rock while dressed in jeans and one of his blue jackets. Scott had captured the image just as Alan had been looking towards him with surprise. It was one of his favorites, reminding him that despite how grown-up Alan tried to act, he was still just a child.
Pulling out a pen, he jotted down some information – ALAN SHEPARD TRACY. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION, CONTACT TRACY INDUSTRIES. (929) 234-9874 REWARD OFFERED.
Taking it out, he found a pin and placed the picture on the wall. It felt final. As if he were finally giving up on his brother, though that was not the point. Alan had joined the wall of the lost – the missing. With the resounding and heartbreaking possibility of never being found again.
"We're going to find you, buddy. I promise. One way or another, I'll get you to the stars like you dreamed, even if it is only to join Mom's ashes."
He ignored the comforting hand placed on his shoulder, eyes focusing on the image. He knew the other students had placed their own images of their missing peers, printed the night before in the lobby of the hotel. One led the group in a quiet prayer.
'Oh, Sprout… This is the worst amount of trouble that has somehow found you. I don't know how it keeps happening – why the bad things always happen to you. I was supposed to be there. To protect you… I've failed. I'm so so sorry…' he thought wistfully, his deep azure eyes never leaving the image.
Finally, Scott straightened up and returned his wallet to his pocket. Taking back his coffee and picking back up the duffel bags, he began walking again. Dark thoughts clouded his mind, blocking out the happier memories.
He wished he had been a better brother. He wished he had visited Alan at school more often. He wished he had called Alan on the tenth instead of taking John's advice and waiting until Sunday. All he would remember of his brother's final words were the fear as a plane flew right at the South Tower.
There were so many wishes, so many 'if only's', that he was falling into misery. Yet, he knew he could not give in. He had to be strong. He had to be there for Fermat. Pulling a mask upon his face was something he had honed over the years from being a Field Commander in his father's stead.
Glancing over at the young genius, he frowned. The younger boy had pulled down his make-shift cloth mask and was using his inhaler. "Fermat? You okay, buddy?"
Returning the mask over his face and depositing the inhaler in his pocket, the teenager nodded silently, holding the trophy closer to his body.
Silently they reached the school charter bus and placed the bags within the compartment, begrudgingly boarding the bus. Scott put a hand on Fermat's shoulder, holding him back as he knelt in front of him. "They'll get you back to the school safely. When we're done here, I'll figure out a way to get you back home. As soon as I'm able to fly Tracy One, I'll be along to pick you up. Or, we'll send Lady P to pick you up when she's done meeting with the delegates. That might be faster."
The younger boy nodded, looking at his 'older brother'. He saw all the Tracy boys as brothers instead of friends. They had lived together for almost all of Fermat's life, after all. He did not want to board the bus that would take him back to the school. Take him back to an empty dorm room where the silence would be deafening without Alan's boisterous speaking.
To be back at school without his best friend was something that the young genius had never contemplated before. Alan had always been there for him for as long as he could remember – heck, their first meeting had been when Alan was only five! They had latched on together from day one, and four years later brought Tin-Tin into their ranks.
They were known lovingly by Onaha as the Tiga Masalah – Three Problems – a name affectionately bestowed upon them at a young age after it was discovered when they put Fermat's genius, Alan's knack for trouble, and Tin-Tin's love of adventure together the possibilities were endless.
While Alan and Gordon were known as the Terrible Two for their pranks, the trio also had a knack for getting into trouble – and usually led into it by Alan. One of their more elaborate schemes involved trying to sneak food past Onaha and the rest of the Tracys by using one of Brains' robots, a macaw, and rotten eggs. As per usual, it had ended quite badly. Onaha had chased the robot and bird around, yelling about them being possessed. Meanwhile, Scott, Virgil, and Gordon had chased Alan around after having rotten eggs dumped on them.
A weak smile crossed his face at the memory that had taken place only a few short months ago. The knowledge that another memory like that would never come to pass had a devastating effect on him as he visibly trembled. If only he had not convinced Alan to enter his engine into the competition!
As if sensing what he was thinking, Scott cupped the younger boy's chin. "Hey… This wasn't your fault, Fermat. No matter what way you twist it. He wanted to go, and he was not going to let you go to New York alone."
"N-Not w-with the b-bullies," Fermat agreed quietly.
"Bullies? What bullies?" This was the second time Scott had heard of any bullying – the first being straight from the bully's mouth itself! His grip tightened slightly at the distressed look on his younger friend's face. "Fermat?" Maybe he should just keep him in Thunderbird Two and refuse to return him to Wharton Academy? Damn the consequences of 'kidnapping' the boy!
Fermat avoided his gaze. "D-Doesn't m-matter."
"Fermat."
The younger boy sighed and stuttered through a few explanations on how his and Alan's life at Wharton's was not exactly as how they had led everyone to believe. That more than once the duo had been jumped. How Alan always hurried to his defense, sometimes getting into physical fights in the process. How Alan refused to go to the Headmaster about the problems, only because he did not want to disappoint his family again by causing trouble at school. How, while Fermat had other friends at school, Alan was usually excluded by most people. Strangely labeled a freak, something about his eyes. Why things would go haywire around him from time to time.
Scott listened, anger building up within his tensing body. Joshua had not been Alan's only bully? There were others who tormented his youngest brother? Now that he thought more on it, he recalled other situations, such as the times that Alan only spoke through audio instead of holo-video. "Why did no one tell us?"
"T-Th-There's a l-lot that A-Alan never t-told you," the young boy responded softly. "T-Things c-changed s-since the H-Hood. H-He's b-be-been able to ho-hold his own better. M-More d-daring. Not perfect, but…" Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and keyed in a website after loading the data. "T-This w-was up-uploaded by one of the p-people in his g-group ye-yesterday m-morning before e-everything." The boy went on to explain that there was a secret site used by the boys of Wharton's to communicate under the radar. There were videos, pictures, negative and positive comments about fellow students…
Scott frowned, taking the phone from him and watching the video of Alan weaving back and forth, avoiding the punches thrown at him by a larger teenager that easily towered over him. Listening to the conversation going on, his brow furrowed. "Alan..." he murmured, watching the teenager he barely recognized.
"T-That's J-Joshua. He's h-hated Alan s-since we fi-first a-arrived at W-Wharton's."
"I'm going to forward this to the servers back on Tracy Island. The others can watch this at some point." The reasoning behind this was that it was the last video they had of their little Sprout. Of him laughing. Being his sassy self.
It would be their one last joy if Alan was not found alive.
"Alan's not usually like that," Fermat responded, going on to explain that usually at that point the other boys would have jumped in and a huge brawl would have taken place. Being where they were, was the only reason that Alan was not black and blue for talking to Joshua the way he was.
Scott sighed, thinking on that. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a message from Virgil on the wrist-com, stating he was needed. Passing the phone back, he pulled him in for a hug. "We'll be seeing you soon, Fermat. Okay? I have to get back to the Pile."
Fermat nodded, hugging him back. "Find A-Alan. Joshua, too, if y-you can."
"Try and stop us," Scott responded with a smile. He backed away and stood back up. "Get on going. Let us know when you arrive."
"I will. B-Be car-careful, Sc-Scott."
"F.A.B." Waiting until Fermat boarded the vehicle, Scott stood to the side, sipping his coffee. As soon as the bus was out of sight down the dusty road, he finished off his drink and went to prepare to rejoin the rest of the group that had returned to the Pile.
.~*Thunderbirds Are Go*~.
9/12 – 8:50 a.m. EST
Thunderbird Two
Jeff ran a hand over his face as he settled into a somewhat relaxed position. Just twenty minutes before, Penelope had briefed him on what she had told the United Nations. The information the Hood had given her once his conditions had been met.
The Hood believed that a group of extremists had caused this terrorist attack. Radical terrorists had taken his son from him, his baby. The son that resembled his beloved late wife the most in both spirit and looks. He was losing her all over again. Why? What had he done wrong? A lot of things once he started thinking about it. Out of all his sons, Alan had been the one he had neglected the worst after his wife's death.
It was not as if he had meant to push his youngest son away, but Alan had become… wild after the avalanche. Their wild child filled with night terrors that he eventually grew out of. Alan was always seeking trouble out – and when he was not, trouble would find him.
It was only within the past few hours that Jeff finally realized why his youngest was so wild and reckless. It was all an effort for someone to actually see him. An act of attention, whether negative or positive. His family, who was so preoccupied with saving others, had missed the biggest person in need – Alan. The baby of the family had secluded himself, only picking and choosing his outlets. An act that had propelled him to create a subroutine, blocking any news the family would have received. Any small glimpse into their wild child's life. Allowing them to missing out on so much, allowing Jeff to miss out on who his son had become.
Now it was too late to make it up.
Only nineteen people had been found alive within the rubble, the latest one pulled free around seven in the morning after having been buried for twenty-two hours. News stations were already referring the man as the last survivor. That could very possibly be true at this point. Over one hundred people and body parts had been found dead. Only a handful of survivors.
Twenty rescue workers had been sent to the hospital over the past twenty-four hours, his own son among them, after being injured while searching for survivors.
Briefly, he wondered how Gordon was doing this morning. He had awoken from his operation only hours after it took place and had driven nurses and Tracys alike nuts with his half-slurred complaints.
Jeff wanted to go and see him, but Virgil needed him last night. Then the two Port Authority officers had been found, and International Rescue had been called back to the Pile. Even with their exo-skeletons, it had taken several hours to get to the men. Perhaps if he had called in Scott…
He was supposed to be resting. If his medic son wandered in soon and saw he was still up, he would get a scolding. Only Scott had gotten any sleep that night, as Jeff had asked him to stay with Fermat until the younger boy was sent on his way back to Massachusetts at Brains' request. Even if Brains had not requested that someone stay with Fermat, Jeff would have asked one of his boys to do it.
Maybe he should try to sleep. Sleep would be good. It would be smart. It would recharge him, so he could return to working. Return to finding Alan.
The thought of his little boy still trapped, possibly lying dead, within the Pile had a devastating effect on the single father. His throat constricted, his stomach felt gutted, and his shoulders trembled. A headache was starting to form between his eyes as he leaned forward, face in hands. Alan...
So full of life and love, internal conflict, and a strong will. Life would not be the same if…
Closing his eyes, Jeff tried to focus on something else. Anything. His mind refused to shift, filling him instead with images of mangled bodies found within the rubble, faces replaced with those of his child.
Hope was starting to fade within him as the minutes and hours ticked by since the collapse. The majority of the survivors had been found within hours of the collapse. Now the chances of survival were dwindling into single digits. The chances of finding anyone still alive were almost non-existent as the hours waned on.
The likelihood that his baby was still alive were less than three percent.
With a shuddering breath, Jeff brought his wrist communicator up close and keyed in Alan's private frequency.
"Alan? I don't know if you can hear me or if you're even there. I don't know if your watch is broken or if you were crushed beneath the rubble like so many others. I just… I just needed to talk to you, even if you can't hear me." Biting his lip slightly, Jeff took another deep breath. "I never had the chance to say goodbye to your mother. She was ripped away from us, crushed beneath the snow. It… It is cruel to think that you have or will share the same fate. I… I can't lose you. None of you. You boys are my whole world. My greatest treasures."
"Before you were born, I was positive I did not want another child. I won't lie any longer. I already had four boys, and to take on another that was so much younger than them had me questioning. As the date drew closer, I found myself dreading it. What was I going to do with such a young baby? It had been seven years since I had changed a diaper. Seven years since I had cradled an infant. Seven years since I rocked a baby while your mother slept. I was scared. Your mother kept reassuring me that everything would be fine."
A smile crossed his lips. "When the doctor placed you in my arms, everything changed in an instant. You were so perfect. Looked just like your mother. My heart fell for you in an instant, just as it did for your older brothers. From the very first day, you had us all wrapped around your finger. You wanted, we gave. From hugs to cuddles and everything in between. You became the light of this family.
"Your mother picked out your name, contrary to the popular belief of the media. Alan Shepard had always been her favorite astronaut. I'm not quite sure why, but she was adamant about the name from the very beginning. I can't think of any other name for you. Anything else I would have picked," he laughed. "Okay, that's not true. I was thinking about Walter. I'm rather glad Luce talked me out of it. Saddling you with that would have just been… No."
He stared at the blank screen as it transmitted his message. Was it even reaching his boy? Was Alan even alive enough to hear him? "When you were born, I had no idea just how much trouble you would become. Not that you were trouble. You… I mean the trouble that… Oh, I'm doing this wrong. Then again, that explains a lot of it doesn't it? I did a lot of things wrong when it concerned you."
A sigh left him as he thought of the best way to explain his reasoning. "See, people – rivals really – wanted to get at me. Others wanted money. It had been a long time since I had to worry about one of the older boys become a target. Virgil and Gordon were never allowed anywhere without Scott or John around. You, however, were a little sneak and would constantly sneak outside towards night to watch the stars. More than once were you almost kidnapped," he scowled a bit at the memories.
"Your brothers protected you every time. Even when I was not there, your brothers would defend you like guardians. The frequent kidnapping attempts is one reason why I decided to move to an Island, if only to protect my children. But then… then your mother was taken from us.
"Do you remember her, Alan? I know when the boys talk about her, you always stay out of the conversation. One of my biggest regrets has always been that you could not remember her smile. Her voice. Her lullaby as she sang you to sleep after standing on the balcony under the stars to calm you down. Her wish that you follow my footsteps and become an astronaut."
He was so very close to breaking down. To losing himself to his grief and rage. His anger at himself for not being able to locate the youngest Tracy. For all the needless death. The murder.
"When I lost her, I fear I lost you, too. You looked so much like her, and without realizing it, I was pushing you away from myself. I hugged you less frequently. Comforted you in the night only when I had no other choice. I never held you under the stars. John took over that aspect, just as Scott took over fatherly roles towards you. Gordon became your number one playmate. Virgil… He was so angry in his youth. He was angry at you, at me, at Scott… I let that anger fester for so long until he eventually exploded at the three of us, you especially. It was that explosion that made me realize that my mental absence was tearing my family apart even more."
"I tried so hard to rekindle what we'd lost, Allie, and for a while it seemed I had. Then I started International Rescue. You wanted to help out so badly, but I was afraid of losing you again, so I sent you away to boarding school while I got everything set up. It was only supposed to be for a year, but then as you grew older and took more of an interest in the rescue, I kept sending you back. When you blew up the lab, I was so needlessly angry. I said so many things that I've deeply regretted ever since. What I never told you was how much I secretly laughed at the reckless expression on your face. How proud you had been. Your brothers knew." He bit his lip again, mulling a bit.
"When I sent you to Wharton Academy, I figured they would straighten you out. And then the bullying started. You might think I didn't know about it, but I did…and I did nothing. I was too preoccupied with helping others rather than my own son. I felt that it would build your character. Toughen you up. All it did was pull you further and further away out of fear that you would disappoint me. Disappoint your brothers."
He closed his eyes, fighting back against the tears that threatened to spill. "When that spring break came along, I was prepared to try and fix things between us before you turned fifteen. Then I got angry at you for pretending to be like Scott and yelled at you for endangering us all. When the Hood invaded… Alan, I watched you, Fermat, and Tin-Tin run around risking your lives to save us. It hit me, son. I realized how badly I had screwed up. It hit me even harder when I discovered the Hood had singled you out. He took joy in trying to torment you, trying to torment your mind."
"I wasn't able to protect you that day. You saved us all, but as a reward you were damaged inside in ways I may never know. It took days for you to recover and let us back in. It took about the same amount of time for us all to come to terms with everything that had happened. That day, you proved to me that you had the heart of a hero, even if a few times you were an idiot about it. You still got the job done."
"About a few weeks after, when I made the three of you trainees, I… I never told you, but I was preparing you to fulfill your mother's wish. I wanted to see you using the other Thunderbirds before I let you even attempt flying in Thunderbird Three. Maybe it was my own fears that prevented me from pushing your training. Maybe it was my own desire for you to be the one son that I could protect, if only for a little while longer. Space is dangerous, far more than on Earth. If something went wrong out there, we would have no way to get help to you without relying on other technology that would not be fast enough."
"That's why I let Gordon co-pilot only. He's ultimately decided that he wants to work in Thunderbird Two from time to time and pilot Thunderbird Four. So that leaves you. Everyone else has settled, and everyone has told me that becoming the pilot of Thunderbird Three is your future. John and Scott especially. Honestly, I can't get them to shut up about it. Drives me crazy sometimes," the father of five chuckled at the thought.
"Those brothers of yours believe in you so much. I do too, Alan. I was going to start implementing your space training this fall break, and have you come with me to pick up John. They've all relayed to me how well your training has been going with the other ships. How natural it has come to you. Piloting, natural instinct… all of it. How you were ready for this and now… Now I'm too late. Too late to make up for all the wrongs, too late to get the chance to take you to the stars you've longed to touch. Too late to let you have your dreams come true."
At last, Jeff Tracy let his emotions overwhelm him. His despair, regret, and longing all took their toll on him as he allowed the sobs to rake his body. He broke down, physically and emotionally, something a long time coming.
To think that he had failed his loved ones yet again. To not have been fast enough. All it did was shatter his already fractured heart. He had sworn to protect all his sons, his family, yet he had once more failed. How could he have allowed himself to fail again?
Already he had almost lost Alan to the Hood, and now he was losing him to another avalanche. Alan had his whole life ahead of him, and the actions of a few had taken it all away.
Feeling warmth dripping down his wrists, he looked down, realizing he had been clenching his fists so tightly he had cut into the flesh. The father did not care, however, as he stared at the small streams of blood that trickled down to his uniform. What was such a minor injury in the grand scheme of things?
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" He could not bring himself to say goodbye. Not now, possibly not ever. "Alan, I…" Clamping a hand over the device, he closed the connection and buried his tear-streaked face into his bloody palms.
.~*Thunderbirds Are Go*~.
9/12 – 9:05 a.m. EST
Thunderbird Five
John's eyes were clenched shut. His father must have forgotten that all conversations filtered through the station, as it was their own private satellite, so he had heard everything. He had wanted to desperately to ignore the conversation, those private words for the youngest Tracy, but he could not bring himself to do so.
Such pain in his father's voice made him tremble. That his father was starting to give up on finding Alan alive was one of the worst things he could hear. Yes, the thought had crossed all their minds – he had even had a conversation with Scott about it the previous night in the late hours before John finally had to turn in for sleep – but to hear the great Jefferson Tracy say it…
The platinum blond was not sure what to think. He did not want to give up on his brother, not while some people were still being found, though it had been two hours since the last person had been pulled from the rubble and no one else had even been found alive. Just more bodies.
Alan had yet to send a signal out. With each passing hour, John's own hope dwindled away. He was just a kid, and so many adults had not made it. What chance did he have, really? Less than ten percent, if the calculations were correct.
On one hand, John wanted his family to leave the Pile and return to rescuing around the world – there were a lot of problems going on – so they would not be the ones to find the body of the youngest Tracy. The moment that thought crossed his mind, John nearly hit himself. If anyone were to find Alan's body, the platinum blond would rather it be his family.
No matter the effect it would have.
What would happen to his family, to International Rescue, if they did not find Alan? Only from last night had John started thinking on the question after his little sob session in the shower. Would their organization fall apart? Would their family split off?
His father and elder brother had blamed themselves for years for Lucille's death. His father locked himself away. Scott was not given that luxury as he was forced to take on a father role at only seventeen. John had helped him as much as he could, but now? How could he help his family if he was up here?
That was right; he could not. He was useless up here, at least for now. In the grand scheme, he would rather be down with his family. Sharing in their grief instead of suffering in silence alone up here with no one to comfort him. To pull him away from his dark thoughts.
Desperate for someone to talk to, he contacted Gordon. "How are you doing, Gordo? Go back to sleep yet?"
The copper-head's holo-form appeared beside John, so realistic that the elder brother wanted to reach out and pull him in for a hug. That was one thing he missed being up here – physical contact. What would he give to have some sort of physical contact right now? Everything.
"Ugh… Hey, John. I feel like crap, to be honest," the copperhead responded, sounding completely miserable.
"You look like crap," he teased.
"Shut it. You try being impaled in the leg and nearly dying and see how you feel about it!" Gordon complained unhappily, grumpiness in his tone.
"Touchy, touchy," John grinned. "Hey, you're going to be fine. That's what the doctors all say. In a few months, you'll be back to swimming and diving. Pulling pranks on Scott!"
"Yeah, well..." Gordon sighed. "They haven't found him yet, have they? Have they even found anyone else?"
"Two Port Authority officers were unburied this morning. No one else has been found other than bodies," John responded truthfully. He knew what it felt like to be left out of the loop, and though Gordon was bedridden, he had a right to know. "I still haven't found a signal, either. I'm about to go over a backlog of messages sent through last night after I signed off. Probably going to be insulted to death like yesterday."
"Eh, better you than me, big brother. I don't know how you manage to not bite their heads off."
He smirked. "Years of practice dealing with you younger brothers."
"Ha. Funny." Gordon hissed as he shifted positions – at least, that was what it appeared to be to John. "What's going to happen now, John? We can't take another loss. Not after Mom."
"I know, Gordo. I know. What's happened…" His father had told him what Lady Penelope had said about what the Hood knew. Should he tell his younger brother? No. Gordon needed to relax as much as he could and not worked up. It was not worth it. "What's happened is a tragedy for everyone."
"Well if that's not the most politically correct piece of bull that has ever come out of your mouth, John," his younger brother snapped, green eyes filled with fury. "You can placate Dad with that, but not me."
He sighed. "Gordon, you need to focus on healing. That's what's important right now."
"There are far more important things right now. I can't exactly get up and run back to the Pile to help out. So, I have no choice but to lay back and heal… and go insane watching the news."
"You're actually watch the news instead of cartoons? Color me shocked."
"Hardy-har-har. Go back to your monitoring, spaceboy." Gordon's holo-form vanished, leaving John alone once more in the cold grip of space.
That had not gone according to plan at all.
Perhaps it was due to how out-of-touch he was with his family while being up in space all the time. He wanted to come down more, but only his father was able to really handle being in space for long periods of time – his siblings all got sick and were miserable from staying too long. The only sibling not tested…
Clenching his fist, he made himself a vow. If Alan was found alive, John was going to bring him up to the station for an extended visit. They would do the things that they had talked about, such as go on a spacewalk, play around with the gravity controls and float around for a bit, and just have some time to themselves to talk. Truly communicate in ways that had not happened since the Hood.
However, the thought of not being able to do any of those things with his star-bound brother stopped him dead in his tracks. Well, it would have, had he been actually moving.
"No, no, don't think like that, Johnny boy. You cannot allow yourself to break down again. Not like last night. You have to remain strong. You're on duty right now, and having the head of International Rescue operations, so to speak, break down is not a good thing. Ignore the horrific dreams you had last night and focus on your task."
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and slid his chair along the tracks to the monitoring system. He felt a bit better after his self-pep-talk, just barely, and began to go over the log of communications received after he had signed off.
"I know you guys are having a hard time with this, but honestly, if you had just shown up sooner-" Nope! Delete.
"Thank you, guys, for doing what you can. I just wish you could have done more." Hm. Debatable.
"You lot can go fu-" DELETED.
For the next hour, John went through messages, laughing at a few, shedding a tear at others. Honestly, why did people think they could just call to disrespect them? They were doing the best they could despite the situation they had been dealt.
Sighing, he leaned back as he enjoyed his not-so-tasty meal in a bag. Today's flavor? Beef jerky with macaroni and cheese. Not as bad as some of the others he had to eat up here, and he found himself craving a pizza. A real pizza, not one of these MiaBs. Ugh.
Balancing his time between current calls and ones from the previous night was tedious work, but it kept him busy. Barely gave him time to think, which he was grateful for. Sweet relief from the morbidity of his chosen career.
Pressing the button for the next recording, he took another bite, rolling his eyes at the static. Honestly, could people not sort out their communications better? This one said it was coming from an unknown source, too. Probably some kind of joke.
"John? Can…hear…? Please… I want… home…"
The fork dropped from his fingers, clanging on the floor while a bit of food slipped from his open mouth, plopping onto his lap, staining the pristine whiteness of his uniform. Had he just heard…? Was it possible?
Playing the message over again, and then several times more to just be sure, he dropped his bag of food as he jumped up frantically. Running his fingers over the keys, he looked up the timeframe for when the message had appeared. Horror ran through him as he realized.
"Just… Just a few minutes after I signed off…" he whispered. How could this… This could not be happening!
Alan had survived the collapse. As of late last night, he had still been alive, and John had possibly missed their one chance on connecting with him! That thought alone sent shivers down his spine. Had he failed Alan? His family? He had been having nightmares about missing a transmission from his younger brother that for it to actually come true…
A million thoughts raced through his mind. Should he contact his father and brothers? Let them know? What would that do, though? Wait! The signal! Sitting back down, he tried to pinpoint the signal, hoping to locate the transmission source.
"Please… just work for me…" he whispered as he set the software to search. "Please… Let me bring our baby home."
SEARCHING…
He held his breath, filled with anxious anticipation.
LOCATION – MANHATTAN, NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
"Yes… Yes, go on…" he murmured, afraid to tear his eyes away from the screen. His brother's lifeline. This just had to work!
WORLD TRADE CENTER PLAZA
Any second now he would have his baby brother's exact coordinates. He would be able to send his brothers and father to the rescue and their family would be whole again! Well, as whole as it could be without Lucille.
"Please, Mom! Let this work! Please!" he begged as the program paused.
LOCATION NOT FOUND
His fingers slowly curled into fists at the words that flashed on the screen. Those devastating words that told him he had failed. The signal strength from Alan had not been strong enough to send a source.
SIGNAL LOST
He stared at the monitor, frozen. He had failed. Betrayed his family, in a way, by not doing his duty. Maybe if he had held himself together last night, things would be different? He could have responded to his brother! Alan might already be out of there if he had just kept his cool and not broken down!
WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY AGAIN?
The words seemed to mock him. His eyes drifted from the monitor to the immense technology that surrounded him. Technology that had allowed him to hack into the most secure networks. Track down precise coordinates for rescues. The power of a thousand super computers at his fingertips, and he could not pinpoint the most important signal of all; the sole signal that would save his family.
Because he could not keep his professionalism and had instead broken down, Alan was going to die alone beneath the rubble, waiting for a rescue that would never reach him.
If he was even still alive.
How was John going to explain this to his family? That he had let his baby brother die in terror? The pleading he had heard in the weak transmission had told John all he needed to know – Alan was in immense pain. He was scared. He wanted to go home to his family. That he was hoping John could save him.
Instead, John had failed his little star-ling.
.~*Thunderbirds Are Go*~.
9/12 – 10:28 a.m. EST
Ground Zero, Scott and Virgil
Virgil shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet as he sat on his ankles at the base of the Pile looking up at the mound of death through his tinted helmet visor. Beside him, his eldest brother was devouring a hot dog smothered with cheese, ketchup, mustard, and dill relish, his mouth looking like he was a child first learning to feed himself.
The sight would almost be comical if not for where they were; taking a break with other rescue workers after working for so many hours.
His gaze shifted over to the line of volunteers who had brought food and were serving it. Among them were some Wharton Academy seniors that had somehow managed to make their way up to the disaster area. The middle Tracy had – identity hidden – asked them why they were there before he had walked off.
"Five of our peers and a teacher are buried here. We may not be allowed to help with the search, but we will represent Wharton Academy and our school spirit. We were attacked too, yesterday. As long as there is a chance that one of our student family will come out of this, be it dead or alive, we are going to help the volunteers who are able to dig."
The mini-speech had almost brought him to tears – and it would have if he had not spent all his tears on his misery the night prior. The kind of support these students were showing was incredible, in his eyes. They could be like the rest of Wharton Academy – been sent home to their families. It seemed like most of the nation had shut down. Some tried to carry on as normal in an effort to heal from the tragedy, while others stayed close to the ones they cherished. Families gathered together in prayer, silence, and love.
Then there was his family. The media was already calling them out, wondering where Jeff Tracy and his sons were while their family baby was buried. Why no statement had been made. Why none of them had been seen. Scrutiny had been thrown their way, rumors flew through the air, and they were being shaded.
It was ironic, actually. The media were claiming that Jeff did not care for his youngest son. If only they knew that he was running himself ragged trying to find him! That he was leading International Rescue and had been on scene since the beginning! That their family had been speaking with Alan just shortly before the first collapse!
The media would have had a field day with all that juicy information.
The ground crunched beneath his boots as he shifted to his heels for a moment before returning to his previous position. Looking down at the thick dusting of rubble, dirt, grit, and possibly little pieces of flesh – honestly, he did not want to think about it – he felt that hollowness deep within himself once more. Like nothing he did would matter. They were too late.
If only they had been faster. If only that storm had not grounded them. If only Alan…
Why had he always been hard on the teenager? Why had he unconsciously pushed him away though Alan had always tried to sneak into his good graces? Most of the time they got along. Virgil had even taught him to cook, like his mother had taught him. Alan had not been half bad at it, surprisingly. One of the few things he did not set fire to – unlike Scott, who had been banned from the kitchen by Onaha after a particularly fiery explosion.
He had even started to teach him to play the piano. While Alan was no Mozart, he knew a few songs and all the notes. What he lacked was focus and discipline. Then again, Alan rarely focused on such things unless it was astronomy. Virgil had never understood his fascination for the cold, distant balls of gas. Why did a fast-paced kid that slept a lot love the stars so much?
He had asked John once, but the older brother had refused to comment, stating that it was a question for Alan to answer, not him. Completely rude.
There were other things that puzzled Virgil about the teenager, such as his absolute hatred of the infirmary. Never before had he had a patient loathe medical help than Alan did. Or go so far as to try to escape the medical bay with a concussion. The many exploits became a sort of game for Virgil, trying to figure out a way to stop his brother from escaping while only using the act of sedation as a last resort.
Never before had he realized how many ways there were to escape before Alan came along. Be it a window, an air duct, or even on one of the medical tool carts or laundry hampers. It was a running joke in the family, trying to keep the teenager in the medical bay whenever he got himself hurt was quite the challenge. Considering how accident prone their youngest sibling was, it was quite often.
The mere thought of all the trouble he caused made the young doctor want to laugh. The thoughts of Alan's exploits alone were enough to warm the heart. The gravity of the current situation robbed him of that ability, however.
Reaching down, he ran a gloved finger through the thick dust, drawing a picture. It was a nice outlet, providing him some much-needed distraction. He would much rather be running his fingers over the ivory keys of his piano, playing a song from Mozart or one of his own compositions, but this would have to do.
"Are you drawing a dragon?" Scott asked between bites as he studied his brother.
Virgil paused for a moment before wiping the dragon-like image clean. Helmet locked on his head, allowing him clean air to breathe, the middle Tracy sighed. They had almost gone through all their spare filters. He did not care, though. He was useful here. It was him and Jeff that had finished digging the last Port Authority officer out of the hole before passing him up to the long line of firemen and other rescuers. Their father had flown him to the nearest hospital in Thunderbird Two, after which Virgil had ordered him to rest.
The younger Tracy knew that he should join his father in sleep, at least that would be the smart choice. Yet there was no way he would leave Scott alone, with no back up. He would manage. At least Scott had managed to get some rest the night before. At least his brother was supposed to. Himself? He had neglected sleep for a mild breakdown that his father had witnessed. Something that had not happened in years.
The brunette hated showing such weakness. No, instead he would paint or play music, using his emotions to fuel him. He had no such outlet this time, something that he loathed. He felt like Gordon trapped without a pool, or Scott without his fast Thunderbird. John without his space station, their father without his coffee, and Alan without…
Sucking in a sharp breath, he clenched his eyes shut for a moment, shifting his focus to something else. Potato plants. Yes, that was a safe focus. Mashed potatoes, soup, baked potatoes dripping with butter and sour cream, dashed with salt and pepper.
The thought almost made him drool. Potatoes sounded so good right then.
When Scott shoved a cooked potato in front of him, the younger brother wanted to cry with delight as he discarded his helmet and began eating it. It was only after his second bite did he look at his brother questionably.
"You were muttering about potatoes, and so I found one for you," the elder Tracy laughed. "Sorry, I can't get you any sour cream, as that was one thing not donated, so I hope you like it plain."
"It's perfect," he responded, smiling a bit. "Thank you."
"Couldn't let ya go hungry now! What kind of big brother would I be if I let you starve while I stuff myself full of hot dogs?" he questioned as he began on a second one.
"You'd be fat," he snorted, grinning ear to ear. It felt good to laugh a bit.
"I am not fat!"
"Mmm… a little pudgy. Too many hot dogs," he teased back, poking him in the belly.
"Hmph! You're as rude as Gordon sometimes, doc."
He shook his head and continued to nibble on his potato, making every bite count. Savor the taste; that was the key to making it last longer. Out of his brothers, Virgil had always been the slower eater, preferring to take his time and enjoy his food instead of wolfing it down like the rest of the pack. Only his father mirrored him in this.
"What are you, a rabbit? Nibbling away at your food like that."
"Shush. I'm going to take pleasure in my food. The taste is a bit bland, but still very desirable."
"Musician, artist, doctor, food critique. You're quite well-rounded," Scott mused.
"Look who's talking."
"Wha- VIRGIL! I AM NOT FAT!" Scott cuffed him over the head before returning to his hot dog.
"Ow! I know you're not. It's just funny how you react," he laughed, dodging another blow to the head and going back to his potato.
The two brothers sat in silent company, pleased that they had each other. They did not have to say much to each other, nor did they require words to pass along their thoughts and feelings. Each could silently understand the other. As the two chief Thunderbird pilots on missions, they easily bonded together. Each understanding the weight that was put on each of their shoulders. Split-second decisions were often made and communication was often limited to trust and instinct. Something Scott, Virgil, and even Gordon had learned to acquire as physically active field members of International Rescue. That dependability in the field often lingered into everyday life. The trio frequently gravitating to one another.
Perhaps that was why Alan had bonded with John so much. Both were so far away from home, unintentionally removed from the immediate family. They could each understand the longing and heartache that came with missing those they cared for deeply. The homesickness that plagued them both. Virgil knew of the pains the blonds faced, and he hated it – but what choice did they have? John was the only one who did not get completely space sick from being on the station for so long, and Alan had his schooling.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you last night," Scott said finally once they had both finished their food and were now drinking bottled water.
Pulled from his thoughts, Virgil flicked his brown eyes over to him. "Dad told you to stay with Fermat, Scott. It's all good. You got him off safe, right? No more asthma attacks? His head still doing okay? Wasn't a bad concussion, luckily."
"Yeah, he was fine. Should be halfway to the school by now, I would think. He has his spare inhaler and some extra cartridges with him that we found in Alan's bag."
The medic stiffened. That name again. He could not think about him again. He refused to any longer. Not until he had a better outlet.
Scott studied him for a moment before pulling out his phone. "Hey, watch this. Maybe it'll cheer you up?"
The twenty-five-year-old frowned, but took the phone, watching the video play. Blinking a few times, he watched as Alan easily took on someone who was trying to punch him, by dodging and weaving about and throwing out playful insults that were met with hurtful ones. "That's…"
"Yeah, taken yesterday morning. Seems that he's been hiding things from us, according to Fermat. There's a lot of videos on this website. I haven't seen them all yet, but this one makes me laugh. He's so dang sassy. Reminds me of Mom, truthfully." Their mother had always been the sass master of the family.
Scrolling through the website, Virgil frowned. "What is this… This seems like a lot of cruel people. How many videos of Alan are there? Maybe we can find out some answers…?"
"I've been searching for some particular answers, honestly."
When Scott failed to elaborate, Virgil sighed. "Something to do with various instances when he would not vid-chat, only audio?" At his brother's raised eyebrow, he smirked a bit. "I'm not stupid, Scooter."
"Fermat admitted that they were being bullied. That Alan would jump to his defense and usually get his ass handed to him." He sighed. "But it cooled off a lot recently when he really started fighting back."
He mentally shrugged and passed the phone back. "I see he's still as feisty as ever." He paused. "Was as feisty."
Scott's gaze lowered. He wanted to tell him that there was still hope. That Alan could still be alive. Truthfully, Scott prayed that Alan had already passed instead of still being trapped, unable to call for help. Buried alive.
Opening a comm. link, he looked at Virgil. "Say what you want to say to him. For all we know, he can hear us."
"Scott…" Virgil glanced around, feeling as if everyone was watching, though no one was looking in their direction.
"Come on. Here, I'll start. Alan, buddy, I know that we've missed out on a lot with you being at school and our visits rare and few in between. I'm sorry about that. We should have come around more, but with what we do… Ugh, no, that's just an excuse. What we did was wrong. We missed out on a lot of your school functions. The convention – I heard you placed first, kid! Then there was the big group presentation you and Fermat did on… I don't even know what it was about. I didn't even know you had entered any competitions. Some older brother I am."
Virgil looked at him oddly, making a mental note to ask him about this competition later. "You're a great older brother."
Scott shook his head. "Alan might not think so, Virge. We left him out so many times, and never really made time for him when he was away at school. For that, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I should have argued with Dad to keep you with us, Sprout. I should have intervened after your arm was dislocated. After the Hood, things were going so well for a while, and then I allowed us to slip back into old habits as soon as school started up again for the new semester. We fell into distance again. For that, I apologize."
He gulped and closed his eyes. "There's so many things I regret, Alan. If I had… If I had held onto Mom's hand tighter…"
Virgil's brown eyes widened in surprise at his brother's words. "Scotty…"
Scott shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. Alan, just know that I love you, and I'm so sorry for not being there for you. I may never get the chance to make it up for you, but if I do, I will be the best damn big brother ever. Teach ya to drive, even! Just…" He flicked his hand over the communicator and sighed, resting his head on a hand.
The younger Tracy put an arm around his shoulders, holding him close, not needing any words to tell him what he felt.
"Scott?"
The eldest Tracy brother nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. "John? You scared the heck out of me!" he cried.
"S-Sorry. Scott…"
Virgil studied Scott's expression as it shifted from startled to worried. Through his own headset, he could hear John's odd sounding voice. Was the normally collected Tracy actually trembling?
"Johnny? What's wrong?"
There was a deep shuddering breath. "I screwed up. I can't trace it, and I failed! Scott, I can't get ahold of Dad, and…"
"Whoa, whoa. Slow down. What are you talking about? The signal? Alan? His signal's been lost. You and Brains both confirmed that," Scott responded softly, sparing a look with his middle brother.
"Stop beating yourself up, John," Virgil attempted to comfort. "Dad's resting – or at least he's supposed to be. If you can't get ahold of him, though, that means he's sleeping like I ordered him to." Unwillingly, a yawn left his own throat.
"No! You don't understand! Guys, last night-"
"We found a survivor!"
Both brothers shot up, immediately queasy as their food threatened to come back up from the swift movement and stared at the yeller for a moment in surprise.
"John, we'll have to continue this later! Come on, Virgil!"
"Scott, wait! Al-"
"We have a survivor found. We have to go! Thunderbird One and Two out!"
There was a rush as a large group moved into the Pile, Scott and Virgil hanging back to put on their helmets and exo-skeletal mech suits and following behind them.
.~*Thunderbirds Are Go*~.
9/12 – 12:45 p.m. EST
Lakeshore Specialty Clinic
"Johnny, I don't want to talk to you right now," Gordon growled as he ignored the call once again. Why was John trying so hard to talk to him after what he had spouted earlier? No, no, Gordon was going to ignore his older brother. He did not want to deal with his politically correct nonsense that took Alan out of the situation.
Turning his attention back to the television, he flopped his back as the announcement was made. Another survivor found and freed from the Pile – a woman from the Port Authority. A secretary, apparently. While it pleased him that someone else had been found, frustration made itself clear from his clenched fists.
"Damn it, Alan, where the hell are you?" he growled to a thankfully empty room. "Why can't you just transmit? Hell, I'll even take ghost form! Just so I know for sure! I should be out there helping look for you and others, but no, I had to be an idiot and get myself hurt! Since you weren't there to help us out, the accident-prone bug dropped on me! Thanks a lot!"
Mentally berating himself, the former Olympian glanced back at the television again, watching the live footage of the woman being carried down the line of workers in a rescue gurney. The cheers that rose up from the workers after the woman was passed down did nothing more than fuel his rage.
"That should be you, Sprout. You should be alive right now. You're downright impossible to kill! How many times have you been put into physical danger throughout the years? Nothing can hold you down! How can this possibly… Did it really take two buildings to end you?! Freakin' stubborn ass," he sighed. "Ugh, come on, Allie. This is not cool. How can you let some stupid buildings crush you?"
Closing his eyes, trying to detach himself from the reality of life, he realized how selfish he was being. Worrying only about his brother instead of all the other people trapped within the rubble like a true rescuer would. Then again as of right now, he was not a rescuer but a bedridden brother. Was he in the wrong to not particularly care about the other people dead rather than his missing brother? Damn all those others! He just wanted his little brother!
A stern knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Glancing up warily, he checked the security monitor next to his bed. "Oh, Commander. Hey." He buzzed him in, scowling a bit. "I have an excuse why I'm not at the Pile. Why aren't you?"
The brunette had a scowl on his face to match his second youngest's, though his was more tired. Despite Virgil's orders, he had only slept fitfully after his message to Alan. A message that had more than likely not reached him. "I was ordered to rest."
"Virgil?"
"Virgil."
"Guy likes giving out orders," the redhead muttered, crossing his arms.
A small grin formed on the patriarch's face. "How are you doing, Gordon?" He looked over his bedridden son, whose leg was hoisted up on a ceiling sling. He could only imagine how angry his fiery son was about being trapped on the bed.
"Fine, I guess. Not quite a fan of being trapped in a bed, but at least I get to complain a bunch while you lot do the manual labor." He looked him over, realizing that his father was wearing a Thunderbird Two uniform that was caked with dust. "Don't you have a spare?"
"They were in the wash, if you recall, since we were supposed to be shut down until the storm blew over." Jeff chuckled slightly before taking a seat beside his second youngest. "I'm about to head back to the Pile and continue the search. That, or meet with the President. It was mentioned that he wanted to meet with the Commander of International Rescue."
That perked Gordon's interest. "Whatever for? To yell at us for being late? For not doing enough? He can go and… Yeah, not going to finish that sentence…" He gave his father a sheepish expression.
Jeff rolled his eyes. "Maybe a little, but I believe the reasoning behind it – there's not much more we can do here. They're getting ready to bring in the cranes."
"Cranes? Not much more we can do?! We can keep looking!"
"It's not that simple, Gordon. We're made for rescue, not recovery."
"And there might still be people down there alive! What are we going to do, just abandon them? You can't be serious!"
"It's only a theory on what he wants, son. If he orders us to leave, we have no choice. You know that. No matter how much we want to stay and keep searching. If no one else is found within the next few hours, International Rescue will more than likely be sent away. Hope has faded from the country that more survivors will be found." He looked to the floor solemnly, and Gordon realized just how much his father had aged in the past two days. "It's faded from me, too. Finding that woman was a lucky break. The dogs can't seem to find anyone else."
Gordon closed his eyes, soaking in the silence between them, punctured only by an occasional newscast. To leave this place meant to leave Alan. That was something that he did not, and could not, allow. How his father would give in to such requests was beyond him.
He was not quite sure how exactly he lost control, but the next thing he knew was his father shouting his name while the television fizzled and sparked from the remote going through the screen.
Ignoring his father, he found himself wanting to go back in time to prevent Alan and Fermat from being in New York at all. Order them to come home for training. Let someone else take their place. Take Alan's. Die in his brother's stead.
It was not until he felt his father hand on his shoulder did the twenty-three-year-old realize he had started to cry. Wiping his nose on the back of his arm, he tried to stop the salty flow, but the tears refused to yield. He knew, deep down, if he wanted to truly stop them, he would have to give up on his only younger brother. He was not ready to admit that Alan could be dead. Entombed within a mass grave – perhaps even in several pieces.
His partner in crime. Best friend. Only younger brother. Gone.
It was not fair. Scott had four younger brothers to care for. John had three, Virgil two, and Gordon? Well, Gordon only had one, and now he was dead.
He was not aware of the sobs leaving his body as he came to the realization. His one duty was to protect Alan. He had always wanted a younger sibling to playfully torment, and as the years went on with no sign of growth in his mother's belly – and many questions of when she was going to eat clay to make a baby due to some bad information from Virgil – he had begun to give up.
Then came the fateful date that his mother lobbed a blueberry muffin at their father and announced she was pregnant.
When that small little tater tot was placed into his arms when he was brought home for the first-time months later, Gordon could not stop smiling…
FLASHBACK
"Gordon? Come here, baby," Lucille Tracy called gently as she sat down in the rocking chair of the nursery of Gordon's old room.
As the seven-year-old walked over, he glanced around at his former bedroom. He now had to double up with Virgil while Scott and John shared a room all because of this tiny thing that had grown in his mother's belly. He was not one bit happy with it – Virgil snored. Loudly. It was fairly difficult for Gordon to get any sleep with Virgil around, and no one else wanted to share with the middle Tracy, so the two youngest had gotten their own rooms. Until now.
The months leading up to Alan being brought home had been busy. He had switched rooms and his old room had taken on quite a change. Gone were his yellow walls, replaced with stark white. At least, until Virgil and his paints got involved. The wall that the wooden crib – the very maple crib that all the brothers had shared – leaned against was now home to a beautiful hand-painted mural of a sunset over the fields outside their paternal grandparents' ranch.
John had decided to join in on the fun and had painted the ceiling a dark color before placing glow-in-the dark stars and planets all over the ceiling and fan. Scott had joined in as well, doing his part by putting in a large picture of the USAF Thunderbirds on a different wall, while Gordon had put his favorite fish plush into the crib.
"Is that him, Mommy?" the redhead questioned as he stopped in front of her, staring at the bundle of red blanket. Where was the baby?
"Mhm. You're a big brother now, my little fish. This is Alan," the tired mother responded with a smile on her face that made her cerulean eyes sparkle. She shifted the blanket just enough to show Gordon the face of his new sibling.
Scrunching up his face, he stared at this odd little creature. He had seen babies before – never cared for them. This was different, however. This was his baby. Okay, his parents' baby, but it was his baby brother! "He's so… ugly!"
A roar of laughter broke out from behind him, and he whipped around to find his father and older brothers having filtered into the decorated room. "What?! He is!"
"Gordon, you can't call a baby ugly!" soon-to-be fourteen-year-old Scott laughed. "That's not very nice!"
John shot his older brother a dark look. "You called both Gordon and Virgil ugly when they first came home!"
"Yeah, well…" Scott scowled and crossed his arms unhappily. "Shut up, Johnny."
"Make me, Scooter," the platinum blond retorted, a challenge in his eyes.
"Oh, I could take you on easily!"
"Oh, yeah? Put up your dukes!"
"Boys," Jeff gently reprimanded, though the amusement was clear in his gaze.
Gordon shared a look with Virgil, who shook his head at the ridiculousness of it, before he turned back to his mother. "He's got hair like Johnny and you!"
"Mhm. Our eyes, too," she responded. "Though, only time will tell if he'll keep them."
The youngster's green eyes widened in terror. "WHAT?! HE'S GOING TO LOSE HIS EYES?! TAKE HIM BACK TO THE HOSPITAL IF HE'S GOING TO BE BROKEN! GET A NEW ONE!"
At the next round of laughter, Gordon pouted. "How can you guys be laughing?! He's going to lose his eyes!"
Lucille wiped away the tears of mirth. "No, no, honey. All babies are born with blue eyes. In a few months, their true color appears. We were surprised at you and Virgil's eyes being brown and green. Recessive, thrown-back genes. Virgil got his brown from my father, while you got your red hair and green eyes from your Dad's father."
He calmed down a bit, looking thoughtful. "Oh. Is Alan going to get that, too?"
"Only time will tell, honey. Now, would you like to hold him?"
"Uh-huh!" Gordon plopped himself down in the second, slightly smaller, rocking chair beside his mother and held out his arms. Listening to the instructions on how to hold him, he looked down at the red-clad tiny Tracy he now held.
A sense of pride filled him as he traced a finger over his baby brother's smooth cheek. Actually holding him, Gordon saw past the small wrinkles and saw the beauty within the small being. "Hiya, Allie! I'm Gordon, your big brother!" he introduced, a big smile crossing his face as he felt tiny fingers wrapping around his left index finger.
In that moment, the seven-year-old made a vow – he would allow no harm to come to his little charge. This was his brother to protect, just as Virgil, John, and Scott were his protectors. "You and I are going to be such good friends. I'll teach you all my tricks. I might be the king prankster, but you can be the prince, okay?"
END FLASHBACK
As the seasons changed over the years and Alan grew into a playful toddler, Gordon grew with him, taking charge of his little troublemaker-to-be. Having a younger brother was both a lot of fun and a lot of annoyance – the nights of constant crying were always the worst, but Gordon was prepared with ear plugs, since he had to share the room with Virgil.
When Alan became old enough, Gordon began to use him to reach the cookie jar on top of the fridge or have him distract Scott before Gordon pulled a big prank on him – especially when Scott's head got too big from praise at doing well at school.
He remembered the nights the brothers spent camping under the stars on warm summer nights while their parents worked on Tracy Enterprise or went out on a date night. They would tell scary stories, watch the sunset together – and sometimes the sunrise – and just bond. Alan would always be the first to fall asleep, however, always curled up against one of them. It never failed – he was quite the sleepy snuggle bug when he wanted to be.
Even in recent years, there had been many times during school breaks where Gordon found Alan asleep in random places – once even in the cockpit of Thunderbird One. Alan only woke when Scott fired up the thrusters and brought him along on a mission. Other places Alan fell asleep constantly was on the beach, up on Satellite Hill, or on the floor of his bedroom instead of his bed.
Thinking of all this only broke his heart further, for he too had let his hope fade away, dwindling into little more than an ember.
His watch vibrated again, and instead of ignoring it this time since he would get in trouble with his father, he decided he was going to give John quite the rant to leave him alone. To hell with what his father said to him in return. "John, I swear! Just leave me alone, you politically correct piece of–"
"Alan attempted contact last night. He survived the collapse."
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and once more, a big thank you to all those who have reviewed! You have no idea how inspiring they are. To know that people not only read, but enjoy the story [and all my twists and turns], and to learn how it has affected you! It really lights up my day when I get that notification in my email.
If you liked this chapter, please leave a review! Thanks for reading! Have a good week! See you next Sunday!
