Chapter Eight
"Alan dear? Are you up there again?" Ruth Tracy clucks from under her teeth, "Are you trying to give us all heart attacks?" Alan Tracy's blond head pops up over the lip of the roof, grinning sheepishly as he sees his Grandmother frowning and tsking down below.
"Sorry Grandma," Alan hops down from his perch with a short, guilty laugh. His eyes are tired; darkly ringed, and he staggers slightly on his landing. He'd been in John's usual telescope spot again, and she'd have thought he'd been watching the stars, only its early afternoon and the sun is high in the sky. It looks more like he's been hiding. Grandma Tracy's arms come up to wrap around him before he can even stop wobbling. He may be taller than her already, but he's always going to be her little Alan and will never get too big for a hug.
He's a tad sunburnt though, she clucks to notice, across the bridge of his nose and radish-red around the tips of his ears. It's just like one of her boys to forget his sun-lotion or a hat, though John is the worst for it; you can take the boy out of space but you can't take space out of the boy and her Johnny always forgets the effect the sun can have on his terribly fair skin. Beneath the burn though, the youngest Tracy's face does look a little pale and drawn, and his eyes are big and liquid as he looks down at her.
"Why Alan, whatever is the matter, love?" Ruth frowns, her gnarly fingers rubbing smooth circles over his shoulder blades.
"M'just worried about John." He mumbles; the red of his cheeks deepening in a way that has more to do with shame than with his sunburn. His posture is slightly hunched and his shoulders are trembling.
"Virgil and Doctor Caldwell say he's doing a lot better now love. Looks to me like this is about more than just John's little accident." Grandma Tracy observes; her matriarchal instincts certain that there is something else going on in the boy's mind. Surely he can't be this embarrassed over just the idea that he cares for his brother? They never usually have much trouble in that regard.
"Scott too." Alan mumbles, after a beat. "I was piloting Three; it was my fault he hit his head." Alan's round face is flushed with guilt, his blue eyes round and shiny. "It's my fault got Scott concussed."
Ah. She thinks. So that's the problem.
"Oh Alan. That's just nonsense and you know it," Ruth tuts, her arms tightening around her boy, "Scott doesn't blame you, so neither should you blame yourself. You're just getting all het up for nothing, love." Alan nods, his eyebrows still a little anxious, but he's evidently taking her words to heart. She presses a quick, powdery kiss to his cheek and smiles at Jeff's littlest. "Now, off to the kitchen with you. I was doing some baking and there's a plate of double chocolate chip cookies in there with your name on it." Ruth has always been a firm believer in fixing her boys with food and she smiles at Alan's delighted grin. All of them need a little fattening up, she reckons. "There are different types for everyone, and the ones on the red plate are yours, love."
"Thanks Grandma!" He yells over his shoulder as he breaks away from her; his feet pounding over the crazy paving. Foolish boy. She shakes her head and her fist at him, but he's too far gone to her hear scolding him for running so haphazardly.
...
She heads down towards the Olympic sized pool next, and finds Gordon, predictably, in the water, doing rapid lengths. He kicks off at each end, performing a summersault in the water before shooting off the other way, his arms swooping up to form the graceful arcs of the butterfly stroke. He's working off his stress in the best way he knows how.
Ruth smiles fondly, if a slightly exasperatedly at her little goldfish, and she scurries off to fetch him a towel and his shampoo for when he's done. In the process she stops by the kitchen, smiling at Alan's empty plate on the rack, and she picks up some of the white chocolate and raspberry cookies she'd made for Gordon. She lays the plate on a sun lounger with Gordon's towel and things, and pours him a glass of orange juice to wash the biscuits down.
"Thanks Grandma." Gordon, dripping all over the patio, has scrambled out of the pool and is honing in on Ruth's baking with wet, spiky hair and a wild grin. She drops the towel over his shoulders, using it as a chance to give him a quick squeeze as she gives him a firm reminder to use sunscreen, if he's going to be out here long.
...
She stops off to see Scott next. He's still on enforced bed-rest, but he's looking almost completely fine again and Ruth catches Jeff's eldest sprawled back against his headboard, reading a book. The jagged mark across his brow is still covered with gauze, but his eyes are focusing fine on the small print and he's no longer dizzy and nauseous.
"I brought you hazelnut cookies, Scotty." Ruth smiles, "They've got a little bit of nutmeg in them too."
"Grandma, you are an angel." Scott is up, out of bed and taking the plate off her with steady hands and a warm smile before she can even cross the threshold. With a quick snap the cookie in broken in half and popped his mouth and Scott lets out a soft moan of approval. His Grandma's cookies are always the best and every so often she goes baking mad and makes each of them their favourites. Hazelnut has always been his, all warm and gooey and nutty against his tongue. "Thanks." Scott brushes his lips against her cheek in a quick, cookie-crumb kiss and Ruth laughs and swats the boy away.
"Now, back into bed with you, young man." And it's a testament to the powers of Grandma Tracy that Scott doesn't remind her exactly how old he actually is, and that he is more than capable of not being scolded into doing things. Most of the time.
"Yes m'aam!" Scott throws her a mock salute and a mischievous grin and he's off, scrambling back into bed to avoid her swatting hand. She makes sure to tuck him in for his cheek, and if her fingers linger a little too long on his shoulders then Scotty isn't one to mind. Her boys are all adults now, but that doesn't seem to matter. She's quite sure they need her to look after them anyway.
...
Ruth finds her son and Brains in his office. She sets two mugs of coffee down within their reaches, and slides a plate of simple honeycomb biscuits in next to them. Jeff looks up gratefully at her, his hand stilling with his pencil. They've got big rolls of blue paper spread out all over his desk and Brains does his best to not get crumbs all over them as he takes a biscuit.
"Whatever are you doing, Jeff?" Grandma Tracy asks, frowning at the complicated schematics her son is studying. She understands very little about her boy's machines, but Ruth is always incredibly proud and impressed none the less.
"We're reviewing the schematics for Thunderbird Five," Jeff admits softly, reaching out to pick up his mug and cradling it between both hands as he takes a sip. "The safety protocols desperately need updating." His voice is tight and there is lingering tension in his shoulders. "This could have all been prevented if..." The boy's father trails off with a sigh.
"What are you thinking of?" Ruth asks; not because she'll understand most of what he says, but because she wants to know that he's going to keep their Johnny safe if they have to send him back into the cold emptiness of space. She'd protested the idea, at first, as had several of his brothers, but they all knew that really, even this couldn't keep their spaceman away from his stars. And International Rescue need him, the people need him, and John is far too noble to give that up. All of her boys are.
Softly, Jeff explains his plans to fix up the communications relay, so that the rescue calls they are channelling down to Tracy Island for the moment come through clear; they're getting patchy messages into the office using the automated system for forwarding calls at the moment, but it's a poor substitute for Five, and without her the quality is appalling. They're going to sending Brains and Alan up ASAP to begin repairs.
The new plans have detailed safe spaces to be built aboard Five. Shelters with backup oxygen and meteor-proofing and extra ration supplies. There are deflection weapons (that John will very likely not agree with, let alone the UWF), changes to the shielding matrix, improvements to the communications systems and Brains has apparently designed a kind of centrifuge that increases the effectiveness of the simulated Gravity. There are plans for changes to their boy's spacesuit and his telescopes and Jeff has even put in upgrades to things like his refrigeration systems. Food storage will have never been more effective for nutritionally sound cardboard space food.
John, ever since he was a small child, had never asked for much, so when Jeff gets the opportunity to give him anything, he doesn't hold back. He dotes on all of his children, but he just never gets the chance to spoil John the way he can the others and his new Thunderbird Five plans should make life up there not only safer, but also easier for his boy.
"... and how are you doing Mom?" Jeff looks up at her suddenly, assessing Grandma Tracy with a sharp frown as she nods along to his plans, smiling in all the right places but looking tired and strained.
"Oh, don't you worry about little old me, Jefferson Tracy." Ruth leans over and presses a powdery kiss to his brow. "You keep on at your plans. Make sure our boy is safe so that we can always bring him home again in one piece. Now, bring that plate to the kitchen when you're done, and don't you boys work too late."
...
Ruth bumps into Scott again in the hall; he's obviously decided he's napped for long enough and is taking his plate to the kitchen for washing up. His hair is sleep-rumpled and he's still in pyjama bottoms and an old USAF t-shirt. Ruth clucks to see that his feet are bare, his toes curling up on the cold polished wood of the floor.
"Where are you off to Grandma?" Scott asks. He's eyeing up the plate she's carrying, where yet more cookies are piled up. These ones are suspiciously green though, and Scott frowns at them in mild alarm.
"I've got a plate of pistachio cookies for Virgil." Grandma Tracy laughs softly at his expression, "And I'm going to stop in and visit John." Scott's eyes darken slightly at that; shadowed with images only he can see of his brother, cold and lifeless, cradled in his arms with blue lips and a breathless chest.
"I'll come with you." Scott's hands bunch into fists and Ruth doesn't have the heart to send him back to bed instead, as she probably should do. They stop by John's bedroom on the way, and Ruth steals a pair of the astronaut's socks for Scotty; though she has to remind the silly boy at least three times that John won't mind, and that he wouldn't want Scott's feet to go cold, before Jeff's eldest concedes. The pilot's face flushes pink as he tugs them over his toes, promising to get them washed and returned before John even knows about it.
They pick up John's duvet as well; complete with the soft, blue space-themed cover that he hasn't actually used on his bed since he was a little boy of twelve, but Grandma Tracy knows will always be John's favourite. Scott, understanding, doesn't say anything as Ruth takes a moment to change his brother's sheets and re-organise John's bedside table, even though it's unlikely he'll be using his own room for a good few weeks yet.
They head straight for the medical bay when she's done. They're not surprised to find Virgil in there with him, and Ruth quietly hands across the cookies to receive a tired, grateful glance in response. Virgil seems exhausted; running low as he sketches absently in the corner of John's medical notes. He looks like his fingers are itching for his piano as a form of stress relief, but getting the boy to leave is nigh on impossible, and Grandma Tracy hopes her cookies will be enough for now.
John is sleeping. Looking small and fragile; covered in wires and tubes and, as Ruth tucks his space-print duvet gently over him, hiding the ugly lines briefly, he looks suddenly like that little boy of twelve all over again. Like he could have been just tucked up in bed, with one of his astronomy books open on his chest because he'd fallen asleep reading. Ruth slides into Scotty's usual seat, reaching out to clasp John's smooth, young hand between her own wrinkled fingers; her touch like tender and papery as she begins talking softly to her Grandson, telling him all about his brothers and how her day had been and how little Alan was becoming nearly as bad as he was for not wearing a hat. It doesn't seem to matter that John can't hear her.
Doctor Caldwell comes in, with some test results of some kind, and bustles around John's wires for a bit. The man is calm and professional, and he's taken a huge weight off Virgil's shoulders, and so Ruth smiles cordially at him, and offers out one of Virgil's cookies, despite the boy's muttered complaints.
Scott sinks down on the end of John's mattress and just watches his brother's still, empty face until, eventually, the pilot's hand snakes out to just touch the cold edge of John's ankle under his duvet. It creates a small, tangible link between them and Scott rubs small circles into their astronaut's skin, closing his eyes and feeling for John's pulse just under the hard ridge of the end of his fibula. John's socks are warm over his feet and his brothers pulse is steady and regular and Scott matches his breathing to the quiet thud. It gives him a gentle sense of peace; one Scott has been missing for a while, but hadn't really realized.
...
Author Notes: Annndd here's the Grandma chapter. Her terrible baking skills in TAG make me want to cry, so instead I've given you all her trying to fix her boys the only way she knows how; love and a mountain of cookies. Super Gran to the rescue!
Reviews are incredibly appreciated, you're all so, so lovely and you can all have like 20 of Grandma Tracy's virtual cookies (but like, not the TAG ones 'cause that would just be cruel). x
- Lenle
