Happy (belated) New Year

Sorry about the wait, but you remember how I said we were piecing our lives back together? While, My husband was liking in Oklahoma and I was living in Oregon when everything happened. (I had stayed on the West Coast after the wedding in order to finish school.) So, after Thanksgiving, I was busy saying goodbye to Oregon and moved to Oklahoma on December 12th. THEN my husband got a job a hundred miles away from where we had been living and I moved AGAIN on December 30th.

On top of all that, I had a lot of trouble developing a plot for this one. As you al know, I go with the words you give me, but most of you said "Ice" or "Ice Skates." Since "I is for Ice" is part of The ABC's of Alan Tracy, I didn't want to duplicate the chapter here. So, I carefully thought through the other suggestions until a cold spell in my new hometown (it was 7 degrees when I woke up this morning) prompted me to pick this word and write what you are about to read.

This chapter is for TigreMalabarista for the challenge word.

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, who once again set aside her homework to help me get this posted.

Enjoy ...


I is for Ice Machine

Virgil sighed as he returned the last first aid kit to its place on Thunderbird Three. Now every kit was full and ready for the next call out. Well, most of them. He hadn't checked the kit on Thunderbird Five in a while, but John would tell him if it got low … probably. He was a lot better about reporting injuries than most of them, but Virgil suspected that he may be treating himself more often than not. Which means that he would have to take a trip to space in the very near future.

"Hey, Scott?" Virgil called, entering the lounge.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you could bring me up to Thunderbird Five."

"I can!" Alan cried happily.

While the reports on his progress as a pilot were good, the idea made the medic pause. It hadn't been that long ago that Virgil had to treat both of their resident astronauts for injuries received after getting too close to an asteroid. So, he answered his youngest brother the only way he could.

"What do you say, Scott?"

"Hey!"

"I'd love to, but I think Brains needs me for propulsion tests on Thunderbird One."

"I said I could do it."

"Dad might be able to take you."

"Scott!"

"I think he's in England until tomorrow."

"I'm not in England."

"Well, I wish I could take you."

"Yup, that just leaves me."

"Thanks anyway. Hey, has Gordon had any training on Thunderbird Three?"

"I'm gonna kill you both."

It took a lot to keep a straight face, but somehow Virgil managed it. Scott didn't even appear to try hard, but then he had a few more years of practice. Alan, however, had mastered the Tracy Death Glare some time ago and his only problem seemed to be which of his brothers he planned to fry with it first. Not wanting to deal with the fallout that was coming – and needing to get back on his mission - Virgil made the decision for him and slipped out of the room. Maybe Brains would have a solution for getting up to Thunderbird Five.

"How are the tests coming?" he called over the hum of machines, as he stepped into the lab.

It took a minute for Max to get Brain's attention, another for Virgil to repeat his question, another for Brains to shut down the engine he was working on – so he could hear – and the medic got his answer on the third attempt at asking the question. Five minutes wasn't a record, but it was better than average.

"With these improvements, Thunderbird One will be able to accelerate three to five percent faster," Brains said excitedly. "Of course, too fast and we risk structural damage."

"Maybe you should run a few more tests before you give it to Scott," Virgil suggested.

The safety tip was only partially given as an engineer, but also as a medic. He didn't even want to think about how a haul breach would affect his brother at Mach 2. Any kind of malfunction at the speeds they traveled could result in International Rescue needing to save their own.

"I'll keep that in mind," Brains promised, "but I have a feeling that you did not come in here just to ask about Thunderbird One."

"No, I actually came about Thunderbird Five. John's due for a first aid refill, but I don't have a pilot for Thunderbird Three."

"I thought I saw Alan upstairs," the scientist offered.

"Brains … asteroid."

"I see your point. Have you tried asking John to send down the space elevator?"

Not a bad idea. Virgil thanked his friend and headed back upstairs to prepare the kit, pulling out his personal communicator along the way. It would be nice to see John in person again. He just hoped that he had enough supplies left over to replace anything his brother had used since his last medical supply run.

^I^C^E^M^A^C^H^I^N^E^

John looked over his maintenance logs with a growing sense of exhaustion. While it was nice having a place all to himself – especially after growing up with four loud and intrusive brothers – sometimes running a station single-handed was annoying. So far, he had repaired or replaced three power cells, and it was not even lunch yet! Of course, he was only able to get that much completed because they hadn't had a call out in the last … six hours. Granted, at the current rate of emergencies, he would have a fully functioning Thunderbird for his 42nd birthday.

"Virgil to John."

"Go ahead," he responded, thankful for the break.

"It's that time of the month again," his brother said with a smile.

"Um … what time?"

"Medical restock."

John rolled his eyes. Only Virgil ever got happy at the prospect of counting bandages and slings. Then again, he had always suspected these monthly checks were a ploy to see which of their pilots was sneaking the most supplies. No matter, he was a little low the last time he checked, and maybe he could even talk Virgil into sticking around for an hour or two to help with repairs. All the critical ones were finished, so all that was left was standard maintenance.

"When are you coming up?" John asked after a moment.

"As soon as I pack the kit. What all do you need?"

John thought back to the nearly empty box in the control room. He knew he needed burn cream, antiseptic, gauze pads, gauze strips, small bandages, large bandages, pain killers, cough medicine, cold medicine, sterile gloves …

"Just bring whatever and we'll see what's empty."

"Fair enough," Virgil conceded. "I'll need you to send the elevator down for me."

"Sure thing. Call when you're ready."

Virgil promised he would and signed off. John went back to his list to see what he could repair while he was waiting. The ice machine shouldn't take that long. He made his way down the gravitation ring until he came to his kitchen. The machine in question was sitting in the corner and John ran a quick diagnostic to see what was the problem. Simple fix, one of the parts had slipped out of its spot and was jamming everything else up. No problem. He just stuck his hand into the machine and popped the part back into place. Easy as –

"Uh-oh."

John tugged against whatever had snagged his glove, but only succeeded in poking the back of his hand. That loose part must have done more damage than he realized; something had broken and created a sharp edge. If he was very, very careful, he might be able to gently pull himself free –

"International Rescue! You need to help us!"

Darn it! While John was able to answer the frantic voice, all his equipment to track their location and see what his brothers would be us against was back at his workstation. Promising that help was on the way, he gave his hand a mighty tug and ripped his glove free … along with the back of his hand. Good thing the first aid kit was kept in the control room.

"International Rescue, we have a situation," he reported, using audio only as he floated straight for the globe in the center of the room. "A group of geologists have been trapped by a landslide. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

It was hard working one-handed, but it was difficult to manipulate his fingers without a lot of pain – something that was sure to register in his voice. Once they launched, however, he was free to tend to his own mini-emergency. However, it proved to be much greater than he originally imagined. Only a two thin gauze pads and a small amount of tape remained in his kit.

Making the best of things, John removed his ruined glove and used one pad to mop up the blood seeping from the cut. After cleaning it as best he could, he taped the second gauze in place and carefully slipped his hand into the glove from his back-up uniform. Problem solved.

"Hey, John," Virgil's hologram appeared from the helm of Thunderbird Two, "I guess we'll need a rain check on restock day."

"Yeah, I guess," John replied, trying to keep his voice even. "Not a big deal, I have plenty of supplies up here."

Virgil narrowed his eyes and John was beginning to regret allowing for the visual communication. If Virgil came up at any time in the next 36 hours, he would know that John had hurt himself. He couldn't afford to give any hint that something was wrong, but it appeared he already had. No, if he kept his cool, there was nothing for Virgil to see. The blue tint of the hologram would hide any sign of a pale complexion from the blood loss – one would hope – and the damaged glove was far out of sight. What could possibly tip him off that anything had happened?

"John," the medic said after a minute, "how many rescues have I been on?"

"Not sure of the exact number," John replied, puzzled by the question.

"Do you know how many times Scott or Gordon has hurt themselves on the job?"

"Again, not the exact number … what's your point?"

"I know what blood looks like on our uniforms."

Crap.

John looked down at his hand and the red stain slowly spreading across the material. He caught him again! Once those geologists were safe, he was going to have to bring up Virgil – and maybe even Scott – to explain what happened. The only question was, which would be worse: the treatment of his hand or the lecture for his stupidity. In the end, Virgil handled the treatment and Scott handled the lecture. Half an hour of his older brother scolding him while his little brother gave him ten stitches.

It was a tie.


So, what do you think? (Did anyone see Scott changing his mind about flying Thunderbird Three?)

I look forward to your feedback and will get started on chapter J as soon as I get an inspiring word.

P.S. For those of you interested in the other fandoms I write for, I have a future A-Team fic prepared as well as one-shots for the animated Ghostbusters tv series and the old show The Waltons. However, I have not had the best luck in posting new material of late. It seems that anything I put out outside of one of my established fandoms gets very few hits and even less responses. (I'm talking 4-6 people even looking at it over the first few days.) Please let me know if this is something you think people would like/read as I have many more ideas (and multiple stories in progress) for Monk, Ghostbusters, A-Team, Star Trek, Wild Wild West, Bonanza, Jurassic Park ... I have a lot of ideas.