Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.
AN: I guess I should put a blanket warning in this chapter for some adult implied action. I think it's okay for the rating (I'll be honest and say that the ratings confuse me, a lot), but here's a warning all the same.
This is most definitely part of the saga/series/linked stories I've been writing over the years, and is most definitely a sequel to "Hidden Identity" and stories set prior to that one. Needless to say, OCs established in the other tales will feature,briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy. :)
Chapter 11
To Jefferson Tracy, head honcho of a multi-billion dollar business and founder of International Rescue, waiting seemed to be a waste of time. It instilled a sense of inertia within him, a feeling of hopelessness, mingled with a touch of fear. Waiting was all he could do when the Search and Rescue teams had recovered Scott and Lucy's body from the snow. Waiting without purpose held bad memories for him.
Gordon had long gone back to Tracy Island, taking Thunderbird Two with him, leaving the patriarch of the family in the waiting room with two semi-stressed, yet not hysterical daughter-in-laws. From his left, Tin-Tin absentmindedly flicked through the pages of a magazine she clearly wasn't reading loudly, while Gus sat on the other side, peeling strips of skin away from her thumbs.
Since their arrival, there had been no further news on the condition of Alan and Virgil. Jeff supposed that was a good thing, given that no news meant that both his sons were still clinging to life.
Another flick of the page from Tin-Tin.
Another skin strip peeled and dropped to the ground.
Another minute passing by, bleeding into another hour passing by.
A further cup of coffee for Jeff.
A call from Brains, up on Five, still keeping tabs on the situation, even though the rescue was officially over.
No calls from the island. A sure sign that the boys were rattled themselves, working through their own issues before they could assume the role of being a tower of strength for the others.
Thinking of his boys, Jeff could feel for his second eldest. There were few things in life worse than losing the only person he would ever love. Yes, John was more like him than he cared to think; there was only one woman John would open his heart to, and with her gone, Jeff knew that John would commit himself to a life of celibacy, in the same manner his father had done.
Gordon hadn't looked too good either, Jeff realised, when they had briefly crossed paths. His uniform pants had jagged edges in them, and the eldest Tracy could see where a tourniquet had been applied to his thighs.
"Just a few flesh wounds, Dad, from where the wolves got me" Gordon had dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Superficial, mainly. It'll leave a few scars, but I don't care about that, and I'm much better off than Virgil or Alan."
It didn't stop Jeff from inspecting it himself, turning his fourth son's legs so he could see the extent of the damage that had been covered by the wrapped bandage.
"Ow, Dad, stop it!" Gordon had hissed as his father's hands lightly passed over the covered sores. "I told you, I'm fine!"
And as for Scott… Jeff couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the man had changed. He could detect that much from his eldest son's voice, even though he had yet to see the younger man. Briefly, his mind trailed back to the news of the Hood's demise. Scott hadn't seemed too surprised by that when Jeff had told him about it. Did he…? Jeff shook his head quickly, clearing his mind of traitorous thoughts. He knew that his eldest wasn't capable of that. There had to be something else bugging him. It was the only other plausible explanation.
With another long suffering sigh, Jeff fidgeted in his chair, with no other option but to continue waiting.
In another lifetime, this would not have happened to his sons. If his Lucille was still here, he had no doubt that their five children would have diverged from their childhood home, scouring the world as they forged their future and pursued their dreams.
Alan, no doubt, would have carved out a stellar career in the NASCAR races. Even though he had a natural aptitude towards anything related to space, Jeff knew that Alan's true passion lay in racing, and his passion would have trumped his aptitude.
Gordon, most likely, would have remained in WASP, exploring the hidden depths the ocean held, swimming amongst the sea anemone and fishes. Who knew, he could have even discovered the lost city of Atlantis.
Virgil would have progressed through the hierarchy in the engineering company he was working for before joining International Rescue. Of course, he would have continued to paint and excel in his musical interests. Jeff knew that Virgil needed them just as much as he needed oxygen to breathe.
John would have made a fortune from his bestsellers. He may have even branched out from writing fiction and tried his hand at a factual book about deep space systems, quasars, white dwarfs and black holes. In addition to that, he would have continued to work for NASA, letting his communicative skills propel his career forward.
It was a common misconception in the Tracy household that Scott wanted to stay in the Air Force. Instead, it was only through a sleepless summer night and late night conversation with his eldest that had showed Jeff how very wrong he was. Instead, Scott harboured a desire to work as a commercial pilot. A strange notion to Jeff, given that Jeff had loved the agility and the speed of the aircraft he had flown in the Force. But then, Scott had always liked structure, always craved routine, something he couldn't quite achieve in the Air Force. Few people knew about Scott's aspiration, but Jeff felt honoured that his son was willing to share it with him.
And with nothing else to distract Jeff, the waiting continued.
John Tracy did not remember what had happened after Scott had brought him home. He did not remember Scott instructing him to change out of his uniform and get into something more comfortable. He did not realise that Scott had stayed by his side until he had slipped off into a daze with his eyes glassed over.
But now… now he was awake, thanks to the gnawing sensation in his stomach, he was wide awake in the land of the conscious. His head hurt, his stomach ached and he had a crick in his neck. Moving his hand to rub at it, he was not surprised when he couldn't detect a discernible pulse.
Hard to have one when your heart's been ripped out of your chest and thrown asunder, his brain reminded him. Jeez, it hadn't even been a day and he couldn't believe how much he missed her. How much he missed knowing what he was missing out on with Jade.
Flinging the covers off, he stomped to the kitchen, ready to raid Kyrano's supply of cooking sherry, amongst other sources of alcohol. What he wasn't expecting, was to see Gordon slumped on the table, head resting on crossed arms.
"John? Are you okay?"
John narrowed his eyes, shooting his little brother a murderous glance. "My two little brothers are under the knife in hospital. I've just lost my fiancée, after witnessing her being brutally murdered. Do you really think I'm okay?"
Gordon, realising he had asked one of the stupidest questions under the circumstances, had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.
"Well," he offered, despite John's foul mood. "If you want to talk, I'm here for you."
In slow motion, John turned so that he was facing Gordon.
"Given that this entire situation was your fault," he snarled, wanting to make someone else hurt just as much as he was, "you are the last person I would go to. You can't even do the simple task of keeping your brothers safe! If you fuck up on that, I don't even know why the hell you're on this team!"
By the time John's mind had registered what his mouth had said, and he was willing to offer an apology, knowing he was out of line with his last comment, Gordon had fled, hurting on the inside, just as John had intended.
It had been a long time since this particular Tracy had come here. Guilt had kept him away. But the comments from the latest rescue drew him back to the memorial plaque that honoured his mother. The wind breezed around him gently, ruffling and messing up his curls, but he could have cared less.
"Why'd you have to die, Mom?" he spat out bitterly. "Why'd you have to leave me with the fallout? I meant what I said on the day of your funeral. It should have been me instead! I killed you by staying alive! All I've done since then is mess things up; under my watch, Alan, Gordon and Virgil are all physically hurt, and John's just had the worst possible thing done to him. I've got this threat looming over the family I've started with Tash, and I don't know how to deal with it. It would have been easier if you were here and I wasn't."
With no response, no reassurance that everything happened for a reason, the guilt compounded within him, twisting his insides into knots. Unable to endure it for any longer, he turned his back from the memorial and headed down to the grotto carved into a cliff face, one that was easily accessible at low tide, but at high tide, it was completely submerged by the water. The grotto was his usual hiding place, where he could overlook the curved shoreline easily, while sitting on the sandy floor of the grotto. With only his tortured thoughts for company, he didn't notice the soft footfalls that had followed him.
"Scott?" A soft, feminine voice. "Talk to me?"
"No." Scott shook his head to emphasise the point. "Just… no."
It did not seem to deter the red head. Instead, she sat down next to him, cross legged and took his hands in hers. "Scott, Gordon told me what happened."
A sharp look in her direction, one conveying hurt, pain and betrayal in one glance.
"Don't ask me to apologise for wanting to find out what happened, Scott! You're my husband, and I will do whatever I can to make this easier for you!"
He pulled his hands roughly out of her grasp and raked it through his hair.
"I know what he said, and he's wrong. He will never be the father to our kids! You are, and heaven forbid, if something should happen to you out there, I'll make sure they know exactly who you are. And for the comments made about me, you know that the only hands I'll have roamed over my body are yours. The only name I'll have on my lips is yours. He is not a threat to you, or me, or us as a partnership, or a family. Especially since he's being held in custody."
"Protective custody is not a failsafe stopgap. People escape from custody, much like the Hood did. And what happens to you if that happens? You think he'd give a damn about how you feel, Tash? No! He'd just use you and take what he wants, because he knows that hurting you is the easiest way to hurt me!"
It was bugging him, but that was just one small component of a larger problems that still remained at the forefront of his mind.
"Scott, look at me," she said, placing her hand under his chin and twisting his neck towards her. "Whatever your fears are in regards to this, I can assure you that it will not come to fruition."
"And how can you be sure?" Scott spat out acidly, rising to his feet as his leg muscle s started to cramp.
"Because," she replied patiently, despite his flash of temper, "I won't let him. You were the first person I slept with, you will be the last person I sleep with and you are all times in between the first and last. No one else. It's that simple."
Scott gazed over his wife, eyes searching for only a promise she could give him. Hand outstretched, he hoisted her to her feet and pulled her tight to him, feeling her skin on his, her head resting over his heartbeat.
"That's not all, though, is it?" she ventured, tilting her head back so she could stare straight into his unwavering blue eyes. He broke the gaze, turning his head away so he could watch the waves crash onto the sandy bank of the beach opposite the grotto.
"How can you love me?" he asked eventually, voice full of broken shards of glass, holding back the tears that clogged his throat. "I'm not who you think I am. I left my mom down in the snow to die."
"I love you."
I killed my mom! I murdered my mother at nine!"
"I love you."
"And I've killed others too, when I was in the Air Force, older but not wiser! God, Tash, how can you love me as I am?"
"I love you. Even though you hog the blankets at night, you leave the cap off the toothpaste all the time and you sometimes kick me in your sleep, I still love you. Even in light of your flaws, and yes, you do have them, I see this amazing man, one who's kind-hearted, generous, selfless," her eyebrows quirked at the next bit, "one hell of a lover and someone I've been lucky enough to fall in love with and claim him as my own. Someone who's willing to raise a family with me. I don't know what more you want me to say, except that I love you. I will always love you, and only you. I'm yours, and yours alone."
Even though Scott had sought his answers to both of his issues out with his eyes, he wanted to hear it with his own ears. "Promise?"
"Here's my promise," she murmured, moving into his chest before kissing her way up his neck until she reached his lips, sliding her hands under his t-shirt and letting them trail down the length of his chest.
They continued like that, comforting and reassuring each other, exploring each other with their hands and lips, until every last vestige of clothing lay on the sand. A moment of serenity, controlling the surge of emotion they were feeling, assessing the situation they were in. Scott chewed on his lip briefly, pulling her into his body, crushing them together; pieces of a jigsaw fitting together to form a complete picture.
"Scott," Tash managed, breath catching in her chest. Hesitation. "Do you want to do this?"
A tilt of his head to the left. She should have known the answer, or at least been able to figure it out. And then it hit her. This wasn't something he wanted, it was something he needed. Gazing deep into his eyes, searching their hidden depths, she sought out what Scott wanted her to find. This wasn't an act of gratification for Scott, for either of them, it was a matter of needing to love, needing to be loved and feel loved, in a pure and unconditional form. And perhaps, Tash realised as they fell to the sand, Scott needed this just as much as she did, if not more.
Jeff was startled out of his half daze by a lady dressed in surgical scrubs appearing in front of his vision. Expectantly, he looked up.
It was news about Alan.
Alan was out of surgery. Alive. Doped up from anaesthetic, but alive.
That was most important.
Alan had pulled through.
"He's asking to see you," the surgeon informed Jeff. "Head down this corridor and then turn left. He's in the third room on the right."
With a nod of thanks, Jeff raced towards the room, Tin-Tin following hot on his heels. The door was closed and Jeff came to a halt, hand poised over the doorknob.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Bracing himself for what he would find, Jeff turned the door handle and walked inside.