For those who are interested, when I was researching possible cures for Gordon on the Internet, I found that nanotechnology has been mooted as a potential future treatment for neurological injuries. I have no idea if it would work the way that I've depicted, but if it works for Gordon, who cares?

21: A Quiet Operation

"Hiya, Virgil," Bruce Sanders greeted his friend. "How was your weekend?"

"Okay…" Virgil responded. "I guess."

"You guess?" Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know?"

"Did you boys have a good weekend?" Lisa asked as she and her husband joined the two men.

"Virgil doesn't know," Bruce replied. "He's still trying to work it out."

"Work what out?" Butch asked.

"I don't know."

Concerned, Lisa put a hand on their subject of their discussion's arm. "Virgil?"

"I was at the Willis all weekend," Virgil admitted. "Mr Millington's decided that Gordon's best chance of a full recovery is to have an operation…"

"Well…? That's good… isn't it?" Bruce queried.

Virgil shrugged. "It might mean a full recovery. It might mean a partial recovery. It might make things worse… It might kill him."

Bruce's response to this news was a quiet, "Oh."

"When're they doin' it? Butch asked.

"Wednesday."

"Wed's'day?"

Virgil nodded. "I'll fly out there Tuesday evening."

"What does Gordon think about the operation?" Lisa asked.

"He's given the go-ahead for it to happen, but he's also signed a D.N.R…"

Butch scratched his head. "What's tha'?"

"Do not resuscitate. It means that if something goes wrong and Gordon's heart stops during the operation, he doesn't want them to try to start it again," Virgil explained. "He says he either wants to be fully fit or dead... No half measures. I don't know what he'll do if the operation isn't a complete success."

Lisa gave his arm a reassuring rub. "Are you okay?"

Virgil gave another shrug. "I've got to be. I've got to keep positive. I've got to make myself believe that he's going to get through this okay." He sighed. "It's strange… Sometimes, over the years, I've wished that he was part of someone else's family; not mine. There've been times when I haven't liked him, many times when he's embarrassed me, and a lot of the time he's simply been the stereotypical annoying, irritating, aggravating younger brother. But… despite that… I still want him to live, no matter how disabled he is…" He shoved his hands into his pockets and hung his head. "Is that selfish of me?"

"Not as selfish as Gordon asking you to help him commit suicide," Lisa stated.

"Gordon did wha-ow!" In pain, Bruce rubbed at the Butch boot sized bruise on his ankle.

"He's ya brother, Virgil,' the big man said. "Of course ya want him t' live. That don' make you a bad person."

The morning siren sounded. "Don't worry about me." Virgil pulled himself together. "This is my problem, not yours. But I don't think I'm going to be a lot of fun to be around this week, and besides, I'd rather be alone… I know you understand..." He headed inside, leaving his friends still in their huddle.

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

Greg Harrison had assigned Virgil to work with Freddy, ACE's latest employee. The newcomer was an animated young man, fresh out of engineering school with an engaging personality and a motor mouth. "Fantastic!" he enthused. "A short week! It's great working here, but nothing's as good as having time off on full pay. Right, Virgil?"

Virgil hadn't even considered the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. "Right," he agreed, not really listening as he loaded a die into the computerised 100-ton press.

"I'm a local so I'll be hanging around town catching the local sales, although I think there's never anything worthwhile getting. I usually end up as the family donkey; fetching and carrying whatever they buy. What are you going to do? Off home to be with the family?"

"Yeah…" Virgil adjusted the die.

"Are you a local or are they out of town?"

"Out of town."

"When will you be leaving?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow? Tuesday! Boy, you're going to have a really long weekend. Guess it pays to have spent some time with the company. How long have you worked here?"

"Under a year."

"Under a year? And you're already having time off? Guess that means you won't be getting paid for Wednesday. Still I suppose that's a small price to pay to get away. Is your family keen on the sales too?"

"No."

"Lucky. I remember one year my sister bought herself a new bed, under half price it was. It was king-size too, so I don't know why she bought it. Her room's only big enough for a single. I think she'd got such a buzz at being the first one into the store, ran in she did, that she got carried away. Anyway, guess who she conned into bringing this humungous bed home for her? I had to strap it to the roof of my car. I only drive a compact and I had half a mile of mattress hanging over each side. I dunno how I managed to get home, or how the cop managed to see my number plate, cos I got a ticket in the mail. I made my sister pay it and it was nearly as much as she'd saved on the bed in the first place, so she wasted her money. It didn't fit into her room anyway. Then there was the time that my…"

"Freddy!" Virgil exploded. "Will you shut up!? I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Sorry…"

"We're supposed to be working; not discussing your family's shopping habits!"

"I know…"

"Just be grateful that your family is happy and healthy…"

"Uh…" Freddy looked about for assistance.

"…And that your sister can walk and talk and go shopping!"

"Um…"

"Think how lucky you are that she's not confined to a hospital bed hoping to die!"

"Virgil…" It was Bruce to the rescue. "Calm down."

Virgil turned on his friend. "What!?"

"He'll be okay."

"You don't know that!"

"No, I don't. Just like you don't know that he won't be."

"He wishes he was dead, Bruce."

"You told me that. But he's made it this far. You said yourself he's not a quitter."

"That was before…"

"Virgil…" Greg Harrison had heard the raised voice, and Bruce, relieved at their supervisor's appearance, took a step back. "Now take a deep breath and calm down… Freddy…" He turned to the bewildered young man who was standing there slack jawed at the unexpected exchange, "if you're going to work here you're going to have to learn that there is a time for chat and a time to work. And now is the time to work."

"Uh... Yes, Sir."

"Bruce…"

"Yes, Greg?"

"Finish setting up the press. Virgil, you're coming with me."

Virgil nodded, ashamed of his outburst. "Sorry, Freddy," he mumbled. "I…"

Greg put his arm about Virgil's shoulders. "Come on, Son. You and I need to talk."

Reluctantly, and expecting to be led into the production office, Virgil allowed himself to be guided through the factory. He was surprised when Greg turned not left, but right; towards the main administration block.

"Is the boss in?" Greg asked Olivia, Hamish Mickelson's P.A.

She smiled up at him. "Yes, he is. Do you want a word?"

"If we could."

She pushed a button on the inter-office intercom. "Mr Mickelson. Greg Harrison and Virgil Tancy would like a word with you."

His reply sounded slightly metallic. "Send them in, Olivia."

Virgil followed Greg into the General Manager's office and stood just inside the door. He rubbed his palms, suddenly sweaty, on his overalls and swallowed.

"What can I do for you both?" Hamish asked, smiling.

"Virgil's come to ask if he can take the rest of the week off, Hamish," Greg responded.

Virgil stared at his supervisor. Asking for time off, apart from on Wednesday, hadn't even occurred to him. He knew that with the upcoming holiday, schedules were tight and he wasn't expecting special treatment, even if he was the boss's son. "But, Greg, I…"

But Hamish was nodding his agreement. "That's understandable. I'm surprised that we're seeing you at all this week, Virgil. I thought you would have wanted to spend time with Gordon before his operation."

"I do… But… But…" Virgil stammered. "I can't take time off."

The General Manager stared at him. "Why not?"

"I'm not due any holidays. The factory's busy. I had a day off last week. We agreed that you wouldn't treat me any differently from anyone else just because I'm Jeff Tracy's son."

"Which is precisely why we are letting you have time off," Hamish told him. "If we were to insist that you stay here we would be treating you differently from your father's other employees."

"But I don't want to cause any trouble."

"You will be causing me a good many headaches, but I can live with that." Greg chuckled.

"You're more like your father than I think you realise, Virgil," Hamish explained. "He's excessively loyal too. And he always gives over one hundred percent; often at his own expense..."

"Hamish is right," Greg agreed. "Go. We'll survive without you."

Virgil hesitated; part of him reluctant to accept their offer, part of him relieved. "Are you sure?"

"We're sure," Hamish confirmed. "Even if you hadn't been his son, Jeff wouldn't have hesitated in letting you have compassionate leave; and neither will I. Go home, Virgil. Go home and pack your bags and then fly out to the Willis Institute. Your family needs you and you need them." He stood. "And don't forget to tell them that we're thinking about you all and hoping for the best." He held out his hand. "Tell that younger brother of yours that he's causing even more mischief than usual and that he's got to stop it and get better."

Virgil shook the proffered hand. "Thank you, Uncle Hamish. Thank you, Greg. I won't forget this."

He left the office and retreated to the locker room, where he removed his overalls and dumped them in the laundry. It seemed silly to put them into the wash when he'd barely worn them, but he knew that he'd only upset the system if he didn't. He retrieved his bag from his locker, shut and locked the locker door, hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, and left the room.

As he passed through the factory he spied Bruce and gave him a farewell wave. His friend surreptitiously looked around, couldn't see any supervisors, deserted his machine, and ducked over to say goodbye. "Did Greg kick you out?"

"Greg and Uncle Hamish. They said I should never have come here this week."

"They said right." when Virgil heard Lisa Crump's voice, he turned and received a big hug. "Tell Gordon we're thinking about him."

"Yeah," Butch agreed. "'N text us when he's outta surgery."

"And when he wakes up," Bruce added. "Let us know how everything's turned out."

"John's setting up a texting slash emailing list," Virgil admitted, "so that we can send out a bulk message. I'll make sure your numbers are on it."

"Make sure mine's on it too," Greg Harrison stepped up to the group. He looked at Virgil's colleagues. "I wasn't aware that the tea break bell had gone."

A bell rang.

"It has now, Greg," Bruce grinned. He nudged Virgil. "You deserve a medal. You're the only person I know who's actually managed to shut Freddy up. When he found his voice again he said to me that he'd always thought you were a nice, quiet guy and that people had always said that Mr Tracy was a nice person too. But that you'd both exploded for no apparent reason. Then he asked me if you were related. I told him that if you go far enough back in the family tree everyone's related. He seemed happy with that explanation."

"Thanks..." Virgil spied someone he wanted to talk to. "Hold this for me, would you...?" He pushed his bag into Bruce's hands. "Freddy! Wait!"

Freddy stopped and looked at him warily. "What?"

"I wanted to apologise for yelling at you," Virgil admitted. "I can't use this as an excuse, but..." he waited until some of his colleagues had meandered past. "This isn't general knowledge here, but my brother was in an accident three months ago."

Freddy's face fell. "Oh... I'm sorry."

"He's been in hospital ever since. He's having an operation on Wednesday that... that may well either kill or cure. If it doesn't it's possible that he'll be even more disabled than he already is. I'm worried about him and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

Freddy groaned. "And there I was waffling on about my sister. I'm sorry, Virgil, if I'd known I wouldn't have mentioned it."

"That's not your fault. Only a handful of people here do know. I've been given compassionate leave to spend the rest of the week with him," Virgil gave a wry grin. "So you won't have to worry about me blowing my top again."

"You're leaving now?

Virgil nodded. "I'll go home, pack, and fly out."

"Will you be back here on Monday?"

"I'd planned on being at work, now I'm not sure," Virgil responded. "You'd better go. I'm stopping you from getting your coffee."

"I hope the operation goes well," Freddy said.

"Thanks. I'll be letting Bruce know whatever happens and I'll tell him to pass on the news to you."

"Thanks." Freddy repeated and he smiled. "Catch you later."

Virgil retrieved his bag. "I'll see you all next week." He found himself wrapped up in another of Lisa's hugs. "Steady on! Your husband will think there's something going on between us!" Butch laughed. "Bruce... Chances are I won't be here on Monday, will you tell Freddy the news... whatever it is?"

"Sure," Bruce agreed. "No worries. Now, get moving and give Gordon our best."

"Right." With one final wave Virgil left Aeronautical Component Engineering's building and got into his car...

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

No one looked surprised when he walked into Gordon's room two days early.

"Good to see you, Virgil," his father greeted him.

Gordon's bed was missing and Virgil indicated the gap in the furnishings. "Where is he?"

"Having the last of today's scans," Grandma informed him. "Then he's going to have one more tomorrow..."

The door opened and Gordon was wheeled into the room. "'Iya, Brchil."

"Hiya, Gordon. Is everything on track for Wednesday?"

"Ya."

"We'll take the final scan tomorrow," Mr Millington explained. "So we've got a comparison for afterwards. That way we'll know what's normal and what's not."

Gordon's texting thumb went into action. "How will you know the difference?"

Virgil laughed, glad that his brother still had his sense of humour. "I've got something for you."

"Fo mi? Whad?"

Virgil was patting his pockets. "Now... Where did I put it...? He reached into his bag and pulled out a leather pouch. "That's part of it..." He continued searching, pulling various bits and pieces out and placing them on the bed. "Don't worry. I know put it somewhere safe..."

Scott was watching the growing collection that was accumulating on the bed. "So safe that you can't find whatever it is?"

"Yes..." A pocket knife was added to the top of the pile.

"And for his next trick," Alan teased, "the 'Great Virgilo' will pull a rabbit out of a hat."

"Not a rabbit; more like a rabbit's foot."

"Huh?"

"Ah! Of course!" Virgil discovered an inside pocket. "This is a new jacket and I keep forgetting that's there..." He pulled out a plastic bag, which he opened and tipped its contents onto his palm. "I found this before I left home." He held up the small, green piece of plastic so that Gordon could see it.

"Mi luggi gharm? Ya fund mi luggi gharm?"

"Yes." Virgil pressed the lucky charm into his brother's hand and closed his fingers around it. "It was hiding under my bedside table."

"It must have been lying there for the last three months?" John commented. "When was the last time you cleaned your place?"

"About three months ago."

Grandma tutted. "Virgil!" she scolded. "I thought I brought you up better than that?"

"I'm never home, so what's the point?" Virgil responded. "On the list of things I've got to worry about, a bit of vacuuming's way down the list."

Gordon, his face alive with happiness, was endeavouring to bend his arm enough so he could see his treasure and his father helped support his hand. "I won't have to do this for much longer, Son."

"Nao."

"Can I have it back for a moment?" Virgil took Gordon's lucky charm and slipped it into the pouch. "I bought this in gift shop downstairs." He pulled the mouth of the bag tight with its leather thong and tied it to the end of the bed, draping the pouch over Gordon's left foot. "How's that?"

"Gwead!" Gordon beamed.

"What is the point of that?" Jeff asked.

"Sportman's superstition. Right, Gordon?"

"Rigd."

Alan sat back. "Ah. I get it."

"I don't," Grandma said. "What was that bit of plastic?"

"The lucky charm that helped Gordon win his swimming races," John explained. "Now it's going to help him get better. Right, Gordon?"

"Rigd." Gordon grabbed the texter's keypad. "Thanks, V. Now I know everything's going to be OK."

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

Wednesday.

Gordon was waiting to go into surgery, and the rest of his family had gathered around to be with him. Virgil reflected that his little brother appeared to be as calm as if he were waiting for a hair cut... A strange metaphor as Gordon had already had his head shaved in preparation for the procedure.

"You look like a bowling ball," Alan snickered.

"I wouldn't go sticking your fingers into the holes," Scott warned.

"We let some people know that you were having the operation today," Alan continued. "You've got cards from WASP, U.S.A. Swimming, our old school..." He smiled when he saw a signature. "Tin-Tin, Kyrano, Brains, Lady Penelope..."

Gordon looked at each card as they were held in front of him. "Wisz I 'ad m' degsda."

"You're right, Gordon," John admitted. "We should have brought the texter down here with us."

"Gid envenshun." Gordon managed a thumbs-up. "Yi'll mayg lotta mony odda id. Ged az widg az Dad."

John laughed. "I don't think the profits from that one invention will have me swimming in money, certainly not as much as he's got."

"Alin... Win yar larz raz?"

Alan moved closer to the gurney. "My last race? It's early next year."

"Win id far mi. 'K."

Alan grasped Gordon's hand. "You bet. I'll be listening out to hear you shouting as I cross that finish line."

Gordon looked for Scott. "Yi ceyp r bwod'rs 'n ln. 'K?"

Scott raised an amused eyebrow. "Don't I always keep our brothers in line? I thought that was my job."

"An yar da bezd ad id..." Gordon smiled a twisted smile. "Loogin forard ta zom abble by, Gwanma."

His Grandmother gently stroked his cheek. "You can tell me when you'll ready and I'll have an apple pie made for you before you can say lickety split."

"Lig-it-e Zzzsssplid... 'Memba nao zinamin."

Grandma laughed. "I remember. No cinnamon." She kissed her grandson on the forehead.

"Brr-chill..." here Gordon held out his hand and Virgil grasped it. "Dan q," he said; his eyes more eloquent than speech in his present condition. "Zsowi."

Virgil, like everyone else in the family, was doing his best to appear calm and relaxed. "No worries. You just get better and we'll forget about it. Okay?"

"'K... " Virgil felt a squeeze to his hand before he stood back to allow his father in close. "Dad... Diz iz da zsdard, wide? Da zsdard uf yar dweam?"

"The start of my dream?" Jeff asked, not sure that he understood.

Gordon's eyes tracked over his brothers and then back to his father. "Ya. Yar dweam. Yi codda mage id worg."

"I will, Gordon." Jeff held his son's hand to his chest. "I'll make it work with everyone's help... Including yours. Right?"

A nurse and an orderly entered the room.

Jeff leant close to the young man lying on the gurney. "I don't know how many of these grey hairs you've given me over the years, Gordon..." he growled, "...but nothing could induce me to give them back." His voice softened. "I love you, Son."

Gordon held his father's hand as tightly as his crippled hand could. He said something incomprehensible, but Virgil had no doubt that it was a heartfelt echo of Jeff's final statement.

"Are you ready, Gordon?"

Gordon started at the nurse's voice. He took a deep breath, smiled at his family and nodded. "Weady." But, as he was wheeled away, he didn't let go of his father's hand until the last possible moment.

Virgil's final image of his brother, seared into his brain as the doors closed between them, was of a tiny wave and a look that shook him to the core.

He realised that he probably wasn't the only one to see that expression when Grandma, who'd been staunch in her role as the calm foundation-of-the-family, burst into tears.

"Come here, Ma," Jeff pulled her close. "He'll be all right. Remember Gordon's not a quitter. He's not going to give up."

Virgil hoped he was right.

"Now what do we do?" Alan asked. "How many hours do we have to wait?"

Scott set the timer on his watch. "Mr Millington said at least 15..." He ran his hand through his hair. "It's going to be a long day."

John checked his own timepiece. "Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote: How much of human life is lost in waiting? I think we're about to find out."

Alan was still staring at those silent, blank doors. "What if he doesn't make it?"

"Don't talk like that, Alan." But there was no anger in Scott's admonishment as he put his arm about his kid brother's shoulders. "He'll make it."

"And I think we can guarantee that Mr Millington would do everything in his power to save him," John added.

"All he can do legally anyway..." Later Virgil was to decide that all his fears, all his worries, and the shock of seeing his grandmother break down, must have disconnected his brain from his mouth. There was no other explanation for his making such a statement.

But now his family was looking at him. "What do you mean by that, Virg?" Scott asked.

Puzzled Virgil stared at him. "Well, the D.N.R. limits how far he can go."

"D.N.R.? What D.N.R.!?" John demanded.

"The one Gordon..." Virgil became aware of all the blank, confused and horrified looks. "He must have told you that he signed one... Didn't he??"

"Are you telling us that Gordon asked not to be resuscitated?!" Scott demanded. "No way!!"

"Ah... M-Maybe I got it wrong," Virgil suggested, backpedalling furiously. "He's hard to understand sometimes. Maybe I only thought he said D.N.R. Maybe he said something else and I thought he said D.N.R. Maybe he said," he chose three letters at random, "F.A.B?"

"No!" Jeff exploded. "He can't do that. Not after all the time and effort we've put into getting him better! Not after all the time and effort that he's put in!" He released his mother; heading for the doors that had closed on his son. "I won't let him!"

He was stopped by his two eldest boys. "Dad!"

"You can't go in there," Scott said. "Not now. It's too late."

"They'll have started," John added. "You'll only make things worse."

Jeff raised his eyes heavenward and swallowed. Then he turned back to his miserable middle son. "You didn't misunderstand him, did you, Virgil."

Virgil knew that he hadn't. Those three terrible letters had been written, clear as day, on the texter's screen. "I..."

Alan came to his rescue. "Gordon had to be joking," he stated. "You know what he's like. And you know that Virgil's generally his number one target. When he didn't get the chance to admit that it was a joke he most likely assumed that Virgil would realise that it was. Right, Virgil?"

Virgil had never been so grateful for his little brother's assistance. "Yes! You must be right. I remember that we were interrupted when we were talking and we never finished the conversation. Gordon had to have been pulling my leg!"

He doubted that anyone believed him, but it was a lifeline that they could all cling to, so nothing more was said on the subject as the family walked to the waiting room that had been prepared for them.

Virgil dropped back behind everyone else so he was walking alongside Alan. "Thanks," he whispered.

Alan's response was equally quiet. "You didn't misunderstand, did you. And it wasn't a joke."

"No," Virgil admitted. "I'm one hundred percent sure that it wasn't."

"Why'd he tell you and no one else?"

"I wish I knew, like I wish he hadn't. I don't know how his brain's been working these last few months. I just know that he's had a lot of time to think and that it was a carefully considered decision."

In the waiting room each Tracy had stored items to help them while away the hours that were about to drag past. Virgil chose a seat next to Alan, feeling he was less likely to be interrogated there, put his headphones on, cranked up the volume to the maximum safe level, sat back and shut his eyes, hoping to cocoon himself from the outside world.

It didn't work. All he could see was that split-second image of Gordon. In that briefest moment Gordon's face had changed; changed from the relaxed persona that he'd displayed for the benefit of his family; changed so his real feelings were shown as clearly as if he'd texted them to the world.

Gordon was terrified.

Virgil didn't blame him. The idea of things crawling through your brain, even if they were microscopic nanobots trying to help you, was like a nightmare or an especially bad science fiction movie. He tried to push the image of the terrified face down into his subconscious, imagining the notes of the music as colours, and when that didn't work, picturing the score as if it was written on a sheet of paper.

That didn't work either.

Deciding that he needed something to keep the visual part of his brain occupied, he pulled a sketchpad out of his bag. But his pencil hovered over the page without making contact.

He slammed the sketchpad on the table beside him, pulled off his headphones, and stood. "I'm going for a walk."

No one tried to stop him.

Walking around the perimeter grounds of the Willis Institute, not willing to stray too far in case he was needed inside, he was joined by Scott after his first lap of the property. Not a word was said between them as they continued on their trek around, and around, and around...

At midday their watches beeped into life. "Boys." It was their father. "Grandma's got lunch ready over at the house."

No one felt like eating so no one did. They sat at the table and toyed with their food until it was no longer edible.

After lunch the men folk sat and watched a game on TV, though at the end of it no one could remember the score. Grandma bustled about in the kitchen, cooking to keep herself busy.

She supplied them all with a meal at 5 o'clock. Normally the family rule was that all meals were to be eaten at the table and that the TV had to be turned off. But today was to be an exception. The Tracys sat in front of the TV, plates balanced on their knees.

Despite not having eaten since a light breakfast early this morning, Virgil decided that he still wasn't hungry. His food lay on the coffee table untouched as he stared, unseeing, at the TV screen.

Scott was eating, but it wasn't the actions of a hungry man; rather that of an automaton going through the motions. Alan, also not hungry, tipped the contents of his plate onto his big brother's dish and Scott didn't even notice... He just continued working his way through a seemly never-ending plate of food.

John wasn't eating either. He had his watch in pieces on the table in front of him, as he sought to improve its range and efficiency. But all he was doing was taking it apart before reassembling it exactly the same way again.

Eventually Jeff looked at his own watch. "It's been 14 hours," he grunted. "I'm heading back over."

They still had another four hour wait after they'd returned to the waiting room. This time Virgil was able to occupy his mind with his music and his sketchpad, and the time, while it didn't race by, at least didn't seem to crawl quite as slowly.

He was almost surprised when the door to the waiting room opened and Mr Millington, the neurosurgeon who'd been holding Gordon's life in his hands for the last 18 hours, stood there. Despite his obvious tiredness, the surgeon smiled. "He did well. He came through with no complications."

"He's going to be okay?" Jeff asked, his voice rusty from hours of little use.

"We won't know for sure until we bring him out of the coma in four days time," the neurologist reminded him. "But there was nothing in the procedure to make me think that it wasn't a complete success."

Virgil felt as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Can we see him?" Jeff asked.

Mr Millington smiled. "Of course. I don't need to remind you of the need to keep communicating with Gordon... or where his room is." He stepped aside and allowed the Tracys to pass through the door.

It was with a déjà vu kind of feeling that Virgil walked back through the door into Gordon's room. There was the nurse at the desk in the corner, keeping an unobtrusive watch over her patient. There were the pale coloured walls and the machines and gauges...

...And there was Gordon lying still on his bed. Head bandaged, tubes feeding into his arms, and an oxygen mask on his face.

Jeff walked over to the bed, pulled up a chair, and picked up Gordon's right hand. "You made it, Son. You're over the first obstacle. Mr Millington says it went well and that you didn't pull any pranks on him. It's all up to you now. You've got to lie there and relax and heal. We're here and we'll look after you." He reached out and stroked a rough hand against a pale cheek. "It's only for four more days. We'll protect you."

"I've got your lucky charm." Virgil dropped the leather pouch over an unresponsive left foot. "There. Can you feel that?"

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

Thursday.

Thanksgiving.

Despite it being a public holiday, the hospital wing of the Willis Institute didn't shut down. Twice that day, once in the morning and again in the afternoon, Gordon was wheeled on his bed down to have a brain scan to check that he wasn't experiencing any complications.

There were none.

Mr Millington made his rounds during the day to check all was well, but, as he said, all he could do was what the Tracys were doing… Wait.

Catherine came in and, not willing to risk jarring his head in any way, restricted herself to working on exercising the muscles in Gordon's feet, forearms, and hands. Rose, even though there was nothing she could do to aid her patient's speech therapy, popped in to see how he was getting on and to give his family support.

Once the initial 24 hours had passed, it was decided that Gordon no longer needed a round-the-clock nursing watch, so the medical staff vacated the desk in the corner of the room; happy to continue watching over their patient via monitors in the nurses' station down the hall and leaving the Tracys to maintain their watch alone.

The family spent the long hours talking. Talking between themselves and talking to Gordon. They held one-sided conversations; two-sided conversations and six-sided conversations. They read the news from the paper and jokes from the thick joke books that Scott had purchased earlier in the week. Most of the gags were bad enough to elicit a groan from the group, but everyone knew that 'bad' was what Gordon enjoyed, and this was enough to make them persevere.

When they'd listened to one joke too many and had got tired of the doom and gloom in the newspapers, Virgil unpacked his portable keyboard and Scott got his guitar from the house. Together they played Gordon's favourite tunes and when they'd exhausted that source of material, accepted requests from the rest of the family. As time passed, and everyone began to relax, the day almost developed a party atmosphere, with laughter, singing, and more (but funnier) jokes.

During a lull in the conversation, when Grandma was off preparing a meal, Alan examined the device that had enabled Gordon to virtually swim through the waters of the world. "Don't you think he'd eventually get sick of seeing nothing but all these underwater shots? Why don't we video something else for him?"

"Like what?" Virgil asked.

"Umm…" Alan thought for a moment. "I could film what it's like to do a lap of the race track."

"That's what you'd want to watch," Scott reminded him. "It's not exactly one of Gordon's interests."

"Okay…" Alan bit his lip and screwed up his forehead as he thought. "He likes a laugh. How filming some comedian…? Or!" He snapped his fingers. "Some dancing girls. He'd love to find himself in the middle of a group of dancing girls."

"Dancing girls?"

Jeff was looking at his youngest in astonishment, his eyebrows raised. "What type of dancing girls are you thinking of, Alan?"

Virgil was intrigued by the suggestion. "I take it you're not thinking of ballet."

"No! Quality stuff. Kinda like the Folies Bergere."

Now John's eyebrow had shot skyward. "Folies Bergere?"

Alan gave a wicked grin. "You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you, Gordon?"

Gordon made no comment.

"You know," Scott mused. "Alan might not have a bad idea. We should find a suitable establishment and take our video cameras... strictly for medical purposes, of course," he added.

"Of course," Alan snickered.

Grandma bustled into the room, followed by one of the nurses, and pretended to not notice her grandsons' guilty expressions. "Everything's ready."

"Mother," Jeff protested.

"Mother nothing!" she responded. "Gordon will understand." She took up her grandson's unresisting right hand. "Gordon," she began. "It's Grandma, but you know that, don't you? I'm going to take everyone away from you for a little while, but you won't miss us too much because while we're gone you'll be having your scan, and we'll be here when you return. Plus you won't be alone because Amy will be staying with you." She smiled at the nurse before transferring Gordon's hand from her right to her left. Then she reached out so she was able to caress her grandson's cheek. "It's Thanksgiving, Honey, and we've got a lot to be thankful for. We're thankful that you enjoyed your time in the bathyscaphe and we're thankful that you came home before the hurricane hit. We're thankful that Virgil wasn't badly hurt when the gang attacked him and we're thankful that he and Alan were able to land that plane safely. We're thankful that Alan's doing so well with his racing, and that John returned safely from the space station, and I know that we're all still thankful that Scott survived his crash in Bereznick. And we're thankful that, unlike last year, we're all together today, even if you won't be sharing dinner with us… We're thankful that you survived the crash. We're thankful that, even if your body wasn't working properly, you were still you and that you could communicate with us. And we're thankful that you've been given this opportunity to get better again and that, so far, everything is looking positive. So you see, Gordon, we've got a lot to be thankful for and we're going to celebrate. But we won't forget you, Darling. I've set your place and we've all got party hats to wear. Now, don't you worry; I'll make sure your brothers wear them! … And then, when you're better and are able to join us for a meal, we'll have another, bigger, thanksgiving celebration, just because we're thankful to have you with us." She kissed Gordon's hand before placing it back on the bed. "We won't be long, Honey." After one final caress of his cheek she stood and turned to face her family. "Come along, everyone. Your dinner's getting cold." She started shooing her reluctant boys out the door. "We'll bring you something when we come back, Amy," she said as she passed the desk.

"Thank you, Mrs Tracy."

"Hold on!" Virgil reached out and switched on the music player. "He needs to be able to listen to something." Sounds of the sea washed out of the speakers.

"What did you do that for?" John asked.

"Gordon told me that last time he was in a coma he could hear everything that we said," Virgil looked at his father, "and did."

Jeff stared at him with a slight frown. "Everything?"

Virgil nodded. "He heard all the secrets we told him and the conversations we had about him." He looked down at his comatose brother. "He told me that he needed to be able to continue to hear things so that he'd know that he was still alive."

Scott folded his arms and glared at his brother. "What else has he told you, Virgil?" he demanded.

"That doesn't matter now," Jeff interrupted. "If you can hear me, Gordon, then don't worry. That's all in the past. It's time for you, and us all, to look forward to a brighter future..."

---F-A-B---

Over at the house, the table was set for seven, and, as Virgil took his seat between his grandmother and John, he couldn't help but notice the vacancy at one end where a party hat had been placed on the unblemished plate.

"I know he wasn't here last Thanksgiving either," Alan commented as he put his party hat on, "but it seems strange without Gordon here. Different from last time. At least last year we were able to talk to him on the videophone."

"I know what you mean, Alan." Jeff took his place at the head of the table. "But it won't be long before he'll be back with us."

Scott was examining his hat. "I'm glad to see you haven't got anything too silly, Grandma." He put the elastic under his chin and settled the brightly coloured cone onto his head.

"I wonder what, if anything, Gordon's aware of at the moment," John mused. "Thanks, Dad." He accepted a plate of meat. "You said he could hear us last time, Virg?"

"That's what he told me, but I don't know if it was only when he was in the 'natural' coma or the barbiturate-induced one."

"So you think he might be floating in some kind of blackness?" Alan asked. He gave a shiver. "Creepy."

"Maybe that's why his thumb was twitching last time?" Scott's face was creased in a thoughtful frown. "He was trying to reach out to us, to let us know that he was still with us, but that was the only part he could move?" He helped himself to a big helping of vegetables.

Alan gave another shiver. "Creepy," he repeated.

"Now, Boys, stop that," Grandma scolded gently. "This is a time to be grateful for what we have, and I for one am grateful that Gordon's still alive and will be released from the coma on Sunday. Peas, Honey?" She handed the bowl to Virgil.

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

After the meal was finished, the Tracys continued to sit around the table, talking quietly. It hadn't been the most festive Thanksgiving they'd ever had, but nevertheless they were glad to simply be together.

Jeff looked at his watch. "Half an hour before Gordon's due back from his scan. We'd better think about heading back."

"You and Grandma go," Scott suggested. "We'll tidy up."

Virgil waited for Alan to start complaining, but the young blonde seemed more intent on finishing his second helping of dessert. Then he noticed that John didn't appear to be listening to the conversation and nudged his brother. "You're looking like you're miles away. Eaten too much?"

"No," John admitted, removing his serviette from his lap and placing it on the table. "Unlike Alan..."

"Hey!"

"I was just thinking about what day today is and what it means to us."

"I thought that Grandma covered that pretty well at the hospital." Alan scooped his last mouthful of dessert and dropped his spoon into the bowl.

"No. I don't mean us as a family. I was thinking about what today means for International Rescue. Today's D-day... Decision Day. Today's Dad's deadline for us to decide whether or not we're going to throw our hats into the ring." He removed his party hat and tossed into the middle of the table. "I'm in. How about you, Virgil?"

Virgil pulled his hat off and put it next to John's. "Never any doubts... What about you, Scott? Are you joining us?"

Scott had already removed his hat. "And miss out on the chance of actually getting paid to boss you fellas about?" With a grin he tossed it so it landed on Virgil's and rolled off, coming to rest beside John's. "Alan?"

"Me? Sit back and miss all the fun you guys will be having?" Alan chucked his hat beside his brothers. "No chance." He shot his father a guilty look. "That's if I'm allowed to belong?"

"No question about it." Jeff favoured him with a benevolent smile. "Well, I suppose that if you all are willing to join International Rescue, then you'd better have International Rescue to join." He placed his hat on top of the four belonging to his sons. "Thank you, Boys. I appreciate the fact that all my sons are going to be part of my dream... At least I hope you all are..."

Everyone turned to look at the solitary hat sitting on the plate at the other end of the table.

And everyone wondered...

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

Without the festivities of Thanksgiving to break the tedium, Friday seemed to drag slower than Thursday. Saturday was even worse.

Finally it was Sunday.

Virgil awoke early that morning, aware of a sense of nervous anticipation. He got out of the sofa-bed and wandered into the bathroom, bumping into Scott who was on his way out. "Mornin'."

Scott, freshly showered after his early morning run, appeared obnoxiously bright and cheerful. "Morning, Virg. Sleep well?"

Virgil cuffed sleep from his eyes. "I'll sleep better when I know he's going to be all right. When did Mr Millington say they'd start bringing him out of the coma?"

"It depends on how this morning's scan looks. If all goes well they'll stop the drugs as soon as he gets back to his room. Then we wait some more for Gordon to wake up in his own sweet time."

"I hope he doesn't take as long as he did last time," Virgil admitted. "I don't think any of us could stand the strain."

Scott gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Go do what you've got to do, then I'll give you a hand with your bed so it's out of the way when Grandma surfaces."

"Thanks."

When everyone assembled in Gordon's room, they realised that they were missing one member of the family group. John looked at his watch. "They've taken him early."

"I suppose Mr Millington's as keen as we are to know if they can start releasing him from the coma," Jeff hypothesised, before, like his son, he looked at his watch. "I wonder how long he's been gone."

There was a sound at the door. "Long enough," Alan said and got up to clear some room for the bed.

Gordon was wheeled inside and repositioned with his head to the wall. As he was reconnected to all the sensors, IVs, and other paraphernalia, Mr Millington hurried into the room. "He's done well," he beamed. "I'm very pleased. We're going to start reducing the barbiturate and, should you decide to cooperate," he said to the patient before looking back at the rest of the family, "Gordon should be awake by early tomorrow."

"That long!" Grandma exclaimed.

Mr Millington treated her to a sympathetic smile. "I know it seems a long time, but, based on past experience, it's for the best. Think of it this way, this time tomorrow your grandson should be awake to give you cheek again."

Jeff sat back with a sigh of some relief. "So we're heading for 'atmospheric re-entry and we'll be touching down soon'?"

The neurologist beamed with delight. "I love these astronautical references. Yes, Mr Tracy. Gordon is close to touching down and I'm quietly confident that it will be a soft landing."

John chuckled. "Knowing Gordon, he'll have fed us the wrong co-ordinates."

"Yeah," Alan added. "He'll deploy a bogus parachute to confuse us."

Mr Millington entered a few codes into a computer console. "The computer is now programmed to slowly reduce the rate of barbiturate infusion. You're approaching 'atmospheric re-entry', Gordon."

"He'd rather be decompressing as he ascends," Scott corrected.

Mr Millington laughed. "I should have known... I have other patients that I have to see, but I will return shortly..." He was as good as his word, returning to check up on his patient at least once every hour.

As for the Tracys, none of them were willing to leave Gordon's side, even to retire that evening. Instead they sat by his bedside, continuously searching out for the first sign that he was reawakening, or in John's words, "resurfacing."

It was midway through the following morning when the neurologist announced that the young man was showing signs of regaining consciousness. "There are definite changes to his brain activity. Talk to him. Let him know that you are waiting for him."

"How soon before we'll know if he's got feeling back in his arms and legs?" Virgil asked. "Can we encourage him to move?"

"As I've said before, don't expect him to display a full range of movement, but you should see some reaction in his extremities. Thanks to Catherine's efforts, he won't have lost too much muscle tone to his hands and feet over these last four days."

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Catherine smiled at her colleague. "I asked the nursing staff to let me know when he was coming around." She took a seat against the wall so that she could observe her patient's condition without intruding on the family.

It was another hour before that patient showed some signs of awakening. "Gordon..." Jeff said softly. "It's Dad, Gordon... Come on, Son," he picked up Gordon's right hand. "It's time to wake up."

Still unsure as to whether her grandson would be aware of her touch, Grandma held his left hand. "Your father's right, Young Man. It's time you were out of that bed."

Alan laughed. "That brings back memories."

Gordon's head twitched.

"That's it, Gordon," Jeff cajoled. "Come back to us."

Gordon's eyes flickered.

Scott leant on the footboard at the end of the bed. "Hey, Gordy. We've got all sorts of fun things planned for you when you get out of here, but you've got to be awake to enjoy them."

"Yeah," John added. "If you don't wake up, we'll just have to do them without you."

"And Alan's got his final race coming up," Virgil said. "You'll want to be awake to see that."

"Yes!" Alan piped up. "You've got to get strong enough so that you can come to the track to watch me race. I'll make sure that you get the best seats on the circuit."

Gordon's eyes flickered again and then half opened. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out... He closed his eyes again.

"Come on, Gordon," Jeff prompted. "Open your eyes, Son."

Gordon succeeded, looking around his family. He opened his mouth to speak and uttered a dry, raspy croak.

"What was that, Son?"

Gordon tried again, fixing his eyes on his brothers... This time he was able to vocalise and, although his words were slow and his speech slurred, they were still recognisable. "Therez da com-e-de-enz. Wherz da danzin' girlz?" he mumbled before closing his eyes again.

Everyone laughed, relieved that, if nothing else, Gordon didn't appear to have lost his sense of humour. He half-opened his eyes again and a small, but still lopsided, smile crept onto his face.

"You can sleep soon, Gordon," Jeff told him. "But first, can you squeeze my hand?"

Gordon turned his head a little so his heavily-lidded eyes were looking at his father. "Lyg thfiz?"

From Virgil's vantage point at his grandmother's shoulder, he could see four fingers and a thumb tighten their grip on his father's hand. Jeff's face broke out into a smile of pure joy. "Yes, Gordon. Just like that."

"How about me, Gordon?" Grandma asked, as Virgil put his arm about her shoulders. "Can you squeeze my hand?"

Gordon rotated his head the other way, further than he'd been able to manage five days ago. "Hi, Gwanma," he said, before his forehead creased in a frown of concentration. As he focused his attention on his left hand, nothing appeared to happen.

"Don't concentrate so hard, Gordon," Catherine advised, and Virgil realised that he'd forgotten that she was there. "It's been a while since your brain's used that bit of circuitry and it's got to relearn how everything works. Here... Excuse me, Mrs Tracy," she took Gordon's hand from Grandma and massaged its muscles. "Are you feeling that?"

Now Gordon's frown appeared confused. "Dunno."

"Don't worry. Like I said, your brain's still relearning the mechanisms related to touch and movement... Would you like to take his hand again, Mrs Tracy?" Catherine stood back. "Now, Gordon... Relax and try again, Try squeezing both hands at once. Imagine you're riding a motorbike and holding the handlebars."

"Or better still," John sat forward, "imagine you're windsurfing and holding the control bar."

"Yes," Virgil added. "Imagine it's a perfect day... The sky's blue... You can feel the wind pulling at the sail... Grip tight and go for the ride."

Gordon looked at him and gave a small nod of understanding. Then he fixed his attention back on his grandmother's face.

Still nothing happened.

Despite her obvious disappointment, Grandma remained strong. "Don't worry, Honey." She gave her grandson's hand a reassuring rub. "It's still early days yet. You'll get there."

"She's right, Gordon," Mr Millington agreed. "This doesn't mean that your condition hasn't improve..."

He stopped speaking when Grandma uttered a small exclamation. "Oh! Gordon! Did you move your fingers?" She looked at the bony hand. "Do it again!" There was the tiniest of movements and a delighted smile transformed his grandmother's face. "I felt you move! Gordon...! You did it! I knew you could!" Elated, she kissed him on the cheek. "I can't wait to tell everyone!" She beamed at him and, as Gordon smiled back, Virgil fancied that those previously frozen muscles on the left side of his face had re-mobilised a little.

Excited by this new discovery Scott pulled the sheets out from the bottom of the bed and threw them back so his younger brother's feet lay exposed. "Can you move them too?!"

"Come on, Gordon!" John exclaimed. "Move those feet! Pretend you're doing the backstroke!"

Gordon gave a sigh. "Tir'd."

"Doggie paddle then," Virgil suggested. "Just try once!"

Scott tickled the sole of Gordon's right foot. "Can you feel that?"

"No..." Gordon's tired eyes were closed.

"How about that?" Scott repeated the gesture on the other foot.

"...No..."

Alan grabbed a tissue from the box beside the bed. He twisted the paper so that it was a stiff rod with a feathery tip, and ran the soft end up his brother's right sole.

Gordon's foot twitched and his toes curled.

"Yes!" John cheered. "Try the other, Alan."

Alan repeated the experiment with no success.

"Here," John handed over the lucky charm in its bag. "Put that on his foot."

Scott grabbed the pouch and wrapped it around the immobile foot. "Can you feel that, Gordon?"

Gordon's left big toe jerked. "Did-I do't?"

"You did it," Alan applauded.

Gordon's mouth curled up slightly. "'V'ryone 'appy?" he asked.

"Very happy…" And Jeff Tracy was not alone in having a grin that was almost splitting his face in two.

In fact, Virgil realised that his smile was so big that his cheeks were hurting and he had to rub them to ease the pain. He patted Gordon on the arm. "Welcome back."

Gordon managed another smile. "Dankyo..." Exhausted, his eyes finally closed and he drifted off back to sleep.

"I think we'd better leave him," Mr Millington whispered. "Would you mind if we went through into your unit?"

Once everyone had crowded into the tiny room, an elated Jeff held out his hand to the neurologist. "What can I do to thank you, Mr Millington?" he asked pumping the man's hand. "You've achieved a miracle."

"You can start by not getting your hopes up just yet. I'll admit that all the signs are encouraging, but Gordon's still got a long way to go before he reaches full fitness... That's assuming that we are reading the signs right."

"Are you suggesting that those movements were only reflexes?" Grandma asked. She stared the neurologist in the eye. "Because I know what I felt!"

"I'm sure you did," he soothed, "just as that movement of his left foot seemed to be a voluntary action rather than a reflexive one. But I will need to make further tests before I'm willing to categorically say that the only thing standing between Gordon and a full recovery is Gordon."

"I don't think you'll be able to hold him back," Virgil stated. "Not now that he knows that it's all down to him."

John held up his cell phone into which he'd been typing a text message. "How does this sound? G just awake. Movement of hands and feet. Dozing now. Next txt will have more news. Okay?"

"Send it, John," Scott ordered. "There are a lot of people waiting for that call."

John pushed send. "They'll be happy now."

It was only seconds later when every cell phone in the room started buzzing. Alan was quickest on the draw. "It's from my manager. Karl says that that's good news and maybe now I'll be able concentrate on racing…" He looked embarrassed. "And this one's from Tin-Tin saying how happy she is."

"And I've got one from Kyrano," Jeff said. "Saying that the gods are finally smiling on us… One from Lady Penelope congratulating you, Mr Millington… One from Brains: he's been following Gordon's progress over the Internet. And here's one from Hamish. Wonderful news. Does this mean I'm getting one of my best employees back tomorrow?" He raised an amused eyebrow in Virgil's direction. "I think you're missed."

Scott looked up, the light from his cell phone reflecting onto his face. "I think people have been more understanding and more inconvenienced than we've realised."

"I'd guarantee it..." Virgil was scrolling through his own list of messages. "Lisa's saying it's wonderful and that we're to give Gordon a big kiss from her… I think I'll leave that job to you, Grandma." She chuckled. "Butch has only typed one word, terrific, spelt T-R-E-F-I-K. Bruce says that they were working when they received the message and that everyone's phone went off at once." He laughed. "Including Greg's. So much for company rules."

There were dozens of other texts to work through, from friends and relations. All were offering up their congratulations and best wishes to the Tracy family…

Especially to Gordon.

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

The patient awoke again early that afternoon and his first words were, "Where'z Cath'rine? Led'z ged ztarted."

"She might be working with someone else," Jeff reminded him. "She's a busy lady."

"I'll go see if she's going to be free soon," Scott offered. He pointed at Gordon. "Don't do anything spectacular until I'm back." He returned a short time later. "I told the nurses and they're going to try to page her… Now," he settled back into his chair. "Let's see what you can do."

"Here," Alan pressed the 'raspberry ball' into Gordon's left hand. "Squeeze this."

The sound Gordon made with the ball wasn't so much a raspberry as an overripe gooseberry, but his face, weak side and all, beamed in delight. "Where'z my feed." John folded back the sheets so that two bony feet were exposed. "Im a zkelliton."

"Then you'll just have to work hard to get your muscles built up again," John said. He ran his thumbnail up the sole of one of Gordon's feet. "Can you feel that?"

"Yez…" Gordon frowned at his right toe. "Weird... Can'd 'member whad t'do."

"What would Catherine do?" Virgil asked. "Try moving his foot, John."

"How come I'm the one working on Gordon's smelly feet?"

"'Cos you offered," Alan told him.

"Besides, they haven't done anything to start smelling," Scott reminded him. "Just flex his foot."

"Okay." John looked at Gordon. "Don't go kicking me across the room. Okay?"

Gordon chuckled. "Kay." He watched as his brother moved the lump of skin and bone at the end of the bed and tried to work out which muscles were working. "Here goez…" There was nothing… Then a twitch… And then his whole right foot pointed forward a centimetre before relaxing back. "Yez!"

"Well done, Son," Jeff applauded. "Can you do the same with the other one?"

"What's this? Starting without me?" Catherine asked as she strode into the room. "How are you feeling now, Gordon?"

"More awak. I moved my food. All by myselv." Gordon managed to point down the bed with his stronger right hand. "Now Im gonna do the otha."

"Do you want me to move it first?" John asked.

"Yez." Gordon concentrated on the sensations he was receiving and then managed to replicate them. His left foot didn't move as far as the right, but it was enough to cheer the group.

"Well done," Catherine congratulated. "Your speech is a lot clearer too. Rose will be impressed… Do you want me to start working on you?"

"Yez." Gordon nodded.

"Right!" Catherine rolled up her sleeves. "Do you remember what I said to you first time we worked together? About how a champion swimmer like you must have done a lot of working out in the gym."

"Yez."

"Good. Pretend you've just finished working out and a pretty girl's walking past…"

"Lige you."

Catherine coloured slightly, but retained her professional demeanour. "Can you can show me, uh, her your biceps?" She flexed his arm a couple of times to make sure that the joint was free and then sat back. "Your turn." Straining slightly Gordon bent his elbow, raising his forearm a few inches off the bed. Catherine smiled. "Not bad for a guy who's been unconscious for half a week. You'll have the ladies falling at your feet in no time."

Delighted, Gordon laughed.

---I-R---

---F-A-B---

Virgil didn't fly back home until late Monday evening. He felt no guilt about missing a day off work and no one attempted to tell him that he shouldn't be staying at the Willis Institute. He would have ignored them if they had.

As his plane left the Willis airfield and flew up into the darkening skies, Virgil breathed a sigh of contentment. It looked as if things were finally coming right for the family and that soon, very soon, they'd be able to begin their work on International Rescue in earnest.

To be continued…