John

I know my brothers think I am always an `in control' kind of guy. Well let's just say that when I am on Thunderbird Five, they are not around to see it when I get scared or angry or frustrated. Which I do, more than people seem to think.

Now, I feel like I have to be `in control'. Scott is frankly losing it, and Virgil, although calmer and more accepting of everything than the rest of us put together, has been throwing up a lot recently. He tries to hide it, but I know my little brother better than he thinks I do. It's making him look a little haggard. Whenever his emotions get slightly too much for him to handle, he will burst into tears or throw up or both. Well, he's not been crying. He must be trying extra hard to stay in control, but of course every so often the pressure gets to him and he makes a bolt for the bathroom.

How he copes with that I can't imagine. For me, throwing up is right up there alongside beheading and disembowelling as one of the three worse things that can happen to the human body. The less said about that, the better. We all have our phobias. Mine is throwing up. I'll talk more about that another time.

Needless to say, I am worried about both Scott and Virgil. Dad is acting his usual self. Confident and smiling, always helpful and always makes sure that his shoulder is there for us whenever any of us want it. A typical dad. It's a shame the smile does not quite reach his eyes. He is secretly as scared as the rest of us. Being in his fifties, he just has a lot more practise at hiding it I suppose.

I have to say though, that it has been sweet seeing Penny and Gordon together. At least something positive has come out of this whole sorry mess. They are being very sensible and thoughtful, and keeping their `canoodling' in its proper place. Gordon was in a coma for nine or ten days, thanks to the Hood, but he came out of it a few days ago, and he has spent his time since then trying to talk Grandma and Alan awake. If anyone can do that, it's our Gordy.

I know I should be talking to them myself, but I can't keep still. I think I am wearing a groove in the floor, right alongside that worn out by Scott with our incessant pacing. I am just afraid of losing my little brother Allie. He and I have always been especially close, and he has no idea how much I look forward to the scant free time we have together. Whenever Alan gets hurt, I ache. My heart aches, but also my body aches in sympathy with his. He is special to me. I know I should not have favourites among my brothers, but if I did, it would be Alan.

Dad showed me the security footage they found from the Hood's space station where Alan and I were found, and I have to say it was hard to watch. I am proud of the Squirt for being so strong and refusing to give in to the Hood and his demands. Why did I have to be the one to pass out like that? I should have been the one, as the older brother, to take the heat off Alan, shouldn't I? He should never have found himself in a position like that, where he had to choose between the life of his brother (me), and the safety of the planet! Alan is a strong-willed, determined character, despite his young age. When I was his age, I was more concerned with stargazing, meeting girls and combatting acne. Oh, and playing with my, at the time, five-year-old baby brother as well.

I think I need to talk to Gordon. Ask him how he is managing to stay so positive and upbeat. I am scared to spend too long sitting by Alan in case I start blubbering myself.

It's been less than three weeks altogether, and am I giving up on Alan already? Man up, Johnny boy, and have some faith in the Squirt! I'm going mad here. I can't keep sitting still. Sorry Grandma, I need to keep moving.

Virgil

I am confident that both Alan and Grandma will wake up and be fine. I know it! I am sure of it!

I think.

Of course, there is always the little worm of doubt that slithers around your mind, poisoning hope and turning everything from a pretty sunny yellow to a dark, grey mush. Scott is looking like hell, Johnny is looking worried and strained, but at least he is holding himself together a bit better than Scott. Gordon is eternally optimistic, for which, thank goodness! I am hopeful, but I can see how weak grandma is becoming, and I can't help wondering what we will do if we lose her?

I think the others are having trouble facing the fact that we might actually lose grandma. She is not a young woman any more after all. The fact that Gordon managed to wake up does not mean that grandma automatically will be able to. I must admit that I am very worried what will happen to the family if we do lose her. It will destroy us I think, considering everything that has happened these last few weeks.

Then there's Allie.

I have always had a soft spot for the Squirt. We have never been especially close. Not like Alan and John, or Scott and myself, but he is the new-born baby brother whom I helped to care for and nurture, especially during those first three months when he was especially tiny and delicate. I remember changing his nappies (or diapers), and how disgustingly smelly they sometimes were. Especially when he used to suffer frequently from digestive problems, and had frequent…well, hmmm. That's enough of that line of thought!

Here he is now, in a coma, and looking like he has taken root. I am…frankly…terrified of him staying that way and never waking up. Would we feed him intravenously for the rest of his natural life in the hope that one day he might improve? Or would we end up choosing a day and simply stop feeding him and let him slowly starve to death? I know the others haven't said anything, and I really couldn't say if the thought has crossed their minds, but it is in my mind constantly. Mostly I guess, because they are all likely to ask me what I think if the doctors start thinking that way.

Dad is trying to stay strong for all of us, but he is finding things trying. Personally, I think we would do better to transfer both grandma and Alan to the infirmary on Tracy Island, and continue to care for them there. We have all the facilities we need there, and more, and being back home would certainly help all of us to start trying to get back to a more normal sort of routine.

Minus International Rescue, that is.

Do I want to get back to work? Do I miss everything? Is it worth all the heartache and trouble we have had recently?

Perhaps, but looking around the room right now the only one who is not completely stressed out is Gordon; and that is largely because he has Lady P propping him up. None of us could handle going out on rescues at the moment.

And then there is me, of course.

I'm doing better than I look. My face has turned very pale, and my hair is rapidly turning into a bird's nest; but that is because every time I throw up, I keep clutching at it. I must look a complete mess. The throwing-up is just a side-effect of being an emotional support for everyone else and having to try and curb my own sometimes over-powering emotions. Usual stresses and strains of life and work I can handle fine. But lately…well, when I think of everything that has happened recently, none of it could be dismissed as run-of-the-mill pressure. When that pressure does overflow, it goes straight down the nearest toilet, along with everything I have eaten that day.

euch!

Doctor Ames is making me take special drinks that apparently replace water, sugar and salts that I lose when vomiting, and are supposed to give me energy at the same time. He has also suggested I try taking antiemetic tablets, but I've tried them. Although they work fine in combatting sickness connected to a virus or flu, they do nothing for me in this sort of situation.

On the whole I think I am coping reasonably well, although I hate being sick. I've been sitting here, talking softly to Alan for two hours now, and not a movement from him. Is he really still in there somewhere? I keep looking for some hope, but there has been nothing. It's so scary. I keep imagining life back home without him and I…uh-oh…I gotta run…

TB TB TB TB

Jeff looked up as Virgil bolted from the room, and half rose from his chair, as if to follow him, then looked back at Alan, lying still as a corpse, and paused. Gordon touched his father lightly on the shoulder.

"It's okay dad, I'll go after him."

Jeff nodded, and grasped Alan's hand tightly, looking with worried eyes to Parker, sitting in the opposite chair. Parker offered what he hoped was a confident smile.

"Master h'Alan will be fine sir, mark my words he will. 'E's just enjoying the rest, is all sir."

Jeff nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Gordon waited quietly until the unmistakable sounds of retching stopped, followed by a faint sob. Should he go to his brother now, or wait until Virgil has composed himself a little more? The sound of a second, slightly stronger sob decided him, and he pushed open the cubicle door softly and crept in. Virgil was crouched on his knees, sobbing quietly, dry heaving into the toilet bowl. Gordon knelt on the floor and rubbed his brother's back gently, saying nothing.

Virgil continued to dry heave for another minute or so, then seemed to collapse, resting his forehead on the toilet rim.

"Dad?"

"Sorry, it's just me, Gordon. Come on Virge, let me help you up."

Virgil accepted Gordon's arm and got to his feet, reaching across to flush the toilet as he followed his little brother from the cubicle. He splashed his face and rinsed his mouth with cold water, leaning back against the wall, panting very slightly. He looked up at Gordon for the first time, half expecting to see a grin or a smirk. All he saw was compassion, full and raw.

"Thanks Gordon."

Gordon nodded, and for a moment he studied the lines on Virgil's face, how the eyes seemed somehow deeper than normal, the cheeks sunken and the skin pale.

"I know what you need, Virgil."

"What?"

Gordon came forward and enveloped his brother in a bearhug of his own, holding him tightly until he felt Virgil relax into it, and felt him bury his face into the fabric of Gordon's jacket.

The two brothers stayed like that for some time, until finally Virgil pulled free and gave Gordon a weary but genuine smile.

"Thanks."

He glanced towards the toilet cubicles with distaste.

"I wish I could stop doing that…"

"You mean being sick? It happens when feelings become hard to deal with, yes?"

"Hmmm" Virgil agreed. Gordon nodded.

"Perhaps if you stopped isolating yourself, they would be easier to deal with?"

"I'm not isolating myself!"

"Yes you are, Virge. We all are. Scott's about ready to explode, John's not far behind him and you've hardly kept a meal down in two weeks…dad is…a good actor, but he's feeling it as well. We usually all stick together and help each other get through things like this. What happened this time?"

Virgil thought about it. Gordon was right. They were each of them fighting their own private battles, and rather than finding the strength from each other, they were all, individually faltering. It had started with Scott and his inner conflict regarding Kayo and Alan. Rather than drawing his brothers towards himself as he usually did, Scott had pushed them away and determined to fight his inner feelings of guilt and anguish all on his own without submitting his own misery on his younger brothers who all had worries enough of their own to deal with. It had happened so slowly and gradually, that none of them had realised that the help and comfort they had all needed to cope with these difficult times was right there all the time.

He clasped Gordon's shoulders appreciatively.

"You're right, Gordo. I think we need to rescue our two big brothers first of all."

Their eyes met.

"Family room, five minutes, coffee?" Gordon offered. "I'll pay?"

Virgil nodded.

"I'll grab John and Scott. See you in five."

Gordon paused as they left the bathroom.

"Virge, tell Pen what's going on and ask her to keep talking to grandma. Not to stop."

Virgil nodded.

"You got it."