Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Characters: Gordon. Rating: K+. Warnings: None
Drabble challenge from nourelle-tracy: "Fainting and Cliffside" with Gordon.
He could hear the ocean. All of her, from the gentle waves lapping the rocks below, to the raging, untameable roar that was liquid rushing with intent, far too powerful for even mankind and all their hubris to stop.
What was making that roar, when the waves were calm, all bright blues and greens and all the shades in between, he didn't know, but that didn't matter. He could hear her, and for all that it was one of the most unstoppable forces in nature, it brought him peace.
Peace, tranquillity, and a sense of belonging. He'd been claimed by the ocean, long ago. Marked by the scars on his back, the steel of spine that had seen him walk again. Not killed, but claimed nonetheless, and while he would never not fear her - only a fool didn't fear the ocean, and for all his imperfections he was never a fool - he loved her like a son loved his mother (and his brothers looked to the stars for Mom, but Gordon looked to the swirling turquoise depths of the ocean and saw her there).
The ocean was not safe, but she'd marked him, claimed him, made him, and for that she was a contradiction of terror and safety. One day, she'd take him away, into her depths to cradle him tightly and never let him go.
He knew that, had known that ever since she returned him the first time. He should never have survived, but the ocean had given him back. No, loaned him back. One day, he'd become seafoam on the waves, when she'd decided it was long enough.
Had she decided it was long enough now? He was on dry land, had spent the whole mission on dry land, but rescuing people from landslips just metres from where she waited, hungered. The waves were calm but he could hear her roaring.
Was it a summons? Was she calling him back to the deep after such scant years back on land? He didn't know, but the ocean roared and his heart sang at the sound, like a son reunited with a mother.
"Gordon!"
He barely heard the call, no brother's voice more powerful than the waves. Just a dim awareness in the back of his mind that his name had been spoken. He didn't look away from the waves, their beautiful swirls of blue and green and everything in between. Didn't acknowledge the call, even as it came again.
It was fainter the second time, drowned out by the roar as it got louder. Louder, louder, louder.
Water mesmerised him, colours dancing in patterns around and around, and he- he was too far away. Couldn't reach the waves, couldn't feel the cool sensation of home coiling around him, lifting and holding him like a precious child.
He knew what it felt like to fall. He'd done it, over and over again. Fall down, get back up. Sometimes it was a metaphor. Sometimes it wasn't.
This time it wasn't. This time, his knees were caving, feet slipping as everything tilted and the waves got closer, closer.
The roar was everything. There was nothing else, now. Not the shouts and cries of panicked brothers, not feet pounding the ground, not anything.
Just the roar, and then the darkness.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari