Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Thunderbirds Are Go - they belong to the late Gerry and Silvia Anderson
Author's Note: I can't believe how quickly I'm churning these chapters out - I think this is a new personal record for me! XD
Thank you so much again for all of the reviews, favourites and follows - you have no idea how happy it makes me to read them!
Advanced warning for language again in this chapter - do let me know what you think of it and thank you for stopping by to read!
Planet Earth looked beautiful.
Hues of blues, greens, greys and sandy, earthy tones combined with the soft, graceful wisps of candyfloss clouds.
It looked so peaceful.
Warm...
Unlike the cold vacuum of space - now littered with twisted metal and other unidentifiable compounds once belonged to a research craft.
Crystalline blues took in the more picturesque view for a moment longer before blinking slowly.
Scott Tracy's gloved fingers gingerly touched the cracked visor on his helmet, silently thanking Brains for creating such a fast-acting sealing compound. Had it not been for their genius friend, he would have suffocated within a matter of seconds when those charges had detonated on board the aforementioned vessel.
A quick check on the holo-image projected from the back of his arm-guard told him that his damaged helmet had six minutes and thirty-four seconds of oxygen left.
All bad things aside, at least the cargo container that he was currently nestled within had finally stopped spinning at a sickening rate...
Because really, nobody ever wanted to upchuck in zero gravity.
He had heard the horror stories from John.
And also from Brains.
Six minutes...
For what felt like the hundredth time, Scott tapped the 'IR' logo on his utility sash, dimly aware that yet again, the comms link failed to illuminate. "This is Thunderbird One. Alan? John? Do you read me?"
Silence.
Not even static.
And in the coldness of space, even the silence seemed eerily loud.
"Shit.."
'Don't panic... You'll waste your oxygen.'
Five minutes and forty-five seconds...
'Shut up. I don't panic. Ever.'
Alan, Brains and John were out there.
They would find him.
'Dead or alive..?'
He considered yet again if he should attempt some form of space walk - just in case changing positions could somehow increase his chances of being found. However, he had used his grapple gun to tether the stricken research vessel to Thunderbird Three in order to ferry the cryo-chambers to safety inside the cargo container that he was now seeking refuge within. Needless to say neither grapple gun nor line had survived the blasts - hence why said containment unit had come free. He had also been forced to jettison his jetpack in a split second decision when one of the closer explosions had threatened to knock him off-course whilst en-route to the only shelter that seemed appropriate.
'Stay put. Don't move. They'll find you.'
Scott gave a short nod of approval to his inner logic. If he moved now, especially without his gear, he would only be using up more of his depleting oxygen supply and decreasing the odds of being found - especially with all of the debris from the destroyed ship still floating around.
So he waited.
And it was infuriating.
Scott Tracy was a man of action. He needed to be doing something - not just sitting around idly whilst waiting to be discovered.
Four minutes and nine seconds...
Arguably, it had been his 'act now, worry later' impulsiveness that had landed him in his current predicament. Perhaps if he had not have gone back for that last cryo-chamber, the outcome would have been so very different.
Then again, there had been a chance of saving another life... Whoever was in that last cryo-chamber - malfunctioning or not - could have been somebody's parent, sibling or child...
'Was it really worth it?'
He sighed, unhappy with where his train of thought was going.
'Of course it was worth it, idiot! Imagine if that had been someone like Uncle Lee! Or Alan! Or John! Or...'
Three minutes and thirty-eight seconds...
'…Or Dad...'
The brunette swallowed thickly, closing his eyes again for a moment.
Was he really going to go out like this? No blaze of glory? No goodbyes?
No certainty if their missing father - the great Jeff Tracy - was even still alive?
A faint yet urgent beeping in his helmet brought him out of his thoughts and Scott glanced back at the holographic timer.
One minute and fifty-three seconds...
'What?! How?!'
It took a further ten seconds before Scott realised that he was borderline hyperventilating.
'You said you never panic, asshole! Stop it and get a grip!'
And it was another several seconds before the pilot was able to regulate his breathing again.
One minute and twelve seconds
'Well shit...'
Scott's fingers tapped lightly over the holo-panel on the back of his arm-guard, deactivating the projected countdown, suddenly disinterested in watching some kind of macabre countdown.
Still aware of the lack of gravity, he climbed to his feet, steadying himself for a moment with his right hand on the wall of the cargo container. After a moment, he edged forward before perching on the edge of the metal unit, dangling his legs over the lip as he rested his head against the side as he watched the swirling kaleidoscope of colours before him.
At least the view was good.
And he had managed to mentally block out the slightly irritating alarm that continued to chirp within his helmet.
'If Gordon was here right now, he'd quip that it was breath-taking... Pun fully intended...'
But Gordon was thousands of miles away - called out alongside Virgil to assist with a situation in the Indian Ocean.
Today had been another one of those back-to-back days of rescues - Scott barely had time to shower and grab a slice of leftover pizza after getting back from a mission in South Korea (and Italy prior to that) before he had been sent out alongside Alan and Brains for this current assignment. Never mind the ungodly hour that he and Virgil had returned from Argentina several hours before.
Come to think about it, he was pretty tired...
'Don't close your eyes...'
There was something about watching those pure white clouds slowly swirling and caressing the Earth that was quite cathartic...
'Just for a couple of seconds. Like a supercharged power-nap...'
The silence seemed a lot less eerie now. It was almost soothing, especially when accompanied by the soft ba-bump of his own heart beat that he was now acutely aware of; the slow, steady rhythm encouraging heavy lids to close further over icy blues...
Ba-bump...
… Ba-bump...
... Ba-
A near-blinding light flashed briefly and Scott made a small sound, forcing his eyes open.
Nothing.
There was nothing there - except for the drifting wreckage.
Without warning, the bright light returned; this time refusing to shift in direction.
The brunette made an attempt to shield his eyes, but his arm felt like it had been weighted down and refused to budge.
And then he saw it.
A figure - hard to identify in the with the intense luminosity - but definitely someone.
Blue eyes widened, welling up in recognition as the figure approached. Scott tried to say something but for some reason, he was unable to find his voice. It was as if a great fatigue was overcoming him.
Ba-bump...
... Ba-bump...
He felt the moisture leave his eyes, small droplets of tears forming almost-perfect glistening orbs as they floated in zero gravity within his helmet.
Ba-bump...
A gloved hand touched his shoulder gently and Scott's eyes slid shut again, a small smile on his face as he finally found enough of his voice to muster a whisper before everything succumbed to darkness.
Ba-bump...
"You're here..."
... Ba-bump.