Hi, lovely people! Got a really strong case of 'busy life' going on and it was all going so well... This tale has a plan and an ending, which you will get, just not as fast as I would like. I apologise for that and I appreciate your patience. That's just the way it will have to be until they invent a tablet to replace sleep or an off button for my beautiful toddler!
Thank you to all that have taken the time to review so far xxx
The pain was like an ocean tide going out, holding him under. He could see the sun above him and he reached for it, trying to break the surface. He felt he was going to drown, but why did it hurt so much? Why couldn't he move?
The first image he could recall was of Virgil screaming, beating his hands against a crumpled control panel.
Alan woke choking and gasping, the pain in his head making his body shudder. He screwed his eyes up against bright light, tears rolling down his cheeks. The ceiling came into view. Above him were large grey tiles, the walls around it white.
"I'm... In hospital," Alan concluded groggily, "Why am I in hospital?"
Once he caught his breath, his first thought was that he was naked. The second was that he was paralysed. That thought was enough to send him into a state of blind panic. Blinking fiercely to try and keep his stinging eyes open, he made an attempt to lift his head. Nothing happened. His arms were down by his side, also stuck. Same for his legs.
He quickly learned that he was strapped down at the forehead, chest, wrists and ankles. He couldn't understand why. He didn't feel too badly injured. The only pain he had was the relentless pounding in his head. Who had taken his clothes?
He needed to get up. If only he could reach his watch... Then he realised it wasn't there. Why? One of his brothers must have taken it.
He tried to remember what happened.
Like a movie pressing play, he recalled the disaster at Cooper Hospital. He remembered the explosion, Thunderbird Two spinning out of control. Virgil.
Alan had remained conscious throughout the whole destruction of Thunderbird Two. After the thunderous bang and flash of the explosion, stars danced in front of his eyes. He could barely see Virgil, frantic at his controls, half-turning towards him yelling "Brace! Brace!' Alan dizzily obeyed. He was thrown against his passenger restraints on impact and he felt something hit his head with a sharp biting sensation. Then warm blood dripped own his face and into his eyes as Thunderbird Two went still.
Then above the ringing in his ears, he could hear a bellowing. The noise had him moving frantically. He lifted his swimming, heavy head and freed himself from his restraints to find his big brother trapped. He was the one making the noise, screaming in agony and trying to writhe free of the metal surrounding his seat. That was when Alan's mind went blank and the images stopped, like a camera lenses clamping shut. He had a fleeting feeling that Gordon was there, but he couldn't have been. Was Virgil still stuck in Thunderbird Two? Did he make it?
Did any of that even happen? The fogginess of his thoughts made him feel like he was caught in an intense nightmare.
"Help me," he croaked, struggling against his restraints, "Please, is anyone there? Virgil? Is my brother ok?"
His ears were still buzzing so loud he could barely hear his own voice. Even talking was starting to make him feel sick and the last thing he wanted to do was throw up lying down like this.
"Hello?" he shouted, still trying to turn his head, "I'm awake. I'd like to get up now? Anyone there?"
Nothing. The only sound was the whining tinnitus in his ears.
"Gordon. Gordon, come here! Scott? Scott, I'm awake. Get me out of here!"
He attempted this for a good half hour. By the end, he was screaming for help. The effort intensified his headache and he soon let himself slump, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. Now he was getting anxious.
"I'm only in hospital," he stated numbly.
That thought quickly vanished, his hope disappearing as his panicked mind started working properly.
"Who the hell..." he muttered, "In any hospital... Strips a patient and ties them up with..."
He wiggled his wrists experimentally.
"...Leather straps?"
He swallowed against the wave of terror that consumed him then. There wasn't a soul around, at least not a friendly one. He took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. The images of all his older brothers came to mind. All his life he had felt he lived under their shadow, always striving to make his mark. Now he would give anything for just one of them to be here, even just to tell him to calm down and stop imagining the worst.
A couple of hours later, after screaming himself hoarse, his worst fears were starting to become reality. He started trying to writhe his way out of the restraints, almost spraining his wrists from the effort.
With a frustrated cry he went still, then felt intense shame as tears sprang to his eyes.
"Fuck," he whispered cautiously, as if Grandma would actually be able to reprimand him now, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
His nose was itching like crazy. The room and table under him was cold. With no clothes to keep him warm, he started to shiver. He needed to pee. And the icing on the cake - he was crying like a coward.
"What do I do?" he growled into the empty air around him, "Come on, Scott. Tell me. What do I do?"
It was their weekly combat training session, an official name for the rough and tumble play they had grown up doing. The only difference now is that they were allowed to hurt each other without a clout around the ear from Grandma. And they could use weapons.
They had gotten really good at it, even John. The pacifist of the family didn't need too much encouragement to try and outdo his stronger older siblings. Scott had had the most military training, so it was only natural that he led the training.
Alan made it his own personal goal to win against Scott. He never had. He had managed plenty of victories against everyone else, including Virgil. Well, he beat Virgil once. That in itself earned him plenty of noogies and thumps on the back, like it was a rite of passage. Virgil may be level-headed on a rescue, but when he fought, he was capable of battle rage. It made him intimidating and unpredictable. Once he had come close to breaking Alan's arm and never stopped feeling guilty about it since.
Alan was thinking back to a day roughly six months into International Rescue going operational. They were finishing up a combat session. He had been paired with Gordon, Virgil with John. He felt he had held his own well enough against Gordon's agility. John had eventually been thrown to the ground by his partner and admitted defeat. Virgil would normally at least raise his arms to acknowledge the victory, but never with John. There was a mutual respect there that forbid gloating. John lay on the floor for a moment, chest heaving. He shook his head, annoyed, when his sparring partner offered him a hand. Instead he rolled to his side and got to his feet, brushing sweat soaked hair back from his face.
"Next time," Virgil smirked, clapping him on the back.
"Hit the showers, guys!" Scott bellowed from across the hall, "See you all later, I'm going for a walk."
Scott always wound down after an intense session like this with a solitary brisk walk around the island, returning after sunset. Alan jogged after him before he could leave the room, his muscles aching. He'd had training to cover a range of worst case scenarios, but there was one burning question that he had to ask.
He tapped his older brother on the shoulder and Scott turned slowly, looking down at him. "What is it, Alan?"
"Just don't punch me," Alan murmured.
Scott's rolled his eyes at this, but he was still smiling, "Spit it out."
"What do we do if... We get captured?" said Alan solemnly, "If it were to ever happen."
Scott paused as he was silently assaulted with the memories. There was a telltale wash of emotion that went over his face. His mouth opened ever so slightly and he gazed at the floor near Alan's feet.
"I'm sorry, you don't need to talk about-"
- "No, no, Alan. It's actually a pretty good question," said Scott softly, his tone low.
Alan saw Scott look over his shoulder. He turned around to see that all his brothers were standing still, watching this conversation. Scott gave a smirk and waved them over. The hand took Alan's attention, because it bore the only mark of Scott's torment. The fingernail on his ring finger never grew back properly. Not after it was wrenched from the nail bed.
Alan would never forget Scott coming home from his last mission in the Air Force. It was supposed to be routine, but had gone badly wrong. His big brother had been decorated for bravery, yet had returned battered, bruised and with all his fingernails missing. His hands so were so sore he could barely lift a glass. The rest of the marks left behind by his captors were invisible. Everyone knew the reason why Scott slept atrociously, lucky if he could snatch more than four hours sleep a night. He feared the nightmares. They also knew that this unspoken piece of history built the foundation for the quick thinking commander he was becoming.
Scott waited until all four of his siblings were around him in a semi circle. He took a deep breath, "Alan wants to know what to do if you end up being held hostage."
Alan flinched as John tilted his head in his direction, his look scathing, "Alan, you've got no right to"-
"John! Leave him," Scott said, raising a placating hand, "He wasn't asking about me. Still, we need to talk about the possibility. God forbid it ever happens to any of you..."
Virgil, who was standing at his right side, rested a palm on his shoulder and squeezed.
Scott sighed. "If there's ever a time I wish I had some good advice, it would be now. The only thing I can say with certainty is that if some bastard out there tries to torture you, threaten you," his sharp blue eyes moved around to meet all of his brothers, "Then you tell them everything."
There was a pause as the brothers exchanged surprised glances, all except Virgil.
"I would ask about endangering the family if we talked..." said Virgil.
Scott nodded, not at all surprised that Virgil understood, "...They'd find out anyway."
Gordon was confused, "Really, Scott? That's what we do? We're supposed to squeal?"
Now Scott was angry, "What do you expect me to say? Oh, anyone can stand up to torture. Sure. Just zone out, go to a happy place, take your mind elsewhere... People that think like that are the first to crack. I've seen it first hand. Believe me, it's worse than if you just accept and submit. No matter who you are, the pain will break you. Then only after you've finally spilled your guts, they'll kill you. By then, you'll be as good as dead anyway."
Gordon looked down, ashamed, "Sorry. It's just... I'd want to fight them."
Alan sniffed, "Me too."
Scott looked at them, his sincerity frightening, "Please, boys. If you love your family, don't fight. Do what they want. Tell them everything. Save yourself the pain."
His eyes locked on to Alan's. He had never seen fear in his brother's face before.
The sound of a door opening broke Alan's mind out of the memory. His wide eyes turned towards the noise as far as they could go, but he could still only see the bare grey ceiling. The strap across his forehead was so tight he felt his skull might crack.
"Scott?" he whimpered, in ridiculous hope that thinking of his brother had somehow summoned him.
There was a clacking of heels on a hard floor and the underside of a woman's face came into view. Alan could only see the bottom of her chin and the top of her white coat. He could hear more clacking. Another woman, murmuring, making her way around the lower end of the table.
"Please, ma'am," he said frantically, "Get these straps off of me. I've been here for"-
Lightening fast, she grabbed onto his thick blonde hair and pulled. He gave a yelp, more of surprise than pain. He looked up at the woman above him. He couldn't see much of her face but heard the venom in her voice as she spat, "Dia bukan yang mereka mahu. Jurutera itu telah dibunuh."
At first he thought the words were directed at him, before he heard the voice of the other woman responding in the same language. He was no good with foreign languages, but there was something oddly familiar about it. There was a screech and whirring of wheels towards his feet. It sounded like the second woman was pulling up a trolley.
"What do you want?" Alan flinched as the hand in his hair tightened. The women continued to talk rapidly back and forth, ignoring him. It was infuriating.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" he screamed.
A fist smashed down onto his face. He felt his nose crack and blood started to run down his throat.
He took that to mean 'shut up'.
Over the idle chatting he could hear the distinctive snaps of someone putting on latex gloves. That couldn't be good. Then there were gloved hands touching down low, where they definitely weren't welcome. Before Alan could so much as twitch in defiance, he was hit by the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life.
It turns out that when you feel like you're getting slowly castrated, all thoughts of compliance go completely out the window. Alan screamed, spat, roared and yelled his whole vocabulary of profanties at the women. It was all he could do. The women continued to ignore his struggles, until the lady near his head moved away. When she returned moments later, there was a sharp sting. A needle piercing his neck.
Whatever they injected him with was wonderfully strong. He felt himself sliding down fast into unconsciousness, the only way he could escape now. He was dimly aware of his bladder letting go. He didn't feel a gush of fluid like he expected. Then he realised what they had done to him was insert a catheter.
He didn't know what they were planning, but he prayed for no more indignity rather than a painless death. His last thoughts were of wanting to say sorry to Tin-Tin and to hold his daughter one last time.