Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds...
Author's Note: Thank you for your reviews again! Sorry it's been a while since the last post – I have been rather pre-occupied of late, (that's far too posh sounding, I know) and whilst I have been rushing around I have also been planning out this chapter. Dedicated to my mum again, this time because she has come home!!!! (Yay!)
Anyway, no more drabble. Onward!
Fate
By Suzi Roberts
Chapter Nine – Waiting
"Why Scott, then?" Jeff asked, the first to break the silence.
"Well, Dad," Gordon said, "It's like this. We discussed the matter in detail in the roundhouse. We went through the options and we both agreed it should be Scott. I wanted to help Virgil too. But talking about it, we decided between us that Scott should be the one for this job. I think he wanted to do it, perhaps even MORE than I do."
"Neither of you have to do this," Virgil suddenly put in, "I'll wait for a donor. The dialysis isn't that bad. I can cope..."
"You'll do no such thing, Virgil," Scott replied quickly, not missing a beat. "I WANT to help you."
"But Scott..." Virgil's voice was rising, and he sounded panicky.
"Virgil! The decision's been made now. Now don't go getting all worked up, or you'll bring on one of your attacks. We'll both be fine."
Virgil fell quiet; he knew there was no point arguing with Scott at that moment. Scott was like Jeff; he could lay down the rules, and you obeyed.
"Are you sure about this, Scott?" Jeff asked. "Do you want to sleep on it before I call the doctor?"
"No." Scott's reply was calm, cool and determined. "Me and Gordon have decided. The donor will be me."
No-one said a word as Jeff reached for the telephone and punched in the number.
******
Virgil sat on the smooth rock, worn away by the constant waves of pure ocean water washing over it.
He sat there thinking. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Usually his piano was his outlet for his thoughts and emotions, but just recently it hadn't seemed to work. This was different. Sitting watching the waves of crystal clear water wash up the sand, inches away form his feet. He'd sit there while the tide was out, watching and thinking.
Thinking about whether he'd be here the following Friday to see it.
Then thinking about how paranoid he was.
If Virgil was truthful to himself, he was terrified. He wasn't the brave Tracy son that he tried to make himself out to be about this; he was anxious and uneasy.
What would happen if Scott were to die and he lived?
Would his father ever forgive him for that? Virgil knew he wouldn't forgive himself.
And what would happen if HE were to die and Scott lived?
Virgil shook his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts. All he'd been able to think about the past two weeks was death. It was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing he thought of at night. He dreamed about it; terrible recurring nightmares where he lay on the operating table, alone. Scott was never with him. He always saw the anaesthetist inject the anaesthetic, but he was never asleep when they started the operation. He always saw them make the first incision. Then the nightmare would advance a little and there was always be blood everywhere...then it went black just as he began to wake up.
Virgil knew he screamed out in this nightmare, for once he'd woken up to find Jeff standing over him, concern written all over his face.
"Are you OK, son?" Jeff had asked. "You were screaming."
"I'm fine, Dad," Virgil had said, despite shaking and being drenched in sweat. "Just a bad dream, that's all."
Coming back to the present, Virgil looked at his watch. 2.00pm.
Three hours he'd been here already. Time seemed to have no meaning to him now, except when they were on rescues.
There'd only been three rescues in the last two weeks; relatively quiet for such an organization.
Virgil had been stressed out the last fourteen days; and it showed via his condition.
He'd had at least three hypoglycaemic attacks, one, unfortunately, had occurred on a rescue. Luckily for him, he hadn't been piloting Thunderbird Two at the time, and the attack hadn't been too severe. Still, Gordon had had to pilot the green craft back to the island, in case Virgil had crashed.
Thinking back on that brought the thought of death back to the front of his mind. He really couldn't rid himself of it.
In the privacy of his bedroom the last two weeks, Virgil had been writing letters to each member of his family, just in case.
He'd even written about what would happen to him after he died, who would have his things, how the family were to behave about him.
He hadn't directly written the words, "If I die" or "I won't be around when you read this". He'd made the letters as chatty as he could, ending them with, "See you later" or "talk soon".
But in each one, he'd made his feelings about that person clear.
The words "I love you" weren't used in the Tracy family since the boys' mother had died, except in extreme circumstances, but they'd popped up more than once in those letters Virgil had spent hours composing.
Virgil got up off the rock and stretched.
The tide will come in soon, he thought to himself, as he walked up the beach.
He walked through the Tracy lounge, not forgetting to greet his father, Alan and Tin-Tin on the way.
He shook his head after passing them. Wasn't it clear to them? Alan loved Tin-Tin and Tin-Tin loved Alan. It was as simple as that. Why didn't they quit fooling and get together while they still had the time?
He shook his head again. Now he sounded like a romantic.
He entered his tidy bedroom with relief. It was always quiet here, peaceful.
Virgil sat at his desk. He picked up a pen and began to sort through the pile of letters that waited on the desktop.
He'd written them all on the spur of the moment. He just wanted to check how they sounded. Not too morbid, he thought.
Pulling the first one from it's envelope, he opened out the paper and began to read.
___________________________________________________________________
End Note: Did you like this one? Please review! And taking the advice from one of my faithful reviewers, quiller, (cheers!)...Is there an American reader who'd proof-read my work for American language? Please email me if you are interested at dollyluver@msn.com. Chapter Ten – Letters will probably be here by the 17th! I will leave you....for now.
Author's Note: Thank you for your reviews again! Sorry it's been a while since the last post – I have been rather pre-occupied of late, (that's far too posh sounding, I know) and whilst I have been rushing around I have also been planning out this chapter. Dedicated to my mum again, this time because she has come home!!!! (Yay!)
Anyway, no more drabble. Onward!
Fate
By Suzi Roberts
Chapter Nine – Waiting
"Why Scott, then?" Jeff asked, the first to break the silence.
"Well, Dad," Gordon said, "It's like this. We discussed the matter in detail in the roundhouse. We went through the options and we both agreed it should be Scott. I wanted to help Virgil too. But talking about it, we decided between us that Scott should be the one for this job. I think he wanted to do it, perhaps even MORE than I do."
"Neither of you have to do this," Virgil suddenly put in, "I'll wait for a donor. The dialysis isn't that bad. I can cope..."
"You'll do no such thing, Virgil," Scott replied quickly, not missing a beat. "I WANT to help you."
"But Scott..." Virgil's voice was rising, and he sounded panicky.
"Virgil! The decision's been made now. Now don't go getting all worked up, or you'll bring on one of your attacks. We'll both be fine."
Virgil fell quiet; he knew there was no point arguing with Scott at that moment. Scott was like Jeff; he could lay down the rules, and you obeyed.
"Are you sure about this, Scott?" Jeff asked. "Do you want to sleep on it before I call the doctor?"
"No." Scott's reply was calm, cool and determined. "Me and Gordon have decided. The donor will be me."
No-one said a word as Jeff reached for the telephone and punched in the number.
******
Virgil sat on the smooth rock, worn away by the constant waves of pure ocean water washing over it.
He sat there thinking. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Usually his piano was his outlet for his thoughts and emotions, but just recently it hadn't seemed to work. This was different. Sitting watching the waves of crystal clear water wash up the sand, inches away form his feet. He'd sit there while the tide was out, watching and thinking.
Thinking about whether he'd be here the following Friday to see it.
Then thinking about how paranoid he was.
If Virgil was truthful to himself, he was terrified. He wasn't the brave Tracy son that he tried to make himself out to be about this; he was anxious and uneasy.
What would happen if Scott were to die and he lived?
Would his father ever forgive him for that? Virgil knew he wouldn't forgive himself.
And what would happen if HE were to die and Scott lived?
Virgil shook his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts. All he'd been able to think about the past two weeks was death. It was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing he thought of at night. He dreamed about it; terrible recurring nightmares where he lay on the operating table, alone. Scott was never with him. He always saw the anaesthetist inject the anaesthetic, but he was never asleep when they started the operation. He always saw them make the first incision. Then the nightmare would advance a little and there was always be blood everywhere...then it went black just as he began to wake up.
Virgil knew he screamed out in this nightmare, for once he'd woken up to find Jeff standing over him, concern written all over his face.
"Are you OK, son?" Jeff had asked. "You were screaming."
"I'm fine, Dad," Virgil had said, despite shaking and being drenched in sweat. "Just a bad dream, that's all."
Coming back to the present, Virgil looked at his watch. 2.00pm.
Three hours he'd been here already. Time seemed to have no meaning to him now, except when they were on rescues.
There'd only been three rescues in the last two weeks; relatively quiet for such an organization.
Virgil had been stressed out the last fourteen days; and it showed via his condition.
He'd had at least three hypoglycaemic attacks, one, unfortunately, had occurred on a rescue. Luckily for him, he hadn't been piloting Thunderbird Two at the time, and the attack hadn't been too severe. Still, Gordon had had to pilot the green craft back to the island, in case Virgil had crashed.
Thinking back on that brought the thought of death back to the front of his mind. He really couldn't rid himself of it.
In the privacy of his bedroom the last two weeks, Virgil had been writing letters to each member of his family, just in case.
He'd even written about what would happen to him after he died, who would have his things, how the family were to behave about him.
He hadn't directly written the words, "If I die" or "I won't be around when you read this". He'd made the letters as chatty as he could, ending them with, "See you later" or "talk soon".
But in each one, he'd made his feelings about that person clear.
The words "I love you" weren't used in the Tracy family since the boys' mother had died, except in extreme circumstances, but they'd popped up more than once in those letters Virgil had spent hours composing.
Virgil got up off the rock and stretched.
The tide will come in soon, he thought to himself, as he walked up the beach.
He walked through the Tracy lounge, not forgetting to greet his father, Alan and Tin-Tin on the way.
He shook his head after passing them. Wasn't it clear to them? Alan loved Tin-Tin and Tin-Tin loved Alan. It was as simple as that. Why didn't they quit fooling and get together while they still had the time?
He shook his head again. Now he sounded like a romantic.
He entered his tidy bedroom with relief. It was always quiet here, peaceful.
Virgil sat at his desk. He picked up a pen and began to sort through the pile of letters that waited on the desktop.
He'd written them all on the spur of the moment. He just wanted to check how they sounded. Not too morbid, he thought.
Pulling the first one from it's envelope, he opened out the paper and began to read.
___________________________________________________________________
End Note: Did you like this one? Please review! And taking the advice from one of my faithful reviewers, quiller, (cheers!)...Is there an American reader who'd proof-read my work for American language? Please email me if you are interested at dollyluver@msn.com. Chapter Ten – Letters will probably be here by the 17th! I will leave you....for now.
