Disclaimer: Thunderbirds is owned by a wonderful group of people with a great deal more money and talent than I. They know who they are.
Authors note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. Really, you've done a good deed. Just some specific points that I wanted to reply too...
Boucephalos - Well, I'm sorry that you feel that way, but I appreciate your honesty. All criticism is productive.
Alayana - I took your advice and brought myself a copy of K:19. You're right...he is even hotter with darker hair! -falls happily into a Lex Shrapnel-induced coma-
Amanduriel – no dear, you're not pedantic, just observant! Hopefully I've cleared thing up in this chapter.
'A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity'
Time no longer held any meaning for Virgil Tracy.
Days, hours, minutes, seconds...they seemed to melt into an inexorable haze, the very concepts somehow vague and obsolete. Trapped in endless shadow beneath the waves, Thunderbird 2 had become a whole universe unto itself – effectively severed from the outside world by a barrier of silence and water. Here there was only the constant darkness and the bleak comfort of imminent death.
...Had it ever been any other way? Virgil scowled thoughtfully into the gloom, but could no longer remember. In truth, he did not wish to. Whatever had come prior to this timeless nothing, recalling it could only lead to further grief, and so he kept such thoughts at the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on the only three things that were real to him right now - the stillness, the pain, and his brother, Scott.
Oh God, Scott...
Ever since Virgil had returned from his aborted escape attempt, he had witnessed the older Tracy take a sudden turn for the worst. His breathing was becoming laboured, each intake of air accompanied by a shallow wheeze. Before, Scott had held on in the hope that Virgil might get away...but now that hope was gone, effectively crushed by Virgil's decision to return, and Scott allowed himself to give in to his injuries. He already knew that he was dying...he didn't bother trying to fight it.
Virgil held him now, pillowing his brother's head against his shoulder. Almost two and a half hours of blood loss had left Scott too tired to support his own weight. He was glad of the physical contact. It was oddly reassuring.
"Scott?"
No answer.
"Hey, Scott...you still with me?"
The dark-haired young man gave a slurred mumble, jerking into consciousness. "Huh?"
Virgil's forehead creased into an anxious frown. "Don't fall asleep, Scott. Keep your eyes open."
"S-sor...sorry." Scott grimaced and blinked blindly ahead, his cracked lips struggling to form words. "I'm just so tried..."
"I know, I know. But try, okay? For me?"
Scott sighed wearily. "For you," he assented, voice quiet with drained resolution. If Virgil needed him, then he would force himself to stay awake, no matter how tempting the welcome oblivion of slumber might seem...
...An unexpected sensation in his legs – or leg, given that one of them was effectively dead now – made him give a small start. "I can feel water at my feet," he said, not knowing whether or not to be surprised by this revelation.
From somewhere in the unseeing darkness above his head, he felt Virgil give a short nod. "The pressure seal was broken when I first opened the door to the hallway. We've been leaking water for the past ten minutes."
"Just when things couldn't get any better, huh?" Scott peered downward with detached curiosity. In the deepening gloom, he could just about make out the oily glint of water puddling by his shins. He scowled suddenly and gave a soft grunt of irritation. "Damn."
Virgil twisted his head to look down at where his brother was resting. "What?"
"That noise."
Virgil paused and listened. All he could hear was the steady trickle of the Atlantic forcing itself through the metal doors and onto the flight-deck. "What about it?"
Scott squirmed and ran a hand restlessly over the un-burnt portion of his lower abdomen. A ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of his blood-encrusted mouth.
"I've just realised how badly I need to pee."
Virgil had to laugh at that. It was a carefully quiet laugh – not wanting to shake too much in case he disturbed his brother – but a laugh nonetheless. The heavy feeling that had been growing steadily in his gut lifted for a moment, like a parting in a storm-cloud. He was with Scott, and that was enough. Whatever happened to them, they would face it together...that was all that mattered.
With nothing else to do except wait for death, Virgil found himself asking questions.
"What you said before...about Nancy Lucas? Was it true?"
Scott gave a bleary blink, his eyes now struggling to maintain focus. "It's not the sort of thing I'd lie about, Virg."
Good point, Virgil thought to himself. He played distractedly with the frayed cuff of his IR shirt. "Did you love her?"
Scott did not hesitate. "No."
"Have you ever been in love?"
Again, no pause. "No."
Virgil nodded sadly, as though that had been the answer that he was expecting, but he was disappointed to hear it nonetheless. "Me neither," he admitted, letting go off the cuff and dropping his hands to his lap. "Do you ever wonder if we're missing out on anything?"
"On what? Wife? Kids? White picket-fence?" Scott coughed faintly and then shook his head. Even this simple action caused a spear of pain to shoot through his skull, and he quickly stopped. "It wouldn't have been enough."
The younger Tracy hesitated. He looked down at his sleep-drugged brother, a questioning frown pulling at his heavy eyebrows. "Do...do you ever think about what would have happened?" He halted suddenly and blushed, almost embarrassed to ask such a personal question. "If you hadn't gone through with the abortion, I mean."
Scott was quiet for a long moment. "Sometimes," he admitted finally. "But I try not to dwell on it."
Neither said anything for several minutes. Virgil allowed his eyes to drop half-shut, trying to picture how things might have been if Scott had not forced Nancy Lucas to abort her baby. Scott's son – and Virgil had no doubt that it would have been a son – would have been nine years old by now.
"You tried to tell me about it, didn't you," he asked quietly, still staring thoughtfully into the distance. "That night that you called me from Texas? You tried to talk to me."
Scott did not ask which phone-call Virgil was talking about. They both remembered the drunken conversation, even if they had never allowed themselves to talk about it. "I wasn't thinking straight that night," he mumbled tiredly. "Too much booze and not enough sleep. I just wanted to hear a friendly voice, that's all."
"Why didn't you say anything about the baby?" Virgil knew that he sounded childishly hurt, but was unable to keep the whine from entering his voice. "I would have listened."
Scott tried to turn his body to look up at his brother, but the movement dragged his injured leg slightly askew, twisting his knee a little deeper into the spear of metal. A bolt of pain shot up his spine, causing him to snarl and bare his teeth. He bit down on the cry that welled up in his throat and – after a moment of breathless agony – the pain began to recede into the background.
Wheezing softly, he lay bonelessly back against Virgil's shoulder, angry at himself for being so stupid. "I...I suppose I was trying to protect you. Or maybe it was just self-preservation. I don't know. I just didn't want you to realise what a heartless bastard I'd turned out to be."
"You didn't mind telling me twenty minutes ago."
"Yeah, well...if you can't be honest in the face of certain death, then when can you?" Scott gave a small smile at his own feeble attempt at sarcasm.
Virgil looked self-consciously down and clasped his hands in his lap. "Whatever happened with you and Nancy, it doesn't change anything. I still..." he opened his mouth to say the word 'love', but was too timid to vocalise it, "...respect you. I just want you to know that."
Scott's eyes were beginning to close again. His jaw was going slack, his skin clammy and grey, and Virgil knew with horrifying certainty that his brother wouldn't live out the hour.
"Thanks, Virg," the elder Tracy murmered, floating somewhere in the shadows between sleep and consciousness. "Really, thanks."
The arrivals lounge at New York International Airport, and Scott Tracy stood with his suitcase in hand, searching the crowd for a familiar face.
He was still dressed in his air-force uniform and could feel the admiring stares of his fellow passengers as they walked passed. The looks made him acutely uncomfortable and he fidgeted unconsciously. Why the heck hadn't he changed clothes before he left Berlin? It was nearing Christmas, and a tinny rendition of 'Silent Night' played over the lounge's audio system. Scott had returned to America at the behest of his father. Spending the holidays with his family had seemed like a good idea at the time...now, however, he wasn't so sure.
The Tracy family had long since disbanded. After finishing his degree, Virgil had gone on to work for an engineering company in Tokyo, designing and modelling commercial carrier-craft. John had trained with NASA and was now stationed at Cape Kennedy, quietly working a desk while less-qualified men journeyed to the stars. Gordon had represented the US during the last Olympics and won a gold medal for his efforts...but, less than a month later, had badly fractured his spine and had just spent the past year in London, confined to a wheel-chair while he gradually regained the use of his legs. Alan – the youngest of the Tracy brood – was now in the final stages of his astronauts training at Houston and was expected to graduate with top honours.
As for Scott...well, Scott was still flying, still amazing his superiors. He was now five years older than he had been when he first gained his wings, and had a whole new set of stripes to show for it. He'd also been presented with a medal for valour, but he kept that hidden in a box in his quarters. During his military career, he'd been posted all over the world – England, China, Cuba and now Germany – but he'd never been able to out-move the guilt that had trailed him since his first stationing at Texas.
No matter how far he ran, the hate-filled ghost of his unborn baby was always there beside him.
...And so now here he was – twenty-five years old, a national hero and a private failure – waiting in the airport arrivals lounge, nervously biting his lip while he waited for his family to arrive. How long had it been since the Tracy brothers had last been together? Six months? Seven? They were almost strangers now – distant acquaintances who had known each other as children. Truth be told, Scott could hardly remember what his brothers looked like...
What the hell were they going to say to each other?
"Scott!!"
Scott turned around, startled to hear his name called. His dark blue eyes narrowed as they raked the crowd, quickly spotting a familiar figure in the midst of so many strangers. Alan. A small smile crept at the corner of his mouth, tired frown fading at the sight of his youngest brother. God, when had the baby of the Tracy family grown up to be this strong-jawed young man? Had he really been away so long?
"Scott! Hey, Scott!" Alan pushed his way forcibly through the crowd, throwing himself at Scott in a hug that knocked the wind out of him. "Great to see you! Jeez, were you always this tall?! Gordon! Gordon, he's over here!"
Scott wheezed helplessly and tried to pry his brother away, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at such an unexpected display of emotion. Before he could collect himself sufficiently to return Alan's greeting, however, he felt a heavy hand impact against his back. Gordon.
"Hey Scotty!" The auburn-haired Tracy grinned broadly and shook his head. "Boy, you look awful!"
Despite himself, Scott returned the grin. "Gee, thanks. I've been off the plane for five minutes and you're already laying in the insults."
Gordon smiled and shrugged, balancing precariously on the crutches he now required to walk. "Ah, I mean it as an endearment. I have a lot of lost time to make up for, you know."
Another figure moved out of the crowd now, approaching the brothers with shyly lowered eyes and self-conscious smile. John. He stepped forward to touch his brother lightly on the elbow. "Its good to have you back, Scott. We've all missed you."
"Yeah, I missed you fellas too. Where's father? I'd kinda hoped that he'd be here to meet me."
John took Scott's suitcase away from him. "Father? Oh, he's just parking the car, that's all. He should be here in a couple of minutes. I think he has something that he wants to talk to you about."
Scott raised his eyes heavenward, remembering the last few conversations that he'd had with the Tracy patriarch. "Is he still harping on about this International Rescue idea of his?"
"He's serious about it this time, Scott," John said, watching his brother with eyes that were red-rimmed from staring at computer screens all day. "In fact, I think that's partly the reason why he's called us all together like this."
"...That and the fact that it was about time for a Tracy family reunion." The unmistakable sound of Virgil's voice sounded from somewhere behind him. "Hey Scott."
Scott whirled on his heel at the unexpected voice, grin fading as he looked at his best friend for the first time in seven months. Virgil was tanned from time spent in the Japanese sunshine, his once scrawny frame now filled out by compact muscle. His eyes, however, were much the same as they had ever been...as was the small smile that now played at the corner of his mouth.
Scott beamed and nodded, eyes glittering. "Merry Christmas, Virgil."
"Merry Christmas, Scott." Virgil gave that small, serene smile of his, and tilted his head. "You look tired."
"I look old, but thanks for mentioning it."
A short silence fell over the group. Then, suddenly, Virgil laughed. Then Scott. Then Gordon, Alan, and eventually even John joined in, laughing even though they did not truly understand why. After so long apart, the Tracy family was back together... it felt natural to laugh.
As the brothers walked out of the airport, Scott felt Virgil drape his arm comfortably around his shoulder, chatting absently about all that had happened in Scott's absence. Scott listened and nodded in all the appropriate places, but did not say anything. He didn't trust himself to speak. Any private doubts that he had harboured only minutes before had disappeared completely. He was so... happy. He was home, he was with his brothers, he was with Virgil...
...This was where he was meant to be.
Scott never took the flight back to Berlin. Two weeks later, he respectfully withdrew his service from the United States Air Force, asking for – and receiving – an honourable discharge from operative duty. He and his brothers spent the winter in New York, re-learning how it was to be a family while their father went about the final stages of procuring Tracy Island.
...After a while, Scott stopped thinking about what had happened in Texas. The guilt never fully went away, but at least - with his family around him - he forgot how to be lonely.
"I think I'm beginning to hallucinate."
Scott heard Virgil's voice as though from a distance, and found himself opening his mouth to answer. "Why?"
He felt Virgil's chest shudder beneath his head as he gave a soft chuckle. "Because I can hear the London Symphony Orchestra playing Wagner's Tannhäuser."
Scott – who had never shared his brother's high-brow taste in music – was ready to dismiss the comment as pure fancy, when he too noticed the strange noise. He couldn't hear any Germanic opera in it, however. To him it was nothing more than a regular, low-pitched humming noise, like the sound of far-away machinery.
He stifled a sigh, too tired to wonder about it. "It's probably just the water-pressure on the ship's hull. Ignore it."
The water was up to his waist now. The ice-cold Atlantic lapped quietly at his legs, seeping through the blackened remains of his IR uniform and chilling him to the bone. Even in this ghostly semi-dark, he could see the blood seeping out from his crippled knee, diffusing into the clear liquid that surrounded it and staining the water a sickly scarlet.
He shivered with cold, and that just made the pain worse.
Virgil's voice again, even further away this time. "So...any regrets?"
Scott tried to smile, but it was too much effort. A storm-cloud was beginning to gather inside his brain, and it was making thinking difficult. "Too many," he mumbled, voice slurred as though he'd drunk his way through a bottle of scotch. "You?"
Virgil sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "I wish I'd spent more time with Alan and Gordon. I wish I'd talked to John more often. I wish..." he hesitated suddenly, lowering his eyes in private shame. "...I wish I'd told father just how much I hated him sometimes. I wish I'd told him about how much he hurt me when I was young...about how I used to lie in bed and dream that he had been the one that died instead of mom." He stopped and flushed, elated and guilty at having admitted his feelings after keeping them so long repressed. "I wish I'd told him how much I loved him, in spite of everything."
A strange interval of silence followed this revelation. Scott felt like he was floating somewhere above his body, twin smoke-plumes of pain and fear beginning to surge forward on the horizon.
"I wish that I'd learned to play the piano," he said after a pause, feeling the need to venture some personal disclosure after what Virgil had just admitted.
Virgil smiled sadly. "If we get reincarnated together, maybe I'll teach you."
Scott was feeling sick now, and his vision swam with bright pin-points of light. He closed his eyes tightly shut. "Do you believe in that kind of stuff?" he asked softly, allowing his mind to drift back into darkness.
He sensed rather than saw Virgil shake his head. "No, not really. It's just kind of hard to accept that this is the end, you know?" There was an uneasy pause, then Scott felt his brother's fingers stroking questioningly at the side of his face. "...Scott?"
Scott kept his eyes closed. The darkness continued to grow, and he knew that he could no longer fight it. The current was too strong for him to swim against. That irritating whirring noise was growing louder outside. He wished that it would stop.
"...Just keep talking Virgil."
A trembling sob sounded somewhere above him. Virgil had stared to cry. "D-do you remember back when we were kids, Scott? Do you remember how we used to climb the trees in the back yard? Mom would come out of the kitchen and watch us. She pretended to smile, but I always knew that she was scared to death in case we fell." Scott could not see him, but he could imagine the shaking smile that his brother wore. "But I was never frightened...not while I was with you. I knew that you wouldn't let anything happen to me."
Virgil's fingers were in his hair now, tenderly smoothing out the curls. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture, and Scott found it deeply comforting on some primitive level - more loving than sex, more personal than a heart-to-heart conversation. In all the thirty-years of Scott's life, he could not remember having felt so deeply connected to another human being. Not to his father, whom he had looked up to and admired....not to his military friends, whom he had risked his life for in the name of duty...not to all the countless girls he'd screwed in a futile attempt to quell his loneliness.
...Was this what it felt like to be loved by someone, wholly and unconditionally? Had he and Virgil always had this connection, or had it only been forged this very minute? Scott didn't know. He probably never would.
Virgil's voice again, low and choked: "And I can remember how high you used to climb – right up to the tallest branches. You were so sure of yourself...so goddamn cocky." He sighed heavily, tired and sad. "The sun was always seemed so much warmer when we were children. It felt like summer was never going to end. Do you remember, Scott?"
At the sound of his name, Scott opened his eyes. His vision was blurred and hazy – no matter how many times he blinked, his sight would not clear. He gave a pain-wracked whimper and held a shaking hand out, desperately seeking his brother in the blinding darkness. To his relief, another set of fingers enclosed around his own.
"It's okay, Scott. I'm still here."
Scott's eyes stared up into the nothingness. Then, gradually, an indistinct figure seemed to emerge from the black mist. Was it Virgil? Scott could no longer be certain. The hair was golden-brown, to be sure, and the eyes were still the same deep hazel that he had always known...but the face was too soft, too beautiful to be his brother.
...Mom?
"Oh God...oh God, I can't do this...I don't want to die." Scott shivered, his chest heaving with every laboured breath. His expression contorted as another wave of pain rippled through his body. "I want to go home," he cried mournfully, no longer ashamed to feel the tears that streaked down his face.
His mother...Virgil...whoever it was, nodded, and Scott felt the fingers grip even tighter around his hand...
...The sun warm on his face...his hands reaching out to grasp the next branch...Virgil giggling happily in the leaves below him...his mother, scared and proud, staring up at him from the far-away lawn...
-I'm dying, aren't I mom? I'm dying, just like you did-
...The smell of new-cut grass in the air...the tinny melody of a distant ice-cream van...him waving down to Virgil...goading him to climb higher...
-I'm sorry, Virgil. I'm sorry for everything-
...No more branches to climb now...he'd reached the top...wanted to carry on climbing, right up into the sky...didn't want to come back down...didn't want to look back...
-It doesn't hurt anymore-
-Thank God, it doesn't hurt anymore-
Scott Tracy's heart-beat slowed...faltered...then stopped altogether, and Virgil was helpless to do anything but watch as his brother fell lifelessly away from him.