Close your eyes, relax, let your body do the rest. Exhaustion would take over and the brain shut down.
But it didn't.
Instead there had been the endless rerun of their rescue, of the train exploding, the fire eating toward Daranta, John's voice relaying information, and so on. Mixed into that were images from a burned out Thunderbird 5 and his injured brother.
He couldn't sleep.
Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, Scott felt his mind race. Again and again he was flashing to the hours aboard Thunderbird 5, the suffocating thick and hot air. The emergency lights that spread barely any light at all. The uselessness he felt at the situation.
The air was thick enough to cut it with a knife, stifling hot, and each breath was like inhaling a dense soup that held no more oxygen for his struggling lungs. Sweat ran down his face and Scott looked around. Virgil was softly talking to John, who was leaning hard against a console, valiantly trying to keep his 'bird running or to at least coax it into holding on a bit longer. Virgil's expression was worried. Gordon was almost invisible further away, hidden by the shadows everywhere. And their father was staring at the read-outs, expression grim.
There was nothing he... they could do. Nothing.
Their lives were in the hand of The Hood and their only hope was Alan, who was their kid brother, the youngest
Scott felt his whole body clench in fear for Alan. He was alone, against a mastermind criminal, someone insane enough to take down International Rescue for his petty revenge.
God, Alan, please don't die, he thought desperately, eyes straying to John.
Finally Scott gave up on sleep and left his room, heading for the kitchen first to get himself something to drink. He then proceeded out to the pool, settling down on one of the lounge chairs and gazing at the dark water that moved lazily. Not far out he could hear the ocean, the surf gently lapping against the sandy beach.
Everything was so peaceful here, so quiet.
Sipping the cold water, he forced his mind to relax, but the more he tried, the worse it became.
"Late night snack?"
"Jeezus!" he exclaimed in a gasp, almost dropping his water. "Damnit!"
John chuckled and took a seat on the other chair, grinning. It was a very visible grin in the meager light.
"What are you doing up?!" Scott demanded, voice harsher than intended.
"Couldn't sleep," was the light answer. "Wrong time zone."
Scott's eyes narrowed. Thunderbird 5 might not be operating on South Pacific time, but he knew John had an almost similar sleeping pattern as they had.
The blond smiled ruefully at his expression. "Okay, okay. I can't really lay on my back and my side's not an option either, so sleeping's done while the pain medication knocks me out," his brother explained. "It wore off a few minutes ago and I usually take a walk before chugging down the next dose. Helps."
"Oh." Scott lapsed into silence, then finally looked up. "Thanks for today."
John watched him, so very, very calm. Scott hated him for it, but he also needed it. He needed his brother to be balanced and cool, to be reasonable when the pilot in him, the hot jock, took over and the adrenaline pushed him past his limits.
"You should thank Brains for his idea to rig all of this together. All I did was my job."
All you did...?
Scott exhaled softly. "That's not what I meant. I freaked out there, John. You know I did."
John leaned forward a little, catching his wavering gaze. "It's normal," he said softly.
"No!" Scott snapped and exploded from his chair. "It's not! I freaked on a rescue! I was frozen stiff and couldn't think! I've to be in control, John! I'm the first on the scene! I have to assess the situation, not just stare at it like brain-dead!"
"You did fine, Scott," his brother told him firmly.
"I didn't!" Scott snarled. "I freaked, John! I freaked! I'm supposed to be the field operative on point and what did I do? I just sat and stared and... and...." He exhaled explosively. "What kind of field commander will I make like that?" he groaned.
His father would not always come along on rescues. Scott knew that. There had been missions without him because of some official or bureaucratic thing or other. His father was still the owner of Tracy Industries and as such supposed to make an appearance now and then.
So Scott stood in as the one in charge.
What if he freaked again?
"No one came away from the attack unscathed," John told him firmly, "and you don't have to pretend everything's fine. It isn't. I dreaded this first rescue as much as you did, because I'm helpless. My 'bird's still down for the count and I'm your eyes and ears. I can't assist you at all like I'm used to. All of this here," he made a sweeping gesture toward the control center above, "is just a child's toy compared to Thunderbird 5. I feel like I'm blind and deaf, unable to intervene should one of the Thunderbirds malfunction or worse."
Scott stared at the blond, blinking stupidly. "But... you did just fine today," he argued.
"As did you." John smiled a little. "We did what we have to do, what we are meant to do, and we did it as best as possible with the limited resources we have."
Scott plopped onto the chair again and buried his head in his hands, trying to calm himself. He pressed the balls of his palms into his eyes, feeling them treacherously slicken with tears he was so hard fighting to keep inside. It were tears of frustration, of fatigue, of stress.
This was an aftermath he had never experienced before, not even after his first rescue gone wrong. He had been shaken back then, had needed a few days to come to terms with the fact that they couldn't save them all. Now... now his whole world had been uprooted by a single man driven by stupid revenge.
"I was afraid, John," he finally whispered, voice harsh. "Terrified. I was wondering when The Hood would pop up, creating another trap. Oh god, how stupid can I be! He's in prison!"
"Have you talked with Dad about it?"
"No," he whispered.
"Why not?"
"I... I don't know."
John's voice never lost its soothing quality, something Scott was so very thankful for. "Then why tell me?"
He swallowed hard, whishing he could get his emotions under control. "You're my brother. You don't... have so many... expectations."
John chuckled softly, but without mirth or sarcasm. "I do, Scott. I have expectations. I expect you to be my brother, my friend, someone I can trust and rely on. I expect you to listen to me when I'm relaying data or instructions or even orders."
"That's different." Scott evaded the blue eyes. "Dad... he... I'm a Tracy, John. We all are. Freaking isn't part of the family heritage."
"How do you know? Because you never saw Dad lose it? You think being cool-headed is genetic? You think Dad never has doubts or is terrified for us or himself?"
And you saw him lose it? Scott wondered for a moment, reminding himself that there was only one person aside from their late mother who knew their father very well and that was the man sitting opposite him.
"This fear it's natural survival instinct. It'll pass, Scott. You're back in the saddle and you didn't fall off again."
He looked up and grimaced at the picture. "Thunderbird 1 is not a horse!"
"No, she's a damn fine 'bird. And you handled her well. You handled the mission. We all did."
And he sounded like their Dad. So very, very much. But unlike Jeff Tracy, John wasn't really after flying any of the wonderful machines Brains developed. He was content with keeping an eye on things from above.
John briefly lowered his gaze. "Scott, I freaked, too. I have nightmares from the attack and I'm not sure what will happen when I get back up there."
Scott's eyes widened and he stared at his usually so controlled and even-keeled brother. John rarely talked about his emotions and if he did, it was probably with their dad. Those two had a way of communication that came from nights spent online. Scott knew about the late night talks and he knew that it was their father's way of being as close to their brother up in space as he could.
In Scott's mind John was the most mature of them all. Probably more mature than all of them put together. Sure, he could play a prank or have fun with them, but where Gordon and Virgil were truly their age, and Alan even more so, John was older. A lot older, and Scott wasn't thinking in lifetime.
There was a reason why their father had chosen John as the primary pilot for Thunderbird 5. He was the most level-headed, could cope with the loneliness up there, and he could multi-task. Scott had been up there, too, and it had overwhelmed him how much his brother did while handling a single mission. Scott only flew TB 1; John flew them all in a way. He monitored their status and he kept an eye on all the data of the rescue area, as well as kept track of possible other hot zones or emergency calls.
"It could happen again, you know," John went on, voice almost conversational. "Some weirdo targets Thunderbird 5 because of a grudge or dislike of us. I'm a sitting duck. I can't fire up any engines and take her to safety."
"But Brains installed the new security net " Scott argued.
John's wry smile stopped him.
"I know that, Scott. I know it'll be fine, that she will be perfectly in order again, that I'll be safe, but this safety was compromised before. We all know it. We all feel it. The Hood did more than just grab one of the Thunderbirds and damage another. He invaded our home and he seriously rattled our feeling of safety. I always felt very much at ease up there, but now I dread it. Sometimes more, sometimes less, sometimes I scold myself for it."
Scott studied the other man, aware that it was exactly what he felt as well. Their home and their 'birds had been breached. The Hood had sat in Thunderbird 2 and he knew how grossed out Virgil had been at the thought that 'his baby' had been kidnapped and some stranger had sat in 'his' chair. Scott could sympathize.
And he still wondered if the next rescue might mean another lunatic trying to get his grubby hands on them.
"Dad had to watch The Hood torture Alan, nearly kill him," John went on, voice soft. "We all have our nightmares and we all fight them alone, because neither one of us is without them. We were all affected and we all have to come to terms with our pain." He smiled at his brother. "Don't think I'm not seeing the explosion again and again, bro. I do. And sometimes it doesn't end all happy down on the ground. Sometimes it's worse."
Scott felt his stomach clench and his heart constrict.
"But I'm not letting The Hood win, Scott. I won't give him the satisfaction of rolling over and dying."
"Neither will I," Scott told him firmly.
Because it wasn't what a Tracy did.
Because he wouldn't let himself.
Because he had a family who'd see to that, too.
They were all there for each other, even though not everyone sought out the other to talk like he and John had done. And Scott would never have actively initiated the conversation. It had fallen to John again to start the talking, as he always did.
He gave his brother a smile and was relieved when he received one in turn. It transformed into a brief wince and Scott was once again reminded that John was still healing. No pool time, always wearing a shirt, swallowing pills after every meal, and Onaha assisted him with applying the burn salve.
"I think it's time for those pills again," he remarked.
"Yeah, I guess." John looked rueful as he rose slowly. "Believe me, I'm glad for them, but I hate depending."
Yes, he understood that. Only too well.
Scott stood, too, and for a moment they gazed awkwardly at each other, then John just slung his good arm around his neck and gave Scott a brief, hard hug.
"You hang in there," he whispered. "We'll get through this."
Scott returned the hug, feeling the edges of the bandage on his brother's back. "Yeah. We will."
He pulled himself together, taking a deep breath.
"And if you ever feel like having another midnight session at the pool," John added lightly but with a serious addition to his expression, "you know where to find me."
"Thanks," Scott murmured.
He received a brief grin, then the two men walked back into the house. John headed for his room to take his pills and Scott dumped the water bottle in the trash, then went to bed as well.
°
Neither of them saw the tall, dark-haired man watching them from the shadows. Jeff Tracy smiled briefly, proudly, then headed for his office.
° ° °
Scott didn't fall asleep right away. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind still active, but the thoughts were no longer so sharp and painful, so much cutting into his soul. He let his brother's words run by once more, recalled the soft, even voice, the balancing effect John had on him.
He smiled a little, sleepy now.
Thanks, bro, he thought and closed his eyes.
He dropped off half an hour later and didn't wake until the middle of the new day. No one said a thing when he finally came for what could be a late breakfast or an early lunch. His father just nodded at him, smiling briefly, and Scott responded in kind.
There was no sign of John, but maybe he was down at the beach. His brother had taken to walking an hour or two per day before rejoining them when there wasn't much to do. Otherwise he and Brains tinkered in the lab or he was helping out his father with some bureaucratic matters. The medication still made him too fuzzy to think complicated thoughts as he had claimed before.
So Scott joined his brothers, falling into the light banter, the recollection of the rescue, shop talk... and he tried to ignore the unease that still settled deep in his stomach now and then.
It would get better.
It had to.
tbc...