DECEPTIONS
By Spense
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Christmas morning started out depressingly for Alan. He trailed down with the rest of the Jorgensen family to sit around the Christmas tree and open presents. Tina had insisted, and Alan was too exhausted to argue. He'd been awake most of the night again, and had spent more than an hour in the bathroom once more, sick to his stomach and vomiting everything he'd eaten that day. He gotten good at retching silently. Thank goodness for small favors – nobody had heard him, and he sure didn't want to have to try explaining why he was getting sick all the time – he didn't know himself.
Alan was surprised to see a large pile of packages for himself as the presents from under the tree were handed out. He was even more astonished when he looked at the tags. All were from his family, although the tags were written out in an unfamiliar handwriting. He looked up to see Tina smiling at him.
"Your brother, Gordon, dropped these off for you when he was here. I just got them wrapped."
Alan smiled tentatively back at her, slightly stunned, then looked around him again. It wasn't home, but frankly, it wasn't that much different. Michael Jorgensen, Trevor and Tina's son was helping his 18 month old son Martin open his presents. Alan had met Michael the night before and liked him. He reminded him a lot of Virgil. Michael's wife, Jennifer, was filming. The rest of the family was awash in torn Christmas wrappings and excited examinations and laughter.
He looked again at his pile of presents, and felt the knot in his stomach ease for the first time since this whole nightmare had begun. One link to home. The first present, one from Scott, made him laugh. It was a model kit, one of the type found in any hobby store in the world, of Thunderbird One. Or at least as close the Thunderbird One as anybody really knew, as they only knowledge was based on the hearsay of the people they rescued. It was about as close to the real thing as a bad sketch. Alan snickered.
Michael looked up at it. "Cool! I used to love models when I was your age. Do you like the Thunderbirds?"
Alan just smiled and nodded, not trusting himself not to burst out laughing. It was the first thing he'd found funny in a very long time. And trust Scott to make sure it was Thunderbird One. To his oldest brother, there just weren't any other Thunderbirds worth mentioning.
"Pretty great organization," Trevor commented, before Martin claimed his grandfather's attention.
Alan continued to work through his presents. His family had really outdone themselves this year. There were the really cool presents, like the latest personal stereo system with some amazing custom tweaks that could only have been done by Brains, and other expensive electronics, to the things like the TB One model that only he would understand the inside jokes. His favorite of those was a set of International Rescue comic books and a 'fact book' on the organization from Gordon. Alan had to shut the first comic quickly after only a short glance so as not to burst out laughing, because the machines and his father and brothers were so far off the mark. The 'fact book' was pretty much a work of fiction given that none of the so called 'facts' bore any resemblance whatsoever to the truth. Guess they were doing a pretty good job on keeping the organization secret. Alan knew that these would have definitely appealed to Gordon's off-beat sense of humor, and he really appreciated him sharing it.
Michael indicated at one of the presents from John – a large, oversized volume on the history of space flight. "That looks interesting. I always wanted to learn more about space flight. I may have to borrow that from you later, since I understand that you'll be here long term."
It took a moment for Michael's words to sink in. "What did you say?" He whispered, stunned.
Tina was looking horrified, and Trevor was looking at Michael in annoyance.
Tina broke in hurriedly. "Nothing has really been confirmed yet, Alan, and we weren't going to discuss it until after Christmas, but yes, the court did ask if . . ."
Alan interrupted her, his face sheet white, his brief moment of contentment gone. "I'm not going to get to go home soon?"
"We don't know for sure yet, Alan," Trevor said soothingly, getting up and beginning to fight his way through the piles of torn wrapping paper and boxes towards Alan. The room had gone silent, echoing Alan's shock.
"But the courts have asked you to keep me, right?" Alan had to get this straight.
"Well, yes," Tina admitted.
With that Alan was moving. He'd worked so hard on his self-control, but he couldn't handle this. He didn't want to let Scott down, and he wasn't going to lose it in front of anybody if he had any say in the matter at all.
"Alan!" He heard Trevor calling him in real concern from behind him as he hit for the stairs.
"Way to go, Michael!" Allison's voice floated back to him. Alan didn't hear his response.
Alan barely made his bathroom before he was throwing up. He vomited so violently that he thought his whole stomach was going to come up as well. Then he was sinking down on the cold, hard tile in misery. He wasn't going to get to go home. All of this had been for nothing. Trying to control his anger, trying to be perfect. He retched again, heaving violently as the shock of what he'd just heard on top of everything else came crashing down.
"Oh, Sweetie, I'm sorry," Tina's voice was in his ear as her arms wrapped around him, supporting him as he continued to be brutally sick. The convulsions let up for a moment, and she sank down on the floor with him, gathering him in her arms. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. There wasn't much else to say.
Her arms around him offering comfort weren't the ones he wanted, but he was beyond being able to dissemble or even argue. "I want to go home," he whispered in shock. "I just want my Dad." His stomach convulsed again, and once more, Tina supported him as he vomited ferociously.
The siege over for the moment, she wrapped him in her arms again, protecting him from the chill of the tile and enamel of the bathroom, trying to sooth him.
"Please, I just want to see my Dad," Alan pleaded helplessly, finally beginning to sob. He just couldn't help himself. Tina held him close as he cried into her shoulder. She stroked the back of his head and massaged his neck, trying to ease some of the tension. "Why can't I go home," he begged, just before his stomach rebelled again, this time in dry heaves, as there was nothing left to come up.
After repeating several times, the sieges of sickness finally began to drop off, leaving Alan limp and exhausted, still tearfully asking when he could see his dad. The next thing he knew, he was in bed, and Tina was encouraging him to sleep. That seemed to be as good of an idea as any he'd heard yet. With luck maybe he'd wake up and find everything had just been a really bad dream. And barring that, maybe he'd get even luckier and just not wake up at all.