He was lost. He was looking for something, something urgent and important – but somehow he'd taken a wrong turn, and he was beginning to panic… He didn't know where he was, all these white corridors looked the same, and he had been running forever… What was he trying to find? He couldn't remember, try as he might… There were people everywhere, but all they did was stare at him as he ran past, horrified expressions on their faces.
Then a door appeared in front of him. The sight of it stopped him dead in his tracks. He stood there, looking at it, heart pounding in sudden dread. He didn't want to go through that door. A weird light shone through the cracks around it, and he knew in his gut that something terrible was waiting for him on the other side. But it was no use. Like a condemned man on the walk to his execution, he started slowly toward it, reaching out to push it open. When he saw his hands he realized with a shock that they belonged to a young boy – and they were covered in blood.
"Scott. Scott, can you hear me?"
There was a face floating over him. Defying his feeble attempts to focus, it lurched, slipped sideways, then swam back again. He tried to raise his head to get a better look, and instantly regretted it. The pain was excruciating, like someone driving a metal spike through his skull.
"It's okay, Scott. Just take your time."
He knew that voice. If he could just remember…
"Gordon," he croaked.
"Yeah, it's me. Welcome back to the land of the living."
Oh, God, he was going to vomit. It must have been obvious, because he felt hands lifting him up, supporting him while he threw up violently. He could hear Gordon's voice talking to him, reassuring him, telling him to take it easy. Then the blackness flooded back in and he didn't remember anything else.
Some time later, he gradually became aware of his surroundings again. The sounds came first – the low-frequency throb of engines. He opened his eyes slowly, struggling to focus. Every muscle in his body was bruised and battered, as if he'd been run over by a freight train. Where…
And then, all in a rush, memory returned. He struggled to sit up. "Gordon, Thunderbird One's in the water! I've got to – "
He broke off, his surroundings doing a sharp revolve. He shut his eyes against the dizziness and the return of nausea.
"You've got to take it easy, Scott." It was Virgil's voice. "You've had a bad crack on the head and you've probably got a concussion."
"Virgil…?" Scott opened his eyes again, squinting against the light. All of a sudden he knew where he was – the sleeping quarters of Thunderbird Two. "How in hell did I…"
"John picked up your ERB after you ditched," Virgil explained. "We took Alan to the hospital in Sydney and then we came looking for you."
"Alan's in the hospital?" This was news to Scott.
"Yeah, it was a bit more serious that we thought – Gordon thinks his lung is punctured. He started coughing up blood on the way home, so we rerouted. Dad and Tin-Tin are on their way right now." He smiled at Scott's stricken expression. "He's going to be okay, Scott. Don't worry. And no, it wasn't your fault."
Scott made a face. Then: "Virg…what about Thunderbird One? Is she…?"
Virgil shook his head. "You got lucky. Brains' flotation collars worked like a charm. I dropped the pod and Gordon towed you to a nearby island with Thunderbird Four. He got you out and we hoisted you aboard. He's got her under a camo net and he'll wait with her until Brains arrives with the equipment."
"How bad…?"
"Gordon checked her out. He said he thinks it's mostly wing and tail section damage – no major structural cracks that he could see. Brains and Tin-Tin will have her back in the air in no time." Virgil handed him a cup of water. "Here, drink some of this."
Scott tried to smile. Even his face hurt. "Got any aspirin?"
Virgil went to get the first aid kit. He came back, handing Scott a packet of analgesics. "I've got to get back to the cockpit. Think you're up to moving?"
"I think so." Scott slowly swung his legs out from the bunk and tried to stand. The dizziness returned momentarily and he weaved, grateful for Virgil's steadying arm. "Whoa. Is this floor level?"
Virgil grinned. They moved slowly to the cockpit together. "While we're getting you to the hospital," Virgil said, "You want to tell me what the hell happened to you? One minute you're on your way home, and the next thing we know your GPS is off and you're not answering the radio."
Scott slid gratefully into one of Thunderbird Two's passenger seats and filled his brother in on the whole story of his hijack and subsequent crash into the ocean. Glancing across his flight instruments as he listened, Virgil's expression grew darker with every sentence. "Scott, you could have killed yourself with a stunt like that. What were you thinking?"
Scott knew his brother well enough to hear the fear under his angry words. "I was dead anyway, if I didn't try something," he said, quietly. "I'm not prone to unprovoked suicide attempts, Virg – you know that."
Virgil couldn't help it – his mouth twitched suddenly as an incongruous thought struck him. "Well, there was that time in Paris, at the top of the Eiffel Tower," he said.
Scott had to smile at the memory. "Unfair comparison," he said. "I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I was drunk."
"Uh-uh. You were very, very drunk."
"Yeah, but she was very, very pretty."
Virgil grinned broadly. "Yes, she was."
Scott sighed. "And she went home with the gendarme who arrested us."
"Yeah," Virgil sighed with him. He saw Scott knead at his aching head with his fingertips, trying to ease the relentless throbbing. It brought his mind back to the matter at hand. "We've got to find a way to stop this guy, Scott," he said. "We've had too many close calls. We might not be so lucky the next time."
Scott looked up at him. "No argument there. We'll talk to dad about it when we get to the hospital." He got to his feet slowly, still feeling like hell, but at least able to maintain his balance fairly well now. "I'm going to get cleaned up, and if I were you, I'd think about doing the same thing. We both smell like last Friday's catch of the day."
Despite himself, Virgil had to smile.
When Jeff Tracy returned to the observation window outside the recovery room, the sharp worry lines that had been etched so deeply into his face had softened. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward looked around as he approached, noticing the change. "Jeff?"
"Good news, Penny. They've found Scott and he's all right. I don't know what happened yet, but Gordon's with Thunderbird One and we're going to get Brains out there right away. Virgil is bringing Scott here so the doctors can check him out, just in case."
"Oh, Jeff, that is good news," The beautiful British blonde smiled at him. "Goodness, what a day you've all had."
"It's been a busy one, all right," he admitted. He stood with her, looking through the glass to where Tin-Tin sat beside Alan's unconscious form, holding his hand. He had come through surgery with flying colors, and the doctors didn't expect any undue complications. Still, he'd have to stay in the hospital at least a week, and there would be convalescent time after that. "Penny, I want to thank you for coming here so quickly. It made me feel so much better to know you were here for Alan when he arrived."
"I'm just glad I was at Bonga Bonga when it happened," she said. "I always think it's better if these things stay in the family, so to speak."
He smiled down at her. "I couldn't agree more."
"That nice doctor you brought with you…what is her name…?"
"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Grant. She's been covering the islands in our area for about a year now."
"Yes. She doesn't know, I gather?"
He shook his head. "Oh, no. We told her he got hurt moving equipment we were airlifting to the island."
"She must think you're all quite accident prone."
Jeff grinned. "You had a brother, Penny...you know what boys are like. I've got five of them, every onea live wire with a mind of his own. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch for things like this to happen once in a while, even if we weren't doing what we're doing."
"I suppose not." Penelope looked through the glass at Alan for a moment, eyes clouding with memories of her own. Then: "It's going to be a while beforeAlan wakes up, Jeff. Why don't we go and find ourselves a cup of tea?"
Jeff hesitated. "Okay," he said, after a moment, "I suppose that would be all right. I could use something to drink – although I can't promise it's going to be tea."
Penelope smiled. "I'll just go and tell Tin-Tin where we'll be."
They were still in the cafeteria, deep in conversation, when Scott and Virgil arrived an hour later. Despite the occasional recurrence of what he referred to as uneven floor syndrome, not to mention a headache that could crack concrete, Scott was feeling a little stronger – so they had decided to follow the original plan to hide Thunderbird Two at Bonga Bonga and take the helijet into Sydney. "Hey, Dad, Penny…look what I found floating around in the water," Virgil greeted the two at the table as they approached.
Scott looked in one piece, if a little the worse for wear, Jeff noted with relief. "What happened to you, son? You had us really worried."
"I had me worried, " Scott admitted. "I'll tell you all the gory details – but first, how's Alan doing?"
"He's in recovery now…should be waking up soon. The surgery went fine," his father said. "How's your head?"
"Nothing a bucket of aspirin wouldn't fix," Scott said, pulling up a chair. Beside him, Virgil did the same.
"Have Elizabeth check you out," his father said. "She'll probably want to get you x-rayed, just to be safe."
"I'm fine, dad, really."
"Now, Scott," Penelope said, "I think you're exaggerating just a little. You don't look at all fine."
"Gee, thanks, Penny," he smiled. But she was right – he felt watery and transparent, and when he moved his head it stabbed at him as if someone was trying to split it open with an axe.
"Liz is probably with Alan now," Virgil said, standing up. "Come on, let's go get you looked at."
"Okay, okay," Scott grumbled. "If I must."
It wasn't until the two of them had left again that Jeff let himself sag a little in his seat, feeling suddenly gray and drained. The events of the last few hours were catching up with him, and the continual emotional highs and lows had left him exhausted. "Your boys are safe," Penelope said softly, as if she could read his thoughts – touching a comforting hand to his arm. "That's what counts. Everything else is just details."
He nodded. "Thanks, Penny."
"You're quite welcome, Jeff. You're quite welcome."
True to Virgil's prediction, he and Scott found Dr. Elizabeth Grant in the recovery room, checking on Alan. A tall, athletic, lovely brunette with eyes the color of warm sherry, Elizabeth radiated a calm strength that went beyond her twenty-nine years. She also had a love of flying that rivaled the Tracy family's own, and she had quickly become a favorite visitor to the island – even if, as their doctor, those visits tended to be under less than ideal circumstances.
"Scott, Virgil," she smiled as she saw them come in. "It's good to see you." They came up either side of her and gave her greeting hugs.
"How's my favorite flying doctor?" Scott grinned. "It's been a while."
"Yeah, three whole weeks," Virgil chimed in. "We were on the verge of pushing someone off the roof to get a visit."
"I hope that's not what happened to Alan," she said in mock disapproval.
"How is he?" Scott asked, sobering a little as he looked down at his youngest brother. It was more painful than he could have imagined to see Alan like that, dark bruises under his eyes, chest swathed in bandages, hooked up to monitors and IVs and oxygen lines.
"He's doing fine." Elizabeth put down Alan's chart. "He'll be coming around soon, and then we'll be able to move him to his room."
"Dad said he'd have to be here a week," Virgil said.
She nodded. "He's young and strong, and he tolerated the surgery well, but a collapsed lung and four broken ribs is nothing to be taken lightly. Depending on how he does over the next couple of days, we might be able to release him by the end of the week." She looked at them both sternly. "But he's going to have to take it easy for at least four weeks after that, to give things a chance to mend."
"So I take it that means we'll be seeing a lot more of you in the near future?" Scott asked innocently.
She rolled her eyes. "Scott Tracy, do you ever give up?"
He grinned, totally unaffected.
Virgil stifled a yawn. Elizabeth turned to him, looking at him more closely. "You look all out, Virgil," she said. "How long have you been flying?"
He glanced guiltily at Scott. "Ten hours, give or take. But it feels like twenty. I didn't get much sleep the night before."
She shook her head. "Well, as your physician, I am telling you to stay out of that pilot's seat and get a good night's rest. You're not hurt, are you? Jeff said you were with Alan when the accident happened. "
Before he could say anything, she pushed him down into a chair and took out a pencil light, checking his pupils. "Hey," Scott protested, "What about me? I was the one who crashed!"
Elizabeth just stared at him. Virgil couldn't help it – he burst out laughing at the expression on her face.
The first thing he was aware of was the pain. Alan tried to take a deep breath, and nearly cried out at how much it hurt. He bit it back with an effort, trying to get his eyes open. They felt sticky, like his eyelids were glued together.
"Alan," a voice swam down toward him. It sounded kind of familiar. "Alan, can you hear me?"
If he kept his breathing really shallow, he could just about bear it. A cool damp cloth wiped gently over his eyelids, and he found he could open them easier now. Bright light stabbed at him and he flinched, closing them again quickly.
"Alan, it's me, Tin-Tin."
Tin-Tin. Alan felt a rush of relief through the agony in his chest. He forced his eyes back open and tried to focus. This time he saw her, sitting beside him, holding his hand. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry rasping sound.
"Shhhh," she said softly. "Don't try to talk. You're in the hospital."
Hospital?
She saw the confusion in his eyes. "Virgil and Gordon brought you here after you got hurt in the rescue. Do you remember the rescue?"
It took a moment – then he had a sudden image of the rain and wind, Thunderbird Two hovering overhead, the escape pod traveling up the cable. Then he was swinging with the grabs, the rogue wave smashing him into the hull of the Spirit of Nantucket. He managed a nod.
There was the sound of a door somewhere to his right. "Elizabeth, he's awake," Tin-Tin said.
"Oh, good." Dr. Elizabeth Grant came into view on the opposite side of the bed. "Alan, how are you feeling?"
He had to try twice before he could get his voice to work. "Great," he managed to gasp.
Elizabeth shook her head. "You Tracy boys," she said. "For real now, Alan, I want you to rate your pain on a scale from 1-10."
"For real?" he croaked. "11."
She smiled. "I know. You sustained four broken ribs and a punctured lung in the accident, and then it seems like a rather inexperienced paramedic gave you a needle decompression in the field when you developed a tension pneumothorax. He saved your life, but it wasn't the neatest job I ever saw."
Tin-Tin squeezed his hand. He looked over at her, saw her discreetly mouth Gordon's name. He managed a smile.
Dr. Grant was looking at his chart. "Now that you're awake we can do something about that pain," she said. "You'll be feeling better in no time. Tin-Tin, why don't you go and tell Jeff that Alan's awake?"
"Okay," Tin-Tin said. She gave Alan's hand another squeeze. "I'll be right back, Alan."
A nurse came in as Tin-Tin left and began prepping a morphine drip. "We're going to give you control over the drip, Alan," Elizabeth explained. "You just hit the button on the pump when you need more painkiller, okay?"
That button's going to get a workout, he thought, eyes watering from the pain as he tried to get enough air into his lungs to speak again. He thought better of it and settled for the all-purpose – and much less painful – nod.
He watched the nurse hang the drip and swab his arm, inserting the catheter needle. The relief was immediate and marvelous, the pain replaced by a drug induced high, like floating on a white puffy cloud. "I think I love you," he croaked to the nurse.
She laughed. "You're quite a celebrity, Mr. Tracy. Everyone saw International Rescue bring you here yesterday in person. They landed right outside the hospital in the parking lot."
Alarm penetrated the blissful morphine haze. "International Rescue?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said, smiling. "They picked you up after the accident. Virgil told me. He said it's a shame you got to ride in one of those wonderful machines of theirs when you're not going to be able to remember a thing about it."
"Yeah," Alan said, trying to mask his relief and sound suitably disappointed at the same time. "Bummer."
Elizabeth glanced at the nurse. "He's not going to feel that for a while, not through all the morphine. But I'm sure we'll hear about it when he gets better."
The nurse nodded. "Boys and their toys."
Elizabeth grinned. "Isn't that the truth."
Satisfied that Alan was resting comfortably after being moved to his room, Elizabeth finally left the hospital three hours later, leaving instructions with the hospital staff to page her if anything happened. Earlier, she'd had them run a CT scan on Scott, and after finding a couple of small blood clots at the injury site, she had ordered him to stay in the hospital overnight. Grouse and grumble as he might, she wouldn't budge, threatening to ban him from the air if he didn't listen. Reluctantly, knowing full well his father would back her one hundred percent, he had given in and allowed her to check him in for observation.
Jeff Tracy had arranged for accommodations for all of them at a nearby luxury hotel. As Elizabeth swiped the key card and entered the dark outer room of her suite, she was conscious of a sudden feeling of unease – the hairs on the back of her neck prickling as though somebody was watching her. Don't be silly, she thought. You're just tired. Shrugging it off, she reached for the light switch.
She never made it. Strong arms grabbed her from behind. She struggled to free herself but her assailant's grip was much too powerful. She couldn't move at all. And then she smelled something familiar…
"Virgil Tracy," she gasped out, "You scared the crap out of me!"
He laughed, spinning her around to face him. "What gave me away?"
"You're wearing the after shave I gave you, genius."
"Oh, shut up," he said, pulling her close, his mouth seeking hers hungrily. Her arms slid up around his neck and she lost herself in his kiss.
"I've missed you," he said after a long while, holding her tightly against him, inhaling the scent of her hair. "I thought you'd never get out of that hospital."
"Well, you wouldn't want me to leave your brothers there without adequate medical treatment, would you?" she asked.
"Those two? Screw 'em," he said amiably, kissing her again.
"No thanks," she murmured against his mouth. "I'm taken."
His arms tightened possessively around her, his mouth growing harder and more demanding on hers. She could feel the heat as his body began to react to their closeness. "Virgil," she said breathlessly, "Wait…"
After a moment, he lifted his head, bemused. "Huh?"
"I'm sorry…I'm all sweaty and nasty…I need to take a quick shower. Just give me five minutes, okay?"
"You smell fine to me," he said, kissing the side of her neck.
"Please?"
He sighed. "Okay."
"I'll be right in." She had to smile at his expression. "Why don't you go and slip into something more comfortable?"
"Okay," he sighed again, sounding like a little kid who'd been told he had to wait to open his presents on Christmas morning.
"Uh, Virgil…"
"Yeah?"
"You have to let go of me, honey…"
"Oh." Reluctantly, he released her. She laughed and headed straight for the shower.
"Five minutes!" she called over her shoulder.
She stripped off her clothes, grabbed the soap and stepped quickly under the hot spray, wanting to get back to Virgil as soon as possible. A few minutes later, wrapped in a towel, she opened the door to the suite's bedroom.
He was sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep.
Elizabeth shook her head, smiling. She sat down beside him, stroking his thigh very lightly. "Virgil?"
His only response was a soft snore. Oh well, she thought, at least he managed to take his clothes off first… She sighed, taking off the towel and tossing it on to a nearby chair. She turned out the lights, snuggled into bed close to him and pulled the sheet up over them both. Virgil murmured something in his sleep. His arm slipped around her instinctively, pulling her close, spooning her against him. She was so tired herself, it didn't take long for her to drift off.
She awoke in the pre-dawn hours to the delicious, shivery feeling of his mouth slowly moving over her neck and shoulders from behind, his arm still wrapped securely around her. "Why, Virgil, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"
"What pocket?" he grinned wolfishly against her skin. She giggled as he turned her over and pulled her underneath him in one smooth move.
He paused, gazing down at her, the expression in his dark eyes tender and hungry at the same time. She reached up and stroked his face, brushing the hair back from his forehead. "I love you," he said.
"You'd better," she grinned.
And then she cried out as he proceeded to prove it, way past the possibility of any doubt.