A/N: I guess it's about time to disclaim again that I did not create and do not own the Thunderbirds characters or references herein and do acknowledge their creators prior to continuing to put them in further jeopardy.
Thank you for your reviews. Your kind words are appreciated and your thoughts absorbed. Glad to have you along for the ride.
A little reminder of the rating before I continue. There are adult themes and references in the following chapters, all of which are necessary in terms of realism and because it's simply more fun.
Lastly, it's really hard to convey on here when a character is (speaking in another language) ... hope it makes sense.
The rain hammered against the glass and trickled down the window in glittering patterns, silhouetted by the occasional flicker of lightning. It seemed an age since he had last felt rain. A sudden urge to run outside and get completely soaked in it suddenly welled within, soon quashed by the heavy tiredness of his body.
John remained there, transfixed on his side, watching the display in silence, listening to the gentle rumbling from somewhere above. It was therapeutic. There was a rhythm to the rainfall. A pattern. Everything had a pattern.
"You okay?"
He smiled as he heard the half-awake crack in her soft voice. "Yeah."
Gentle fingers began to glide through his hair, lingering on the wisps that curled around the nape of his neck.
"Can't you sleep?"
John rolled over onto his back and saw her in the bright pulses that scattered shadows across the room. He watched her watching him through heavy eyes and smiled, as she seemed to drift back into slumber.
"What's wrong?" She continued, suddenly awake and frowning in concern.
"Nothing." He smiled as a louder clap of thunder shuddered through the air. "It's just a bit too quiet around here."
She laughed softly. "You call that quiet!"
"Compared to what I'm used to." John nodded and reached out to stroke his fingers across her bare shoulder and down her arm, there they found her fingers and were quickly entwined. "The station is always alive with noise; the thrusters, the comm. channels, the gravity plating, the air recyclers …" He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled at the memory of his distant home from home. "And then when I'm planet side, there's the chaos of my family."
She smiled at the image and then mumbled softly. "Hmm … 'planet side' … that's so cool!"
John's smile grew. "What …?"
"You live in space!" She enthused merrily, rising further from her slumber. "Class in a glass."
John laughed suddenly, amused at her oddness. They were a good match, all in all.
"I thought it was meant to be silent up there, though." She continued after a moment. "I mean, what about all that 'no one can hear you scream' shit?"
"That's just a movie, you fool!" John chuckled and slowly shook his head. "And besides, I think they meant outside. Not inside the safety of a pressurised station or a ship."
"Okay, genius. Don't squash the little people on your way to fame and glory."
John laughed merrily. He watched her fondly gazing across the pillows at him and his smile slowly faded. "God, I love you, Alex."
She smiled a reply and nodded in agreement.
John freed his fingers from her grasp and slid his hand back up her arm and onto her side, travelling down to where the duvet covered her hips.
"What exactly are you up to?" Alex queried in amusement.
John slid his hand beneath the covers and shrugged a reply. "Just testing out a theory."
"Oh?" Alex grinned mischievously, "Is that all I am to you? Just another experiment?"
"Yup. A very important one."
Alex rolled over onto her back and snuggled closer to him. "And just what is this theory about?"
"Oh, that's top secret." John moved closer to her and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her lips, lingering for a moment to taste the familiar warmth of her mouth.
"I guess a lot of research is involved."
"Yup."
Alex closed her eyes as his lips moved across her face, kissing every inch of her features. "And … just who will be funding this?"
John leaned back from her and shrugged slightly. "You will, of course."
"Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure?"
"You know how good I am at my work." John grinned and kissed her mouth once again, feeling her respond and lean closer into him.
Alex moaned softly and arched her back as he pushed aside the remainder of the bedclothes. "And what sort of perks will I get for backing you in this venture?"
"100 percent of the net profit." John answered softly, smiling in delight as she reacted favourably to his touch.
Alex reached up and sank her fingers into his hair, pulling his head back down to meet hers and sighing softly across his mouth. Her other hand began to stroke across his shoulders and down his back, his skin tingling at her gentle touch.
It was all so right. It was so easy to be with her. To open himself to her and lay all of his cares safely in her embrace. They were in another world, another realm. A secret sanctuary amid the walls of her two-bedroom cottage somewhere south of the capital. And it was wonderful.
It also scared him. It scared him to think that there existed a soul so precious that he would give up everything for. And it scared him that the closer he got to her; the more he had to lose.
"Just what exactly does 'net profit' mean?" Alex asked suddenly, grinning cheekily up at him. "And I bet there's some serious small print that you've skipped over."
"Alex …" John moved on top of her and pressed his lips against hers with a slight groan. "Shut up." He murmured into her mouth and felt her body shudder with laughter and anticipation.
The storm continued long after all that they had shared had faded into blissful, entwined slumber. At first, he didn't know what had woken him. The thunder had moved on and the rain continued it's gentle melody against the window.
His body was heavy and numb. He sighed in contentment and was then again aware of gentle fingers stroking through his hair. He turned to look at her and the blissful memory of her was suddenly ripped away from him, leaving him exposed to only the harsh reality of consciousness. And pain.
John clutched at his side, fully expecting to find a real white-hot poker boring a hole into his chest. Gentle hands pulled his fingers away and held him still.
"Shh." Came a soft whisper. "(Please. Do not move. I think your ribs are broken.)"
It wasn't Alex. All recollection of her calming presence had swiftly abandoned him. She was gone. It wasn't her. She doesn't speak Khazakh.
John forced himself to lie back against the cold floor and tried to relax. It wasn't easy. Even the slightest breath brought mind-numbing pain tearing through his right side.
"(Please. Lie still.)"
He chanced opening his eyes and blinked in the sudden brightness of the room. Looking around he found her, kneeling beside him and watching him in concern. "Mishka?"
"(Yes.)" A small smile pulled at her thin mouth.
"(What happened?)"
"(You struggled. You tried to get away.)"
John frowned in confusion and glanced around at the bare room again. It was all there in his mind. He knew where he was. He just wished he didn't.
"(I brought you some water.)" Mishka offered, leaning down to lift his head forward and place the cup to his lips. The cool liquid spilled over the sides of his face and she sighed an apology.
"(Help me up.)" John held out his arm and clenched his teeth, groaning as she relented and assisted him to sit up against the wall. He rested there for a second, trying to catch his breath and somehow bury the panic deep down.
"(What does it mean?)" Mishka asked carefully after a time.
John opened his eyes and turned to her. "(What?)"
"23, 31, 37, 41 …" Mishka mimicked in her broken English.
John smiled and realised he had been muttering to himself. "(Prime numbers.)"
Mishka's frown deepened.
"(Sequences, patterns … they comfort me.)" John explained, a little embarrassed.
"(Like a nursery rhyme.)" Mishka surmised.
"(I guess so.)" John nodded, recalling how odd this had seemed to his beloved siblings when they were younger. And then something tugged in the back of his thoughts. The memory of his breakdown when he had returned to Thunderbird Five and his complete inability to cope with the attack had nearly driven him mad.
He had dreamed of his mother. Imagined here there. Felt her touch. What did it mean that Alex had come to him this time?
"(And this.)" Mishka reached out and slid her fingers into his hair, stroking down behind his ear. "(This also seems to help.)"
"(It does.)" John affirmed but flinching back from her touch, a little uncomfortable as to having found what had triggered his recent dream. He turned his head from her and her departing fingers caught on the scabbed over cut at his temple. Wincing, he reached up and touched his tender skin.
"(You did not tell them what they wanted to hear.)"
John looked back at her concerned face. Strange. He didn't remember them ever asking that many questions.
"(I should go.)" Mishka sighed suddenly and left the remains of the water beside him before getting to her feet.
"(Wait!)" John called after her and held his side as the underlying pain erupted once again. "(My friend. The other American. Is he okay?)"
"(He is fine.)" Mishka nodded and opened the door.
Maybe if he wasn't in so much pain he could have made a run for it. Maybe if he could so much as stand then he might have a chance. Maybe if they actually asked him some questions then he could give them whatever they might need and they would let him go.
John watched her close the door and heard the bolt slide across. It was hopeless. He wasn't here to be questioned. They thought he was just an interpreter. Not that they had any choice. Penny's contacts were good. His fake ID was flawless. And telling them any different would put his family in harm's way.
So he had resigned himself to his fate; he was nothing more than a punching bag, a toy. And they had played with him plenty over the past few hours while no doubt deciding what the hell to do with him.
The fact that they had not simply killed him was of little comfort; he was either a bargaining tool with plenty more fun to look forward to or these guys were only the support crew. Maybe the real nasties were on their way.
John looked down at his watch and groaned in dismay. It really had been only a few hours and was now just after 04:30 – local time. It felt a lot longer. And in international time difference terms, it was. He lifted the water to his lips and winced as his tongue brushed against the raw split in his lip. Not exactly the face of GAP right now.
One way or another it would be over soon. Either the big cheese would arrive and a precise shot to the head would end his troubles or the ingenious World Gov plan to wipe out all these guys would be underway and he would be nothing but ash on the breeze.
At least he would escape the pain of the disappointment in his father's eyes. Tears suddenly gathered at the thought and he swallowed them back. Little point in worrying about it any more. It wasn't like he had a say in his future. And Scott was gone. He could see that much in the sadness that had filled Mishka's eyes when he had asked her.
Multiplication. Where had he got to? John thought back over his most recent calculations and frowned as a residual image of Alex filtered through the sequences.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
Three. There was a good number. Three made nice patterns. Three was the key factor in a multitude of equations. Three was the foundation for a whole host of scientific theory.
John rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, his whispered chanting falling emptily in the nothing around him.
"3, 9, 27, 81, 243, 729 …"
tbc …