Dislcaimer: Thunderbirds is the property of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, as well as Carlton and Universal. No profit is intended to be made from this story; it is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended, and none should be inferred. All original characters are the property of the author. This story should not be used or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

A/N: Remember to check my author profile page (just click on my user name) for extended author notes and review responses! I will also be sending the author notes as review replies to all users who left me a signed review. A huge thank-you goes out to Ariel D for beta reading this chapter. Without her, it would not have happened. Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter; real life always gets in the way.

Blood is Thicker Than Water: Part IV
Recovery

May 2019

It didn't seem to matter how many times John Tracy walked into a hospital; he just couldn't shed the vague sense of nausea that entered his chest whenever he tread the sanitary white corridors. It didn't even matter which hospital he was in – the feeling inside of him originated in a building in Switzerland and had somehow propagated over to North America.

This isn't any different than our organisation, he thought as he made his way down the critical ward in the direction of the long term care ward. People arrive with little hope, and with the help of the nurses and doctors some of them manage to leave.

The familiarity that he had with the hospital scenario had helped John keep his cool when he had first entered the building. His father had dropped him off at the door and had gone to find a place to park the vehicle, leaving John to find Gordon's room on his own. The woman at the desk had been helpful enough, and his delay in reaching the wing that he was looking for was due only to his own remaining uncertainty.

Finally, he caught sight of a receptionist desk labelled, "Long Term". A small woman, her hair tied up into a tight bun, sat behind the desk, her eyes focused intently on some report that sat on the desk surface. John approached quietly, taking care not to startle the woman.

"Excuse me ma'am. I'm here to see Gordon Tracy," he said, handing her a form that his father had given him, adding, "I'm his brother. John."

"Right." Taking the paper, she studied it for a moment, nodded, then pointed further down the hall. "Room Twelve-Thirty on the right."

"Thank-you."

Twelve-Thirty was not hard to find. It was a large and spacious room set on a corner of the wing, with large windows overlooking the waters of the Atlantic coast. Several couches and chairs were set around the white walls of the room, and a large bed sat towards one side.

Opening the glass door carefully, John tiptoed into the room and up to the bedside. His brother lay sleeping peacefully, his eyes closed and his chest falling in a slow rhythmic pattern. The oxygen mask was gone from his face, having been removed fairly soon after the surgery.

John fought down a wave of nausea at the sight, taking instead a nearby chair and dragging it over to the bedside. Just as he sat down with the intent of waiting for Gordon to wake, he was startled by a raspy voice that declared, "I'm drugged, John. Not asleep. There's a difference."

Jumping, John stared for a moment at Gordon – who was suddenly quite coherent-looking – before a short laugh escaped his lips. "You could've fooled me."

A tiny smile pulled at the boy's lips for a moment, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "Yeah. I know. What're you doing here? I thought you were up in space."

"Dad brought me down last night," he explained softly, leaning back into the chair and placing his arms on the arm rests. "Thought you might like to see me."

Gordon grunted and closed his eyes briefly. There was obviously a lot of morphine still in his system, for staying awake seemed to be an effort. "Of course I would. I've been bored stiff."

"There aren't any pretty nurses here?"

"Oh, some." The smile tried to return again. "I'm too much for them to handle."

Keeping silent, John tried to decide how he should explain to his brother why he was really there. The truth had to come out eventually, especially when Gordon realised that John wouldn't be leaving. The same excuse, I wanted to see you, wouldn't work on Gordon twice.

"How are the legs?" John cringed as soon as he asked the question. Good move, John. You left all your tact behind on the station.

Surprisingly enough, Gordon didn't snap back at him for asking such an awkward question. Instead, he glanced down absently towards his torso, and replied, "They aren't."

"Gord, I'm-"

"Don't be sorry." The boy's voice was resolute. "At least you care. The doctors told me last week that I'll never walk again. I've been stuck in this crummy room for all of eight days, and they're already giving up. But I'm not. I'm gonna prove them wrong. They even told the bloody media that I wouldn't leave this hospital. Told them I was an invalid, because it made a better story. I don't give a shit what they say. I don't care if it's possible or not. I'm gonna walk out of this hospital and tell the media exactly what I think about that."

John didn't have anything to say to that. He was caught completely off guard by Gordon's attitude. From what he had heard from his father, Gordon was to the point of displaying little care for his condition whatsoever. But the Gordon that sat in front of him with fire and determination in his eyes was nothing like that.

And yet, there was something different about him – understandably so – since John had last seen him. Perhaps his will to survive had returned, but underneath that, buried deep in his eyes, lay not an immature recklessness, but a mature and serious edge that spoke of strength.

"They repaired the nerve damage. They told me they couldn't guarantee if the new ends would hold. Or if I'd be able to feel anything. But I'm gonna get out of this bloody bed. I . . . I owe it to the other guys. They don't have the chance to try."

"I . . ." John shook his head. "Geez. I came here thinking I'd be doing you a favour if I could convince you . . . but it looks like you don't need my help."

The words that escaped Gordon's mouth spoke of the world of difference between the boy before and after the accident. "Yeah I do." He glanced down at his chest briefly, a look of embarrassment crossing his face. "I need help. The nurses are trying to do stuff right now, but . . ." He trailed off, his voice becoming softer and more subdued. "I'd rather have someone I know helping me."

That could be arranged. "That's what I came here to talk to you about." When Gordon's head snapped up – as fast as his head could snap up while wrapped in a neck brace – John held up a hand and waved his brother down. "I thought I'd have to convince you to let us help, but . . . Gord, I offered to come down to help you out. Dad and I talked about it, and we both decided that it'd be best if you had the opportunity to recover with the help of family. And I'm the best choice, because I can spend time with you. The others can't, even if they wanted to."

"But what about Thunderbird Five?" Gordon shook his head. "Someone needs to . . ."

"I'll come down for one week," John explained firmly, "every month, once you're out of the hospital." He didn't even dare to suggest 'if' Gordon made it out of the hospital. His brother's attitude left no doubt as to whether he would recover or not. "But for now, I'm here to stay. Dad's found an apartment for me near here, and he's dropping my stuff off later."

Gordon stared at his brother for a long moment, his brown eyes widening.

"Don't argue. IR can continue without me for the moment. Everyone else is perfectly capable of handling the satellite stuff on their own." That wasn't entirely true, of course. But John wasn't about to defeat his argument by explaining to Gordon how the operations were going to suffer while he was away. "You've stuck with me. And . . ." He pursed his lips and dipped his head absently. "It's only been eight days. I'm thinking, what with all your free time, we could do something about your school work."

The teen mulled the question over silently, his eyes turning briefly to the window where the Atlantic lay far beyond the outer walls of the building. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. I've already said that I would. But do you want to?"

Without delay, Gordon nodded and replied, "Yeah. Yeah, I do. It's just that . . ."

John had a feeling about where Gordon's thoughts were going. "It's not easy, Gord. Picking yourself up when you feel like you should stay down. But you're doing the right thing." He sighed. "The past has to be learned from, but the faster that you can let it go, the better." He reached over and clapped his brother tightly on the shoulder, taking care not to press too hard on the burned portions that were covered with gauze. "I don't know about everyone else, but I think you can do this. In fact . . ." A smile worked its way onto his face. "I know you can. This is one time when you're allowed to fight, Gordon. It's time you showed the world what you can do."

And he was rewarded as his smile was reflected on his brother's face.

"Are you allowed to teach me?"

"I went and spoke to your headmaster. They're willing to let me teach you if you're willing to take the standardised tests at the end of the school year. It's the best that I could do-"

"It's good enough." The fire continued to burn even brighter than before. "Thanks."

You're welcome. It's what brothers do.

On one hand, John didn't know what Gordon would do when he finally got out of the hospital. Things were still murky on a legal front, and he knew – from person experience – that his brother likely wouldn't swim again competitively for a long time, if ever. But life, he also knew, had to be taken one step at a time.

And Gordon, thankfully, was ready to take the first step.

"Let's get started, then."

"In other news tonight, doctor's and nurses alike were astounded as seventeen year old Gordon Tracy, sole survivor of the hydrofoil accident at May's National Swim Championship, walked, with the help of his family, to a wheelchair at the doors of the hospital. Four months ago doctors stated that the young man would likely never regain use of his legs again. That has all changed, however, after months of therapy and treatments to stimulate the nerves in his lower body. Hospital officials are now saying that the boy is expected to make a slow but complete recovery. Upon leaving the hospital, Tracy gave a brief statement to reporters.

'This day wouldn't have come without the help of my family. And I'm really glad that they stood beside me during this time. I couldn't have asked for any more of them.'

'Any other comments, kid? Any plans on swimming again?'

'Any thoughts on the handling of the accident? How do you feel about being excused of all charges?'

'No. I don't have a statement for that. I don't want to talk about it.'

Reporters were unable to obtain any further information from the young man, who was rushed by his family to a waiting vehicle.

After a detailed investigation by the National Committee in June, Tracy was allowed to retain his gold medal. It was his only win during the competition. Today marks the four month anniversary of the accident.

Now, onto tonight's sports line-up."

TBC in Chapter 34, Redemption.