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Behind the Veil of Shadows
by kaeera
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Chapter Six: Follow the shadow, and you'll find the light
There was a long period of darkness during which he seemed to float through the fascinating depths of space. John had no feeling of time, and it didn't really matter. He felt light and comfortable, totally at home in the depths. However, he sensed that quite a while had passed, and so he finally swam back to the surface, knowing that he couldn't stay much longer.
It was like a climb back towards consciousness, similar to waking up on a lazy Sunday morning. No sudden jolt, just the peaceful flow of time.
John noticed the little things first – that he was lying on his back, for example, on a bed of some sort; or that he could hear the faint hum of hospital machinery; and then the bone-deep exhaustion that made even the thought of moving too much of an effort.
Then the pain came, but not as sharp as he had imagined it. The edge had been taken off, the burn becoming a dull throbbing instead.
Drugs, John's mind dimly registered, and he understood why his thoughts were drifting so slowly instead of their usual lightning speed. Everything was sluggish and his body felt heavy, as if tons of water were pressing down on him.
The blonde hated drugs with a passion, simply because they made him feel like that – so slow and stupid. He recognized their importance, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
But some part of his mind recalled excruciating pain, so bad that he had been unable to walk, that others had to help him stay upright; and suddenly, the presence of the drug wasn't that unwanted anymore.
John's head tingled with some hidden memory that seemed quite important, but he couldn't place his finger on it. It annoyed him to no end. But then again, with his body pumped full of drugs, it was a miracle that he was having coherent thoughts at all. Well, mostly coherent.
He tried to move his head and was annoyed as a wave of nausea swept over him. It cleared the fog in his head and with sudden clarity he realized that he was back in his body, with real limbs attached, the whole package complete with a headache, a dry mouth, and a lot of pain. It seemed important, somehow. He was back.
Back from where?
John tried to grasp the thought, but it slipped through his fingers before he could make sense of it. Only the feeling of relief, of achievement, stayed, puzzling him because he couldn't explain why it was there.
Annoyed at the emotional mess his mind was presenting him with, John cracked his eyes open. Maybe a quick check of his surroundings would make things a bit clearer.
He found himself gazing at a ceiling. Complete with a row of white lights.
Well. That certainly didn't help to clear things up, John reflected dryly. But it felt good to just lie there and look – even though his eyes were dry and full of grit.
After a while, they started watering because he was staring directly into the light.
In order to avoid the brightness, John tilted his head just a fraction and was surprised to see a person sitting beside his bed, intently studying some papers. He blinked, cursing under his breath as everything swam out of focus. It took a while until the outlines sharpened, but then he was able to make out a mop of dark hair. And a familiar face. Sitting beside his bed, looking worried and exhausted.
Scott, John realised, inwardly smiling at the warmth the name evoked in his stomach. Scott was here, with him, and everything would be okay now, wouldn't it?
It was just like-
The thought escaped him before he could snatch it, leaving him frustrated and slightly angry at himself. What was wrong with him, dammit?
Scott must have noticed his discomfort, because he glanced up – and froze in his tracks when his eyes met John's open ones. For a couple of seconds, the two brothers stared at each other, neither of them wanting to break the moment.
Then a slow smile slid across Scott's face – tentative, as if he was afraid that the situation might break into a million shattered pieces. He leant forward. "Hey there." His voice was soft, the gentle I'm-very-concerned-but-I'm-not-going-to-show-it-undertone evident. It was the special kind of voice Scott only used when one of his brothers was sick or injured; and no matter how bad the injury, it always brought a measure of comfort.
John felt tears collect at the corners of his eyes and blinked in shame. There was no reason to cry, and yet...he was just so damn happy!
Confused by his own feelings, he tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn't obey.
"Here." Scott leaned over, out of his sight, and came back with a cup in his hand. "You want some ice-chips?"
Ice-chips – a blessed present from heaven!
John nodded eagerly – well, as eagerly as he could while feeling weak as a kitten. His mouth felt as if it had been filled with cotton; and very foul tasting cotton at that.
Scott fed him the first ice-chip. "I called the nurse and the doctor; they're going to have a good look at you now that you're finally awake."
The ice was a blessed relief for his sore throat; but even as it melted and the water ran down his oesophagus, it hurt like hell. John suppressed a wince.
"Hurts, eh?" Scott said sympathetically. "It's from the respirator; they only removed it yesterday, when you started breathing on your own." He hesitated, his eyes darting to a point above John's head. "You gave us quit a scare."
That was the closest Scott would ever come to saying 'I was worried as hell'. John understood; he always had. His eldest brother never vocalized his feelings, but they all knew that under the tough exterior was a heart as soft as a marshmallow.
For a brief moment, he had the flash of seeing Scott sitting and...talking? Forlorn, alone, depressed, the words tumbling from his mouth at a quick rate.
The image disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving John completely puzzled again.
Scott's eyes seemed darker than before, clouded over, and the blonde couldn't help but thinking that something had happened – something he needed to know about. Something bad. Maybe to him?
Why was it so hard to think?
And why did his head hurt so much?
His stomach grew cold and it was not because of the ice-chips. If only he could think...
"Wh..." he started to say, but the raspy sound that escaped his lips barely qualified as a word of the English language.
Scott opened his mouth to reply, just as the door flew open and a nurse hurried into the room, followed by a stern looking doctor. Before John knew what was happening, he was being prodded and examined thoroughly. Scott retreated, and from then on it was all light, movement, and a flurry of questions he could barely keep up with.
"Can you understand me?"
Nod.
"Do you know where you are?"
Hesitant nod. A hospital, that was sure, but what hospital exactly...
"Can you remember what happened?"
John blinked through eyes that were watering heavily. The light hurt, and the questions only increased his headache. What happened? Rescue, that was for sure...
He gave a faint nod. God, he was so tired...
Somewhere in the background, he could see various members of his family, clad in their uniforms. Odd looks of worry and relief coloured their faces. They shifted in and out of focus, as the drugs took hold of his system.
Someone was talking, but he couldn't make out the words, just the reassurance in the tone. John clung to it like a lifeline, his mind already succumbing to the familiar pull of darkness.
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John floated to the surface only long enough to hear the voices talking beside him.
"I wish he would wake up."
"The doctor said it's okay for him to be sleeping – his body is exhausted and the operation was very draining."
"Still, I don't like seeing him so...pale."
"I know what you mean."
They whispered, and John wondered whom they were talking about. He wanted to wake up and ask, but got lost on the way and sank back into his dreams again.
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He woke up, briefly, to see his father smiling at him. "Hallo, son" Jeff Tracy said in a gentle tone and caressed his son's forehead. "It's good to see you."
John tried to smile, but his muscles weren't cooperating properly and it came out as a grimace instead. His father, though, seemed to get the meaning, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.
"Don't worry. You're still pretty weak."
John's eyes followed his father's movements. His whole body felt sluggish and unresponsive, like it didn't really belong to him. There were so many things he wanted to say, but his tongue refused to budge. It scared him, a lot.
The fear must have been evident on his face, for his father leant forward and took his hand. "I know you're feeling pretty lousy at the moment, but that's because of the drugs. The operation was a difficult one and you need the rest. They will wear off. You'll be fine."
That explained why it was so difficult to stay awake. John refused to give in to the gentle pull; he had seen the worry in his father's eyes and there were so many things he wanted to say, to ask – his doubts, his fears, he needed to know...
But for once, mind couldn't win over matter, and the tired body insisted on much-needed rest. John's eyes slid closed almost on their own accord and he was lost again, barely heard the last whispered words of Jeff Tracy.
"I'm glad you're back, son."
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"There. Easy now. Small sips."
The voice urged him to drink, coaxed cool liquid to his lips. John, confused and disorientated, tried to turn his head away, but the female voice seemed to have none of it. "No, no, I know it's painful, but you need to drink, the sooner, the better – you don't want to stay on the IV forever, do you?"
He didn't, and so he relented, even though it hurt like hell. He slipped away quickly again, realising with dismay that he hadn't even opened his eyes.
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The next time he awoke, it was easier to think. With his thoughts no longer drifting like icebergs, John was able to assess the situation. Many of his memories didn't make much sense, though; blurry images of waking up, confused, disorientated, in pain, and the vague feeling that he had been suspended outside time.
His eyes flew open to reveal a darkened room. The lights were dimmed, much to his relief – though it was undoubtedly a hospital room. So he was still here. How much time had passed?
He tried to get some semblance of order in what had happened, but found out that he couldn't – everything was clear until the rescue, and then things became fuzzy and disconnected. Hell, he didn't even know what day it was!
John tried to turn his head and noticed that it was wrapped in thick gauze. He tried to glance at the rest of his body, but wasn't able to see much lying down. Instead, his eyes fell on the figure sitting beside his bed. A slow smile slid on his face as he took in the familiar face, the grey temples and the trim figure of his father.
"Hey." John whispered, pleased that he had finally regained control of his voice.
Jeff Tracy's head snapped up and he looked at his son. "Hey there." Relief shone in the eyes of the Tracy patriarch, as he inched closer to the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay, I guess." John licked his lips. "Dad, what happened?"
"How much do you remember?"
Hadn't he been asked that before? But when? Annoyed with the way his usual so perfect mind was failing him, John closed his eyes for a second to think. "I remember the rescue...it was a bad one. I was in the house and then...everything crumbled..."
"That's right. The whole ceiling fell down and you were caught under it." Jeff placed a comforting hand on his son's arm. "It took a while for the others to dig you out."
"...How bad...?"
Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose, weariness evident in his face. "Bad," he whispered. "They almost lost you once."
"Oh."
It was strange being told that one had barely escaped death. Once again, John had the feeling that something was tugging at the edges of his mind – something closely connected to what Jeff had just told him. He frowned, but was unable to make sense of it.
"John?"
He blinked, realizing that he'd been spacing out. "Sorry." The blonde focused his gaze on Jeff again. "What about my...injuries?"
Another sigh, and his father rubbed his eyes. "Three broken ribs, two cracked ones; one punctured your lung, which is why you were on a respirator all the time. They took it out three days ago, when you finally started breathing on your own. You sprained your wrist and fractured your fibula. But the worst was the head wound. You were being treated for a lung infection when..." here Jeff's voice broke and he took a deep breath. "-when the alarm rang. A haemorrhage had started in your brain, and the pressure was increasing too quickly. They had to operate. It was a touch and go situation for a while."
They had operated his brain? The thought scared John more deeply than he liked to admit. Knowing how easy it was to injure the grey matter, he did a quick check of his body – moved his fingers, wriggled his toes. So far, everything seemed to be working.
"But I'll be okay?"
His father smiled. "Yes – now that you have woken up, you should be fine. It's going to take a while – your body is still weak – but you will recover."
"Completely?" John prodded, needing to know everything. There was a nasty little voice running in the back of his head, repeating sentences like 'you'll be handicapped' or 'you're going to be a pitiful vegetable for the rest of your life'. It surprised him, because he would never refer to himself as a vegetable. Yet he couldn't get it out of his mind.
"The doctors can't say for sure, but they're pretty optimistic. You woke up, you were more or less coherent, and your body works just fine." Judging from the look on his father's face, they shared the same sense of relief. Battered, bruised, hurting he might be, and in a lot of pain, but he would be okay.
A wave of satisfaction rolled over him, the urgent need to say 'I told you so' – but to whom?
It must be the drugs, John decided and shook his head. His imagination wasn't known to take such wild leaps.
Just then, the door swung open to reveal a tired looking Virgil. "Dad, I brought you some coffee..." he began, holding two steaming styrofoam cups. Then his eyes took in the scene and widened in surprise. "John!"
"Hi Virg." John greeted, grinning slightly. "Did ya forget to bring me a cup?"
"You're not allowed to drink coffee yet, you crazy caffeine-addict." Virgil's voice was lathered with affection. He placed the cups on the table and knelt down near the bed so that his face was level with John's. "It's good to see you awake."
"I don't mind." John replied serenely. "The coffee here's terrible anyway."
Virgil sent him an odd look. Though clean and shaven, he appeared as if he hadn't gotten a proper rest in days. The worry was clearly showing on his face. John felt bad, knowing that he had been the cause of it.
"What about the rescue?" he inquired.
"Wrapped it up days ago." Virgil's eyes twinkled in merriment. "You slept right through everything."
"I did?"
"You were unconscious the whole time you were on the respirator," Jeff interjected. "It was better that way – being awake would have been much too painful. Even now, you're on heavy painkillers."
"Well, that explains why I'm feeling so loopy." John thought back to the weird memory flashes he kept having. It must be the drugs.
"I always thought it was your charming personality shining through." Virgil grinned. "The others will be so happy to see you awake. It was pretty unfair; you woke up when Dad was sitting with you, and once with Scott, but Gordon, Alan, and I, we got the bad end of the stick. We just watched your sleeping face for hours."
"Sorry." John frowned. "Alan's here?"
"We put Thunderbird Five on automatic and picked him up." Jeff explained. "He insisted, wouldn't have it any other way; and I can't really blame him for it."
John understood only too well. Being isolated on TB5 when a family member was injured was hell. Though usually, he and Alan had to grit their teeth and go through it. The very fact that his father had relented spoke volumes, showed how serious it had been...
Virgil, sensing John's dark thoughts, patted his hand. "But everything's under control now and we're sending the squirt back once he's seen you and we've arranged your transport to the island."
"That's good." John said earnestly. He'd hate for International Rescue to fail to complete a rescue because of him.
"Speaking of that, your brothers should be here soon. They were escorting Grandma back to the hotel."
"Grandma's here?"
Virgil's grin widened. "John, you know her. She threatened us all with liver and brussels sprouts for the next three months if we hadn't allowed her to accompany us!"
Yes, that was his grandmother all right. John smiled. "I'll have you know that I happen to like liver."
"Yeah, and you're the only one on the whole planet. Probably comes from too much time in space – addles your brain, does weird things to your stomach..."
John was on the verge of replying with something nasty as the door opened again. Gordon stepped in, a wide grin on his lips. "I'm telling ya Alan, it's a gift."
"Gna, gna." Alan's voice floated through the open door. "The girl wasn't even thinking straight-"
"Boys." Jeff's deep rumble interrupted their friendly bickering. "Keep it down."
"It's nice to know that some things never change." John commented softly. Alan's and Gordon's heads whipped around in perfect synch.
"John!"
"Hey, you're awake!"
Bickering forgotten, they immediately rushed to the bed. A barrel of questions began.
"How do you feel?"
"Are you okay?"
"You hurting anywhere?"
"Boys!" Jeff raised his hand and stopped them. "Give your brother a chance!"
"Sorry." Alan looked to the ground.
John couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm okay, I guess. High on painkillers, but okay."
"That's great!" The grin threatened to split Gordon's face in half. "John, you won't believe what just happened to me. I've been called an angel!"
"You?" Virgil snorted. "That's stretching things a bit."
Gordon sent him a dirty look. "Well, you've just been overlooking my redeeming qualities."
"As if."
John was amused. "Who called you that, Gordon?"
"Oh, right." The grin was there again. "There was this little girl – a tiny thing, with long, black hair – and she was being wheeled to the scanner room. When she saw me, her eyes got round, and she started tugging at her mother's sleeve. She pointed to me and said 'Look, Ma, there's another angel! The angel I told you about wore a uniform just like that! Only he had golden hair instead.'" Gordon looked immensely pleased.
John blinked. This sounded...very familiar. But why?
Alan rolled his eyes. "And he's been insufferable ever since. The girl probably saw us on the rescue scene and you know how children are..."
"No, that's not true." Gordon shook his head. "I had a quick chat with the mother, and she said that the girl was unconscious for the whole time after the earthquake and the rescue. It wasn't even us who found her, but a local fireman. She woke up a couple of days ago, and has apparently been talking about this mysterious angel ever since."
A feeling of contentment and pride swept through John, and though he did not know where it came from, he bathed in its warmth. Alan and Gordon were still arguing, Virgil was throwing in his piece as well, while Jeff only sat there with a broad smile on his face.
John exchanged a knowing look with his father. It was nice to have a sense of normalcy again. Even though he knew that his recovery would be slow, it didn't really matter right now, because he knew he would recover, eventually, and that was all that counted. What was more important was that he was with his family and that they were there to support him, every little step on the way.
"Gordon, if you're an angel, then I shall voluntarily spend my afterlife in hell. Can you imagine him with wings? Nothing will stop him!"
John had to laugh outright. The idea of Gordon with wings was as ridiculous as the idea of himself being an angel. And yet...
John turned back to his brothers. "You know, Gordon, you got it all wrong. Didn't you hear what the little girl said? The angel had golden hair...so that kind of throws you out of the equation." They laughed, the pain and the concern momentarily forgotten.
'Good luck, John Tracy!' John turned his head, as a whispered voice floated past. It was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him, the drugs playing cartwheels with his mind. But for a moment, John could have sworn he had seen a shadow beside his bed.
Bewildered, he shook his head. Naw. Must have been the drugs.
To be concluded...
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...in the epilogue. This time there's going to be one – guaranteed (since I already wrote it)!
John's awake, and we have our happy end. More or less. Poor Cassie, nobody is going to believe her, and yet she's the only one who remembers. Life's just unfair.
