First of all, I
have to say a big Thank You to everybody who reviewed...you guys are
incredible! I'm glad you liked the story. It was one of those plotbunnies that got hold and me and wouldn't let me go! But I liked it...especially Schnabelewopski...he's great, though a bit weird!
But the story would have been a whole lot shorter (and worse) without Pen's faithful help. I ruthlessly bounced my ideas off her and she never complained, but bounced right back and gave me useful insights or kicked my muse into working. Thanks, Pen!
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Behind the Veil of Shadows
by kaeera
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Epilogue: Reminders of the past
Scott strolled into the lounge, whistling a merry little tune. He had just finished his morning run and the obligatory shower and was looking forward to what promised to be a good day. A lot of the last days had been good, mostly due to the fact that a certain blonde-haired Tracy was up and around. They had come dangerously close – too close in Scott's opinion – to losing him, and it had shaken everyone.
Thinking of his astronaut brother, Scott was surprised not to see him in the lounge, where he was usually sitting at this time, reading and relaxing. With his movements restricted and his body still healing, there was not much John could do.
Instead he saw Virgil sitting at the piano, running through some warm-up scales and then playing a gentle melody Scott didn't recognize. He sauntered closer.
"Morning Virg."
Virgil started slightly. "Oh, hi Scott. Didn't hear you there."
"You never do when you're practising." Scott peered over his brother's shoulders. "What are you playing?"
"Oh, just a couple of new songs I ordered."
"Sounds nice," Scott commented and looked at the title of the song. "'La Valse D'Amélie' by Yann Tiersen – is that French?"
Virgil nodded. "John told me how much he likes the music by this composer. I thought it might be a nice surprise if I played and taped some songs for him – that way he can listen to them when he's back on Thunderbird Five."
"Which won't be for a while yet," Scott grinned, "But I'm sure he's going to appreciate the gesture. That's a wonderful idea, Virg." He turned around. "Speaking of John, where is he? Normally he's up by now."
"I think he went down to the cellar."
Scott arched an eyebrow. "The cellar? He's supposed to be resting. What's he doing down there?"
"Beats me." Virgil stopped gazing at the sheet and gave his brother a disapproving look. "Stop the mother-hen routine, Scott, he's not going to run a marathon down there. He said he wanted to look for something; but John is sensible enough not to overexert himself. He knows his limits."
"Okay, okay." Scott sighed. "It's just difficult. I've been so worried, and he's still in so much pain, even though he tries to hide it..."
A sympathetic smile slid on Virgil's face. "I know, Scott. It's hard for all of us. When they came and told us that his heart had stopped during the operation...well, I thought my world would crash for sure. But he came back, somehow, beating all the odds. And now that he's finally at home and up and around, I have the feeling I can start to relax."
"Yeah. I know what you mean."
Virgil smiled again and then turned back to the piano, focusing on the song. Slowly, the soft notes started filling the air, a gentle, slightly melancholy melody that told of deep emotions.
Meanwhile, John had been rummaging around for the last hour, but so far had only found a lot of dust and a few aggrieved spiders. The cellar was huge and over the years, a lot of things had piled up. Old magazine collections, boxes full of abandoned books and toys, exercise books, school things, discarded furniture and a whole lot of odds and ends.
The blonde stopped for a pause, wincing at the pain that shot through his ribs. Even though he had been allowed up several days ago (after spending weeks confined to his bed), moving was still a challenge and hurt like hell. If he overdid it, the results were blinding headaches that couldn't be soothed by even the strongest of pills.
What surprised him, though, was how well he was resting at night. On previous occasions, after a rescue gone bad, his dreams had been plagued by nightmares, nameless victims screaming at him, blaming him because he hadn't been able to save them. That didn't seem to be happening this time.
Not that John wasn't dreaming – he was, just that they weren't making any sense. Last night he had dreamt that an angel, complete with halo and wings, was chasing him down a hospital corridor, trying to hit him with a walking stick.
The recollection made him smile as he rubbed his smarting shin.
Ever since he had woken up in the hospital, something else had been nibbling at his mind. John had been unable to stop thinking about his childhood toys. For some odd reason, they popped back into his head whenever he let his mind wander. Annoyed (and a bit curious), he had finally relented and gone down to the cellar.
John opened another box and brightened as he saw the fuzziness that greeted him. It was filled to the brim with various plush toys, and right on the top of it lay one he recognized all too well. The familiar owl seemed to blink at him, and he smiled. "Hello Maia."
More rummaging brought the toys of his brothers to light. There was Mr Hanky, Alan's black pig, and Starfish, Gordon's dolphin. Next came Doolittle, Virgil's teddy bear.
Each of the toys carried a lot of memories that made John smile. Pain forgotten, he thought back to the times when those toys had been more than merely plush; when they had provided comfort in the darkest of nights.
Alan had been unable to sleep without his pig and used to curl up around it. Gordon had insisted on taking his dolphin into the water with him, which was the reason why the toy looked so battered and washed out.
John himself had been very careful with his owl; but he remembered clearly that he used to place her on the windowsill so that she could watch the stars while he was asleep.
"That makes four of us," he mumbled to himself, "But where is Scott's?"
In fact, he didn't even remember what Scott's toy had been. With a frown on his face, he bent over the box and blinked through the dim light. There was another outline at the bottom. Wincing at the pain the movement caused his ribs, John bent over to pull it out.
And started laughing.
He couldn't help himself. In his hands, he was holding possibly the ugliest toy ever produced. Now he remembered. John had been little when Scott had decided that he didn't need his plush friend anymore, thus damning him to a life in the cupboard. But there had been a time when he and 'Snort' had been inseparable.
Snort. John did exactly that – snorted and turned the toy around. It didn't really surprise him that he held a dragon in his hands; he would have bet his life on the fact that Scott's toy had been either a lion, a dragon, or an eagle. But the colour combination...was hideous.
"Now I know why you always sucked at Art," John chuckled.
Purple and green. Two colours that didn't go well with each other. Plus the whole thing...sparkled. Despite being careworn – John dimly remembered Scott dragging the dragon by its tail through the whole house – the wings still glittered. Purple. With bright green dots.
A nasty grin spread over his face. His younger brothers had never seen this dragon. What would they say? John could already imagine the teasing that would start. The grin grew wider. With Scott being in full-fledged mother-hen mode, John was starting to feel a bit smothered. Hopefully the toy would earn him some much needed space.
"You're going to help me, aren't you?" He stared at the dragon. For an instant he had an image of another dragon, clutched by a small hand, but it was gone before he could grasp its meaning. The dragon he was holding seemed to be giving him a knowing look. John had the feeling that – despite being purple and ugly – 'Snort' knew something that he did not.
But then dragons were magical creatures.
Fin.
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For your
information, I put the pic of Scott's toy dragon on my personal
webspace (just copy the link, don't add the 'www'):
people.freenet.de/kaeera/pics/dt1696f.jpg
