Chapter Eight: Aftermath

By the time Jefferson Tracy reached the remote coal mine in Wales, it was all over.

Acting on instructions from John in Thunderbird 5, Jeff had circled the site of the Gleision Colliery before angling the great red craft towards the west and heading for the hospital that was currently playing host to four out of his five sons.

He had located Thunderbirds 1 and 2 resting under the watchful eye of Tin-Tin on a nearby golf course. After landing the rocket beside her sister crafts and exchanging a few words with Tin-Tin, he and Brains had hurried down the road towards the hospital.

Now Jeff strode quickly towards the entrance of the hospital, Brains struggling to keep up with him. The stout security guard on the door took one glance at the daunting combination of Jeff's uniform and determined expression, gulped, and waved them through without comment.

As the automatic doors closed behind them, Jeff felt himself relaxing slightly for the first time since leaving Tracy Island. Although he was still worried about his sons, he knew from John's report that none of their injuries were life threatening and now that he was here in the same place as them, he knew that everything was going to be alright. It was a huge relief; there was nothing Jeff Tracy feared more than losing one of his precious sons.

The awe-stricken receptionist passed them into the company of a passing nurse and within two minutes of entering the hospital, Jeff and Brains were shown into building's single large ward where everyone from the accident site had been brought.

The first person Jeff saw was Alan. He was sitting beside one of the nearer beds, his arms folded on top of the clean white linen, and his chin resting on his hands. He looked exhausted; his uniform was covered in a mixture of soot and dirt and although his face looked as if it had been recently scrubbed, it couldn't conceal the fact that his skin was too pale and there were dark smudges underneath his bloodshot eyes. Watching him, Jeff felt a surge of pride. Alan had done well today – he'd finally put to rest some of the doubts that Jeff still harboured about whether Alan was really ready to be a Thunderbird – and when they had a spare moment, Jeff intended to talk to his son about that. Communication with his sons wasn't one of Jeff's strong points but he knew how fragile Alan's self-esteem could be and how much his son would appreciate the praise.

"Alan?"

His son's blond head rose at the sound of his name and his weary face registered surprise when he caught sight of his father. "Sir!" He stood up and came around the bed, but mindful of the room's other residents, he hung back from Jeff.

Jeff closed the distance between them and clasped Alan's hand in his; the most intimate gesture he would get away with around in front of so many strangers. "How are you, Alan?" he asked, his eyes searching his son's face and picking up worrying smears of blood around the young man's neck and the collar of his uniform – and the rough piece of gauze taped to the back of his head.

Alan shrugged his shoulders, not quite meeting Jeff's eyes. "It's just a bump on the head - I'm okay, sir. We all are. I guess we were really lucky this time."

Alan's words did little to convince him, but at the mention of his other children, Jeff's eyes strayed across to the bed that Alan had just moved away from. The familiar auburn hair of his second youngest stood out starkly against the crisp, white of the hospital bedding but although Gordon's eyes were closed, his face was calm. He actually looked a lot better off than Alan, regardless of which one of them was lying in the bed.

"Tell me what happened," Jeff ordered. Although he had heard a report from John, he wanted further confirmation that his son really was going to be okay.

Alan followed his father's gaze. "He dislocated his shoulder. Said his arm got trapped when the mine collapsed. The nurses gave him some local anaesthetic for the pain and then they popped his shoulder back into place. He's sleeping it off now."

Jeff moved over to the bed and resisted the urge to push the copper-coloured hair back from Gordon's forehead. As much as he wanted to comfort his son, you could never tell who was watching and the last thing he wanted to do was compromise International Rescue.

"He'll be okay, Da – um … sir."

Jeff continued to gaze down at his son. Beneath the sheet that Gordon had pulled over himself, Jeff could just make out the edges of the sling that strapped his son's injured arm to his chest. From experience Jeff knew it would be several weeks before Gordon would have full use of his arm back, despite how fit and healthy his son was. With Scott likely to be off International Rescue's active roster for equally as long, this rescue had turned out to be far more costly than Jeff could ever have imagined.

"What about Scott and Virgil?" he asked abruptly, realising he hadn't seen his older sons yet.

"Over there." Alan indicated a bed slightly further down the ward, over which a petite nurse was working quietly. Standing to one side and watching her progress were Virgil and Brains.

Jeff placed a hand on Alan's shoulder. "Keep an eye on Gordon."

"Yes, sir."

"And get yourself checked out," Jeff added, eyeing the blood staining Alan's neck.

The flash of irritation on Alan's face was fleeting. "Yes, sir."

Patting his son's shoulder twice, Jeff moved off down the ward towards where Virgil and Brains were standing. They both looked up as Jeff approached and Virgil's weary face split into a smile.

"It's good to see you, sir."

"And you, Virgil." Jeff ran his eyes over his son and when he was sure that Virgil was uninjured, he turned eagerly towards the bed his son and Brains had been watching.

Here he frowned, for instead of the familiar dark head of his oldest son he was confronted by a man he'd never seen before. Like Jeff's sons, the swarthy man bore the signs of having been in the mine, in his soot covered hair and the deep gash which was being treated on his arm.

It was not what he had expected. "Where's Scott?" he demanded.

"You just missed him," Virgil explained. "The doctors took him up to x-ray."

"You didn't go with him?"

"They wouldn't let me. Family only, they said." An ironic half-smile tugged at Virgil's mouth.

Jeff's frown deepened. It was at times like these that he cursed the obsessive need for absolute secrecy that came with the territory in International Rescue. It made hospital visits in particular very difficult.

"What do you know about his injuries?"

"Doctor Richardson told Scott he suspected it was a classic tib-fib fracture of the right leg but they took him to x-ray just to be sure." Virgil shrugged. "I thought it was a lot worse – talk about relieved."

A broken leg and a dislocated shoulder … someone must have been watching over them in that mine.

"We were all so lucky," Virgil murmured, unconsciously echoing Alan's earlier words. "So damn lucky. Things could have been a hell of a lot worse."

"It's a m-m-mi-mi-mir-mira amazing that you all got out a-al-al-aliv – okay," Brains commented softly.

Jeff found himself nodding in agreement. It had been a long time since he'd been so forcibly reminded of the mortality of his family, but when he'd heard that the mine had collapsed on top of his sons, it had brought it all back to him. Not since the incident with the Hood three years ago had he been so frightened for their lives.

"What about the miners?" The mission was ever-present at the back of Jeff's mind.

A shadow passed over Virgil's face. "We got five out before the mine collapsed. Then Gordon saved another two. The other four…" he sighed and ran a hand over his face, "… the other four we lost."

Jeff knew how disheartening an unsuccessful rescue could be. The operatives of International Rescue weren't gods; they had their successes but they also had their failures. And in a situation as dangerous as this one had turned out to be, the fact that they had managed to save even one of the miners was a great achievement.

Not that his boys would be placated by such a thought. They also took such failures personally – especially Scott. In his position as Field Commander he always berated himself for those people they lost, wondering if things would have been different had he reacted that little bit faster.

"I'll expect a full report from you when we get back to base."

Virgil nodded, probably having expected as such considering that Scott was out of action and John was up on Thunderbird 5.

"Now I'm going to see if I can track down this elusive doctor of yours and find out how long it's going to take to transfer Scott and Gordon out of here."

"How're you going get them to agree to that?" Virgil asked curiously.

Jeff smiled slowly. "Your Commander can be a very persuasive man when he needs to be."

Despite Jeff Tracy's powers of persuasion, it was still several hours later before the hospital agreed to release Scott and Gordon into his care. Partly it was a result of the eternal 'family' problem and partly it was because they all had to wait while Scott returned from x-ray and then the entire length of his right leg put into plaster. It seemed that Doctor Richardson's diagnosis had been correct. Scott had broken both of the bones in his lower right leg and only the relatively simple nature of the breaks had kept him out of the operating theatre. Doctor Richardson had been incredibly reluctant to let him go and it was only after Scott himself promised he would phone with weekly updates that the earnest young Welshman had allowed him to discharge himself.

Gordon had been less of a problem, particularly after he'd woken up and flashed a devilish smile at the attractive young nurse who had been attending to him. Blushing, she had warned him not to put any undue pressure on his arm and to simply let it heal naturally and once he had earnestly promised her he would follow her words to the letter, she had been happy to release him.

Unfortunately, despite the relatively simple nature of their injuries, neither Gordon nor Scott could possibly pilot one of the Thunderbirds – although Gordon loudly protested against such a conclusion. So it was that Jeff, reluctantly, took control of Thunderbird 1, assigned Virgil and Brains to Thunderbird 2 and left Thunderbird 3 in the hands of Alan and Tin-Tin. While both were fully qualified members of International Rescue, there was no denying that Alan and Tin-Tin had the least amount of actual flying experience and as all of the great crafts sped away from the hospital there was a definite note of tension in the air.

Alan Tracy secured the autopilot controls and then sat back in the pilot seat of Thunderbird 3 with a sigh. His take-off hadn't been as horrific as it could have been and at least when he was called to the land his rocket into her silo back on Tracy Island he wouldn't have an audience of his family.

He rubbed his forehead restlessly, feeling completely worn out. Although the wound on the back of his head had stopped bleeding some time ago, his body's exhausted state had resulted in an increasingly intense headache, The pain swam behind his eyes, making him dizzy and Alan started to wonder if he'd made a huge mistake by taking matters into his own hands back at the hospital. He was certainly beginning to regret not snagging some painkillers when he'd had the chance. At least then this journey home would have been that little bit more bearable.

The problem was, Morriston Hospital had been ill equipped to deal with such a large influx of people. A local country hospital, they only had limited numbers of staff, so it was easy to understand why they'd struggled to cope with the number of miners and International Rescue members who had needed tending to.

When he and Virgil had brought Scott, Gordon and the two miners in, the young Doctor Richardson had already looked run off his feet. It was then that Alan had quietly taken himself away to the toilets, securing a piece of gauze and a length of tape off a passing drugs cart as he did so.

The staff of the hospital are hard pushed enough as it is, he had told himself as he had scrubbed the blood from his face. I can deal with this myself. It's not like it's anything serious.

It had been the work of minutes to lightly clean the wound with a wad of tissue from the toilets and tape the square of gauze onto the back of his head. Getting the traces of the blood out of his blond hair had been harder and even now, some of his hair still had that unpleasant, sticky feeling that he would only be rid of after a rigorous washing.

Keep your mind on the mission, Alan told himself sharply as his eyes started to sag. Blinking slowly, he leaned forward and double-checked that he had engaged the autopilot correctly. The last thing he needed was to cause more problems by dive-bombing Thunderbird 3 into the ocean.

Beside him, Tin-Tin finished her own calculations and then looked at him shyly from out of the corner of her eye. She'd been unusually silent so far, speaking only when she had to and as Alan caught her surreptitious look, the remaining lucid part of his mind recognised the determined expression on her face. She was going to say something and he was going to listen whether he wanted to or not.

"Alan …"

It was the first time she had addressed him directly, and voluntarily, since that disastrous kiss and it was for this reason that Alan pushed his discomfort aside and met her dark gaze.

"Yeah?"

Tin-Tin swallowed, suddenly looking a lot less confident. "Um … I just … Alan … Alan, we're not friends, are we?"

Of all the things he had expected her to come out with, this would have been at the bottom of the list. He stared at her, trying to work his way through her twisted female logic and failing miserably.

Still, she was talking to him. Even if he didn't understand, it was a vast improvement on the icy silence and awkward glances they'd been sharing over the past several days.

"Er … no?" he guessed finally, bracing himself for the explanation if he was wrong.

Apparently it was the right answer because Tin-Tin nodded unhappily. "No, we're not. We haven't been for ages. We've been … we've been …" She looked up at him through her dark lashes. " … We've been something more, haven't we?"

Why did she have to keep asking him question he didn't know the answer to? His head throbbed angrily and Alan winced, wondering if Tin-Tin would mind if they postponed this particular conversation until he could think clearly. His head was spinning and the world in front of his eyes was beginning to as well. "I guess," he answered vaguely.

Tin-Tin nodded again, her gaze darting down to where her hands were twisting in her lap. "And it was all going so well until you – until we … until … and then everything was all messed up! I was so angry and confused and you were there and I didn't want you to be and – and I just needed time, but I couldn't get away from you and everything and … oh, this isn't coming out right at all." Tin-Tin paused and took a deep breath. She was still staring down at her hands. "What I'm trying to say is … I was scared. Really scared. The mine collapsed and you – and I thought, 'what if he – what if he doesn't make it, and I didn't get to make things better?' But then you were there and you were okay, and I thought 'we've been given a second chance!' So I knew I had to tell you truth … do you know what I'm trying to say?"

Alan tried to listen, part of him recognising that this was important to Tin-Tin, but the constant burning in his head was incredibly distracting and he was starting to feel sick. It was all he could to stare at the coloured lights of Thunderbird 3's control panels and try and settle his stomach as Tin-Tin's words washed over him.

God, the 'no painkillers' thing was a really bad idea, he thought blearily as the coloured lights began to blur and mutate before his eyes. I wonder if Tin-Tin knows where any are …

It was at that moment that Alan realised Tin-Tin had finished speaking and had raised her head. She was staring at him, her pretty face twisted into an angry mask and her dark eyes shining suspiciously.

"You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?" she shouted, blinking rapidly. "Here I was pouring my heart out to you – trying to make amends for your stupid mistake – and all you can do is stare at the controls and ignore me? Well screw you, Alan Tracy! Screw you!" Her voice got louder and louder, her loud words stinging Alan's aching head like angry wasps. He opened his mouth to try and explain but she cut him off. "I've had enough! Whatever stupid, immature, pathetic thing we had, it's – it's over! Over. Do you understand? I'm not wasting another moment of my time on you! In fact, I don't even want to see you again, so once we get back the island, stay the hell away from me!"

Alan followed slowly as Tin-Tin's anger-fuelled steps propelled her away from Thunderbird 3's silo. Her back was still rigid with tension and despite his best efforts, she still hadn't spoken to him since her outburst half-way across the Pacific Ocean.

Alan knew he'd screwed up – he wasn't stupid – but at that moment in time, there didn't seem to be anything he could do to correct his mistake. It was all he could to keep himself upright and instead of forming appropriate explanations, as his mind should have been doing, all he could think about was collapsing onto his bed and sleeping for a week.

Besides, the more stubborn side of him persisted, she didn't give me a chance to explain, did she? So in some ways this is as much her fault as it is mine. I mean, who decides to have a super- emotional conversation in a rocket ship? It's completely stupid. She knew I was exhausted after the rescue but she couldn't wait, could she? No, she was completely selfish – not thinking about others at all – so really, this is all her fault …

There was something slightly awry with his logic but Alan shoved his concerns aside and concentrated on simply putting one foot in front of the other. His progress was slow and by the time he reached the main living area of the villa, he found that Tin-Tin was already there and involved in an intense discussion with her parents. The tears that had held themselves back on Thunderbird 3 were falling now and Onaha's arms were wrapped around her daughters as Kyrano stroked her silky black hair. All three looked up when Alan entered the room and he froze, feeling horribly uncomfortable. The accusation in Kyrano's eyes was impossible to miss.

"Er – I'm sorry … I'll just be …" The words dried in Alan's mouth.

Kyrano took a step forward. "We would like some time alone, Master Alan." His meaning was unmistakable.

"Right …" A sudden thought struck Alan and he added, "My Dad?"

"You are the first to return." Never had Kyrano's voice been so cold.

Alan hardly noticed; his nausea had returned and he was working at suppressing it. "Can you … can you tell him I've gone to bed?"

Kyrano nodded curtly and Alan stumbled gladly out of the room.

The journey to his bedroom passed in a confusing whirl of chaotic thoughts and emotions and before Alan could even begin to put them all in order, he was entering a room that's messy state very much reflected his current state of mind.

Alan closed his bedroom door behind him and sagged against it, cradling his aching head in his hands. The lure of his bed was incredibly strong but instead of picking his way towards it across the piles of clothes, papers and books that littered the floor, Alan turned instead to his bathroom. He wanted to check the wound on the back of his head before he went to sleep – make sure it hadn't started bleeding again.

Alan shuffled into the bathroom and tugged on the light-chord. The sudden illumination was disorientating; the light danced on the white tiles and reflected back and forth in the mirrors. Alan wavered, feeling faint. A thrill of fear shot through him as the image in front of his eyes began to twist and turn. He'd suffered from exhaustion before – had even fainted once when between the pressures of schoolwork and International Rescue training he had forgotten to eat – but something was telling him that this was more serious than a simple case of being too tired.

This pain … it wasn't normal. It wasn't – it wasn't right …

Have to check the wound. The words circled obsessively round in Alan's head. Have to check the wound – then you'll know.

Alan took an unsteady step forward and his blurry image swam into view in the mirror above his sink. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on his pale reflection, as his shaking hands gripped the sides of the sink.

Blue eyes met blue eyes in the glass and for one long, timeless moment, Alan Tracy stared at his haggard and paper-white face, a horrible comprehension dawning over him. He opened his mouth to call for help but the moment passed and his legs suddenly gave out. He fell heavily against the sink, knocking all the wind out of his body. His hands grasped for purchase against the smooth china but only succeeded in knocking his toothbrush onto the floor as he slid inexorably down to join it. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back in his head was the slender piece of green plastic spinning in a slow circle before finally coming to a gentle halt.