Chapter Nine: Knock-on Effects

Gordon Tracy yawned and swung himself slowly out of bed.

The morning sun was streaming happily through his windows and it looked like it was going to be another beautiful day on the island. The weather matched Gordon's mood; thanks to the wonderful painkillers the hospital had prescribed for him, the pain in his shoulder had been reduced to a dull ache and thanks to the previously day's rescue, he'd actually been able to have a proper lie-in.

Not that it had lasted very long. Gordon stood up and stretched carefully, wary of dislodging his strapped shoulder. He knew if he didn't venture out into the family room soon, his dad would send someone to find him. Jeff had foregone a full report about the rescue the previous night but this morning he wasn't likely to be as patient. Especially not when you considered how close they'd all come to losing everything in that lonely mine in Wales.

Gordon pulled a robe around himself and cast a longing look at his bathroom. As much as he wanted to jump straight into the shower and wash off all the grime he'd accrued during the rescue, his stomach was ordering him to make a beeline towards the kitchen. He wavered, undecided, and then his stomach let out an angry gurgle and grinning, Gordon padded across the floor and pulled his door open. The shower could wait; besides, his family had seen him looking at lot worse.

Outside in the corridor, there was a distinct scent of frying bacon. Gordon licked his lips and followed the delicious smell down the corridor, already feeling his mouth filling with saliva. It wasn't often that they had a fully cooked breakfast in the mornings – Onaha didn't approve of the cholesterol – but on the days following a particularly difficult rescue, she obliged without comment.

As Gordon hurried past Alan's closed door he grinned to himself. There had been no hide nor hair of his little brother the previous evening and when Jeff had asked after him, Kyrano had reported that Alan had headed straight to bed. Going by the fact that his door was still firmly shut, Gordon guess Alan was still enjoying the comforts of a warm bed. He idly wondered whether he should wake Alan up for breakfast but then a second waft of food – fried bread this time – drifted down the corridor and Gordon's stomach took over. He shrugged and moved willing off down the corridor. If Alan didn't want to get out of bed to eat Onaha's wonderful breakfast then that meant more for the rest of them – thought Gordon wouldn't want to be his little brother when their father started the inevitable debriefing and realised that Alan wasn't present.

When Gordon entered the vast room that served as both a kitchen and family room, he saw that he wasn't the only one who'd been captivated by the smell of Onaha's cooking. Virgil and a sleepy looking Tin-Tin were already sitting at the table, the former tucking into a vast breakfast and the latter sipping at a tall glass of orange juice. At the head of the table was Gordon's father, his face hidden behind the pages of a newspaper. Of Scott there was no sign, but that wasn't so unusual considering his mobility wasn't exactly a hundred percent. Kyrano – who was also conspicuous by his absence – was probably taking him a tray in his room.

Gordon slid into the seat opposite his brother and Tin-Tin and beamed up at Onaha when she placed a plate as large as Virgil's in front of him.

"Thanks," he managed to get out before plunging into it. Onaha gave him a disapproving look and turned away as Gordon attempted to cut a piece of bacon in half with only his fork.

"I was wondering when you were going to emerge," Virgil commented, looking across the table at his brother.

"Hey, I'm the walking-wounded here. Aren't I allowed a lie-in?"

Virgil glanced at their dad and shrugged. "I guess. How is your shoulder this morning?"

"Numb." Gordon grinned. "Those painkillers the hospital gave me are amazing." He finally succeeded on slicing his bacon in two and stuffed both halves into his mouth, one after the other.

"I see it's not slowing your appetite down," his father remarked dryly from behind his paper.

"Take more than a busted arm to do that," Gordon agreed cheerfully, turning his attention to the hash browns. "Talking of war-wounds, how's Scott?"

"Being waited on hand and foot," Virgil replied, chewing steadily.

"Bet he hates that." Scott was Mr-Active, Always-Had-To-Be-On-The-Move. Being confined to his bed and having Kyrano for all intense and purposes acting as his personal servant must have been driving him to insanity. "Maybe I'll go and visit him later. Cheer him up."

"You're not getting out of clean-up that easily."

"But I'm injured." Gordon stressed the word, his eyes dancing. "I couldn't possibly help to clean those huge, vast, massive machines –"

Virgil threw a piece of toast across the table. It hit Gordon squarely between the eyes and he broke off, laughing. Beside Virgil, Tin-Tin had apparently not noticed the flying toast; she was staring morosely into her orange juice and Jeff's face was still hidden behind the pages of his newspaper. Only Brains and Fermat looked suitably shocked, and that was because they'd only just entered the kitchen.

Gordon, his spirits still high, grinned impishly at Fermat as the younger boy joined them at the table. Catching his expression, Fermat looked immediately wary – he'd been on the receiving end of a number of Gordon's jokes – and he cast a questioning glance about the table.

"W-Where's Alan?" Fermat asked curiously, eyeing Gordon slightly nervously.

Virgil had his mouth full, Tin-Tin was still studying her orange juice and didn't say anything, and so it was left to Gordon to reply. "Dunno." He took pity on Fermat and turned his attention back to his plate, eyeing his baked beans speculatively and wondering if he'd be able to scrape them all up with only his fork. "His door was still shut when I passed."

"It's not like him to pass up one of Onaha's breakfasts," Virgil observed thoughtfully.

It was Gordon's turn to shrug, though the movement was a lot less fluid than his brother's. "I guess he's still asleep." He stabbed at the beans but only succeeded in picking up three.

"He was tired yesterday," Virgil allowed, putting his fork down.

"We all were." Tin-Tin spoke abruptly, taking them all by surprise. "Alan's no different."

Uh, oh, Gordon thought as he watched Tin-Tin tight, unhappy face. Tin-Tin and Alan have had another fight. Sticking them both in Thunderbird 3 probably wasn't the best idea …

"Well it's him that's missing out," Gordon pointed out, chasing the errant beans unsuccessfully around his plate. Growing frustrated, he abandoned his efforts and turned his attention to the two sausages that still remained untouched in his plate. Sticking his fork firmly into one of them, he lifted the whole sausage to his mouth and bit the end off.

Opposite him, Tin-Tin pulled a face. "That's disgusting!"

"Arm," Gordon tried to say, but it came out as more of a garbled spray of bits a flying sausage.

Looking deeply offended, Tin-Tin collected her glass and rose from the table as Gordon continued to beam at her, chewing the sausage slowly. Tin-Tin sniffed at him and then stalked away and Gordon swallowed the laughter that threatened to choke him.

"Gordon, that's enough," his father said from behind his paper. "You're not ten anymore. Stop playing with your food."

Gordon was tempted to ask his father how he'd like to manage with only one hand to feed himself with but something told him this wasn't the best time to try and make a point. One of the earliest rules that all of the Tracy sons had learned was that their father was not a man to be trifled with. Well, all the Tracy sons except Alan; he seemed to be somewhat of a slow-learner and appeared to have an almost supernatural ability to aggravate their father at the worst possible moment.

Apparently taking Gordon's silence as acquiescence, Jeff folded his paper and put it down on the table. "Can someone go and wake Alan? He might be tired but we need him here with the debriefing."

Gordon smiled behind his sausage at the flash of irritation in his dad's voice. Even when Alan wasn't in the room he could still annoy Jeff Tracy like no one else.

Virgil made to rise. "I'll go –"

Gordon shook his head and waved his brother back down into his seat. "No, I'll go."

"What about your breakfast?"

Gordon eyed his half-eaten food mournfully and took one last stab at his beans. When his fork failed to succeed to spear any of them, he sighed disgustedly and dropped it back onto his plate. "They'll be other breakfasts. Hopefully when I have two arms in use. Besides, there's a certain knack for getting Alan out of bed in the mornings."

"What, jumping on him?"

Gordon grinned innocently. "Me?"

"You're not jumping on anyone with your shoulder in that condition."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Relax, dad. I'm not going to jump on him … today."

Grinning in an exaggeratedly evil fashion, Gordon left his family with that happy thought and ducked out of the kitchen. Strolling down the corridor, he stopped before Alan's closed door and raised his good hand. "Wakey, wakey, Alan!" he called, knocking loudly.

There was no reply – but Gordon wasn't particularly surprised. Alan was a notoriously heavy sleeper – Scott had once remarked that the rescue siren could go off and all the Thunderbirds could be launched and Alan would sleep happily through it all.

More through force of habit then any actual thought that he would get a response, Gordon banged on the door again. "Yo, Al – look alive!"

Sure enough, only silence greeted his cheerful words. Deciding that he'd given his brother enough warning, Gordon reached out and was about to shove Alan's door open when a voice hailed him from further up the corridor.

"Mr Gordon, sir?"

Gordon turned to see Kyrano hurrying up the corridor towards him, a breakfast tray in his hands. As the older man drew closer, Gordon noticed that the food on the tray had barely been touched and Kyrano himself was looking rather stressed.

"Everything okay, Kyrano?"

Kyrano shook his head resolutely. "I'm afraid not, Mr Gordon. Your father requested I take breakfast to your older brother, but when I try Mr Scott refuses to eat anything! Please, Mr Gordon, will you talk to him? I fear what my dear wife will say if I return to the kitchen with Mr Scott's plate like this!"

Gordon grinned at the fact that Kyrano was more worried about Onaha's reaction than Jeff's. It was understandable; Kyrano's wife was a force to be reckoned with within the Tracy household. It was certainly clear where Tin-Tin got her fiery spirit from.

He glanced once at Alan's closed door, wavered for a moment, and then released the handle. After all, Alan would wake eventually and despite his initial humour over Kyrano's predicament, Scott refusing to eat was not a healthy development.

"Have no fear, Kyrano, I'll sort Scott out for you." He glanced down at his strapped arm and grinned. " 'Course, you'll have to carry the tray."

Kyrano didn't look altogether reassured but before he could say anything else, Gordon was striding off down the corridor and the older man had no choice but to trail in his wake.

"How long does it take to wake your brother up?" Jeff demanded irritably as he nursed a steaming cup of coffee. Some time had passed since Gordon had left the kitchen and now even Fermat had finished his breakfast and was on the verge of leaving the table. Of Gordon and Alan however, there was still no sign.

"Alan is a heavy sleeper," Virgil reminded him.

"Yeah," Fermat piped up. "Do you re-re-rec-reca remember that t-time when there's was that e-ex-exp-explo accident in the s-silos? He d-didn't even w-w-wa-wa emerge from his r-room."

"What's Gordon's excuse?" Jeff countered sourly. "He seems to have conveniently forgotten about the debriefing and the clean-up."

In an attempt to stave off another inevitable Jeff-Alan-Gordon argument, a weary Virgil rose from the table. "I'll go and see what's keeping them."

He slipped out of the kitchen and walked quickly along the corridor with a vigour he didn't feel. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to follow Alan's lead and return to his bed but in the efforts of keeping the peace in the Tracy household, he stopped in front of his little brother's door instead.

"Alan? You decent?" He knocked half-heartedly but received no response.

Virgil tried again. "Are you even awake?" He waited for a few silent moments and then sighed. "Apparently not. Well, I'm just coming in anyway."

Opening the door, Virgil slipped inside. He surveyed his little brother's room and despite his impatience with the whole situation the ragged untidiness of the place made him smile. If a room could reflect someone's personality then there was no doubt that this was Alan Tracy's bedroom.

A mixture of clothes, books and parts of what appeared to be some kind electronic equipment were scattered liberally across the floor. The shelves were cluttered with model spaceships, including the small red model of Thunderbird 3 that Gordon had given Alan for his last birthday. Although Alan had laughed at it at the time, the model took pride of place in his room and everyone knew how much it meant to him.

Alan's desk stood against the vast ceiling-to-floor windows that dominated one side of his room. It, like the floor, was completely littered with various pieces of paper – so much so that it was difficult to make out Alan's computer although Virgil knew he had one. At the moment the blinds had been drawn but normally Alan could sit at his desk and enjoy the beauty of the island while he worked – as all his brothers did in their respective rooms.

Beyond the desk, double-doors opened out onto a balcony that overlooked the swimming pools below. Virgil's own balcony was spotless but judging by Alan's room, his balcony was probably less inviting. Virgil decided to keep his distance and headed towards the bed instead.

He picked his way carefully across the floor, being careful not to trip and fall. After all the injuries they'd collectively accrued in the rescue, the last thing they needed was another broken bone.

Alan's bed was pushed up against the left-hand wall of his room and as Virgil neared it emerged from behind a particularly tall pile of dirty washing. The first unusual thing that struck Virgil about it was that it was empty and his second realisation was that it didn't even appear to have been slept in.

Virgil frowned, a thread of unease tickling at the back of his mind as his eyes scanned the rest of the room. Alan was not an early-riser; it would be highly unlikely that he had left his room and was somewhere else in the house. Especially not with breakfast waiting for him in the kitchen. And the previous evening, Kyrano had distinctly said that Alan had gone to bed before Thunderbirds 1 and 2 had returned. But he certainly wasn't here now and the bed …

Virgil's turned away from the bed and his eyes alighted on the bathroom door. Feeling a peculiar sense of urgency, he picked his way carefully across the floor, narrowly avoiding tripping over a pile of discarded clothes that his little brother had so helpfully dropped outside the en-suite. It was only after he had regained his balance that he realised the bathroom was as silent as Alan's room had been.

A sudden sense of dread swept through Virgil.

"Alan?" His heart beginning to thump unpleasantly, he raised his hand to knock against the door. However, as his fist collided with the wooden door, it swung inward, revealing a scene that would forever haunt Virgil's nightmares.

His little brother lay on his side on the tiled floor of the bathroom, his eyes closed and a small pool of dried blood around his head. He wasn't moving.

"Alan!" Virgil scrambled to his brother's side and turned him over so that he lay on his back. Alan's skin was pale underneath his golden tan and his breathing was becoming shallower and shallower. Frantic, Virgil fumbled to lift his eyelids only to discover that his pupils were sluggish and un-reactive to the light from the overheard lamp. Pressing his trembling fingers against Alan's neck he uncovered a similarly terrifying situation; Alan pulse was so weak he could barely feel it.

Panic rose up inside of Virgil, entwining itself around him. "Help!" he yelled. "Somebody help me!"

He bent back over Alan, slapping his face gently. "Alan, Alan can you hear me? Open your eyes! Dammit, Alan, open your eyes!"

Alan didn't respond and his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

Virgil began to regret moving him. Aside from the obvious head injury, which had been opened again when Alan had collapsed, he had no idea what other injuries his little brother may have incurred that would leave him in such a state. What if he'd done more harm than good by turning Alan over onto his back?

Before he could collect his thoughts and decide on a course of action, a voice sounded from the room beyond the bathroom. "Virgil, what's wrong?"

Virgil had never been so relieved to hear his younger brother's voice. "Gordon, oh thank God! It's Alan – he's unconscious."

"What?" There was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and then a sharp intake of breath when Gordon barrelled into the bathroom and spotted Alan lying on the floor.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know!" Virgil snapped, fear driving his words as he twisted to stare up at his brother. "I just came in here to get him for breakfast and I found him like this! And now I can't get him to wake up! Gordon – you have to get dad."

Gordon stared at Virgil, visibly torn between wanting to stay with his brother and obeying Virgil's order. Then he nodded curtly and hurried out of the room. Virgil heard him shouting along the corridor as he turned back to Alan.

Those agonising minutes before Gordon returned with help were the longest of Virgil's life. With no knowledge of what was wrong with Alan, there was little he could do. He was forced to sit limply beside his brother, intermittently checking Alan's pulse, stroking the hair back from his forehead and pleading with him to wake up. It was torture; he hated feeling so useless.

God, why hadn't he done something about Alan? He'd noticed how pale his little brother had been back at the hospital – and there had even been signs that something was wrong with him out on the rescue. But every time Virgil had decided to do something about it, or speak to Alan, something else had happened that had seemed much more important at the time. And then there had been Scott and Gordon, and Alan had seemed fine on the surface …

But he wasn't fine, was he? an insidious little voice inside Virgil's mind mocked him. There was something seriously wrong and you did nothing about it! You couldn't even spare him the time to make sure he got his injuries properly checked out!

The guilt grew inside Virgil until he could barely stand it. It was only the return of Gordon, along with their father and Brains that forestalled his spiral into self-recrimination and forced him to assume the professionalism that was so ingrained in his bones from his time with International Rescue.

"Virgil, what happened?" His dad was across the outer room and into the bathroom in three quick strides. As he knelt down by Alan's side, Jeff's face was taught with worry. On the other side of him, Brains began checking Alan's pulse and other vital statistics.

"I'm not sure," he replied as calmly as he could, watching distractedly as Brains felt for Alan's pulse, muttering to himself as he did so. "You wanted someone to get him up … but then he wasn't in his bed, so I came in here and he was just … he was just lying there on the floor. And when I tried to wake him I couldn't. I …" Virgil flushed with shame. "I thought something was wrong with him yesterday. He seemed – I should have said something but I … I was so worried about Scott and …" His father's comforting arm touched his shoulder as Virgil's words failed him.

Brains was busy entering a series of numbers into his hand-held data pad – and he was frowning. Jeff picked up on the scientist's expression immediately. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm not a h-hu-hu-hun completely sure, Mr Tracy."

"Can't you give us some idea?"

"Well … there's a w-w-wo-wou-woun bump on the back of his head that m-m-m-mi-mig could have something to d-do with it. I'll need to run more tests to be c-ce-ce-cer sure."

"Are we safe to move him?"

"I-I believe so, Mr Tracy. We should put him in the m-m-me-med-med infirmary. I can monitor him more e-e-ea-easi better there."

"Do it." Jeff took a deep breath and visibly composed himself. It was something his sons had seen him do countless times when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He stood up, although his eyes remained fixed on Alan. "Gordon – I want you to let Scott and John know what's happened. Virgil, can you tell Fermat and Tin-Tin?"

"But I want to stay with Alan!" Gordon complained.

"But Dad, who's going to carry Alan?" Virgil asked at the same time.

"I'll carry your brother," Jeff replied in a tone that brooked no arguments. "You'll do as I asked."

Gordon looked as if he was going to protest again but Virgil simply nodded. Taking Gordon's good arm, he pulled his brother out of Alan's rooms. Once they were back in the corridor he released Gordon but instead of stalking off as he had expected, Gordon raised his eyes slowly and looked at Virgil.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?"

It had been a long time since Virgil had heard the cocky, self-assured Gordon sounding so frightened.

"Yeah," he said, drawing Gordon into a reassuring hug, "he'll be fine. It's Alan remember? He's a fighter."

Gordon nodded into his shoulder.

"He'll be fine," Virgil repeated – and hoped with all his being that it wasn't a lie.