Chapter Twelve: The Words I Wish I'd Said

Scott hated the atmosphere in hospitals. The constant undulating tension made his skin crawl and set his nerves on edge. The restless uncertainty gnawed unrelentingly at him and if there was one thing that Scott couldn't stand it was uncertainty. Losing control, not being in charge … he wasn't accustomed to feeling as helpless as he always did when he stepped through those sliding hospital doors.

It happened every time he entered a hospital. It didn't matter what country it was in, or even what hemisphere, there was always that momentary chill of fear that this was the one place in the world where being Scott Tracy didn't make the slightest bit of difference.

And then there was the fact that in Scott's mind, hospitals were synonymous with death. One of his earliest, and most vivid, memories had been in a hospital much like this one – except then it hadn't been Alan lying in the bed, with tubes sticking into his arms, it had been their mother.

Lucille Tracy. Dying of the result of the injuries she had sustained in an avalanche.

Scott Tracy. Nine years old and standing beside his mother's bed, saying goodbye.

It had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do, and as he sat beside the still figure of yet another family member, he swore that he wasn't going to have to do it again.

"Hey Alan." Scott shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair. "I know you're sleeping right now but Virgil insisted that you can still hear us and I guess … God, this is stupid. Even if you can hear me, it's not like you can respond, is it?"

In a flurry of awkward movement, he rose from the chair and limped over to the window. It had snowed again during the night and the hospital complex outside was covered in a fine white blanket. He stood motionless for several long moments, staring out across the sprawling mass of buildings.

"Maybe you can hear me," he muttered finally. "Maybe Virg is right. Maybe I should just talk to you like I usually do – like everything's normal." He paused, waiting for inspiration to strike. Nothing came and he sighed, leaning back against his crutches. "Oh who am I kidding? Everything's not normal. Everything's as far from normal as it could possibly be. If this was normal, I'd be yelling at you about talking back to Dad and you'd be about to explode."

Scott turned back to his brother's bed, half expecting to see the younger man glaring at him. Instead he was confronted with the sight of Alan lying motionless on the bed, his eyes closed.

As Scott watched his youngest brother, his own words came back to haunt him. I'd be yelling at you about talking back to Dad and you'd be about to explode … It had simply been a random, throwaway comment but the more Scott thought about it, the more he realised how painfully accurate an observation it was.

Shouting and glowering … in some ways it had been the basis of his and Alan's relationship. What with their father being busy for the majority of Alan's childhood, Scott had been forced into the role of surrogate parent. Where his other brothers had developed the normal sibling relationship with their youngest brother, Scott had been the one to discipline him and attempt to keep the worst of his exploits from reaching their father's ears. The easy camaraderie he shared with Virgil, John and Gordon simply hadn't existed between him and Alan. He loved his little brother certainly, and he knew that Alan loved him, but Scott had always been more a father than a brother to the youngest Tracy.

That's why looking at Alan in this condition was so hard. Here was the kid he had raised from diapers to grad school. The kid who alternatively made him smile and drove him up the wall. The kid who went from being sunny to being sullen in the blink of an eye. Scott had never felt so responsible for another human life as he did for Alan's.

"And you've really made a mess of things this time, kid," Scott breathed, easing himself back against the wall beside the window and resting his crutches beside him. "As your stunts go – this is the best so far. I think even Gordon would have to give you a ten out of ten." He suddenly realised what he was doing and smiled slightly. "Well at least I'm talking now – Virg'll be impressed. Even if it is just complimenting you on yet another pure moment of Alan Tracyness." He looked across at the bed once more and immediately regretted his last comment. "No, I didn't mean that I thought you did this on purpose or anything – ah, hell, Alan, I'm not very good at this am I?"

It was a rhetorical question but once again, Scott half expected some kind of reaction from his comatose brother. After it was greeted by silence, he shifted awkwardly.

"I bet you're loving this, aren't you?" he asked Alan sourly. "Stumbling over my words like an idiot. I swear this is all Virgil's fault …" He turned back to the window and stared blindly out at the snow-drenched buildings.

There was a long silence before he spoke again.

"You see Al, it's like this … you've got to wake up. And that's not a friendly request – it's a direct order from your commander. So you've got to obey or Dad'll stick you on clean-up duty for the next six months and Gordon'll never let you live it down. You wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction, would you? Besides, you've got all this unfinished business to attend to. Like being a part of the organisation. All the work you've put into it … I know you wouldn't want to throw all of that away. Especially when you were so good at it … and, well …"

Scott was quiet for a few moments as he groped around for the right words. He fiddled with his crutches; the metal poles clinked gently against one another as Scott gathered his thoughts.

"Look, I know I might not have said it very often … but I'm proud of you, Alan. We all are. You're smart, loyal, passionate … and while most of the time those qualities made me want to lock you in your room and never let you out, they make me respect you too. And you've got the makings of a damn good pilot. Hell, who knows, - if you work at it, one day you might even be better than me. So you see, Alan, you've got to wake up. I mean, you've finally achieved what you've always wanted – you're not just going to throw all that away are you?"

Scott picked up his crutches and hobbled slowly across to the bed. He stood, looking down at his little brother. History was not going to repeat itself. He was not going to say goodbye again. Alan wasn't going to slip away.

"I'm not going to let you."

John hated the sounds of hospitals. The endless whirring and beeping of the cardiac monitors. The wheezing of the ventilators. And the patients; the cries of pain when a broken bone was set; the frantic voices demanding explanations, the muted sobs when bad news was received.

After the silence of space, even the quietest of sounds was amplified a hundreds time over. John had tried shutting the door to Alan's room but that had only succeeded in muffling the problem. And what with the plethora of doctors and nurses that passed through the room over the course of a day, John spent more time on his feet than he did sitting beside his brother's bed.

Eventually he simply gave up and contented himself with sitting at Alan's bedside, watching as his youngest brother slept. He let the bustling sounds of the hospital wash over him and devoted his attention to his brother instead.

"Hey, little brother. I guess I'm probably the last person you expected to hear from right now considering how much of a bitch my commute is from work." John smiled slightly. "It's all Dad's fault. He seemed to think you deserved some kind of special treatment so he's finally letting me use all that holiday time I've got stored up."

John leaned forward in his chair and brushed a strand of blond hair back from Alan's forehead. As always with Alan, he was struck by how similar his brother's appearance was to his own. Both blond haired and blue eyed … after Alan's birth their parents had speculated endlessly on how much like him Alan would turn out to be. It hadn't taken them long to realise that despite their identical colourings, in terms of personality, he and Alan were like chalk and cheese.

Where Alan was fiery and short-tempered, John was calm and collected. Where Alan was impetuous and impatient, John was methodical and patient. In fact, aside from their appearances, the only thing that John and Alan had in common was their love of space.

"It sure is beautiful up there, huh Alan? Do you remember those weeks you spent with me during your training? I've never seen anyone else take to it so quickly. You were fascinated. Dad grinned like a fool when he found out, did you know that? I can't remember if I ever told you …"

No, John thought suddenly, no, I didn't. I was going to, but then your rotation ended and you went back to the island.

For some reason that thought made him feel inexplicably sad. He stroked Alan's hair back again and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed.

"We talked more in those few weeks then I think we've ever done before. I remember thinking you'd changed so much. You weren't just my volatile kid-brother anymore. You were happy, and excited, and eager to learn. I was really impressed … and also kinda surprised. When did you grow up, Alan?"

John's eyes moved across his brother's familiar features, trying not to notice the dark rings underneath Alan's eyes and how pale his skin was. There were still traces of the boy Alan had once been in that face, but there was also an added maturity that John hadn't noticed before.

"I guess I wasn't there … I guessed I missed it," he murmured, linking his hands together and resting his chin on top of them. "I suppose it couldn't be helped but still ..." John's expression grew troubled. "I should have made more of an effort. When we were together … I should have got to know you better. Heck, I don't even know stupid little things about you – like what your favourite food is, or what kind of music you like to listen to."

John sighed as an intense feeling of regret swept through him. There was so much about Alan that he didn't know … what kind of brother did that make him?

"I'm sorry Alan. I guess I should have made more of an effort to get to know you better. Even if I didn't know this was going to happen … you're my brother and that should have been enough of an incentive." He sighed again. "I was going to ask Dad if you could come and do another cycle of training with me. I don't do that for just anyone, you know. That would have given us a good chance to talk … so you're just going to have to get better quickly, aren't you? This offer isn't going to be on the table forever. I know you want it … I know that at least. And if the offer of spending yet more months alone in my company isn't enough to make you want to wake up then I don't know what is." John smiled slightly. "Besides, I want to know all about you and where-else are the going to get the opportunity to talk about yourself for hours on end?

"So come on, Alan, wake up. I've only got a limited amount of time down here and I don't want to go back without you. If you don't want to do it for yourself then at least do it for your big brother. You have no idea how lonely it gets at work on my own."

Virgil hated the clinical whiteness of hospitals. The artist in him longed to be let loose upon the pristine white walls. To paint swirls of brilliance upon the linoleum floors, to wrap the pillows and bed-sheets in a myriad of colours. Surely the cheerless white could hardly aid in the patients' recovery? Colours were warming and some people even believed they had healing properties. Certainly green was a favourite of the medical industry, so why on Earth didn't they decorate their facilities in a soothing 'Willow Creek' rather than the endless seas of 'Jasmine White'?

Alan's room was little better. True, a pair of light blue curtains were fluttering in the window and the bed sheets that covered his brother's still form were more cream than white, but these small touches were overshadowed by the hulking grey monitors and the crisp paleness of the walls. Even the large vase of brightly coloured flowers on the bedside table seem to shrink in the oppressive room.

Lying in the hospital bed, Alan seemed younger and more fragile than Virgil remember. Dark circles stood out underneath his closed eyelids and his skin was so white it was almost translucent. The only evidence of Alan's injury was the pristine bandage that encircled his head. Virgil stared at it blankly. It seemed illogical that something so small could cause so many problems. That Alan could have simply hit his head and, as a consequence, ended up in a coma.

Virgil, perhaps more than any of his family, recognised the seriousness of Alan's condition. While not officially medically trained, he was International Rescue's designated medical expert. He was the one that everyone looked to when a rare injury occurred during a rescue. Of course, he'd never had to cope with something so serious as a subdural hematoma before – and he hoped he would never have to again. Once Alan woke up and was back on his feet there were all going to have to sit down as a family and discuss matters. The helplessness Virgil felt while sitting at Alan's beside was not something he was willing to experience ever again. His family had spent enough time in hospitals already. Something had to change.

Virgil ran a hand over his face as he regarded his little brother's still form. As irritating as he often found Alan, he would have given anything for the youngest Tracy to wake up and annoy the hell out of him again.

"Not that I'm ever going to tell you that," he commented conversationally. "You'd never let me live it down, would you? And you'd certainly never forget. You know, sometimes I think you store up blackmail material over years. You certainly seemed to be able to remember all of our worst moments when you want something from us."

A slight smile crept across Virgil's features as he recalled a number of occasions in which his youngest brother had proved he wasn't someone to be trifled with. Too many people make the mistake of underestimating Alan Tracy and living to regret it. Even his own brothers; there had been that famous incident with Scott …

"Do you remember that, Al? Scott couldn't get that dye out of his hair for weeks. I thought he was going to throttle you."

It had been Gordon who had saved Alan that day, Virgil remembered, something that had become more and more common over the years. After all, being the youngest of five boys had given them plenty of incentive to develop a healthy alliance in the face of their older brothers. Of course with John working on Thunderbird 5 it had mostly been Virgil and Scott …

The thought trailed off as Virgil watched Alan's still face. Even though his brother was in repose – his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling gently – Virgil was forcibly reminded of the last time they had spoken on a one to one basis. Alan had been hanging around Thunderbird 2's silo while he had been working on fine-tuning some of the mechanics of the great green machine. The work had been difficult and the last thing Virgil had needed was a pestering younger brother. So he had sent Alan away before the younger Tracy could even open his mouth to explain his presence.

Looking back on it now Virgil felt ashamed. He'd misjudged the situation; Alan hadn't been pestering as much as asking intelligent questions that showed a real interest in the answers. He'd been trying to get involved and Virgil, frustrated with hours of complex work, had sent him away without even bothering to listen.

Too much of their relationship had been like that. In terms of personality, Virgil and Alan were as different as two siblings could be. Alan, hot headed, impatient and self-centred; Virgil, patient, hard working and focused. As much as Virgil loved his brother, he'd never had a great deal of time for the spoiled and often petulant Alan.

Of course things had been different lately. There was no denying that Alan was growing up – their dad finally allowing Alan to start his training was proof enough. If only Virgil had recognised that earlier instead of constantly pushing Alan away. If only he'd given Alan more of his time.

"I'm sorry, Al. I haven't been very fair, have I? You were looking for guidance and I was too busy to help." He took a deep breath. "Well that's going to change when you wake up – I promise. I know you're serious about work … and I'm sorry I haven't been very supportive so far. I guess it's hard to remember when I was going through training. Hell, it's hard to remember whenGordon was. But I know that's no excuse. I should have tried to help you more … and I swear I will when you wake up. You're a good kid Alan, with a lot of potential. Don't let it all go to waste."

Gordon hated hospital food. It was, and always would be, his abiding memory of being in hospital. Those narrow grey trays, with their neat little compartments. Monday's had been chicken, Tuesday's beef, Wednesday's pork. Not that you could actually tell the difference; one lump of unidentifiable meat product looked very much like any other. Friday's fish had always been a relief – at least then you'd had a fighting chance at guessing what you were putting in your mouth.

It had been years since the hydrofoil accident but when Gordon closed his eyes, he could still picture the room in which he'd spent countless months of his life. It was much like the room his younger brother was lying in, with one difference. He'd been awake while his family sat anxiously beside his bed. Alan was not.

Gordon glanced down at his little brother and felt the familiar stirrings of anger. It was the same anger that had caused him to so violently lash out at Scott all those days ago and had simmered inside of him since he'd responded to Virgil's desperate call and seen Alan lying motionless on his bathroom floor.

It was all so unfair. International Rescue – his family – risked their lives to help others. They were the saviours, and for the fact that they routinely put their lives on the line, they weren't supposed to get hurt. They weren't supposed to end up in hospital beds in comas.

But what made him even angrier was the fact that Alan hadn't done anything about his head-injury. He wasn't angry with Alan, he wasn't even angry with Scott, not really. No he was angry at the whole organisation. At his father. At himself. What kind of family forced their members to carry on working when they were injured? What kind of family carried the weight of such high expectations that one of their members would rather suffer in silence than admit the weakness of a cracked skull? And what kind of family didn't notice that one of their own was on the verge of collapse?

Why hadn't he noticed?

It had always been hard for Alan, being the youngest member of the Tracy family. Gordon knew his older brothers were vaguely aware that Alan had had difficulties, but he was fairly sure they had no idea how much their little brother had struggled; firstly in his fight to be a Thunderbird and secondly in his fight to gain his brothers' and father's respect. Growing up in Jeff Tracy's house had always been a challenge, but for the free-spirited and short-tempered Alan, it had been like ploughing through a minefield.

Gordon sat at the foot of Alan's bed, patting his blanket-covered legs affectionately with his free hand. Alan Tracy. His little brother. His partner-in-crime. His best friend. His worst enemy. The Tracy problem child who'd only ever needed someone to listen.

Gordon traced a pattern on the blanket with his finger. "Well, Al, we're all listening now. Guess it's too little, too late, huh?"

The ventilator hissed in reply.

Gordon sighed. "Yeah, thought so."

Trying to get comfortable, he shifted on the bed and pulled his legs up, mindful of his injured shoulder. He ended up sitting cross-legged, facing his brother. The simple position was so reminiscent of how Alan would sit at the foot of his bed when they were children that Gordon began to smile.

"I bet you'd find this whole situation hilarious," he told his brother conversationally. "Me mooning over you like this. God, if you ever find out I'll never live it down. You'll have enough blackmail material to keep me quiet until we're both old and grey."

It was funny, but as he spoke, Gordon felt the tension begin to drain out of him. It didn't matter that Alan couldn't reply – possibly couldn't even here – it was just so good to talk to him again. To be able to forget his anger and remember his brother.

"Of course, I can give as good as I get. And unless my amazing perceptiveness has failed me, I have a feeling that pictures of you and a certain female occupant of our island are about to become worth a lot more than any other photos in Gordon Tracy's album. So what's my silence worth, huh? I'm thinking you forget my moping and, let's say, do my laundry for a month and I won't blab to the rest of our family about you and Tin-Tin." Gordon grinned, imagining his brother's outraged reaction when Alan found out about those photos.

"Bet you thought I didn't know about your little secret, didn't you? Oh Alan, Alan, Alan … when will you learn that it's impossible to keep secrets on such a small island? Especially when you're older brother has a particular interest in ferreting them out. But seriously – it wasn't like you and Tin-Tin were really a secret anyway. I mean, I've seen this coming for months. So have Virg and Scott – I heard them talking about it a few weeks ago. Heck, even Dad's probably worked it out. It's not like subtleties your strong point, Al. In fact, it couldn't have been less of a secret if you'd paid a sky-writer to paint 'Alan wuvs Tin-Tin' over Tracy Island." Gordon stretched his legs out alongside his brothers, warming to his theme.

"Speaking of secrets, you'll never guess what Scott's been up to. You know his 'email' friend from England? Turns out she's a bit more than just a friend. All those 'business trips' and mysterious visits to Lady Penelope? Seems big brother's been telling a few white lies. I think Lady P must be in on it - she's a big romantic at heart – but can you imagine how Dad's going to react when he finds out? 'Threatening the security of the operation, blah, blah, blah …' Still, it's not like I'm going to tell him. That's Scott treat. Nah, I might just drop the odd hint here and there when he's ordering me to clean out the silos again …" Gordon laughed and patted Alan's legs again.

"See, this is why I need you to wake up, Al. So you can appreciate my creative genius. I bet you're wondering how I know all about little English Katherine, aren't you? Well I'm not going to tell you until you wake up, okay? And if that's not incentive then I don't know what is. So – so wake up. Now."

The cardiac monitor beeped mournfully. Alan's eyes remained closed.

Gordon smiled wistfully. "Got carried away with my wishful thinking there, Al. I mean, since when have you done anything I ask you to? You always do things in your own time. I guess that's okay, as long as you promise that it's not going to be much longer. After all, you can't sleep forever and there are things I want – things I need to tell you. So you're going to wake up, understand?

"It is not going to end like this."

Tin-Tin had never been to a hospital before. Not of her own volition anyway. Certainly she had been born in one, but that definitely wasn't a memory she could recall. And on the rare occasions that a rescue had ended in a trip to the mainland, it had never been serious enough to warrant her presence at the hospital. Even after Gordon's hydrofoil accident; she'd been deemed too young then, and besides, it had been a family affair. So it was that walking through the doors of Auckland City Hospital had been a brand new experience for her and even though she'd had all of Alan's family there for support, it had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

She'd known it was serious even before Jeff had contacted the island and confirmed that Alan was in a coma. Perhaps it was a case of natural intuition, or perhaps it was because she'd been there when the initial blow had fallen. The image of Alan staggering out of the dust cloud, blood coating half of his face, would forever be ingrained in her memory. Was that how she was destined to remember him?

And was an angry rejection the way that he was to remember her?

Guilt swam up inside of Tin-Tin and threatened to overwhelm her. Why had she reacted like that? Why couldn't she just have been honest about her feelings? And why, why, hadn't she told someone about Alan's head injury. If she'd just spoken up then Alan would have been properly checked at Morriston hospital and she wouldn't be sitting at his bedside where he lay in a coma.

A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily. Crying wasn't going to change anything – it wasn't going to make any of this go away. She needed to be strong right now – strong for Alan. What would he rather see when he woke up: a face red and unattractive from crying or a bright smile?

It was easier said than done and the smile that stretched across Tin-Tin's face felt tight and false. It wavered for a few seconds and then died, much to her relief. Alan, she quickly decided, would hardly care what she looked like when he woke up, and as for her own self-esteem … well, it was hardly important right now. She was here, sitting next to Alan's bed, and that said far more than any smile ever could.

Tin-Tin reached across slowly and took Alan's hand in her own. She turned it over and weaved her fingers through his, locking them together. His fingers felt icily cold in her warm grip and she couldn't ignore the fact that when she squeezed, he didn't squeeze back.

"Oh Alan," she whispered brokenly, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. He seemed so much older than she remembered – as if his experiences since the mine collapse had aged him beyond his years. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Suddenly she was crying again, but silently this time, tears slipping down her cheeks to fall softly onto the bed-covers below. This time she let them flow and concentrated instead on the words she had been trying to say for so long, and which had finally found an outlet.

"I didn't mean for things to get so out of hand. But I was confused … I didn't know what I wanted. And –" Tin-Tin swallowed hard, " – and I was scared. Really scared. Scared that what I felt for you wasn't real. Scared that you would get bored of me. That everything would be great for a while and then – and then you'd wake up one morning and realise that you didn't want me anymore. The thought of you being with someone else … I couldn't stand it. I didn't want to take the risk. There are so many beautiful girls in the world and you're so rich, so handsome … what could you possibly see in me?"

Tin-Tin shook her head, her dark hair falling about her face. "It all seems so stupid now. So much time wasted because I was too afraid to … to say what I – to admit that I … and now I don't even know if you're going to wake up, and I – I need you to wake up, Alan." Tin-Tin tightened her grip on his limp hand. "There're things – things I need to tell you. Things I need to explain. You have to … please, Alan. Please just open your eyes. I need to know that you can hear me. I need to know your listening when … when I tell you …" Tin-Tin's voice trailed off to a whisper. "I think – I think I love you. I'm so sorry I didn't say it before, but everything was happening so quickly and I – I didn't know how to act, so I got angry and upset – and you got angry and upset – and everything just fell apart … And now you're here and I'm so scared that it's too late … so you see Alan, you have to wake up. You just have to. Because there are still things I have to say. I have to tell you the truth. Please, you have to give me that chance … please …"

Tin-Tin watched Alan's face desperately, her grip on his hand turning her knuckles white.

The ventilator continued to hiss. The cardiac monitor continued to sound.

Alan didn't open his eyes.