Chapter Fourteen: A Brave New World

The ceiling was very white.

That was the first coherent thought that wandered into Alan Tracy's mind as he stared upwards. White and very shiny; the tiles reflecting the dim electric light. He blinked slowly. His eyes felt strangely heavy. The ceiling began to swim before his gaze and he struggled to focus. He blinked again. The ceiling really was very white.

It suddenly occurred to Alan that he had no idea where he was. Not in his room … somehow he knew this, although when he tried to conjure up an image of his bedroom, his mind remained blank. It was a realisation that should have unsettled him but for some reason, it didn't. It just didn't seem to matter. He was curious and yet …

He blinked again and the white lines of the ceiling shimmered. His eyelids began to droop. All concern about where he was faded as his eyelashes fluttered close.

When Alan woke for a second time, the ceiling looked even whiter than before. The electric light was much brighter now, and as Alan gazed up at the ceiling he could seen his own blurred reflection. A mass of blond curls, an oval blob of a face and a pale purple rectangle of blanket. The image seemed to come from a great distance away and the longer he focused on it, the hazier it became. His eyes began to drift downwards, tracing the lines between the tiles. Something tugged at the edge of his vision. There was some kind of object there … not something attached to the ceiling, but something lower down, something closer to his face. It seemed to be coming from the region of his mouth.

Alan swallowed reflexively. His throat muscles tightened around the obstruction and they began to spasm. The object shook as he fought the urge to cough. The feeling of something blocking his windpipe sent a spasm of fear through Alan – the first real emotion he had experienced since waking. There was something in his throat, something alien, something that wasn't supposed to be there. It was choking him and he struggled for breath, fighting against the intrusion. His hands – how he had forgotten about his hands until this moment? – his hands tugged weakly at the offending object. The lethargy that had marked him since waking began to fade under the weight of the panic that was swelling up inside of him. He couldn't breathe. This object was going to kill him. It was going to worm its way down his throat, stealing the life right out of him while he lay, helpless. His throat spasmed again and he retched, hoping to force the intruder out. If only his hands would work properly then he could – but they wouldn't grip the object. His fingers felt fat and clumsy as they fought for some kind of purchase. Why wouldn't his hands work? What was wrong with them?

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement nearby and a face entered Alan's vision. Its mouth was moving frantically but the words seemed to be coming from a great distance and he couldn't understand them. Hands covered his own, effortlessly pulling them away from the object and pinning them down onto the bed. Alan tried to fight back but his body wouldn't co-operate. He gagged, trying to force the obstruction out of his throat.

"I don't know!"

Three little words and yet they were quickly becoming Virgil's mantra. First they had been repeated a hundred times to his father, then to John, and now it was Fermat who had approached and asked him what had happened between Scott and Gordon.

At his sharp reply, the younger man looked crestfallen and apologetic. "I'm s-s-sor-sor –"

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. He suddenly felt impossibly weary. "No, Fermat, it's me who's sorry. I shouldn't have bitten your head off like that. It's just … it's been a long day."

Fermat blinked up at him from behind his wide-framed, blue glasses. "Did something go wrong with the rescue?"

Virgil sighed. "In some ways I wish it had. At least then I'd know what the hell was going on around here. No, it was textbook stuff. We went in, put out the fire and saved the children. There were no serious injuries, no problems, nothing."

"Just Scott missing a d-debriefing, Gordon trying to d-d-dr-dro kill himself in the pool and Tin-Tin disappearing."

Virgil smiled wryly. "Yeah. Just that. And everyone seems to think I should have the answers. Sometimes I hate living on an island. Everyone always knows where you are. Hiding takes so much more effort."

"You could c-come with me to visit Alan," Fermat offered. "It's nice and q-qu-quie peaceful down there."

Virgil considered Fermat thoughtfully. Overwhelmed by his family's grief, he'd never really considered how Alan's condition was affecting the other occupants of the island. Tin-Tin and Fermat … they were Alan's best friends. This had to be as hard for them as for Alan's immediate family. "You spend a lot of time with Alan, huh?"

Fermat shrugged awkwardly. "I d-don't like him to be alone when you guys are a-a-aw-awa out on a r-rescue." His cheeks coloured and he added defensively, "He g-gets lonely."

It was time like these that Virgil was forcibly reminded just how young Fermat, Alan and Tin-Tin still were. Not even out of their teens, no matter how matured they acted or how much responsibility they took upon themselves. Not for the first time he wondered how different all their lives would be if his father hadn't conceived International Rescue.

"Let's go see, Alan." Virgil patted the smaller boy on the shoulder. "Maybe he can provide some insight into the Gordon- Scott situation."

Fermat grinned and Virgil followed him down the corridor towards the medical centre. The younger man reached the entrance first and pushed the door open. When he stopped in the doorway, Virgil assumed he was bracing himself for another session with Alan, but as he drew closer, Fermat whirled around, his face a mixture of shock and delight.

"Virgil!" he burst out, gesturing frantically at the room. His face contorted as the words he usually struggled with, escaped him completely.

Alarmed, Virgil shouldered past him and ran into the room. It only took a moment for his disbelieving gaze to take everything in, then his instincts kicked in and he sprung into action. He lunged forward and captured Alan's hands where they were attempting to dislodge the ventilator tube. His brother struggled weakly against him. "Alan? Alan, you have to calm down. I'll take the tube out, but you have to relax first." Alan didn't seem to hear him and continued to fight. Virgil pinned his brother's arms down and looked back over his shoulder at Fermat. "Get my Dad," he ordered and the other boy scampered out of the room.

Virgil turned back to Alan. His brother's eyes were open but they weren't focusing on anything. His arms flexed against their restraints but Virgil didn't relax his grip. "Alan, listen to me. You have to calm down."

Either Alan heard him this time, or he simply ran out of strength, because he sagged back against the bed and stopped trying to free his arms. Virgil held on for several more seconds and then released his brother's arms. Pulling back, he moved around to the head of the bed and took the ventilation tube gently in one hand.

"Alan? Look, I know it feels weird to have something blocking your throat, but I promise you, the tube's been helping you. You were intubated – and it's been helping you breathe. Now, I'm going to remove it, but I just have to check your breathing first." Reaching over, Virgil's hand hovered over the ventilator. It was customary to have some kind of 'weaning off' period, but Alan was so distressed by the presence of the tube and Virgil was reluctant to drug him. If I put him on a mask quickly …

Virgil switched off the ventilator. Alan's chest continued to rise and fall naturally and, slowly, his racing heartbeat began to stabilise.

He's breathing on his own. He's awake, and breathing on his own!

The words brought a smile to Virgil's face as he monitored Alan's condition carefully. "Looking good, Sprout. I think you might just be able to pull this off. Okay, now we deal with the tube. I'm going to pull it out on three, okay? And I want you to cough as hard as you can. One, two, three." As his younger brother coughed weakly, Virgil withdrew the tube from his throat. Putting it on the side, he picked up an oxygen mask and slipped it over Alan's head. "To help you breathe," he explained as he worked. "Just until I can get you checked over."

Alan didn't reply, but at least he wasn't struggling anymore. He lay limply against the pillow, watching Virgil with hazy eyes. Virgil began to check his vitals, talking distractedly as he did so.

"I can't tell you how good it is to see your eyes open again. The past few months haven't been a lot of fun, little brother. You've missed all the excitement, lying here. Lucky you." He picked up a penlight and shone it in Alan's eyes, checking the pupils. They reacted normally to the light – a good sign. "Gordon and Scott have been at each throats again – it's becoming pretty common these days. Dad seems to think I have some kind of brotherly insight into the great big mess …" Virgil turned to check the foley catheter and the feeding tube that Alan was currently hooked up to. "God knows what's going on – actually, I hope he does because I haven't got a clue. And no one's talking, which makes everything that much more fun. Maybe I should just employ the old 'shutting-them-in-a-locked-room-until-they-sort-their-differences-out'. What do you think, Al … ?" He trailed off as he turned back to the bed.

Alan had twisted onto his side and curled up. His breathing was regular and his eyes were closed.

Virgil watched his sleeping brother for a moment, ignoring the tendril of uncertainty that continued to hover inside him about the true extent of Alan's condition. His brother was awake. And he was going to be all right.

Whatever else they discovered … well, they would deal with it if it happened.

Jeff was talking quietly to John when Fermat came bursting into the lounge. The boy was so out of breath that for several moments, he could do nothing but wheeze and fumbled with his inhaler. After taking a deep puff of his medication, Fermat drew himself up and gasped out a single word with unusual clarity.

"Alan!"

Jeff was on his feet in an instant. He didn't need to hear anymore. There was only one reason that Fermat would be here in such a state.

Something had happened to Alan.

"Dad –" John began, his face creased with concern.

"I'll call you as soon as I know anything," Jeff assured him before cutting the connection and hurrying out of the room.

As he ran down the corridor towards the medical centre, Jeff fought to control the fear that was threatening to choke him. Images of Alan in pain, Alan dying, surged into his mind. He shouldn't have left his son alone down there during the rescue. He shouldn't have brought him to the island in the first place. He shouldn't have expected Brains and Virgil to be able to cope –

Jeff pulled up short, for one crazy moment certain that he had somehow stepped into the wrong medical centre. For the still, silent figure of his youngest son had lain for so long, there was a different man. He looked the same, but the ventilator tube that had obscured his face had been replaced by an oxygen mask. And he was lying on his side.

"Virgil?" The word spoke volumes.

"Dad – it's okay." Virgil turned from where he was putting away the ventilator equipment. He was smiling. "Alan's okay."

"Is he – ?"

"He's awake."

Fifty lengths.

Gordon shot through the water like a scythe. One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, breathe.

Fifty-one lengths.

His arms were beginning to ache now; a dull, throbbing that he knew he'd feel in the morning.

Fifty-two lengths.

It would be so easy to just climb out of the pool and retreat to his room. There was even a towel on the patio, waiting patiently. But relinquishing the pool meant returning to the outside world. It meant thinking.

Fifty-three lengths.

Swimming was all about not thinking. Keep your head down. Concentrate on the stroke. On disturbing the water as little as possible.

Fifty-four lengths.

Not thinking was good right now. Not thinking meant not tracking Scott down and doing something he'd regret. Not thinking meant not being yelled at by his dad for missing the debriefing.

Fifty-five lengths.

Not thinking meant not worrying about Alan.

"G-Gordon?"

Fifty-six lengths.

Turn and thrust away from the wall. Pace yourself. One, two, three, breathe.

Fifty-seven lengths.

"Gordon? C-can you hear m-me?"

Fingers together, legs straight. Arms fluid.

"G-Gordon!"

Fifty-eight –

Something solid struck his head. Gordon started, spluttering as his mouth filled with water. He wiped his eyes and cast about wildly. "What – ?"

Fermat was standing by the side of the swimming pool, his sides heaving. An upside down sun-umbrella floated past Gordon. The younger boy had thrown it into the pool to attract his attention.

"Are you crazy?"

"G-Gordon –"

"You know what, Fermat? I really don't have time for this right now."

"Alan's awake!"

"Can you just – what?"

"Alan. He's a-a-aw-awa he woke up!"

Suddenly fifty-eight lengths seemed like the perfect number.

There were times when John loathed being on Thunderbird 5.

For the most highly advanced communication satellite in the world it could be remarkably hard to get a little piece of information – such as what the hell was happening to his little brother down on Tracy Island.

He'd tried contacting his Dad, he'd tried Virgil, he'd tried Gordon – he'd even tried Scott. There had been no reply. It was like some kind of communications blackout had come over the island.

It was only when he thought to try Tin-Tin and Fermat's wrist-comms that he got a result. After a couple of moments, Fermat's round face appeared on the screen.

"So there is someone alive down there. I was starting to wonder. Fermat, what's going on?"

The younger boy began to say something but John cut him off. "Is Alan alright?"

Fermat nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but once again, John beat him to it. "He's awake."

It was more of a statement than a question. After in, in John's analytical mind it was the only explanation that made sense.

Alan was awake.

John had never wanted to be down on Earth so strongly.

The knocking on his door was polite but persistent.

Scott scowled and rolled over, wincing as the muscles in his leg protested. He should have known that ignoring the summons of his wrist-comm could only mean further trouble. This was probably his dad come to read him the riot act for being so unprofessional. Maybe if he just ignored it then whoever was out there would give up and go away.

The knocking continued. It's dull, repetitive thump started to make his headache. Cursing his persistent visitor, he jumped off the bed and limped across the room. Slapping the door release, he growled, "What?"

In the corridor beyond, Fermat blanched.

Upon seeing the nervous young man, Scott relaxed and sagged against the doorframe. Whatever Fermat wanted it wasn't likely to have anything to do with the mission, or worse, with Gordon.

"What is it?"

"I'm s-sorry to b-bother you. I t-t-tr-tri attempted to c-contact you on your wrist-com, b-but I didn't g-g-ge- receive a reply."

"I switched it off. Look, Fermat, what is this about?"

The younger man shrank under Scott's unbending stare but his voice remained firm, even excited. "Alan's a-a-aw-awa woken up."

Scott blinked. Of all the things he had been expecting, this had been at the very bottom of the list. "Alan's awake?"

"Y-Yes –"

Before Fermat had even finished speaking, Scott had shouldered past him and was hurrying down the corridor, all pain forgotten.

When Fermat finally returned to the medical centre, (now so completely out of breath that words had become an impossibility) those members of the Tracy family that were currently Earth-bound were gathered around Alan's bed. Virgil was adjusting one of the machines that Alan was hooked up to, his brow furrowed with concentration. Jeff was sitting beside the bed, Alan's right hand clasped between both of his. Gordon was bouncing up and down at the end of the bed, scattering droplets of water across the covers, torn between excitement and worry. And Scott was leaning against the wall; his hands folded across his chest and his face a mystery. They were all watching Virgil expectantly.

Fermat was afraid to breathe; the tension in the room was unbearable. Unfortunately, not-breathing only served to exacerbate his asthma and he ended up wheezing like a stuck frog.

Suddenly all eyes were on him. Fermat's face turned as red as Thunderbird 3. "S-sorry," he muttered.

At least his awkward apology broke the heavy atmosphere. Gordon blew out his breath explosively, Jeff shifted in the chair and said, "Well?" and Scott pushed himself away from the wall.

"This is stupid … Virgil, what's the story?"

Virgil turned from the machine, wiped his hands on his trousers and then faced his family squarely. "He's out of the coma. His vitals are stable. I removed the ventilator and he's breathing on his own."

"Then why is he still asleep?" Gordon demanded.

"Gordon, he's been in a coma for the past two months. It's not something you just shake off in a day. It's going to take for him to recover."

"How much time?" Gordon wanted to know.

Virgil shrugged, looking down at his sleeping brother. "Impossible to tell. I'm going to ring Doctor Makura later, see what she would advise."

"Will he have to go back to the hospital?" Jeff asked quietly.

"I don't know. He's not out of the woods yet, by any account. That he's got this far … frankly it's amazing."

"But he's going to be okay?" Gordon butted in.

Virgil looked uncomfortable. He toyed with the light in his hands. "I'm not a doctor. I can't say for certain –"

"But in your opinion?" Jeff pressed.

Virgil wavered.

"C'mon Virg!" Gordon wheedled.

Virgil sighed. "Fine. In my opinion, if there's no neurological damage, or behavioural difficulties, and Alan's condition remains stable … I can't see any reason why he shouldn't return to full health. Eventually."

Gordon cheered, his previously bad humour completely evaporated. His face split into a wide grin, the like of which hadn't been seen on Tracy Island since Alan's accident. It was an expression so full of fierce joy that it was instantly infectious and Fermat found himself beaming madly as he looked around the room. Jeff looked impossibly weary and yet full of hope at the same time. Virgil's eyes betrayed his worry while his mouth curved in response to his brother's. Even the previously stoic Scott was smiling, albeit slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards.

Watching all from the doorway, Fermat felt a peculiar surge of contentment. Somehow he knew that everything was going to be all right now. Alan was going to wake up, Gordon and Scott were going to make up, and International Rescue was going to save a hundred thousand more lives. Equilibrium had been restored to Tracy Island.

Suddenly, a sour note intruded on Fermat's otherwise tranquil thoughts. He looked around the room as a particular absence struck him.

Where was Tin-Tin?

Tin-Tin had been picking her way through the undergrowth when she'd heard the raised voices. Curious despite herself, she hurried down the twisting jungle path, emerging on the far side of the pool just in time to see Fermat clumsily throw an open sun-umbrella into the pool. She was too far away to hear what passed between her small friend and Gordon, and before she could move within earshot, Gordon pulled himself out of the pool and ran, dripping, into the house. An expression of exasperation shivered over Fermat's face and then he too stepped inside the villa.

Tin-Tin's natural curiosity took a hold of her and before she had thought about what she was doing, she had skirted the pool and followed Fermat inside.

She didn't have to go far; for some reason, Fermat had stopped in the middle of the lounge. His back was facing her, so she couldn't see what he was doing. Of Gordon there was no sign.

" – is someone alive down there. I was starting to wonder. Fermat, what's going on?"

It was John's voice – but why was Fermat talking to John? She padded soundlessly across the carpet and was about to call out to her bespectacled friend when John's voice sounded again.

"Is Alan alright?"

Tin-Tin froze. What about Alan? In front of her, Fermat nodded firmly and the shadow of fear that had gripped her heart began to fade.

"He's awake."

The breath caught in Tin-Tin's throat. She stared blankly at the blue t-shirted back of Fermat, not hearing the end of the brief exchange between him and John.

Alan … Alan was awake.

It was the news she had been waiting for for so long. It was a conversation she had dreamed about overhearing. If there had been anything in her life that she had wanted more, Tin-Tin couldn't recall it. Just hearing those words should have sent her down to the medical centre at a run.

So why did she feel like the last place she wanted to be right now was by Alan's side?

Oblivious to her internal struggle, Fermat huffed and continued out of the lounge at an ungainly trot. He hadn't even noticed she'd been there.

Tin-Tin's feet carried her in the other direction before her mind had managed to form any kind of coherent thought. Before she knew what was happening, she was running full-tilt back into the jungle, branches slapping her face and cutting her arms as she thrust herself through the dense fauna. Tears blurred her vision and the bright colours of the jungle began to waver. She blinked furiously and the trees swam before her eyes. Suddenly her feet hit something hard and she pitched forward, landing hard on her hands and knees and scraping the soft skin.

For several long moments she lay where she had fallen, her breath coming in wild pants and hot, angry tears trickling down her cheeks. She was suddenly, explosively furious. She wanted to beat her fists against the rough jungle floor that had grazed her knees. She wanted to rip the branches from the trees that had lashed at her face. And more than anything, she wanted to scream at Alan Tracy for putting her through pure hell for the last two months.

The anger gave her the strength to pull herself to her feet. With deliberate care, she brushed the dirt off her clothes, pausing only to bite back a cry when her hand brushed a particularly large gash on her bare knee. Then she saw to her hair, tucking any wayward strands back behind her ears and pulling the rest back into a secure ponytail. Appearance taken care of, Tin-Tin straightened and began walking purposefully through the jungle. The foliage seemed to almost part before her and it wasn't long before she had emerged on the cliff overlooking the beach. Her 'spot'; it seemed to welcome her with open arms. However, instead of embracing the familiar beautiful view, Tin-Tin cast about the area. Her eyes alighted on a lump of rock about twice the size of her hand. She stooped and lifted it from the ground, bouncing the weight in her hands and admiring its shape. She took a deep, controlled breath, and then in a flurry of moment, she ran to the cliff's edge and pitched the rock as far as she could, screaming out her frustration, pain, loss and helpless fury. The small projectile sailed out towards the ocean, before sinking slowly and then finally hitting the beach. It rolled down towards the ocean and eventually fell still, half in and half out of the water.

Several hours later and the sun was sinking over the horizon, its crimson rays rippling across the ocean like a sea of fire. It would have been a spectacular view from Tin-Tin's cliff-top refuge, had anyone been there to see it. As it was, the sandy lip of the cliff was deserted but for the ants that toiled underneath its surface.

Over a mile away, and many metres lower, the door of the medical centre opened. A slight figure slipped inside the darkened room, eyes never leaving the quietly sleeping figure in the bed. The intruder crept skirted the bed and sank into the chair. Reaching out, she turned the sleeper's hand over and linked her fingers with his. With her other hand, she brushed the sandy hair back from his forehead, her fingers stroking the soft skin of his forehead. He stirred slightly at her touch and his fingers tightened slightly around hers.

"Sleep," Tin-Tin whispered, settling herself more comfortably in the chair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

And as an afterthought, " … I love you, Alan."