…Shock…
…No way! It's UPDATED AND FINISHED!
Yes, believe it or not I have actually got my sorry ass into gear and finished this. I am so sorry for how long it has taken, and can't thank you all enough for your patience and encouragement! I have had some of the nicest reviews ever for this piece so far and I love you all who have written them, faved this or put it (or me) on alert. Thank you all!
Also, many huge hugs and thanks to my life's blood and beta, Manu, and a quick dedication to my sister, who has exams this week so needs some cheering up
So peoples, with no more gilding the lily and without any further ado, here is the chapter.
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"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice is hoarse – I think I'm crying.
"Didn't...Didn't want to-to worry you..." He smiles weakly and a thin trickle of blood runs down his chin.
God no!
"Alan!" I scream his name frantically as he slowly collapses forward into my arms.
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Where am I?
God my head hurts! What the hell happened? And – oh Yay, repetitiveness – Where the hell am I?
I open my eyes and glance around, which isn't overly helpful as my vision is blurred. This is not making life any easier for me here. Okay, status report; what hurts?
On second thoughts, what doesn't hurt?
I raise my head ever so slowly and blink hard a few times. This doesn't improve matters when all that happens is my pounding headache increases. Ooh, I'd forgotten about my ear-drum issue too – the room is spinning!
Okay. Piece together what I can remember. This may take a while.
Alright. There was the rescue. That's clear enough. We got all the people out and then that tanker went up. Well, that explains my injuries. And then...Oh yeah, I had to fly Two.
Fire. Smoke. Screaming. Spinning.
Man I hate remembering when things go wrong! And Gordy was hurt badly, I remember the blood. And...
My stomach feels like a two ton weight has just been dropped on it.
Alan...
I remember now.
Of course, we'd landed – well, crashed – and...and he'd been bleeding so much. I'd panicked. Virgil had come running in – I guess Scott was taking care of Gordy – and he had taken over and got the kid wrapped up in one of the space blankets we keep in the emergency lockers in Two. Virgil wasn't looking great at the time, although he was trying not to show it – silly kid, you can't hide these things from your older sibling. He didn't even mention the missing wing. That's how worried he was.
What happened after that...?
I can't remember much but I can make a pretty good guess that we got Gords and the sprout to the infirmary. Guess Brains was there to help out and all – kinda useful having a genius here who's got three doctorates, especially since one's in medical science.
So. Alan and Gordon – I can safely conclude – are in the infirmary. Virge, Scotty and Brains will be in there with them, sorting them out, and Dad will be there panicking.
Where am I then? Why am I not with them?
My head throbs, I don't think my brain is up to much work right now and even trying to disentangle a memory is too much.
I blink owlishly again and look around more slowly.
Green. Lots and lots of green.
Apparently I'm still in Two. I'm not entirely sure the reasoning behind this but apparently it had made sense to my semi-conscious self. Sooo...I'm kinda semi-slumped over Two's consol, with a thumping headache and not much of a memory to tell me why I'm still here.
I think I must have been very out of it. Shouldn't I be in the infirmary with my family? Shouldn't I be checking that Gordon is alright, that Alan is still...alive.
The enormity of this feels like a bowling ball sitting on my stomach. My brothers could be dying and I'm up here? How out of it was I?
I can't use that as an excuse!
Resting my hands on the consol I heave myself to my feet.
'sbeen!
I crash to my knees.
My headache is now threatening to send my brain flying out of my ears and I raise one hand to my temple in agony. Good God I'd been stupid not to expect that! My left arm hangs uselessly by my side as I curl over. I don't know how much more damage I've done to it by putting my full body weight on it, but I'm betting it's not good. There's a sickly wet feeling trickling down my wrist and I look at it just long enough to confirm that my arm is bleeding again. However far that bone had slipped out originally, it's probably twice as bad now.
Damnit!
I hug my useless, mangled arm to my chest and slowly shift position so that I'm sitting on my knees, and I reach up with my good hand to grab purchase on the console again. Okay. Slowly this time. My hand shakes as I tighten my grip – I don't think I trust my own arm right now to haul myself upright. Tough.
The swift movement as I rise to my feet causes the blood to drain from my head and my vision blacks in spectacularly. Ooh look, stars...
And I've fallen back to my knees.
Damn.
For the love of all that's holy I've got to get back down to the main house to check on the others! Okay body, one more time...
Ouch!
I vaguely feel my head hit the floor as my useless legs buckle yet again. Thank God for reflexes, since at least I swung my bad arm out of the way of the impact.
It seems to be automatic that I've squeezed my eyes tightly closed in some bizarre attempt to stop the pain in my head. It's not like it helps, but I do it anyway.
And now the floor's making my cheek grow cold.
Not just cold either. There's a sticky wetness sliding across my cheek that feels like blood...oh great, my ear-drum's bleeding again. Funny, I didn't know a bump on the head could do that, ruptured or not it should have scabbed over or whatever these things do by now.
Why am I just lying here? I've got to make sure the others are alright!
Should I try to get up again? My whole body is screaming at me not to move, but I can't bring myself to just lay here without knowing what's happened to my little (and older – Scott didn't look great either) brothers.
Come on, I can do this. I learnt to sit up when I was a few months old – this action should not be evading me now! Alright. If I put my weight on my non-broken arm and slowly ease up to a –
Ouch!
Somehow I'm back on my side again. Odd that. Something is telling me that perhaps I should think this over before trying again.
My brother's are in trouble.
Okay, that was a quick think about it.
This time I manage to raise myself to a sitting position. Success! Okay, now to conquer the art of standing...My knees are buckling under me again, notgoodnotgoodnotgood-
"John! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hands catch me under my arms, stopping me from catching my head on the edge of the consol. I latch onto my saviour's wrist with my good hand, determined not to fall again. Who-ever it is helps me sit down in the chair, which is a bit of a blow since this now means I'm right back where I started.
Looking up I catch sight of tousled brown hair, although thanks to my blurry vision that's all I can really make out. I appear to be viewing the world through the bottom of a thick glass. The irrational part of my brain – which is currently high on pain and adrenaline – wonders if this is how Brains sees without his glasses. If that's the case, poor Brains.
"John. Hey, are you with me?" He – it's a male voice so I'm making assumptions here – gives my shoulder a gentle shake. I blink to clear my sight a little (funny, when I was on my own I had thought I could see) and nod. "How many fingers?"
I look down as a hand is held infront of my face. Well, I know it's only one hand, but my eyes insist that there are two.
"Three?" I hazard a safe bet, but a worried intake of breath tells me that I'm wrong. "Four?"
"Stop just guessing!" My companion kneels down infront of me and I can see a smudge of blue where his eyes are. Scott then. Hello Scott. He gives my shoulder another little shake and I glare at him as best I can.
"Stop doing that!" My protest doesn't sound half as emphatic as I would like. I sound a bit like a whiney kid actually.
Blurry eye-sight or not I can see Scott frown at me. "John, what are you doing here?" He asks. His voice is too loud and goes through my head like a buzz-saw. I suppose he realises this when he repeats the question in a quieter tone. I shrug slightly in reply. I have no idea what I'm doing here, besides trying to get out. Who can say what my thought processes were; I was nearly unconscious on my feet at the time.
This apparently isn't a good enough answer. I smile hopefully at him, but he shakes his head. I think I'm in trouble... On the up side at least I don't have to try and get myself down to the medical-bay, Scott can fill me in on what's happened.
"Are the others alright? Alan and Gords, are they okay?" I'm gripping his arm tight enough to bruise, but I think he'll understand that I'm somewhat anxious to know if my brothers are still alive! Answer damn it!
"Gordon's going to be fine." Scott carefully removes my fingers from his arm – possibly to stop me from pulverising the bone. "Virgil and I have sorted his leg out and given him a blood transfusion. He should be fine in a few days or so."
Thank God! Some of the tight feeling in my chest eases at that news. Gordon'll be fine...
The panic rushes straight back.
"And Alan?"
His frown deepens and there's that horrible feeling down my spine that I usually associate with an ice-cube slipping down my back.
"Scott, what's happened to Alan?"
His hands move to rest on my shoulders, keeping me in the seat. Whether he believes this will calm me down or not is debatable but it's not working! I need to know about Alan!
"He'll live."
"What?" What kind of crappy, useless answer is that? "What do you mean, 'he'll live'?"
Scott looks wretched – I probably shouldn't be shouting at him like this. "Brains has said he'll live, but he's got extensive internal injuries and he may not be able to recover properly."
I feel sick. Really and truly sick. "What do you mean?"
"For the love of God John!"
OW! Damn that hurts! Why'd he have to yell, my head is pounding enough as it is.
"Understand what I'm telling you, John." He's lowered his voice again, and there's a slight edge to it now that says he's guilty about hurting me. Good. "Alan's been very seriously hurt; it's a miracle he didn't die before we could treat him."
The image of that huge steel pin embedded in his stomach flashes across my mind. Oh God I feel ill just thinking about it...
"John!" His hands grab hold of my upper arms, steadying me. Not just ill apparently – faint too.
"What..." My mouth feels like parchment and I swallow dryly. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know yet. Brains says to wait out the next 24 hours and if there's been no improvement then he'll call in a specialist."
That doesn't instil me with a sense of confidence. More a sense of dread really.
"He's got to be okay." My voice sounds funny to my ears – soft and slurred. Maybe it is. There's a very familiar and dreaded feeling creeping across my forehead – that sort of prickling of tiny needles that denotes a cold sweat. Uh oh, I know this sensation...
"John? Are you alright?"
It seems like someone has clamped a sponge over my ears –Scott's voice is muffled. Not. Good! Do I have time to warn him? Not really, my vocal chords have frozen up.
What a nuisance...
"John...!"
"...Don't want to move him yet. I'll bring him up once he's awake."
"Okay, you know best, we'll see you soon."
I'm sure I know those voices, but right now I can't remember my own name. I do have a name right? I'm sure I do, and it's a good one too – although right now it's escaping me. Meh.
I'm sure I should care a little more than I am that I can't remember who I am and what my name is. There's an annoying niggling little feeling that something is wrong but I can't focus on that either, I can't focus on anything! I'm sure I don't usually spend most of my time on some sort of weird acid trip, so what's going on?
"John? Johnny-boy are you waking up?"
Ah hah! John! I knew it was a cool name! I'm John, John...somebody. Never mind, I'll get to that later, who is it talking anyway? That's definitely a familiar voice, a familiar and nagging voice. The name 'Scott' comes to mind...
"Hey, answer me kiddo."
"Kiddo?"
Ooh, I said that out-loud, my vocal-chords are working again, that's nice to know. Lets see if my eye-sight is back to it's normal unblured self.
Mop of brown hair, worried frown, concerned blue eyes...that's Scott alright. And that means I can see better than before.
"Hey." Hmm, my voice is working, but I can't say it sounds very pleasant right now. I can't see much beyond Scott since he's leaning over me. "Where am I?"
"Two's medical bay, you collapsed up in the cockpit."
Oh yeah, so I did. And I still don't know what I was doing there to begin with.
"...milligrams, so you shouldn't be in any pain for now, and I've reset your arm."
And I just missed the majority of what my brother has been talking about – he isn't going to be impressed. Something about painkillers and my arm...?
"Did you hear what I said?" He seems to have realised I wasn't listening and sighs in that annoying fashion of his. "I've drugged you up and reassembled your arm."
Now I know that isn't what he said the first time round, but I appreciate it brought down to lay-mans terms; I can't get to grips with medicine even on a good day.
"Thanks." That's about all my brain can come up with right now. I struggle to sit upright and notice that although the accursed dizziness is still in vogue; my head no longer hurts like it had. Hallelujah for painkillers! Scott's looking at me with that expression of concerned exasperation that he pulls off so well. Actually, it isn't really doing its job right now since I can see that I'm not the only one hurt. "Is your leg alright?"
Because it really doesn't look alright! Nice big blue freeze pack – a new one rather than the temporary thing from the rescue. He shrugs the question off like I'm asking about the weather.
"It's fine. Now lay back down, I don't want you collapsing again."
Like hell am I listening to that sort of advice! I don't feel in the least bit like I'm going to lose consciousness! And besides, there are more important things on my mind.
"Is Virgil okay?"
"Stressed out but essentially fine, now lay back down!"
"No. I want to see Alan and Gords!"
"Not right now. Wait until you're feeling a little better."
For the love of God Scott! I can't believe he's being so obtuse! He should know me well enough to understand that there's not a chocolate teapots chance in hell that I'll listen to him given our current situation. I want to see my younger brothers. If he has a problem with this then he'll just have to live with it.
To emphasise this I swing myself round to sit on the edge of the bed before trying confidently to stand up.
Ack! Ear-drum! No balance!
I promptly fall back onto the bunk – which is more painful than it sounds – and glare at Scott. The bastard's actually laughing! Well, smirking, but it's the same thing in my book when I'm the butt of the joke!
"Fine. I see that there's no stopping you." He holds his hand out and when I accept he helps me to my feet again. The world still spins, but with my brother's arm round my shoulders I'm steadier on my feet. Suddenly the journey from this silo all the way up to the main house and the med-bay feels like miles! Maybe this isn't such a great idea…
"Okay, lean on me and we'll get to the elevator for starters."
I never fail to be amazed at how Scott seems to know exactly what I'm thinking. He loops my uninjured arm over his shoulders and we slowly make our way out of Two.
"You do realise that Virge is going to kill you right?" I'm sure there's an inappropriate amount of humour in my brother's voice. I stare at the huge bulk of the craft as we ascend in the elevator that runs up the wall of the silo. There's a slight distortion due to the clear Perspex, but I can easily see just how damaged the ship is.
"Yeah, I've realised." I can feel my heart sinking right through the floor. If I wasn't so worried about Alan and Gordon I'd fear for my own life.
The paint along most of the hull has blackened and peeled – so that her main colour is now a sort of muddy grey, and the windshield is an absolute mess. We're going to need to repaint the whole thing and replace at least two thirds of the windscreen segments – this isn't good.
"You haven't seen the worst of it yet." Scott says grimly.
There's more?
The elevator has nearly reached the silo roof now and we've finally got a view over the top of the craft to look over the other wing.
Where the other wing should be.
Oh God. It's a given that Virgil will probably never speak to me again for this, but on top of that it hadn't occurred to me how we're going to repair this. Thunderbird Two's port wing has crumpled up like a concertina, squashed against her side and caving in part of the wall. Not only that but it's not even the whole wing, a good portion of the tip has been sheared off on the impact.
"Oh God..."
"Whoa, easy!" Scott supports me as I sway unsteadily. How long will fixing her take? A month? Two months? We'll be out of action for far too long! "Don't think about that yet." Scott's reading my mind again. "We'll fix her. It'll be fine, she's fixable."
"The wing..."
"It can be replaced. The windscreen too, it can all be sorted out."
He's right. I know he's right. It's just a hell of a shock seeing the damage which – admittedly – is mostly my fault. The view vanishes as the elevator takes us up beyond the silo and all I can see out of the clear plastic doors is the concrete tunnel that is taking us up through the island. We should probably give this thing a paint job at some point; poured cement is not exactly scenic.
Why am I thinking about interior decorating? Guess I'm trying not to think about the state Gordon and Alan are going to be in when I see them.
The speed that the elevator goes at isn't doing my balance any favours and as we slow to a halt and the doors slide open I realise that I'm wobbling again as I try to step out. Scott chuckles, his arm round my shoulders and holding me steady.
"Shut up, this isn't funny!"
His laughter dies down into a smirk as we make our way along the hall. The med-bay is as close to the silos as we could build it – ease of access and all that – so it isn't normally a long walk. Normally being the key word here since 'normally' I don't have a dead ear-drum and Scott isn't limping heavily.
"Is your leg alright?"
"No problem, can barely feel a thing." His voice is too cheery and his smile too big – it's obviously in agony, and he can't bring himself to say so. "How's the dizziness?"
The floor is tilting at strange and disturbing angles; it's taking all of my concentration to stay in a straight line. To be honest it's like being drunk. "Fine. Don't really notice it." I say breezily.
His hand squeezes my shoulder – we both know that we've lied but that's okay, it's kinda what we do and we understand each other perfectly. After all, what sort of Tracy admits to crippling pain anyway?
We reach the med-bay and I notice a bloodied hand print on the door-frame where someone has obviously steadied themselves. Scott ignores it – for all I know it may be his – and slides the door open.
"John!"
Dad jumps to his feet and rounds the bed he was sitting beside, shielding my view of the bed's occupant.
"John, are you okay son?" He looks me up and down, his face a picture of concern, before pulling me into a gentle hug. We're not a very hug-centric family, but sometimes the situation calls for it and when one is in pain and scared it can make you feel so safe. "Lets get you cleaned up." He leads me over to a chair between the two beds and I slump down.
Scott starts to fuss around with gauze and wipes – guess I'm still a bit mucky – but I only have eyes for Alan and Gordon.
There's...Oh hell, I don't know the names, I'm an astronomer for crying out loud! Tubes. Lots and lots of white and clear tubes. I survey Gordon first, since he's a little more tube-free than Alan.
Where to start? There's a huge bandage around his left thigh which I know is hiding that horror of an injury I saw earlier. His other leg is also wrapped up, but in thin strips of hardened gel that Brains had invented to deal with broken bones. It's great stuff really; when heated it becomes malleable and can be wrapped around the broken limb like a normal cast, then hardens so that the bone is held immobile. So much better than plaster of Paris – less mess and it's reusable. Beyond that there are the occasional plasters over the grazes on his arms and some impressive bruising. An IV – hah, I know some terminology! – feeds into his left arm and I follow the snaking lines up to a cluster of bags, one of which is a grisly orange brown. Blood transfusion, bleugh!
"How is he?" My voice is scratchy and a glass of water appears in my peripheral vision.
"D-doing much b-b-better now." Brains' stutter has returned now that all the hype has worn off and I gratefully accept the drink from him. My God does it taste good, I hadn't realised just how damn thirsty I was! "Th-th-the pin was removed c-c-cleanly and he should have full use of h-h-his leg again." He gestures to the small table on the other side of Gordon's bed and I see the steel bolt lying there in all its innocent glory. Someone had taken the trouble to wash it down too. "He a-a-asked to keep it a-a-as a memento." I guess he must have seen my expression. Who would want to keep that?
Shaking the proof of Gordon's insanity from my mind I turn my head to look at my youngest sibling, and the breath catches in my throat. Remember what I said about the tubes? Yeah. Hell of a lot of tubes. Dad eclipses my view before I can really get a handle on how bad Alan is looking, but the glimpse is enough.
"Don't start worrying just yet, Johnny." Scott's hand is on my shoulder, I think he's trying to be comforting but right now he's not doing too good a job of it. He swipes the gauze across a cut on my cheek that I didn't know I had, but now it stings like the blazes!
"Will Alan be okay?" I brush my older brother aside and look up at Dad. He doesn't look good. Scratch that, he looks like he's just walked the Marathon de Salbes, but at my question he forces a smile. And I've seen that expression before too; it's the one he wore when Mum was in hospital after the accident and we kept asking if she'd be alright.
"It's going to be tough but he'll pull through."
I remember what Scott said about calling a specialist and feel queasy again. Dad puts his hands on my shoulders – a comforting gesture – and I look back up at him. His smile is less forced now, but still sad.
"Is he free to go Scott?"
I glance at my older brother, who nods tersely.
"Good." Dad's voice takes on the commanding tone he uses on rescues. "Now John. Go to the kitchen – Grandma will feed you. You will do exactly what she says, and eat what she tells you to eat. Then you are to shower and sleep. I don't want to see you again for at least eight hours."
Sounds reasonable – except for one major flaw.
"I don't want to leave Alan and Gords until I know they'll be okay."
"Sitting here won't make them recover any faster."
I'm not really in the mood for such logic. "I want to be here in case anything happens!"
"Realistically s-speaking nothing can r-r-really happen." Brains has come back over and decided to put in his two-pennies-worth. "Th-th-they're both stable a-a-and sedated so w-w-won't wake up until tomorrow at the very least."
And….? I fail to see why I can't stay with them. However, Dad looks stressed enough as it is, and as much as I want to stay here I know that doing so will just make him worry that I'm not getting enough rest myself. Also, food sounds very appealing right now….
"Promise you'll tell me if anything happens? You'll come and wake me up?" I demand. Normally I would refuse point blank to be chivvied away from my injured brothers – but realistically speaking I know that I'll be more of a hindrance than help at the moment. Dad's relieved smile tells me that he's happy with my decision, and I can see the tenseness leave Scott's shoulders too.
"Of course."
Brains nods happily, then turns to my older brother. "y-y-you too, Scott."
"What?"
He doesn't look happy, but Dad's nodding too. "He's right, you need to rest, Scott. You've been on your feet since the emergency call."
"Yes, but – "
"And John will need some help getting to the kitchen; he looks woozy."
I what now? Since when? I look up at Dad, who winks slightly. Ah, a ploy to get Scott to do as he's told. My older brother glances down at me and I offer a pathetic little 'I'm-injured-and-I-need-help' smile which causes him to sigh.
"Fine! But I'm coming straight back here!"
Dad shrugs complacently – which is odd until I remember that we're going to the kitchen and Grandma will be there. There's no way in hell Scott can disobey her!
My elder brother looks like he knows he's lost the fight before it's even begun as he nods grumpily.
My complete and total lack of balance becomes obvious once again when I try to stand up, and Scott once again loops his arm around my shoulders to keep me upright.
"Think you can make it as far as the kitchen?" He asks dryly. Oh ha ha, watch me laugh at your scathing wit!
I don't deign to reply.
When did I get into bed?
My memory has once again decided to wipe over the past God-knows-how-long with white noise, so I can only assume that I made it to the kitchen and then to my room. I don't feel hungry any more so that backs up this theory, and from the feel of it my hair is clean so I must have showered.
Yay for running on autopilot.
What time is it anyway?
The little blue figures on my alarm clock cheerfully inform me that I've only been asleep for about three hours. Three hours… That should appease Dad surely? Maybe I can sneak back to see how the guys are, then I'll come back and nap for another hour or so.
Ow!
Okay, something protested to that idea! My head I think.
Alright, sneak out and check on them then come back and doze for another two hours or so and – OW!
Alright, alright! Then come back and sleep for at least five hours! There's no corresponding stab of pain so I assume my brain has agreed with me.
Why am I talking about my brain as a separate entity…..?
This is what happens when you live in outer space (well…orbit at any rate) for too long.
Now. I have slept, albeit only a tiny bit, and I have had food – probably quite a bit too, knowing Grandma – so let's see if I can walk any better now.
Believe it or not I do declare I'm actually going in a straight line. This is an improvement! I find the door handle in the dark and quietly slide my door open to peer out into the corridor.
It's empty, as I'd expected and only the gentle blue glow of the fish-tank that is part of the wall between this corridor and the dining room provides any light. Even the fish look sleepy, but that could just be me. As far as I know fish always look sleepy.
Empty and mostly dark I'd counted on, what hadn't entered my equations was how damn cold it is! Why has someone decided we need the air-con on? And why did I not bother with my slippers? Hindsight is a wonderful thing, especially since I can't be bothered to go back and get them now, or fetch my dressing gown.
Actually – it's not quite as dark as I'd thought; it looks like the living room light is on. Why's anyone in the living room? Tintin or Kyrano maybe?
I quietly push the door open to be confronted with an overly large close-up of what my inner nerd immediately tells me is the control panel of the Millennium Falcon. The sound is down so low as to be almost inaudible but I catch an unmistakable Wookie growl which confirms my suspicions'; someone is watching StarWars. And – being the smug geek I am – I can already tell which film and where abouts into they are. I am way too obsessed with this fandom!
"John?"
I finally tear my eyes from the screen to see that Scott and Virgil are occupying the sofa, the double-quilt from Virgil's room haphazardly thrown over them.
"If you're trying to sneak into the medic-bay don't bother." Scott says with a tired grin. My guilty look must have given me away since he chuckles quietly. "Virge and I both tried – Dad's locked the door."
Damn. I slump down onto the sofa next to him. "Did he say how the kids were doing?"
"Gordon's well into the clear." Virgil's floated over from the other side of Scott. "As long as the wound doesn't become infected – and there's no reason why it should – Brains thinks he'll be fine. Won't be walking any time soon mind you, but at least we saved the leg."
"And Alan?" I must admit, I'm more worried about him at the moment; not only has everyone been consistently saying that Gordon would be okay from the start, but I also feel responsible for Alan. I should have noticed that something was wrong!
Scott smiles again, and although it's still tinged with tiredness it's a lot more genuine. "Brains is quietly confident. He's saying that as long as Alan continues to improve as he has been over these past few hours then things are looking good for him."
I hadn't realised just how badly I'd been worrying until I hear those words and the hitherto unnoticed tenseness suddenly leaves my shoulders. He's going to be okay. They're both going to be okay…
"How about you two?" Now that the big worry is mostly laid to rest I can let the little worry out to play.
"We're fine." Scott looks surprised at the question until I glance pointedly at his wounded leg – the bandages protruding from under the leg of his pyjama shorts. "Oh, that? It's nothing."
Virgil snorts. "Third degree burn. Yeah, nothing, Scott."
"Well it's not like it's serious."
It's a strange family where we don't class third degree burns covering the majority of ones lower leg 'serious'.
"What about you, Virgil?" I'd figured Scott would be macho, but I had also been pretty sure that his only injury was the burn. I have no idea if Virgil was hurt beyond the scald down his forehead.
"Yeah, I'm fine. A couple of minor burns – barely blistered – and some rather impressive bruising. I think I came away rather better off than the rest of you." He leans forward to look at me past Scott, and I notice that the burn across his brow hasn't even got gauze over it. Apparently he really means it when he says minor. "And speaking of, how are you feeling now?"
Me? "I'm fine." I say breezily. He arches an eyebrow at me, but currently it's true. "Look, my arm aches a little, but nothing an ibuprofen or two won't fix, and my busted eardrum won't heal immediately so I'm as good as I could be right now."
"And emotionally?" Scott adds.
What? "I'm fine."
"Not at all shaken up by the aerial acrobatics from earlier?"
Virgil nods emphatically. "I'm sorry for dropping you in it like that with flying Two, but I needed to be with Gordon. If I'd known that tanker was gonna go…."
I stare at my little brother incredulously. He seriously thinks he could have done any better? Not in a derogatory way, obviously, but there was absolutely no other way that that explosion could have been avoided. True, he would have taken off quicker and maybe we'd have missed it, or maybe we'd have been directly over it, there's no way of knowing.
"What's done is done." I'm surprised at how matter-of-fact I sound. "You made the right choice, and because of that Gords is going to be okay. Just because I'm in space most of my time doesn't mean I didn't start out as a pilot; NASA trained my reflexes to a needle point. You need to be able to rely on all of us to fly your ship when you can't, there's nothing to be sorry for."
"He did a bloody good job, Virge." Scott adds, much to my delight. "Could you have seen that explosion, been able to assess the situation and act accordingly in the time-frame?"
To be honest I really think he could, Virgil flies Two as if she's an extension of himself – I had the disadvantage of having to think through each manoeuvre.
"It's a moot point." I say, before Virgil has to answer. "And to your earlier query Scott: yes I was a little shaken up by it all, but sleep and food has helped a lot."
Virgil smiles at my quick save. "Speaking of being shaken up, what that hell happened with the landing? I've never heard her make a noise like that before!"
It's strange how the mind works. When it was happening every single detail seemed to be crystal clear and emblazoned across my brain. But now…..Now I really can't remember much. "The undercarriage malfunctioned – I think it must have been damaged in the explosion." I say slowly. "I tried to land her as best I could, but – I'm sorry Virge, my training never covered crash-landing her with no landing gear, I had to improvise!"
"Hell of an improvisation." Scott turns to our younger brother, taking the spot-light off of me – thank God, since Virgil gets antsy about his ship. I let my attention wander back to the film as Scott takes up the tale of how I landed. It hadn't occurred to me how bad it must have looked from his point of view, and obviously Virgil had no idea at all what was happening since he was down in the med-bay.
My attention is brought back as Scott taps me on the knee.
"I raided a few of our security cameras and found out why I found you in Two's silo." He says nonchalantly. I perk up a little, since I have no recollection whatsoever.
"Apparently you'd decided that you were getting in peoples way in the infirmary." My older brother informs me. "At least, that's what you told Kyrano when he met you in the hall, but he was under the impression you were going to your room. I followed you on the security tapes going back down to where you abandoned Two and you got the elevator trucks out of the hanger."
I did? I have absolutely no memory of this and it's kinda scaring me….
"You then used the trucks to get Two back where she belongs, and did quite a nice job of it too." Scott concludes, although Virgil's condescending little snort makes me think that he's just trying to make me feel better about losing an entire chunk of my memory. Still, makes sense as to why I was there. I must have gone back into Two to double check that all the systems were off then fallen asleep there. Or collapsed. Collapsed is probably more likely.
"But seriously, are you alright?" Virgil's gone back to the original train of thought and is still worrying about me. "I mean, flying like you did with a broken arm…You really were superb."
"It's what we're trained to do, isn't it?" I ask casually, and he smiles.
"The Thunderbirds; above and beyond the call of duty."
"Don't ask, don't tell more like." Scott quips.
Virgil and I both turn to stare at him. Did he really just say that….? He returns our incredulous gaze and I can actually see him rewind that last sentence in his head.
"Not like that!" He finally blurts out. "I meant in the 'we're a secret organisation' sense!"
Sure Scott, sure.
The laughter helps though. It also breaks up the conversation which is useful from my point of view. Sure, I'm not a weeping wreck in the corner, but the whole thing did shake me up and right now I don't actually want to talk about it. Which seems to be an alien concept to my brothers.
Thank God for Star Warsis all I can say.
We settle back to continue watching the film – we've got to the good bit where they're trying to fly the Millennium Falcon through the asteroid belt – and I steal a corner of duvet to curl up under. It's a break from tradition actually – when we've had a particularly hard mission it's more usual to find Scott or Virge parked in front of re-runs of The Simpsons. They must both be as 'fine' as I am to bring out the big guns and put on a film. Even a comfort film like this one.
Still, it's calming, it's keeping out from under Dad's feet and to some extents it's lulling us to sleep. Always a good thing….
"By the way Virgil."
Damn! Scott's voice has jerked me awake. I hadn't even realised I'd been dozing.
"Mmm?" Sounds like Virgil isn't all that awake either.
"How are you going to fix the wing?"
"What wing?" He sounds exasperated, and I don't blame him. What the hell is Scott blabbering on about now?
"Two's port wing? You do know it's currently a sheared lump of metal lying on the runway, right?"
I am now fully awake as a sudden chill grips me. Is my elder brother trying to get me killed?
"It's what?"
"Well, it was the only way John could stop her from crashing into the cliff-face." Scott explains.
Vigil is now leaning around the antagonist and is staring at me. It's difficult to really pinpoint his expression, but find a point somewhere between disbelief and blind fury and you'd probably be close enough.
"You ripped off her wing?"
I…I actually don't know what to say. My younger brother is…and I'm trying to think of a good description here…incandescent – yes, that works – incandescent with rage. Maybe it's time I thought up some last words…
"Now Virgil, he did save all your lives." Scott is not helping the situation much, but at least Virgil stops trying to scramble over him to throttle me.
"He broke my ship!"
"She's fixable."
"He broke my ship!" Virgil's acid-spitting glare swings back to face me. "John you are such a…a…"
Interesting, he's actually struggling to find a swear-word bad enough.
"You're such a smeg!"
But he's smiling as he screams it at me, and I know that – although he is not happy with the state I left his ship in – he's not as mad as I'd thought. But Smeg? Really?
Remind me to stock up on some Black Adder insults, they'll give him pause for thought!
Smeg indeed!
MWMWMWMWMMWMWMWMWMWMW
Dear God…..I actually finished it…
Once again I can't thank you all enough for putting up with how I long I take to write things, and I hope that this didn't disappoint after such a long wait.
Until next time, Love and Hugs to you all!
Xoxoxoxoxox
Cip