Disclaimer: see chapter one
AN: Thank you, thank you for all the reviews you've left. My apologies for not being able to reply to each one, but a crazy week and a bit thanks to some crazy weather ate through the spare time I had set aside to reply. Hard to believe that in a space of five days the dangers near home have changed from out of control bushfires to floods. Not that I mind too much - I've always wanted an indoor swimming pool :P
Anyway, time to forge forward with the story.
Chapter Eleven
He used to rescue in a yellow submarine,
He played a prank and it got painted green.
The green matched Two, so he coloured Four red.
The red wasn't waterproof, so now he's all dead.
They had been inoperable for several years now, ever since I claimed the youngest, but it still didn't prevent the ex-operatives of International Rescue from taking their machines out on pleasure inducing joyrides.
Currently, the lean, mean, yellow submarine is being battered by torrential waves. It reminds me of a tiny toy in a tin bath, bobbing up and down as it oscillates with the huge swells and waves after surfacing from the depths of the ocean. The submarine groans under the strain the captain is demanding of it.
C'mon, he grunts, forcing the steering column in the opposite direction. Sweat works its way down his forehead, and he over exerts himself as he tries to prove who the boss is in this situation. Work with me, baby, work with me.
To no avail. The submarine smashes violently into the jagged rocks that line the shore. The engines at the back crumple as if they were made out of tin instead of reinforced carbon fibre and titanium. Rivets pop out of their sockets, and another wave rocks the sub, tipping it onto its side. Before the red head can right his ship, another wave drives the submarine into a serrated cliff face on the island. It dents the airlock so bad he won't be able to get out.
Almond shaped eyes, glowing ethereally greenish, stare at the airlock momentarily. Understanding dawns on him, and he nods his head as I become visible to him. He draws in a breath, confident, a touch of red in his cheeks as adrenaline pumps through him, even though he's facing me. Good man; I raised him that way.
I'll go with you, he conveys with his eyes, but I'll go on my terms. You know me; yes Sir, sure Sir, I'll do my own thing, Sir.
I understand. He wants to go with his dignity intact. I'll give him that much; after all he's done in his lifetime, it's the least I can do. It's the way I would have liked to have gone, if I had the chance.
With steely determination, he straps himself into the seat of Thunderbird Four and waits as the water cascades in. I stand behind him, vice one shoulder in my grip. It serves a dual purpose; he won't escape me, and it's an act of support for him. Every father needs to support his son.
As Thunderbird Four sinks to the ocean floor, Gordon and I glide to the surface. He slings one arm around my shoulder.
Nice to see you here, Dad, he smiles at me, all pearly whites glinting in a rare moment of light.
As if I would be anywhere else. Gently, I steer him away from the wreck that was once his life, and together, we sail off into the sunset.