Disclaimer: I own nothing - Just borrowing the Thunderbirds characters for a bit. I'm going to hand them back unharmed...mostly.
Rating: T
Genre: Angst/Drama
Summary: Sometimes, the pain becomes too much to bear. Sometimes, we have to withdraw, worrying those who love us. And sometimes, we get lost on the way.
Notes: My first Thunderbirds fic ever. Thanks a bunch to Quiller, for pointing out the various plot holes and proofreading this thing.
This fanfic is TV-verse, even though I've never seen any of the episodes. I discovered the Thunderbirds on the Internet and was fascinated by the story and the characters. And of course, it put this idea in my head, which I absolutely had to write down, even though I'm packed with work and should finish other projects.
Reviews and criticism are always welcome.
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Numb
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by kaeera
Chapter One:
The Shock
In my life, I have seen many deaths. It comes with International Rescue; while we save many, we cannot save all. And thus, I have seen dying women, men, and children. I've seen their screaming faces, full of pain and exhaustion, and I've experienced – more often than I'd like – how the light slowly left their eyes.
It's always the worst when they are children. They are so young, their whole life lies ahead of them…so many experiences, so many memories…and they will never be able to live. And I can't do anything but watch how the life leaves their eyes, how the last flicker of innocence dies and leaves a hollow body behind.
They are strangers, but they are strangers with a face.
The child lying in my arms was a stranger with a name, a history and a personality. That makes it even harder.
I don't know how long we've been trapped here. I don't know how long the water has been dripping on me, mixing with the blood and sweat. I don't know where the others are. I don't know anything.
And I don't care. It's just not important anymore.
I really like kids. They are, in some ways, like me. They take life easier than adults do. It saddens me that I don't have any chance to play with children on Tracy Island. Maybe in the future, when one of my brothers marries and has children of his own. I would love to tease and hunt them, to teach them how to swim and fool around…be normal for a chance.
But right now, I can't see anyone doing that. We're far too busy with International Rescue. And who would want to burden a wife – a family – with the fact that we might die every time we leave for a rescue? It's difficult enough for us as it is.
Besides, we don't really meet many girls.
Oh god, he's so cold. His little fingers, still grasped in my hand, are stiff and numb.
He was warm a little while ago.
To be quite honest, I was surprised he even survived as long as he did. With his injuries, that was a miracle in itself. When I entered this part of the building, I didn't expect anyone to be alive. I basically waded through the dead bodies – all of them children, none older than eight. A school. A classroom.
This sight will haunt me for years. Why did it have to be a school? Why not some factory with only a couple of workers?
So many dead children, so many families broken up, so much despair.
I see their little faces, all around me, staring at me with sightless eyes - eyes that will never shine again. Broken limbs, torn bodies, blood, so much blood amidst the dirt…A sob rises in my throat. So many. And I couldn't save them. I was too late. When I reached them, they were already dead.
With the exception of him.
When I heard the coughing, I was sure I was dreaming. Surely nobody could be alive. Not in this mess. Not in this destruction. Not with the ceiling that had come down.
But he was. Against all odds, he had survived, and he looked at me with awareness in his gaze.
"…International…Rescue?" he had asked, his voice rough from the smoke and the dirt.
I could only nod. Relief seeped through my body – there was a survivor, and where there was one, more could be found!
Then I remembered the standard rescue protocol and quickly made my way over to him, through the debris, careful not to step on any corpses.
A voice floated through the room, coming from my watch, but I ignored it. I was focused solely on the boy.
"Hello there." I quickly examined him and felt my stomach drop as I realized the extent of his injuries. Several broken ribs, probably a pierced lung, judging from the sound of his breathing. Burn marks on both his arms. A cut on his head, bleeding severely. His right leg, smashed to pieces. Not only broken. Smashed. I looked at it once and knew it couldn't be saved.
It was a miracle that he was alive – and conscious as well. Pain burned in his eyes and I cringed inwardly. I couldn't do anything to help. My small first aid kit didn't have the necessary items to deal with this kind of injuries.
My watch screamed for attention - I dimly recognized Scott, shouting something. There was a touch of panic in his voice. I realized that I should probably answer, but I couldn't. My mind was filled with images of the dead children, and with the firm resolution that this one wouldn't die.
How stupid. I knew the risks. I knew his chances. And yet I put them in some faraway corner of my mind. I didn't think.
"What's your name?" I asked softly, gently stroking his forehead. A massive boulder lay over his midsection. Without the proper tools, I wouldn't be able to move it, and my heart sank even deeper.
"A-Alan." He replied. My hand stopped in mid-air and trembled. He was named after my younger brother – and that made it even more personal.
Come to think of it, he even looks a bit like Alan. His eyes have the same shade of blue and the wide-eyed innocent look my baby brother always wore as a child. Even nowadays, fully grown, he gets that look sometimes, and it makes me want to protect that expression at all cost. Even though he's hot-headed and stubborn, he's got an infectious smile, our Alan, and our lives would be much duller without him around.
Alan's hair – this Alan - is a bit darker, though, something I'm glad for. I think I would have broken down if it had been blond like Alan's.
"Hey, that's cool." I grinned at him, although he probably couldn't see it in the darkness. "My brother is called Alan, too!"
"Really?" His eyes tried to focus on me. "Is…he…with…IR…as…well?"
"Yep. He's our youngest member! Hey, maybe one day you can be a member as well!"
I don't know why I said that. Maybe to cheer him up? It seemed to work, his mouth curled upwards at the corners. But it broke my heart inside, because I knew…knew that this kid would never, ever be a member of International Rescue.
Scott tried to get my attention again. This time I held up the watch, only to get bits and pieces of a garbled message. "…get out…there…. yourself…answer…god dammit!"
I had about two seconds to realize what he meant when the ground began to shake. Everything turned and I saw the ceiling crumble. Afterquake? Collapse of the building?
Whatever it was, I reacted instinctively and threw my body over Alan. He screamed both in pain and fear. Boulders crashed on my back and I bit on my tongue to stop from crying out. It hurt, but I didn't move.
Then it stopped, and we were alone again. The little light that had shone through the opening had disappeared and it was totally dark.
Alan made little whimpering sounds and I sighed in relief. He was still alive.
"Shh, it's going to be okay." I tried to call him down and grabbed for my watch.
"Scott?"
"Calling Base, can you hear me Scott?"
Nothing.
"Gordon to Thunderbird Five, are you there John?"
Only static.
That was the moment I realized that I probably should have told them where I was before communications broke down.
Alan was sniffling and my heart went out to him. I had to calm him down, somehow.
"Hey, my buddies are somewhere out there. They will rescue us!"
"…hurts…" he whimpered.
"I know. I wish I could help you…" Despair washed over my soul. I fumbled through my pockets until I found the small flashlight I always carry with me on rescues. I switched it on and immediately our surroundings were bathed in light.
The first thing I saw was the dead face of a girl laying a couple of feet away from me. Her reddish curls were tied back in two ribbon-decorated pigtails. She wore a yellow jumper with a big heart on its front. But her eyes stared into nothingness and blood had trickled out of her nose.
Bile rose in my throat when I saw her midsection. She had been nearly cut in half by a huge stone that must have crashed down on her in the first earthquake. Blood coloured the floor in an angry red.
Quickly I averted my gaze and focused on Alan. "Come on, kiddo. Tell me a bit about yourself." I urged, desperate to distract him from the depressing surroundings - and myself as well.
And that he did. In the hour that followed, he told me about his life, his dog Chester - who was smart enough for two - his two older sisters, who spent all their time giggling, his mother who worked in a big company and hated carrots, and his father who was a farmer and had built him a swing in the garden.
He told me that he hates math, but likes English, because he can invent stories and loves reading. He told me – full of pride – that he won the story contest and received a bag of sweets. Then he started to retell the story because I asked him to, but his voice became weaker and he had difficulty breathing.
So I started telling things, because I didn't want him to think about the pain and the fear. I told him about my brothers, and about Alan, whom he resembles so much, and how Alan used to tag behind me when we were little.
I told him about our island and the colourful birds near the pool. I described the Thunderbirds and what they could do.
He liked the Mole. And he loved Thunderbird Four. I promised him to take him on a tour under the sea, given we'd escape this alive.
He was elated. I felt like crying. I knew that this boy would never get the chance to see my 'Bird.
All the time, I could sense the life fleeing from his body. I could see how he struggled to stay awake. I could hear the rasping sound in his chest, and when he finally started coughing up blood, I knew that there was no hope left.
He looked at me with his clear blue eyes, understanding dawning in them. "I'm…g'ing…to…die…not?" he asked.
Tears welled up in my eyes but I refused to let them fall. "I fear so, yes. I'm…sorry."
Gosh, what do you say to a kid that's lying in your arms and dying? There are no words to describe how I was feeling at that moment.
"I…don't…want…" he started and whimpered in fear.
"Shhh. It's okay." Carefully, I hugged him closer. "You see, it's not that bad. You will just close your eyes and drift away. Maybe you will meet some angels, who knows…they always say that good people become angels, and I certainly think you qualify for that."
"Really?" His eyes were half closed. "D'you…know…anyone?"
Pain flared up in my chest and I had to wet my lips. "I knew…a wonderful person. She died a long time ago…but if there are angels…if angels exist…then I'm sure that she's among them. Because she was gentle and kind and caring…"
"Who…was…it"
I closed my eyes. "My mother."
"Maybe…I…will…say hello…to…her…."
"You do that, Alan." I smiled despite the fact that my heart was breaking to pieces. "You do that. And remember to visit me occasionally once you've got your wings."
"Then…I…can…see…your…'bird…" A smile flickered on his face and he shuddered. I felt his body tense up in my arms and then all energy seemed to drain away. His eyes glazed over and lost all life.
With a last shuddering breath, little Alan died in my arms.
I don't know how much time passed since then. I have been sitting here forever, cradling his cooling body in my arms. I'm surrounded by dead children and sometimes I imagine I can hear them whispering. They are telling me the stories of their lives, their dreams, their hopes. That little boy in the corner, he looks a lot like Virgil. Maybe he wants to be a musician once he grew up. And the girl with the curly hair? She wants to be a doctor and heal other people.
I know because she told me. She said that then she can heal all people and make them better, and then her mother doesn't have to cry anymore.
I'm going mad.
They whisper and giggle and stare at me out of their sightless eyes.
I know I'm losing it. It was too much, all at once. I can't deal with it. I didn't want Alan to die. He didn't deserve to die. Up until the last moment, he was fascinated by International Rescue, by me, and yet I couldn't do anything to help him. I failed, but he still admired me. Until the last second. Until his last breath.
It hurts.
I've long ago given up crying. I don't have any tears left. I just sit here and stare. Try to ignore the voices.
They are whispering around me. Whispering me to join them, calling for me, blaming me, screaming in pain, wanting their parents…
It hurts. So much.
I feel their pain, with a burning intensity I never though possible. I love children. They tell me of their games, of their pets, those jokes only children can laugh about, their favourite movies, their dreams. So many dreams.
One boy says that he wants to become an astronaut and walk on the moon. The next wants to climb on trees for the rest of his life. And the little boy there, yes, he wants to play the saxophone, because his grandfather played it and he wants to be as good as him.
So many dreams. So many broken pieces. And nobody there to pick them up.
I start drifting.
I have never been one for philosophy – that's more John's area – but now I find my thoughts flying away. I don't mind. As long as it distracts me from reality, I don't mind. I don't want to see the destruction around me. I don't want to hear their voices. I want them to be alive. I want little Alan to be alive and grow up like my brother. I want him to go home and quarrel with his sisters and play with his dog and sit on the swing on his dad's farm.
Somewhere out there is a family who will cry bitterly tonight, because there's nobody to fill the hole in their hearts.
Please, get me out of here.
I stare at Alan's face. Not even in death he looks peaceful. Lines of pain destroy the look of innocence, and I know that he didn't die an easy death.
I can't tear my gaze away, even when I hear noises behind me. Probably the other children, calling for me - again. Maybe their ghosts, maybe they came back to haunt me because I couldn't help them. Maybe they hate me. I wouldn't append them. I hate myself right now.
Alan. I wish I could give you your life back. I would gladly give mine. I can't stand to see your eyes like that. I can't stand the feeling of your dead body. Nonetheless I cradle you closer. Your soul has left, but your body is still there.
I wonder – are you flying away now? Did you get your wings? Are you in some wonderful place right now and talking with your mother?
I would love to think so. It somehow makes reality a bit nicer. You can keep my mother company and tell her your wonderful stories. And she can sing you her song, like she sang to us when we were little. I don't remember much of her, but I know that her voice was beautiful. I can almost imagine her singing…
The noise comes closer and I hear indeed a voice, but it doesn't belong to my mother. Someone is calling my name in a deep bass.
What?
Where are you?
Who are you?
I don't understand. There's no one here beside me and the children. Just me, surrounded by ghosts.
Some part of my mind registers soft words spoken behind me.
"…oh my good, look at all this destruction…"
"This must be the most disturbing thing I've ever seen, so many corpses…"
"The classroom must have been full of kids! Jesus, the poor parents…"
"There's nobody alive in here…but…wait…look, over there!"
A beam of light sweeps through the darkness and finds me. I blink. The light of my torch had nearly died, so I'm not used to the sudden brightness. It hurts my eyes. Instinctively, I draw Alan's body closer to me. The ghosts won't get him. That I owe him at least.
"Gordon!" They call my name both in relief and concern. I ignore them. I don't want to hear anything. They are ghosts.
Someone places a hand on my shoulder. "Gordon…" He gasps when he sees the corpse I'm cradling. They whisper something I don't understand. I don't care. I can't leave Alan.
Gentle hands try to pry my fingers away. "Come on, he's dead, you can't help him anymore…" The words are meant to be helping, but instead they hurt like a knife. He's dead. I can't help him. I couldn't help him. How useless. But I cannot let him go.
A frustrated sigh escapes the person beside me as I cling to Alan with all the power I've left – which is not much.
Suddenly, there's a second person at my side who holds my arms. Many hands tug, until my fingers loosen and the body slips out of my arms. My arms fall down weakly, hanging leadingly down by sides. They can do what they want. I don't care anymore. It's too late. You can't save him. Nobody can save him. He's dead. Like all the others. Dead. Everybody. Even me.
At least it feels like it.
"He's injured." Somebody murmurs by my side, but I ignore him. "And in shock. Shit. How long has he been here?"
"Probably all the time we've been looking for him."
"Over five hours? Damn. It's like being imprisoned in a tomb! I can't stand being here, and it has only been a couple of minutes!"
"And judging from the temperature of the body, the boy must have been dead for some time. He…probably died in his arms."
The man beside me sucks in his breath and the grip on my arm intensifies. "Shit, Gordon…I'm so sorry"
Meaningless phrases. Of course you're sorry. We're always sorry.
I don't care. Just leave me in peace. I really, really don't care anymore. I just want to close my eyes and drift away.
"Come Gordon, let's get you out of here." The two ghosts lead me away and I follow numbly.
The big machine rumbles. Vibrations course through my body. There's a spot of dirt in the left corner, maybe an inch over the ground. Very interesting. Of the many spots in my life, this one must be the most…well…spottiest spot I've seen. I should know; after all, I've been watching it for the last twenty minutes or so.
It's a very good spot, you see. Excellent camouflage. At first I thought it was a spider. Really! But it gave itself away. It didn't move. Or maybe it's one, maybe a hibernating spider? Do spiders hibernate?
I realize that my mind is turning in circles and that, even worse, my head is filled with rubbish. Come on, which sensible person would think something like that?
Exactly. But then again, I've never been really sensible to begin with.
Of course I know why I keep concentrating on the spot. I don't want to remember, that's the brutal reality. I don't want to see the images, don't want to deal with them. Because it hurts.
Thinking silly thoughts doesn't hurt. My refuge. My rescue.
Somehow I'm glad that the others can't read my mind. They're still there. Well, at least I think so. I haven't really paid attention to them. I know that they are around, of course, but that's all. I can hear them shuffling and doing, well, whatever they're doing. Sometimes they're talking. Whispering. . But I don't listen. If I listen, then I remember. I don't want to remember…I don't want to see their faces…
…failed…
Yes, that I did. I failed. They're all dead, because of me. I should have been faster, I should have done something, anything…if I at least could have saved Alan…
Nononono, now I can see them again, I don't want to see you, please go away…The faces. So many of them.
The little girl, nearly cut in half. The boy near the door with the horrible burns in his face. And Alan, dying right in my arms. All their dreams. All their hopes. Vanished.
Their ghosts, whispering and laughing in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't want to hear them. Please, leave me in peace! Just…go away…
Something touches my arm and it stings. It tears me out of my reverie, something I'm grateful for. With blank eyes, I stare at my eyes and notice the blood. My blood? Alan's? I don't know…don't care. Let it be mine; I deserve to be hurt.
What are they doing? Oh yes, I remember. Standard procedure. They're cleaning the wounds with antiseptic.
Don't bother with me. Really. You don't need to.
"Gordon?" They are worried; I hear it in their voices. They are afraid – because of me. Suddenly, I feel bad, but I can't bring myself to speak. Maybe I should tell them about the spot in the corner; maybe that'll cheer them up. But no sound comes over my lips. Sorry, guys. No can do.
Somebody places a blanket around my shoulder and leads me to a different part of the plane. Gentle hands press me down in a seat and strap me in. "We're going home now, Gordy," a deep voice rumbles close to my ear. "Don't worry, everything will be fine."
Fine?
FINE?
Are you JOKING?
Goddammit, what are they thinking? Nothing is fine! Those kids are dead. DEAD, do you hear? You damn liar! They're never going to laugh again…their tears are dried forever, their dreams shattered! What does it matter that I'm alive? They're dead! Dead!
…and I'm losing it.
I want to scream, want to shout, want to run away, but everything stays inside and instead, I see their faces, hear the voices, giggling in my ears…whispering to me, telling their stories…
No! I don't want to hear you! Go away! Leave me in peace! I'm only imagining you! You're not REAL! You're dead, and nothing is ever going to be fine again.
Calm down, Gordon. You have to calm down.
This is only my imagination playing tricks on me. I've been on so many rescues, seen so many deaths, it shouldn't affect me that much. I should be used to it!
…But how can you be used to death?
I try to block them out, but they are still there, always, lingering at the edges of my awareness, just waiting for a weak moment. Haunting me.
The conversation around me continues and sometimes snippets enter my brain, but they don't really make sense.
"….really worried, that's not like him…"
"…in shock, you know…"
"…but Gordon usually…"
"…he's been trapped with all those kids for hours, anybody would…."
"…do you think he's going to be okay?"
"…not talking…"
"…he has to…"
They're talking about me again. Probably believing that everything is going to be fine. Hah. They don't know anything. What about Alan? And his dog, Chester, he's going to sleep alone tonight…and tomorrow…and the day after…
It hurts. I want to scream, I want to cry, but somehow, I'm like dead inside. As if a big black cloud has carried me away. I still feel the pain, but I can't…do anything about it. Everything is black. Hopeless. Drowning me, suffocating me.
I close my eyes, but their faces are there. Blood. Destruction. Soulless eyes. Broken bodies.
I want to scream, but no sound escapes my lips.
I want to cry, but my eyes stay dry.
I want to run away, but I'm frozen on the spot.
I'm like paralyzed, I'm numb.
Yeah, that's the word. Numb. I'm numb to the world around me. I'm drifting, and the only things I hear and see are the children, their ghosts walking through my soul and leaving their marks. Their whispers in my ears, their stories, their dreams, and Alan in front, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
So cold.
So dark.
To be continued.