Clockwork – Prompt #3

Okay this is really a belated birthday present for lenleg *throws streamers* Happy Birthday!

Prompt: John spends too much time speaking foreign languages

John receives so many worldwide distress calls that he starts to get confused when speaking to his brothers, with some very awkward outcomes. Speaking a dozen languages may be very helpful, but it does have some drawbacks.

(All Arabic is written in the dialect that I speak)

John floated around operations section of Thunderbird 5, his eyes and hands darted in different directions to each other in a crazed attempt to sort out the world's problems. The day had seen no end to the distress calls, and it certainly didn't look like John was going to bed any time soon.

The last 48 hours had been unlike any he had ever seen in his time as space monitor, the globe had chosen this particular day to fall to pieces. There had been a giveaway of ground the streets of St. Petersburg, a fire in Amman, an earthquake in Tokyo, and an avalanche in the Alps. Disasters in tourist spots were always the worst, too many languages and too many people yelling about insurance, and nobody enjoyed avalanche rescues.

Everything was now seeming to calm down, and his brothers were packing up and getting ready to go home. Everyone needed to dry their clothes and get the sand and numerous other random particles out of their hair. Pulling people out from fallen gravel slabs was well and difficult, but everyone seemed to forget how mentally challenging constantly switching between languages was, even for John, who was nothing short of an expert in that art.

But now such a dreaded moment dawned on John, the moment when in his sleep-deprived state he would forget to switch back to English and screw up a debriefing conversation with his brothers, and it was always embarrassing.

"Hey John," Scott's icon popped up in front of him, the minimal roar of Thunderbird 1's rockets sounded in the background.

"Just checking in, how you doing?" He asked.

"Bene, Scott. I mean fine. I just-"

"Italian skiers got your tongue?" Scott said, knowing that they could both laugh at John's mistake. After all, this wouldn't be the first or last time Scott would be greeted like this after a rescue.

"Sure Scott, mais je suis fati… I'm just tired, that's all."

"Anything left to clear up?" Scott asked as he steered his craft southwards.

"There are still some missing people we need to find, aber Thunderbird 2 können damit umgeh- Virgil can handle it." He sighed. It was not going to be an easy night for him.

"Do you need me to stick around?" John glanced at his situation updates on the board beside him.

"Iie, je ne pense…" John paused and let out an exasperated whine as he ran hands through his hair.

"I doubt it, but I'll let you know if we need you again."

"Sounds like you need a break more than we do!" John forcibly laughed as they signed off, Scott was right, his mind was completely exhausted.

He tapped on Virgil call sign and waited for a response. He was greeted with a stuttering image of Virgil trying to pull someone out from under a fallen beam, and he was covered in soot from trying to handle the fire. John had already spoken to the fire chief, it was out, but a lot of people were still trapped.

"Hey Virgil," John began, only to be interrupted by a sigh of relief from Virgil.

"John! Finally. I need you to speak to this guy, I have literally no idea what he's saying but he's moaning a lot." John peered down at the man Virgil was kneeling next to as he expanded the camera view. He was quite old, his beard was long and covered in more soot that Virgil if that was possible.

"Asalaam alaekhom, ismi Jon-" he was cut off by the man's yelp of pain as Virgil tried to help him up.

"Momkin… tetargim?!" The man groaned loudly.

"Naam, ismak ay?"

"Hassaan, min fadlak…" John interrupted his pleading to speak to Virgil again.

"His name is Hassaan, Virgil." Virgil nodded and lay Hassaan flat, waiting to hear what was wrong.

"Il alam fayn?" John asked, raising his voice in order to be heard over the sounds of the commotion.

"Mish aedirr-" He was cut off by the sounds of Hassaan's sudden screams of pain. John couldn't understand him but made a guess when he saw him clutch his chest.

"Atnafis?" John asked urgently. Hassaan nodded flantically and John was near panicking.

"He can't breathe Virgil! Do something for the love of god!" Virgil grabbed the bag that sat behind him and pulled out the mask of oxygen and pressed it over his face. John gave momentary sigh of relief until he noticed the tremor of Hassaan's body, not to do with the breathing, or so he presumed.

"Il alam fayn?" He asked, a million and one things raced through his head that could be wrong, and he hoped that it would be something that Virgil could fix. He already knew that emergency services were going into overload and downtown Amman was hard enough to access by road already, and the fires had only made it worse.

"Fi alam hena… regl!" He pointed to his leg and Virgil immediately began to set it straight.

"What's wrong with it?" John asked, eager to convey the information.

"Just a sprain, nothing to worry about." Virgil replied. John saw the shadows of two paramedics standing over Hassaan and Virgil and heard their quiet voices address Virgil in English. Hassaan soon disappeared from John's view of the camera as he was carried away and John shrunk the frame.

"I think we can leave now, I assume that Alan and Gordon are already waiting for me." Virgil said as he stood up. He smiled weakly and began to walk back through the charred streets.

"Inta kwa… Are you alright, Virgil?" John asked between yawns, his heavy eyelids were weighted with lead and they begged him to bed.

"Sure, you're doing that thing again John, you need to sleep." Virgil ducked as entered Thunderbird 2's cockpit and sat in his chair.

"You wouldn't be the first to say that."

"We'll debrief later, it's been a long day for all of us."

"True, you rest up little brother."

"Let your brain catch up with the rest of us!" They both signed off and John crawled to bed. He wasn't bothered by the usual luxury of ablutions, his drowsy mind clutched to the thought of the soft pillow, leaving behind all language. Sleep was simply clockwork to him but just as necessary. After all, like clockwork, sleep is a universal language.

"Asalaam alaekhom, ismi Jon-" – Hello, my name is John

"Momkin… tetargim?!" – Can you translate?

"Naam, ismak ay?" – Yes, what is your name?

"Hassaan, min fadlak…" – Hassaan, please...

"Il alam fayn?" – Where does it hurt?

"Mish aedirr-" – I can't…

"Atnafis?" – Breathe?

"Fi alam hena… regl!" – It hurts here... leg!

I'll be back soon with the next prompt!