Open Your Eyes

"Scott, I've been in touch with the Hygenus Rille people again. They say that they've had to evacuate as the other two atomic batteries exploded and there's a good deal of radioactive contamination present." Alan said, looking up from his notes. "It will take some time for them to clean it all up."

Scott nodded. Now that Jeff was seemingly out of danger, the family was trying to return to a more normal schedule. Part of that effort meant conducting the debriefing from the disastrous moon rescue, a task that had been put off as being too difficult with their minds and hearts solely focused on Jeff's injuries.

"Anything else?" Scott asked, looking at each member of the rescue team in turn. There were several who shook their heads and a couple people responded "No."

"Then I'll say that our debrief of the Hygenus Rille rescue is closed," Scott said. He turned to Tin-Tin, who was manning a vid camera, recording the debriefing for Jeff to view later on. "You can turn the cameras off now, Tin-Tin. And thanks for recording it for us."

"You're welcome, Scott. I think that recording each debriefing might be a good idea. I'll speak to your father about it... later, " she said with a wry smile. Scott smiled back. Man, it feels good to smile again.

The meeting ended, the little group began to disperse. Brains paused at the top of the steps leading out of the lounge. "I-I'm going down to the, uh, sick room to check on M-Mr. Tracy. I'll let you know wh-when he wakens again so some of you can, uh, visit him. But one a-at a time, please."

"Thanks, Brains," John said with a grateful tone. "I'd like to sit with him next."

"I have dibs after John!" Alan called, grinning.

"Then me!" Gordon added. He looked over at Virgil. "Hey, Virgil! When do you want to see Dad?"

Virgil shrugged. "When he's had some rest after you three, I suppose."

He isn't showing any enthusiasm for the prospect, Scott mused. Something's up. He watched as his brother made his way to the piano. Virgil shuffled through the sheet music on the rack, looking for something that suited his mood. Unhappy with the selection provided, he opened the bench and began rifling through the books and papers there. He pulled a particular book from the piano bench and thumbed through it. He opened it wide, nodded to himself, and put it in the music rack on the baby grand. Scott settled back to listen to his brother play.

The tune was familiar to him, though he couldn't place it. It was haunting and stark, sounding sad and disjointed all at once. There was a Spanish feel to it, and Scott racked his brain to remember where he had heard it before. There was an angry outburst of sound in the middle, then it returned to the haunting melody again. The piece was long and trailed off at the end, leaving Scott to wonder if it was truly finished. And through the music, he heard Virgil's mood; he heard his sadness and anger.

When the piece was finished, Virgil just sat at the keyboard, his hands in his lap, staring at the music.

"What was that, Virge?"

Virgil sighed. "Adagio from the second movement of Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquin Rodrigo."

Scott sat up, startled. "I thought that was a guitar piece."

"It was," Virgil said quietly. "I liked it so much that I transcribed it for piano."

Now that Virgil had told him what he had been listening to, Scott could hear the piece in his head with the guitar. He himself played the guitar, but not well enough to attempt such a demanding score. Scott shook his head, amazed again at his brother's versatility and talent.

"Soooo. Why that music?"

"I dunno. I guess it matches the mood here." Virgil rose from the piano bench and went to the thick floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the sea, at the horizon.

"Don't think so, bro. The mood here is sad, yes, but relieved now that Dad has woken up," Scott responded, getting up to join his brother. He stood next to him, looking out at the spectacular view, not looking at Virgil. Virgil looked down and then up again.

"Well, then maybe it's just me."

"Maybe."

The two stood in silence, gazing out. Suddenly, Virgil slammed the window with his fist and leaned to put his forehead on the cool glass.

"It was all my fault."

Scott turned towards his brother. "Your fault?"

Virgil turned toward Scott, his head still on the glass, his face a study of anger and pain.

"Yes. My fault."

Scott waited for a few moments, then asked, "How so?"

Virgil stood away from the glass and stared out again.

"I was in command. John wanted to take Dad and not Alan. I told him to go ahead. I let Dad go."

Scott stood silently for a while, thinking over what his brother had just said, trying to come up with something that would assuage Virgil's sense of guilt.

"You could say that we were all to blame. Me, I didn't insist enough that Dad stay on Earth. John, he asked for Dad to go with him. Alan, he didn't put up enough of a fight about staying behind on Thunderbird Three." He paused. "And you, you were in command. Ultimately you were responsible."

Virgil gave him a deep frown. "That's right. I was in command. It was my fault."

"You could say that. And those things are true. But you're forgetting one small detail."

"What's that?"

"Dad." Scott put his hands in his pockets. "He was the one who went back into that battery room. John told him not to, but, really, he disobeyed orders. His choice. You had nothing to do with that." Scott blew out a breath. "If he hadn't gone back in, he wouldn't have gotten hurt. And that, Virgil, is the bottom line."

"There were lots of things that any or all of us could have done to prevent Dad from getting hurt. Fact is, we didn't know just what was going to happen. You know what they say about hindsight."

Virgil stood silently for a bit, then closed his eyes and scrubbed his hand through his chestnut hair, with the hand ending up on the back of his neck.

"Is all this supposed to make me stop feeling guilty about what happened?" he asked.

Scott shook his head. "No. It's supposed to make you stop beating yourself up over it."

Virgil looked at Scott and hrumphed. Scott smiled slightly.

"You ready to see Dad when he wakes up?"

Virgil nodded. "I'll let the others go first, then give him a break. Visiting with Alan alone will wipe him out."

Scott chortled. "Yeah. But I'm sure that Brains will limit our visits anyway for now."

"Yeah." Virgil turned back towards the piano, giving it a speculative look. Scott followed his brother's gaze.

"Would you play the Adagio again for me?" Scott asked. "I'd like to hear your version of it again since I know what I'm listening to."

"Okay." Virgil sat down at his instrument once again, and Scott reclaimed his seat on the sofa to listen, this time with full appreciation of the music and of his brother's talent.

Jeff woke again, slowly opening his eyes. The low light didn't seem to hurt as much despite the raging headache he had. He blinked a few times, waiting for his vision to clear. It took a moment or two, but when it did, he could clearly see the blond head of his son...

"John."

John put down his electronic notepad, and came close to his father, smiling.

"Hey, Dad," he said, speaking softly. "How do you feel?"

"Like a herd of elephants are marching up and down, playing timpani in my skull," Jeff replied through dry lips. He groaned as pain from his other injuries invaded his senses. "And like their friends and relations are tapdancing over my arm and chest."

John chuckled. "Sounds like it's time for a dose of painkiller. I'll let Brains know you're awake again." He called quietly into his telecomm and in a few moments Brains joined him at the bedside. The engineer-cum-doctor held a hypospray which he applied to Jeff's neck. Once again, the pain receded, and Jeff felt much more coherent and comfortable. Brains checked Jeff's eyes, finding the older man more cooperative this time, and asked a few questions to test Jeff's level of awareness.

"Do you know how you got here, M-Mr. Tracy?" Brains asked.

Jeff closed his eyes and tried to remember. Then he gingerly shook his head and said, "No, Brains, I don't."

"What is the last thing you do remember?"

Jeff's brows knit together as he concentrated on unearthing a recent memory. "There are memories there, in bits and pieces, but I can't put any of them together. I do remember talking to Alan outside somewhere. But that's about all."

Brains patted Jeff's good arm. "Don't w-worry about it. The m-memories will eventually, uh, return. You rest, and if you f-feel sleepy, don't fight it. Right n-now you need all the, uh, rest you can get."

"Okay, Brains." Jeff agreed. "Um, can we raise the head of this bed? And can I get something to drink? Or maybe to eat?"

"S-Sure, Mr. Tracy." Brains responded. John took the control for positioning the bed and raised the head slowly.

"Tell me when to stop, Dad," he requested. He watched his father's face as he manipulated the controls. Finally, Jeff closed his eyes and swallowed.

"That's high enough, son."

Brains had gone for a cup of water and a straw. "Sip this, Mr. T-Tracy. Just sip. Let the w-water rest in your mouth before swallowing."

Jeff heeded his instructions and felt the small sips of water trickle down his dry throat. It felt so very, very good.

Brains put the cup on the bed table, in reach of Jeff's good hand. "Here. Keep sipping. I'll go s-see about getting you some, uh, clear fluids for dinner, Mr. Tracy." He made for the sick room door.

"Brains?" The engineer turned before leaving. Jeff gave him a small smile.

"Thank you."

Brains flushed pink. "Y-You're welcome, uh, Mr. Tracy," he replied as he left the room.

There was quiet in the sick room for a few moments as John sat back in the chair and picked up his notepad. He looked up to see his father watching him.

"What are you doing there, son?"

"Going over my manuscript for my next book. My publisher is getting a bit antsy and wants me to send the new materials along to my editor within the week. Since I'm headed to corporate in the next few days, I want to wrap this up as much as possible so I can focus on my work in New York."

"Hmm... yes. Corporate." Jeff said slowly. "I remember that. I remember asking you to go."

John smiled. "That's good, Dad. But don't push the memory thing. It will come, as Brains has said."

Jeff sighed. "I'll try not to." He looked down at himself. "Do I look as bad as I've been feeling? I never was told what my injuries were, you know."

John put aside the notepad again, and moved closer to Jeff. "I suppose I can tell you," he said, looking into his father's face. "Let's see. You have a broken radius in your left arm, and four ribs were broken along that side: two were merely cracked, but the others were really broken, one in two places. They've been fused to help with the healing. One of the broken ribs put a small puncture in your left lung, not large enough to cause the lung to collapse, but large enough to require surgery. Lots of bruises and abrasions. The worst of your injuries is the concussion. It's pretty severe: you were unconscious for three days."

"Th-Three days!?"

"Ssssh, Dad. Calm down. Yes, three days. Brains was just about to ship you out to a hospital when you woke up." John sat on the edge of the bed and put a comforting hand on his father's shoulder..

"John, how did this happen?" Jeff asked, a bewildered and anxious look on his face. "I'm badly injured. I've had surgery. I've lost three whole days and I don't even know why!" His voice rose, frustration apparent in every word.

"Dad. Calm. Down. I understand how confusing this all is to you. I've gone through it a couple of times myself," John reminded him wryly. "But it's better that you remember on your own." He sighed. "Truth to tell, I wasn't present when it happened. And Scott was first to reach you so I didn't even see the whole of the aftermath. All I did was help get you to safety."

Jeff closed his eyes and shook his head, not caring if it triggered nausea or not. "It is so frustrating to realize that I can't remember something so devastating." He gave John a rueful look. "And what you've told me just makes me even more confused."

"I'm sorry, Dad, I really am. Just be patient. Wait on it. The memories will come back as your head heals."

Jeff sighed heavily. He picked up his water and took a couple of sips, then looked over at John.

"Can you at least tell me what day it is? What time is it?"

John nodded and looked at his watch. "It's 5:45 in the afternoon on New Year's Eve."

Jeff groaned again. "Penny's party." He looked up at John. "I don't suppose any of you will be there?"

"No, Dad. We sent our regrets this year. Penny understood."

"I'm sure she did."

Kyrano came silently into the room, a tray in his hands. He put it on the bed table, moving the table close to Jeff, arranging a napkin at the neck of Jeff's hospital gown, and handing him a spoon.

"Mr. Brains says that you may have some clear fluids for dinner. That means chicken broth and... ahem... jello." He hid a smile at Jeff's expression of disgust. "He says you are to eat them slowly and give them time to settle between spoonfuls."

"Brains knows how much I despise jello," Jeff grumbled. John laughed out loud and Jeff speared him with a withering look. He began to awkwardly spoon up the broth with his good hand, spilling more of it onto the napkin than he got into his mouth.

John watched for a minute.

"Do you want some help, Dad?" he offered.

Jeff looked at him crossly. "No."

He attempted a few more sloppy spoonfuls, then sighed, his shoulders drooping in resignation.

"I guess I could use some help."

John smiled slightly. "Why don't I just hold the bowl closer to your mouth and you can scoop the broth in?"

The two men's eyes met and held for a moment. Then Jeff smiled and said, "I think that might just work, John."

"Five." John intoned.

"Four." Gordon added.

"Three." Alan said.

"Two." Virgil declared.

"One." Scott returned.

"Happy New Year!" they cried, raising their glasses. Grandma, Brains, Tin- Tin, and Kyrano joined in as they toasted the new year.

In the sick room, Jeff slept, unaware of the occasion and of the fervent, thankful toasts given in his honor.