SILENT NIGHT by TIYLAYA RATED FRPT

Alone on Thunderbird Five as Christmas Eve draws to a close, John struggles to find the season’s comfort and peace.  

Author's Notes: I wasn't intending to write a Christmas story this year, right up until the evening of Christmas Eve. However, this is just a quick vignette that came to me on Christmas night and I thought I’d share. Merry Christmas, one and all, and a huge ‘Thank You!’ to everyone out there who works to keep us safe and protected, even on Christmas Day.

A few desultory strands of tinsel adorned the console. Hanging from the ceiling of the control room, a metallic foil star reflected the harsh lighting from its elaborate folds, sending out a myriad of dancing glimmers. John tried to summon a smile for the decorations as he leaned back in Thunderbird Five's control chair, but it slipped wearily from his face. It had been a hard day.

The Christmas Eve rescue had been a difficult one, and for long moments - as Scott's voice broke off with an alarmed cry and Gordon fell silent - John had doubted whether Tracy Island would ever know Christmas joy again. Unable to do anything to help, his mind threatening to tie itself into knots of maybes and what-ifs, John had counted away the seconds.

He'd reached fifty-eight before Scott answered his brothers' urgent calls. It was another eighty-three painful seconds before they'd reached Gordon and confirmed that his younger brother was alive and, more or less, well. The whole crisis had lasted less than three minutes from beginning to end, but for those minutes John's world had hung in the balance. For those minutes he'd asked himself the perennial question: was it worth it? If this were to be the Christmas that presents were left unclaimed beneath the tree in the lounge, and a place at the family table remained unfilled, could it be worth the cost?

But then Gordon had awakened, the rescuees had been saved, and, through the transmissions picked up by Thunderbird Five, John had heard the heart-felt joy of the families spared that same grief. His question answered without ever being voiced, he'd listened in on the situation long after his weary brothers had headed homewards.

Local news reports gave the anonymous rescuees names and faces. The media revelled in the story of this latter-day Christmas miracle, and the people of the town in question rallied around the victims without hesitation. International Rescue had come and gone, bringing the gift of life without asking for anything in return. Their reward came nonetheless, kindness for kindness, spreading out in a wave of goodwill from man to fellow man. No one in that place would go hungry or homeless this Christmas.

John looked around the cabin again, trying to find some of that joyful spirit in the feeble decorations. Christmas seemed distant and unreal this year. His family were far away and John wasn't even joining the others for carols around Virgil's piano. It wouldn't be the first time one or more of them was absent; despite their best efforts, the Tracy family had grown accustomed to disrupted celebrations. They'd learned not to invest too much in the idea of a peaceful Christmas on their island home, but it still hurt. As John listened to his brothers' homecoming, and Tracy Island had settled in for the night, he found himself restless.

The news reports summoned memories of long-gone Kansas days, the cozy comforts of his grandmother's farm, and the strong community that had surrounded it. More than once, when he was a child, the townsfolk had come together to help those in need at this time of year. John could remember the peace and happiness he'd derived from helping others in those simple ways, and from the confident knowledge that he and his would be cared for in return.

He laughed quietly, wondering what a psychiatrist would make of that. Was International Rescue no more to John than an attempt to recapture childhood comforts? Every day, holiday or otherwise, John stretched out his hand to help the world in a manner his younger self couldn't have imagined, but while he felt a fierce pride in International Rescue's achievements, he knew that the carefree joy of a childhood Christmas was long since lost to him.

John paced the night-darkened hallways of his space station, his hand idly stroking the communications panels, imagining for a moment that their flashing lights were the sparkling decorations adorning the family Christmas tree.

Far below, Tracy Island was wrapped tightly in the wings of night. His family were sleeping. All was calm. Soon, John knew, he would be ready to join them in slumber. But not just yet. The adrenaline of the rescue was still fading away, and lost in thoughts of the past, John found it softening into a long-forgotten anticipation.

How long had it been since he'd waited up 'till midnight on Christmas Eve? Sure there were years when he'd been awake - partying in his younger days, chatting to his brothers, or waiting for them to return home - but how long since he'd waited for this moment, just for the delight of it?

If he closed his eyes, would he hear the jingle of sleigh bells? Would he hear the patter of reindeer feet on the ... on the hull?

He laughed softly to himself, the scientist in him arguing that even Santa and company needed oxygen to breathe while the inner child insisted that Santa could do anything if he'd just believe it.

John sighed. Stark reality fought back his fantasies. He'd learnt only too well that the comfortable safety of his childhood memories was no more than an illusion. As he and his brothers had celebrated, beyond his walls there had been people crying out for help, a never-ceasing chorus of pain. He knew that even now, while International Rescue rested, there were still people risking their lives to save others. When he was with his family, he could block the knowledge out - pretend just for a while that if the Thunderbirds weren't needed, all was right with the world. Up here, with the voices of the imperfect planet filling the air around him, he couldn't hide from the truth. Thunderbird Five had robbed him of the few illusions that had survived adolescence.

He stood in the centre of the main deck, listening to the endless chatter of emergency calls, waiting for the one that only International Rescue could answer. Santa wasn't coming to Thunderbird Five. The only sound John could hope for here was the absence of bells rather than their gentle chiming. Hadn't they earned that? Could the alarms remain quiet for a whole twenty-four hours, giving them the Christmas they craved? His family gave of themselves year round. If there was one day they deserved a little peace it was this day, surely?

The clock on the wall was measuring out the final seconds of Christmas Eve, and John felt torn. He closed his eyes as the last seconds ticked away, trying to recapture his excitement he'd felt just minutes before as he continued the count down in the silence of his own head.

He opened his eyes on the stroke of midnight, smiling sadly to himself. There was no magic here after all. Focusing past his own reflection in the control room windows, he tried to pick out Tracy Island in the darkness below.

"Merry Christmas," he called softly to his sleeping family.

John froze, hearing the echoes of his own voice and only now noticing the silence into which it fell. Frantically, he turned to his control panels, checking diagnostics, astonished by the array of green lights that told him all was well.

Through force of habit, he found himself counting the seconds, trying to fight back the uncertainty and confusion. The only sounds on the station were the harsh sound of his rapid breathing and the ever-present hum of the life-support systems.

He frowned, disbelieving, as his hands fell away from the monitors. Everything was in working order. He was sure of that now. Slowly, he turned from the display panels back to the windows. His breathing eased as he took in the panoramic view of the night-shrouded Earth. As his breaths calmed, so he felt the quiet beauty of the sight sink into him. A tension he didn't even know he carried eased from his body as he listened to the silence.

He didn't move from his spot as the chatter of the emergency frequencies returned, quietly at first and then with their usual overlapping cacophony. For once he didn't try to understand. He didn't question.

It was a little miracle. A private miracle that only John had been witness to.

He smiled, finding the peace and joy in his soul that he'd thought long-since ground out of him.

For sixty seconds, as Christmas Day had touched Tracy Island, the emergency services of the world had breathed easy. For sixty seconds there had been no calls for help - desperate or otherwise. For sixty seconds, the world had been truly at peace.

And if it had happened once, it could happen again.

John would sleep well that night, knowing that amidst the pain, the heartache and the chaos, there could be a glimmer of hope.

And he'd wake ready to go on, carrying with him the memory of the silent night.