::Dark Half::

A/N: This is rated a PG - but there are some references to suicide and other...psychotic things later on. If any of these things bother you, I reccomend against you reading this.

On a lighter note: Enjoy! Flames and criticisms are welcome in reviews. Start with my spelling . there's always alot to criticise there .

1. Time Loss

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Pause.

Tap. Tap.

Pause.

Tap.

Silence.

John sighed heavily. Most of his life seemed to revolve around silence - and the listening that could be done through it. He often suspected the reason his father disliked the idea of having two people on Thunderbird Five instead of the customary one was because it wouldn't be as mind- wrenchingly silent, and distress calls msy be missed.

He stared over at the small wall clock he had been permitted as a decoration. Televisions and vidio game consoles were out of the question; too distracting. Infact, it had taken three months of pleading and pathetic whining (of which he was still ashamed) to get a telescope. That and bookshelves, and a small globe, and a small potplant. This was pretty much his world for months at a time; the island's lush, deep vegitation always surprised him in colour and texture after all he would see for days was gun metal grey metal with occasional splashes of orange.

Back to the clock.

Thunderbird 3 was late. More than half an hour late, and this usually meant that they weren't coming. On time or not coming at all. He glanced down sadly at the small travel bag beside the bed. Hello old friend. Looks like we're going to be spending even more time together, eh?

He rocked sideways, snuggling down into the rough sheets (rough...I'm fed up of sleeping in rough sheets...) and closed his intense blue eyes, frowning slightly.

Quarter of an hour later, no call and no Thunderbird 3. He huffed gently, then sat up again and rubbed his eyes, making the whites red. His blonde hair had tangled slightly at the back, and he looked like he had been sleeping for days. He sniffed, balanced himself a second, then stood and walked over to the radio transmitter and called home.

"Yes, son?" Jeff was seated behind his desk; he didn't look up. John felt slightly disheartned.

"Is there something wrong?" He tried the subtle tone, trying not to let his eyes settle on any one object in his Earth-bound home. Even so, his heart began to ache at the little things; the light, for example, was a little less harsh, the atmosphere nicer, the decorations more normal. He was glad none of his brothers were in the room - it would have tipped his feelings over the edge.

"Of course not. Why?" His father's tone was even, unfeeling. John gulped inwardly. He was in one of those moods.

"Well - er - Thunderbird 3's a little late."

Jeff looked up. His expression was quizzical. "I'm sorry?"

"Alan and Scott are late relieving me." John said bluntly. His father frowned.

"John - son - they're not due to pick you up for another two weeks." He spoke gently, slowly.

John looked over at his calender. "No, no, it's today." He murmured, but he was suddenly unsure. Doubtful, he looked back at his father. "Isn't it?"

"No...it's noted down here in my desk diary for two weeks today." Jeff atudied his son carefully. "Are you alright?"

"Yes...I guess I...I must have heard wrong...I..." John tailed off. "Sorry for bothering you, father."

"No, no, don't ring off, son. Did you honestly think it was today, eh?"

"I could've sworn...oh, it doesn't matter..."

"Do you want to come home? I can get Alan if you want."

"No! No, it's okay. I'm okay. Er - I'll go now, if that's okay."

"Alright...but if you want to come home, you can...you know that, don't you?"

John smiled - but Jeff saw the lie behind it. "Of course."

The video link rung off. Jeff stared at his son's portait for a minute, then called trough to Gordon's room.

"Yea dad?"

"Come to the lounge a second would you?"

"Something up?"

"Isn't it always?"

"Dad?"

"Get up here. Now."