Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. The original characters come from my imagination, and I am certain that belongs to me.
AN: don't ask me where this came from, coz I have no idea. It's been in my head for a while, and suddenly decided that it wanted to break free and typed its way into a Word doco. It is a semi tie-in with "The Troublesome Tickets", but it can also be read as a stand alone without too many issues. Another one set pre-Thunderbirds.
Chapter One- A Promise to Keep
Moonlight bathed the Tracy farmhouse, illuminating a darkened room in a sliver of silver light.
"Scott?" Twenty year old John blinked in the silver glow of the room. "Are you awake?"
"No."
John heaved a sigh and rolled over so that he was facing the silhouette of his one and only big brother. "Are you scared?"
Scott scoffed and turned away from John's probing eyes, not answering the question.
"I am." It took a lot of guts for John to voice his fear.
"I'm not scared, John," Scott said, before dropping his voice to a mumble. "I'm terrified."
John opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the bedroom door creaked open. Wordlessly, Alan, Gordon and Virgil sleepily trooped into the room, plonked down on Scott's bed and curled up beside him.
"OK, what are you guys doing in here?" Scott asked, feeling overwhelmed, yet flattered by the attention.
"Nightmare, Scotty," whispered Alan, burrowing his head into a pillow.
"What was it about?"
"You didn't come back," Alan replied, choking back a sob. "Or if you did come back, you came in a coffin."
Scott hugged the eleven year old close to him. "Alan, look at me." Blue eyes met blue eyes. "I am coming back. I am not going to die. I promise, I am coming back."
The blond eleven year old nodded and snuggled down under the covers, somewhat reassured. If Scott promised he was coming back, he would be coming back. There was no doubt about it.
"Virg, you OK?" Scott asked.
The only semi-coherent response he got from the half asleep eighteen year old lying at the foot of his bed, was something along the lines of "yeah, yeah, shnowrag."
Scott diverted his attention to Gordon.
The sixteen year old red-head shrugged. "Couldn't sleep without Virgil's snoring. The room was too quiet."
Scott raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further. "Get some sleep, Red. You've got school tomorrow."
Gordon acquiesced and curled up close to Alan.
Slowly, the three boys drifted off to sleep, Virgil's snores resounding round the room.
"You shouldn't have done that, Scott," John berated quietly.
"Done what?"
"Make a promise you know you have no control over."
"John, this is a promise I can keep."
"How can you say that?" John shook his head incredulously, a note of panic evident in his voice. "You don't know what's going to happen over there! You have no control over what's going to happen! You are not omnipotent! You are not omniscient either!"
"John, I'm not going die because I have too much to live for."
Silence fell between the two brothers until John broke it.
"Are you and Dad still arguing?"
"Nope."
"That's good," John sighed in relief.
"To argue, you actually have to be talking to each other."
The sun broke through the cloud cover just two hours after dawn and streamed into the Tracy farmhouse kitchen. It promised to be a beautiful Kansas spring day.
Jeff sat down at the table with a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee, toast and his laptop a few inches away from the mug, headlines burning onto the LCD screen.
"Morning, boys," he greeted as he heard his herd of animals, minus one, hounded into the kitchen.
"Mornin'," they chorused back, busy scraping butter onto pieces of pre-cooked, now cooled, toast.
"How was your night?"
John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan all shared uneasy looks with each other. They all knew that there was friction between their father and the first born son. What caused it still remained a secret.
"Boys?" Jeff prompted.
"It was OK," shrugged John, grabbing a carton of juice from the fridge and pouring some into a glass.
"Ooh, I'd be careful with that, John," Virgil said jokingly. "Scott may have been drinking straight from that. It's probably tainted now."
The change in Jeff's posture was evident. His back straightened, as if someone had strapped him to a metal pole, and his fingers tightened round his toast. His eyes had narrowed slightly even though he was making a tremendous effort to remain as composed as possible.
"It's not the juice carton I drink out of," Scott stated from the doorway, moving to the fridge so he could grab the carton of milk and take a slurp from it.
Shaking his head, Jeff picked up his mug, poured the remaining coffee down the sink, grabbed his laptop and stormed out of the room, not once looking at his eldest.
Bewildered, Gordon and Alan's eyes followed his retreating back, wondering what Scott had done to get their father so upset.
"Sir," Scott called suddenly. "It's eleven am. I'd really like you to be there."
Jeff did not reply as he retreated into the heart of the house.
A meaningful glance was shared between John and Virgil.
"Gordon," Virgil began with the air and tact of a diplomat, "Why don't you and Alan go watch some TV now?"
"What about," Gordon broke off as his stomach rumbled. "Breakfast? It's the most important meal of the day."
John pushed two bowls of cereal into his arms and shunted the red head and blond to the door.
As soon as the door closed behind them, John and Virgil rounded on Scott.
"OK, what was that all about?"
"What was what about?" Scott took another slurp out of the milk carton.
John shuddered at his brother's utter lack of social etiquette. "For pity's sake, use a glass, Scott. Not everyone likes drinking your backwash, you know."
"Your spit's my spit," Scott said, hoping to change the subject.
It did not work.
"Nice try, Scott," John's nose crinkled up a bit. "First of all, your spit is a lot more splashier than mine-"
"Eww," Virgil groaned, face screwed up in disgust at the current conversation. "Can we get off the spit subject? What's happening between you and Dad?"
"We're having one of those arguments."
"What about?" John jumped into the line of questioning.
"Oh, you know, just stuff," Scott evaded lightly.
"This has something to do with today, doesn't it?"
"Always the astute one, aren't you, Virg?" Scott hung his head slightly. "I could never pull one over you, could I?"
"So, you gonna tell us what happened? This feud has been brewing for two weeks. We've had enough."
"You know the time I bailed you out when you were caught driving without a licence or insurance?" Scott asked tentatively.
"How could I forget? Virgil Tracy now has a criminal record."
"That was the evening I was told about this. The day after that, I told Dad."
"Scott," John placed a hand on Scott's shoulder, bracing himself for the answer, "what happened?"
Scott stood outside his father's office door, full of nervous energy. To knock, or not to knock, that was the question.
"You can come in, son," Jeff called out from inside the office.
Startled, Scott entered the meticulously tidy room and stood to attention in front of the stained and varnished teak desk. "How did you know I was there?"
"Son, I'm your father. I know everything. What's bugging you?"
"I, um, I need to talk to you."
Jeff placed his pen back in the holder and rested his chin on interlocked fingers. "Well, shoot."
"I've been called up. They're sending me out there in two weeks."
Fear gripped Jeff like an icy embrace. No. Not to his son. Not when he was still so young. Jeff knew the mortality rate had risen recently in the defence forces due to the humanitarian aid they were providing in war-torn nations.
Scott watched his father closely for any giveaway of emotion.
"It's part of the humanitarian aid project," Scott continued, hoping this would alleviate some of the fear Jeff held. "No weapons are going to be involved on our part. We are simply there to help."
"No. You are not going."
"Excuse me?"
"You can't go. It's far too risky."
Scott just stared at his father, blinking rapidly. He had known Jeff wouldn't take the news well, but he hadn't expected this reaction. 'I guess,' he mused, 'that's what happens when your father doesn't experience active duty during his time with the Force.'
"How do you think I would feel, knowing that you may never come back and I could have prevented that?"
"I'm there to make a difference!" Scott yelled, arms waving wildly to emphasis his point. "Do you honestly think I could live with myself, knowing I could have made a difference, but I didn't?!" Scott took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "Dad, I will come back."
Jeff contorted his face in agony. "You can't say that. I knew a guy who knew a guy who said that. He came back alright. He came back with a smattering of medals, an American flag and a twenty-one gun salute."
The silence reverberated around the room.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir."
Biting his lip, Scott turned on his heel and headed to the door. Placing his hand on the handle, Scott twisted round to face his father. "You wanna know something? I wasn't planning on telling you because I knew you'd react like this. Then I realised it would have been a disservice to both of us if I did that. I was hoping you'd show a bit of support. Acceptance, if not support. Guess I was wrong."
Without waiting for a response, Scott left the room, closing the door slowly behind him.
Gordon shovelled some cereal into his mouth as he lay on the worn out rug in the rumpus room, careful not to slop any on the t-shirt he was wearing to school.
"What are they talking about, Gordy?" Alan fished a flake of cereal out of his bowl and threw it at Gordon's hair when he didn't reply.
Irritated, Gordon shook his vibrant red hair. "Can you not do that, Alan? I've just had a shower. And how am I supposed to know what they are talking about if I'm here with you? Idiot!"
Alan's lips immediately morphed from a half smile into an impetuous pout. "Why are you always calling me an idiot?!"
"Because you are one," Gordon replied, without missing a beat.
Alan jumped to his feet, letting the cereal bowl slide and crash on the floor. "I'm NOT an idiot!" Alan yelled with all the conviction of an eleven year old before storming upstairs.
Gordon lay there in sobered silence, wondering what had brought on the change in Alan. 'Guess it's just about today and Scott going,' he thought. 'It's hard on all of us. Alan must have reached breaking point.'
"What was that all about?" Virgil leant in the doorway, only to be pushed into the room by John.
Before he could think of a suitable reply, John opened his mouth and asked, "Shouldn't you be watching the news instead of cartoons?"
John flipped the channel on the TV screen.
"And in the early morning international news, we have just received word that the five humanitarian workers in the war-torn nation of Bereznik have been executed.
"One of the more notorious rebel troops captured the aid workers over a month ago and held them for ransom, until their execution. We must warn you that some of the footage is quite explicit in its nature, and that it may be distressing to viewers."
"John, change the channel, please," Virgil begged, his stomach performing amazing feats of gymnastics as the TV screen flashed images of bloodshed, carnage, carcasses and general destruction.
John nodded, glancing over at Scott, who was frozen in his seat.
"You know what, John," Scott murmured, rubbing a hand down his worried face, "cartoons might have been a better option."
The grandfather clock that stood tall and proud in the foyer of the farmhouse chimed loudly at eight, a klaxon summoning three Tracy boys off to school.
Scott and John stood in the doorway, ready to see Virgil, Gordon and Alan off.
"I still don't see why we can't take half a day off to stay with you," Alan spoke to Scott's midriff, hugging the life out of him.
"You can't come because you need to go to school. You've missed enough already."
"And why do we need to go to school?" Gordon asked, lodged under one of Scott's arms.
Scott sighed. Time to issue Standard Response 101 out... again. "Because I said so."
"And why do you get to say that?" Virgil asked, placed under Scott's other arm.
"Because I'm older, taller and wiser."
John snorted, unable to withhold his laughter. "Well, two out of three ain't bad, Scott. Especially for you."
Scott shot John a look that clearly stated 'do not undermine my authority in front of the others.'
John held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just speaking the truth. If you can't handle it, get out of the firing line."
"Duly noted." Scott extracted himself from the group hug. "Now scoot, otherwise you'll miss the bus."
Knowing they had just lost a battle of the wills, Virgil ushered his brothers out the door and onto the outside porch. "Now, you e-mail and call and text us as soon as you get the chance-"
"Snail mail would be more reliable."
"Look after yourself," Virgil continued as though there had been no interruption. "Don't take stupid risks-"
"Do I ever take stupid risks?"
"And stay safe. Well," Virgil amended quickly, "as safe as you can when you're stationed in a war zone."
Scott nodded. "Virg, you know I'll be home soon. You know I'm coming back, don't you?"
"I know you say your coming back. Whether you do… that's a different matter."
"No, Virg. I am coming back. You wanna know why? Because I made that promise to Alan. I made it to all of you. That's a promise I intend to keep."
AN: if I remember correctly, Bereznik was the country used in the comics, so I used it here. Anyway, please review and let me know what you thought.