Peace and QUIET!

Standard disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Thunderbirds, but retain the greatest respect and admiration for all those who created this amazing series.

Peace and QUIET! Boys make noise and seven year old Gordon is finding his feet as a prankster. This is a warm humorous family orientated story.

This comical story was inspired one day in my garden when I uttered the fatal words "Ah this is peaceful," as I sank down on my lounger, then all hell let lose as a barrage of events unleashed their forces, making the notion of peace a joke.

Jeff is about to experience something similar as he tries to get some peace and quiet after a hard day.

Jeff's thoughts turned to his wife and the well earned break she was at this moment enjoying with her parents. Another day and she would be home. The thought brought a smile to his face. Looking up from his desk, his gaze drifted over to the patio doors to the greenery beyond, beckoning invitingly. 'Why not', he thought, dropping his pen onto the mountain of paperwork and stretching the tired muscles across his back. He was having a hard time concentrating anyway. Easing his weary body from the chair, he walked over to the doors and looked out into the garden beyond.

'Those boys are quiet' he mused stepping through onto the veranda, his eyes scanning the area for signs of his offspring. At that moment eleven year old Scott walked into his line of vision. "Son?"

"Yes sir?"

"Everything alright?"

"Yes sir. We're just playing."

"And your brothers?"

Gordon and Alan are tinkering with their bikes and John's working on something in his room."

Jeff nodded, satisfied. "Okay son."

"Are you still working, Dad?"

"Actually I think I'll call it a day. I could use a break. I think I'll catch up on a spot of R&R, if you boys don't mind," he added for Virgil's benefit as he joined them.

"No problem, Dad."

Jeff decided a drink would be in order and brought himself something long and cool with a touch of alcohol in it. He leaned back onto the inviting lounger with the trace of a smile hovering over his lips. Taking a sip, he placed the glass on the table beside him and closed his eyes, exhaling the tension from within. Until that moment he hadn't appreciated how weary he was. It was a pleasure to be able to relax and the garden was just the place to do it.

"You got it?"

"Sure; do I look dumb or what?"

Alan tilted his head on one side surveying his auburn haired brother, a speculative look in his blue eyes. "Yeah, he replied," and ducked as the oil encrusted rag missed its aim by a whisker.

"Watch it you; else I'm not doin' it."

Gordon grinned and pulled a face. "Who else yah gonna get to test this out if not me?"

Alan thought about that for a moment and knew his brother had a point. Shrugging and grinning, he conceded Gordon had him over a barrel. "We ready then?"

"Ready as ever. You got that rope?"

"Yep." Alan nodded.

"You secured it?"

"Yep."

"You got the timer?"

"Yep."

"Okay let's get 'Operation Crash-dive' under way."

Gordon slipped the rope through the belt of his jeans and, eyeing the tree, began his ascent, watched with admiration by the younger Tracy, who felt it was a gross injustice that he was not permitted to do this brave feat due to his tender years. Since there were only thirteen months separating them, in his opinion he was every bit as good as his brother when it came to scrambling up trees, even one as big as this, but parental edict decreed otherwise. Within seconds, the older boy had scaled the gnarled oak and thrown the rope over one of its branches watching with satisfaction as the tip hit the ground, before beginning his descent. Both boys, their faces a mask of concentration began tugging on the rope, beaming with delight as the bike left the ground and inched its way up into the dense foliage.

"You ready then?"

"Yep."

"Okay on the count of three. One…………two…………..

Feeling the tension ebbing from him for the first time that day, Jeff was glad he'd decided to postpone the office work he'd brought home. He sighed and stretched lethargically on the lounger, feeling the first tendrils of sleep drifting over him.

The thunderous crash shot through him like a thunderbolt, unhinging him from his nebulous oasis. "WHAT THE……!" He jolted upright, a dazed look on his face, as he spun round to identify the source of the racket (ignoring the glass that went flying). Racing over, he rounded the tree, coming face to face with two small guilty little faces and a pile of smashed bike parts.

Hands on hips he stared down at the pair, an expression of bemused tolerance on his face. Before he had time to more than open his mouth they were both vying to fill him in. "Wasn't me."

"Me neither."

"I suppose it ascended and abseiled on its own, then," he said, noting the rope still attached to a certain body part that had once resembled a bike.

Both boys looked at each other wondering what abseiling meant.

"You shouldn't be climbing trees."

"I wasn't," the youngest one chimed up, his disgust plain to see at the injustice of this ban.

His father overlooked that. "What were you boys trying to do anyway?"

Having momentarily forgotten both had sworn their innocence they then rushed to on. "We're testing….. Termidabals volcity."

"No you mean ternimal voliticy." Gordon grinned up at his father knowledgably.

Jeff strained to prevent the corners of his mouth turning up as his fourth born rushed on, "We got a timer, an' everythink, 'cept Alan here forgot to set it, an' so now we still don't know how fast it takes the bike to fall."

"I see. Whose bike is……was this anyway?" Jeff watched the facial gestures of his youngest sons with amusement, his eyes surveying the debris and working out for himself that it was Alan's.

"He doesn't use it much," was the excuse offered by the older son.

"I see; and that makes it okay does it?"

Amiable blue eyes locked with wide eyed amber ones, no further explanation forthcoming.

Jeff shook his head. "I want you both to clear up this mess, and after that I want you stay out of trouble, okay?"

Both sighed, heads down. "Okay, Dad," they said in unison.

"And if you want to know about terminal velocity, you'd be better off using the computer. I'll help you….. later."

This brought out a whoop of delight and both boys set about the task they'd been given.

Jeff permitted the smile that had been working its way up to break the surface, as he headed back to the lounger. It would have been fatal before. 'At least', he mused, 'a bike can be replaced'.

Picking up the glass and replenishing it he returned to the rest he'd contemplated earlier.

'Ah this is more like it.'

Boyng.

He closed his eyes and sighed, 'If only I could spend more time like this'.

Boyng.

He turned slightly, repositioning his tall well-built frame to gain maximum comfort from the lounger.

'Ummm, nice.

Dub, dub Boyng.

He lazily swatted at a fly, feeling the warmth of the sun washing over him, while the background sounds of Mother Nature lulled him further into slumber.

Boyng.

His brows furrowed slightly, and he lazily reached out again to swat the fly, concentrating on drifting into sleep.

Boyng, dub dub boyng.

A crease of irritation crossed his face. The fly buzzed round settling briefly on his face before being swatted with more force.

Boyng.

'What the heck?' He raised his head and peered round the lounger, almost overbalancing in the process and knocking over the drink as he shot out a hand to rebalance himself. "Oh for crying ou..…"

"Hello dear, having fun?"

He squinted up to see his mother, her eyes dancing merrily as she bent down and retrieved the glass.

"Never mind; I'll get you another."

Boyng.

"Thank you mother." Taking a deep breath, he lay back and forced himself to relax once more and let the sun work her magic. Like most men, he had the uncanny ability to drift into sleep within minutes of closing his eyes. His breathing soon slowed to its regular steady rhythm, the tension uncoiling as he sank deeper into the inviting lounger, his mouth relaxed, dropping slightly open.

Beep-beep-beep-……………..

Boyng.

"Here you are, son."

"What the blazes…."

"Now now dear; did you know your mobile is…….."

"Yes, mother; I am aware of it."

Beep-beep-beep-….."Jeff Tracy speaking…..; yes….."

Boyng.

"You need to relax dear," his mother offered, noting the edginess about him as he finished the phone call. "Try and get some sleep; it'll do you good."

Jeff concluded it was good thing telepathy was relegated to the gifted few.

He took another sip from the glass and lay back again. Somewhere at the back of his mind he was aware of certain noises impinging but sleep won.

Boyng, boyng.

"Get off that; it's mine!"

"I saw it first; you go and get your own."

"No, you go."

"No, you."

"I'll tell Dad."

"No you won't, 'cause I'll tell him first."

Boyng, boyng, dub dub boyng.

Jeff stiffened and opened an exasperated eye, "Your father already knows. Alan? Gordon? put that lap-top back…………LAP-TOP! Where the blazes did you get that!

Guilty faces replaced belligerent ones as both wrestled to thrust the red hot item at the other, while adopting angelic expressions.

"You're fooling no-one. Give me that," he said leaping from the lounger and holding his hand out with a no nonsense look.

"What are you doing with this?"

"You said!" his fourth born informed him, his chin thrust forward challengingly.

"I did? What?"

"'bout ternbull volticies," sided his youngest.

"Ah….. but if I recall rightly, I said I'd show you both later. It wasn't an invitation for you two to help yourself to my laptop. Now find something else to amuse you; and boys?"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Stay out of trouble."

Both nodded obediently.

After scrutinising the precious piece of equipment and assuring himself no harm was done, he put it back in his study and made his way, with some trepidation, back to the lounger. He'd abandoned the notion of sleep, opening his newspaper instead, and was soon engrossed in the financial columns.

Boyng, dub dub boyng .

He jerked, startled, almost toppling over. "For PETE'S SAKE!" he growled, a frazzled frown on his face as his arms flew apart, and wondering why there was suddenly daylight between the pages of his newspaper. In fact why was he holding two newspapers and where had that basketball come from that was rolling around on his lap?

"Sorry, Dad."

Jeff peered from between the two halves of his newspaper at the rueful faces of Scott and Virgil.

"Can we have our ball back, sir? Please?"

"Are you boys planning on playing any more ball games?" he asked mildly.

"Uh, no, sir." both boys chimed up sincerely.

"Right then," he nodded, handing over the ball.

His glance went to the newspaper and he sighed, shaking his head, all interest abandoned. Maybe he could try and have another nap, he mused. Everything seemed quiet again now. Tentatively Jeff repositioned himself, cautiously leaned back and, after several moments, closed his eyes. Apart from the faint call of a bird song and the odd drone of an insect all was peaceful. It was enough to lull him back into the throes of dreamland.

John pulled the telescope over to the window, adjusting the tripod to eye level in preparation to survey the panoramic view around him. The instrument tilted, bringing into full focus a close up view of his parent. On an intake of breath he jumped, then grinned as he realised the image wasn't in his room. Using great caution, John swivelled it to vistas further afield. The trouble was the tripod was impeding him. He figured a slight adjustment would cure it, but he still could not get the telescope to pan where he wanted to without tripping over its legs. So he set about dismantling the two halves. It would have worked, too, had he not been so engrossed in unscrewing the wing nuts and remembered the telescope. A sudden shift to light tension had his mind working overtime on the reason for this. Before he'd half formulated the question, he had his answer, as the sounds of splintering metal hit and multiplied into many as it met with the immovable force of the earth. The noise it created would have woken the dead, never mind one sleepy parent.

Jeff was jolted mid-dream, involuntarily leaping from the lounger. He tripped over and knocked the table for the third time. Shaking his head, his bleary eyes focused sky ward just in time to see his son's blond head duck back into the bedroom window. The debris from the telescope had flown as far afield as his feet, he noted, crunching some underfoot as he made for the house. He halted, grimaced, and almost tripped for the second time. His mother saved his sanity as she raced from the house informing him she'd deal with the young demolition expert.

"I've seen how you 'deal' with them, mother. What will it be this time, a glass of milk and a peanut butter cookie?" he asked dryly.

"Chocolate chip actually," she bounced back while refilling his glass.

'I could do with something stronger,' he murmured, placing the glass on the hapless table. He had serious misgivings about resuming his position on the lounger, convinced the day was a jinx and it was only a matter of time before something or someone else disturbed his peace.

'Peace? What peace.'

Jeff scanned the surrounding area, tension tight about him, his eyes watchful, flicking left and right, his ears straining for the slightest sound, as he lowered himself warily onto the lounger, maintaining his vigil, alert for the slightest disturbance. The minutes ticked by and, nothing happened. Lulled, he allowed his taut body to relax a fraction. Placing his hands behind his head, he leaned back. Maintaining a watchful vigil, he followed the progress of a butterfly as it flew over the pool and made for the vegetation (while absentmindedly flicking at the persistent fly). He'd have liked to say it was a garden, but with five healthy sturdy boys all using it as a wrecking ground, it had the lived in bomb site look. His eyes flickered shut for the umpteenth time as he fought the tendrils of sleep. His last thought, as he drifted into an uneasy slumber, was that a gardener would be a good idea. The Malaysian he'd befriended was gifted in that direction. Maybe…...

"You're chicken."

"No I'm not."

"Yeah, you are."

"You do it then."

"I'll give you my Rocket Man if you do it."

Alan's eyes lit up, a covetous look of pure longing on his six year old face at the prospect of owning the must have toy but the prospect of what he had to do to earn it halted him, and he shook his little blond head.

"And the Rocket ship…."

He swallowed hard, battling for courage. This was a tough one, as his craving to own the toy warred with common sense. Even for a six year old, common sense won; the obstacle was just too great. He shook his head again, ignoring the whispered jibes coming from his daredevil brother.

"You do it, then."

"Will too; just you watch me. Anyway don't know what you're scared of. He's asleep an' he'll never know it was us, 'cause we won't be here when he wakes up."

Throwing a scornful look at his younger brother, he crouched down on all fours and using all the stealth he was capable of, seven year old Gordon Tracy edged forward, the rope carefully coiled around his shoulders. The youngest one watched in awe as his bravest brother in the whole world slowly and carefully drew the rope around the sleeping form of their parent, holding his breath when the man who was a big as a house (in his eyes) turned and grunted but didn't wake. It was the longest five minutes of his life, but finally the deed was done and the man they called Daddy was trussed loosely to the lounger. His brother turned and grinned, a triumphant look on his face as he mouthed, "Piece a cake, told ya'," before making his way back on all fours.

His brother had made it look so easy. Alan thought of the chance he'd let slip to own the rocket man and the rocket ship and felt yearning disappointment. At his crestfallen expression Gordon offered to let him play with his favourite toys so long as he kept their secret. Alan happily agreed.

Feeling pleased with themselves, they went off to collect the toys, having no idea of the effect Gordon's dramatic antics had aroused, as his actions had been monitored by the rest of the family from their various vantage points around the house and garden.

Their older brothers had watched on in horrified fascination at the audacity of the little water lover, frozen to the spot, neither daring to distract him knowing for certain the outcome if their parent should be woken in the midst of being bound.

The stargazer of the family had almost dropped all the remnants he'd gathered from beneath his bedroom, as he gaped in disbelief at the fearless/stupid way the water baby slipped the ropes over his father, then had the nerve to grin about it as he crawled away.

Their grandparent, (an incredulous look on her face) shook her head and blinked, sure she was dreaming, almost dropping the dishes she was washing as she watched from the kitchen window.

The hush that descended as all witnessed this amazing act of folly should have silenced the birds and every other living thing. All collectively prayed the birds would chirp quietly, the flies would fly somewhere else and the neighbours would all move to the other side of town for the afternoon, anything to keep the blissfully ignorant man asleep on his lounger. Scott and Virgil met up with John and all tiptoed with stealth and unaccustomed quietness towards their grandparent who'd edged her way silently onto the veranda. After a heated whispered discussion, Mrs. Tracy overruled their objections, feeling it would be easier if she untied him herself, of the opinion she was the only one capable of ensuring he remained asleep while the deed was done.

"We could just leave him, Grandma." Virgil's suggestion was instantly overruled.

"And what happens when he wakes up?"

Virgil shrugged and looked to his older brothers for guidance.

"Virgil has a point, Grandma; he could stay asleep all afternoon."

"Scott Tracy, your father will eventually wake up, and when he does, what do you think will happen?"

Scott immediately saw the logic in his grandparent's statement; it didn't paint a pretty picture. "I still think as the eldest it should be me who unties him."

Mrs. Tracy drew herself up to her full height and eyed her eleven year old grandson. Mustering all the authority she was capable of (which was considerable), she stated emphatically, "Young man, I am the eldest," then softening she added, "I'm touched by your offer, dear, but I'll do it. Now, no more arguments."

Watching with bated breath from the relative safety of the veranda, they found themselves involuntarily edging forward, riveted, their eyes locked on the scene unfolding.

"We shouldn't have let grandma do this, you know."

"Quit worrying Scott; you heard what Grandma said; you'd stand more chance winning an argument with Dad than you ever would with Gran once she has that look on her face."

Scott nodded at John's logic but still felt uncomfortable about letting her take what he felt was his rightful role. He just hoped she was right (she usually was) this time. All eyes were locked on her as she inched her way with all the stealth of a commando and bent over the incumbent figure and began the delicate operation of teasing apart the bindings.

She would have succeeded too, had it not been for forces working against her. Several things happened at once.

· The hover fly returned to begin a determined assault.

· Jeff's mobile set up a persistent ringing.

· The neighbour decided conditions were ideal for a spot of garden trimming.

· Gordon's rocket ship, complete with astronaut, piloted by a very inexperienced Alan Tracy, came flying out of the bedroom window straight into the lap of one horizontal Jeff Tracy.

The dazed figure jolted, tried to sit upright, overbalanced and sunk from view as the lounger tilted sideways on top of him. The glass spilled its contents for the fourth time that day, this time finding a target (the back of his neck). Jeff grunted and swore as the liquid hit its mark as he struggled to right himself. His gaze locked on the woman who bore him, fuzzy with shock and bewilderment. His eyes then flew to the reason for his immobility, travelling down to the hands fastened onto the ropes, his mouth gaping in astonishment.

"MOTHER! What the blazes do you think you're doing?" he roared.

"Jeff; I can explain………"

"You'd better! he spluttered. "What if the boys had seen you? What sort of an example is that to set?...and for Pete's sake untie me!"

Jeff Tracy, eventually freed, scrambled to his feet, trying to brush the liquid from the back of his neck, hair, and sopping clothes. Wearing an expression of utter exasperation, he stomped off towards the house shaking his head.

His children watching from the wings felt hard pressed not to laugh at the notion of their parent blaming their Grandma for his predicament. His mother felt it would be better to leave him unenlightened and his sons decided ignorance was bliss. It may well have remained that way but for a little boy of six who almost forgot and let it slip that Grandma didn't do it.

He'd suspected as much himself once he'd had time to think about it. Who the culprit was he wasn't sure, since there were no volunteers, though his gaze would fix on the auburn haired one from time to time, his instincts warning him this one was the culprit. If he was right, and he had a feeling he was, this one would need watching. He was going to have quite a reputation as a prankster in the future, and his father was going to have to develop eyes in the back of his head to keep one step in front of him at all times.