A/N: Hello all. This isn't what I should be doing. I should be writing a paper about Virgil's influence in the Renaissance (this is, of course, the Roman poet Virgil and not "our" Virgil). I should be writing a paper on Faulkner or studying for finals or researching for my term paper. But I am here. I haven't written in awhile. I have one story in mind as a sequel to Deadly Affliction. But since I finished that story I've been thinking about canon. If I continue to write fanfic for Thunderbirds, I really want it to be able to fit the canon. This was a little exercise in that. I think I did okay. Also, I've been in a playwriting class. My descriptions may be lacking as a result. Please Review.

Oh, and I fell in love with Scott. So now I've cycled through John, Gordon, Virgil, and now Scott. I can safely say that it's not going to happen with Alan.

2017 - I am still pretty proud of this piece, and though I am taking the time to edit some grammar, the core of this one remains the same.

Atonal

Scott Tracy was a bit of an insomniac, but also a creature of habit. Despite what time he went to sleep the previous night, he would always wake up at 6:00 AM sharp without an alarm clock. He would run along the beach, return to the villa, take a shower, and be ready to join his family for breakfast by 7:30 every morning. Occasionally, a rescue would interrupt that schedule, and it usually took 48 hours for Scott's internal clock to return to normal.

That was why it was unusual for Scott to wake at 4:00 AM after a 3-day reprieve from rescues. Scott blearily opened his eyes, glanced at his clock, and knew something in the house had to be amiss. It was when he heard the shrill of discordant piano keys that Scott knew what had awoken him.

Virgil. What are you getting up to now?

He removed himself from the covers of his bed and shivered from the island's nighttime breeze entering through an open window. Scott put on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and threw on an old shirt before exiting his bedroom. Out in the hall, the piano was louder and the dissonance more noticeable. It would've woken John who was a light sleeper, something that came in handy up on Thunderbird Five where he was currently stationed. The rest of their family, though, slept soundly.

And it was absurd for Virgil in particular, the Rip Van Winkle of all of them, to be awake at this hour.

Scott entered the lounge to see his brother's form sitting at the piano bench. His fingers were running across the keys, his shoulders squared, back arched. It wasn't an uncommon image. Virgil prided himself in the way he looked while playing the piano. Even with impromptu family concerts and spontaneous practices, Virgil habitually fixed his posture so that he looked professional even if he were wearing just jeans and a sweatshirt.

Scott was confused. Virgil seemed to be playing professionally, but the notes coming out of the piano seemed nothing of the sort. He seemed to be hitting the notes at random. It was chaotic and jarring, but Virgil was treating it like it was Chopin. He swayed as if the noise reverberating in his head was something more beautiful than what Scott's musically simple mind comprehended.

"Do you like it, Scott?" Virgil asked, not turning around. He continued to play. No surprise that Virgil knew it was him.

"It's certainly different. Not your usual composition."

"I wouldn't write this shit." This statement was followed by another harsh chord; it sent chills up Scott's spine and he cringed. "This is Schoenberg."

"That means nothing to me, Virg."

"It's twelve-tone, atonal." He continued playing.

"I still don't get it."

"There is no key in twelve-tone, so that no note is more emphasized over another." The notes started to lag as he spoke.

"So some guy just decided it wasn't fair for some notes to be left behind?"

"That works. You can think of it like that," Virgil replied.

Scott snorted. "It's like musical communism," he said. Virgil stopped playing completely, his hands hovering over the keys, before letting out a chuckle.

"It sounds pretty bad, doesn't it?"

"You're the one who called it shit. Why are you playing it?"

"Take a look." Vigil handed Scott the sheet music he had been reading. "It's so meticulously organized, yet sounds so chaotic despite that. Even if you were to play random notes it wouldn't sound as chaotic - or as bad. It's a contradiction that you have to work to make something sound so chaotic." While Virgil was explaining this, Scott glanced down at the music in his hands. He couldn't understand a lick of it. But he thought he knew what Virgil was talking about.

"Okay, but why are you playing it at 4:30 in the morning?"

Virgil shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." Now that definitely wasn't normal Virgil behavior. Scott frowned and examined his brother. Virgil's hair was messy, eyes red. He smelt of…

"You've been drinking." The statement wasn't accusatory. Just an observation.

Virgil nodded. "Just one. I haven't had good whisky in weeks."

"Me neither." Adult beverages sounded fantastic to Scott at that moment.

"I have more in my room if you'd like one."

"I think I just might. How did you manage to get it?"

"Parker."

"Sneaky."

"It's not like Dad would approve with his 'always be ready for a rescue' policy and everything."

"I think you're selling him a little short." Scott had, in fact, shared a drink or two with his father before.

"Maybe. But I also don't want the kids to know." That made more sense. Gordon and Alan weren't exactly the best of company to drink with. The evening would end, no doubt, with drinks spilled onto bed sheets. "So, are you getting one or not?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah, I'll go grab a glass."

"Actually, I want a refill too. Why don't we move to my room? I'm done with the piano any way."

They quietly made their way through the lounge and down the hall, so they wouldn't bother the rest of their family. Virgil's room was large, but simple: the mini-fridge was in the corner with the microwave on top, TV across from the bed, stereo on a desk. Virgil pulled out, from one the desk drawers, the bottle of whisky and glasses, giving them to Scott to pour while he grabbed the large ice rounds from the mini-freezer. They both sat themselves on Virgil's bed.

Virgil grabbed his music remote. "What are you in the mood for?"

"I don't know. Jazz?"

Virgil nodded. "Good choice." The light echo of a saxophone drifted around them. Scott took a long swig of the cold drink.

"How would you kill yourself, Scott?"

Scott tensed.

"What?" He coughed. Images of Virgil shooting himself in the head, jumping off the point into the ocean rocks below cycled through Scott's brain. He shook his head to rid himself of the awful scenarios. Virgil wouldn't look him in the eyes; he was too busy watching his own finger circle the glass. "Virgil? What the hell is going on?"

"I don't mean it like that," he said, and Scott relaxed. "Everyone dies eventually, Scott. What if you could choose your own fate? How would you kill yourself?"

"You mean if I could choose the manner of my own death, what would it be?" Virgil nodded. "Gee. I don't know, Virg. The nature of our mortality is a bit of a heavy topic don't you think?"

"It's been bothering me for a while." And Scott could tell this was true.

"Well, I suppose I would want to die where I was happiest. I would want to be in Thunderbird 1 when it happened."

"I thought that as well. But in Two of course." Virgil still was avoiding Scott's gaze. Scott placed his glass on Virgil's bedside table and grabbed Virgil's shoulder, concerned.

"Bro, where are you going with this?"

Finally, Virgil looked up, his eyes haunted. "I've been thinking about the Sentinel again." He picked up the remote, switching the genre away from jazz. This time it was a classical piece. At Scott's questioning look Virgil said, "Beethoven's 7th. 2nd movement."

"This is sad and still pleasant to listen to. Why can't you play something like this when you're upset?" Scott asked.

"I wasn't upset."

"You definitely were."

"I wasn't upset! I was thinking about organized chaos. "

"What? Virg, I feel like you're just going in circles."

"I know. Just give me a second here." Scott sipped his drink, letting his brother gather his tumultuous thoughts. After a short period of time, Virgil was ready to speak.

"Okay. With this organization, we are risking our lives all the time by going into the danger zone. Your job is to organize the rescue, but you know that there is always a chance something could go horribly wrong." Scott nodded patiently. "But Scott, it's different for me. My job is to go right into Ground Zero. It's not just a mere chance that something could go wrong; it's practically guaranteed that my death is going to be out in the danger zone. My life is organized chaos."

Scott wanted to protest, instead he muttered, "How do you figure?"

"Organized in that I already know the outcome. Chaos in that – well it's always intermingled with rescues, constantly surrounded by natural disasters, debris, screams of terrified children. Despite the chaos going on around me, I know it will happen one day. But it's chaos in that I don't know when."

"Okay, so how is this linked to the Sentinel, Virgil?"

"That's the part you aren't going to like." Virgil had finished his drink. He placed his empty glass on the bedside table and relaxed back in the bed, his back against the headboard. Virgil sighed. "For a moment there – when the ship was failing me – I wanted to die. No. Listen to me, Scott! Alarms were going off, but I was in my ship and I could hear your voice. I knew you were with me and I went 'hey, this isn't so bad'. I would've died happy. It was a better alternative to what rescues will one day do to me."

"You don't know that you're going to die at a rescue. Despite what you think, that's not actually set in stone."

"It is, though! Ask John. Based off of my actions in the field, not only does my expected mortality increase, but the possibility of it happening while on duty also increases. Significantly. You can't argue with math, Scott."

"You've spoken to John about this!" Scott mentally cursed his younger brother's pragmatic nature. That would be a conversation for another time.

"Well, yes. It came up before IR started. He was concerned about being left up on Thunderbird Five while we put our lives in danger. He didn't like not being able to do anything. That's when he threw the statistics out on me." He closed his eyes.

"Virgil?"

"I don't want to die that way Scott. I'm so fucking scared of it."

"What way? What are you scared of?"

"Of being alone! If I die on a rescue it might mean that you guys can't get to me. It could either happen so quickly that I don't even notice or it could happen slowly. I could be on my own while my life drained. I may not even be able to hear your voices before-" his face paled as he trailed off.

"We'd find a way, Virgil. You know we'd be doing everything."

"Chaos, remember? It could happen and you wouldn't even know about it because of everything else going on."

"I won't believe that. I'd know. I know I'd know."

Virgil went quiet.

"I wouldn't want to die on Thunderbird Two."

"What do you mean? You just said-"

"I know what I just said, Scott. I'm taking it back. During the Sentinel, I could hear your voice. That's what made it seem okay for that second of acceptance. But really, the rest of the time was different. I was panicking inside, Scott."

"You seemed calm to me. I was worried when I couldn't reach you."

"I felt like you were with me and I was in Thunderbird Two. It should've been perfect conditions, right?"

"I don't believe there can be perfect conditions for death, Virgil."

Virgil shushed him before continuing, "I think it's that you weren't actually with me. Your voice wasn't enough. And unless it's a big rescue, I'm the only one on Thunderbird Two."

"So, you'd rather Gordon or someone go down with you?"

"No! That's not what I meant at all. It just contributes to why I don't want to be on Thunderbird Two."

Scott finished his whisky and set the empty glass down next to Virgil's.

"You are a slow drinker," Virgil noted.

"I'm not. You just drink quickly."

"I was there for your first beer, remember? It took you two hours to drink it. And it was just a can. Major party foul. One for taking so long and two for letting it get warm."

"I don't think a beer during family movie night quite counts as a party. Yours wasn't the greatest either, if I remember correctly. You pretty much chugged it. Within five minutes you were in my lap humming the theme song to Star Wars."

"I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. That wasn't the end of your evening."

"Why didn't you stop me?"

Scott let out an uncomfortable laugh, his cheeks turning red. "Sorry about that. I got distracted."

"Angela Hutchingson?" Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow. Scott turned redder in answer. "I wonder what John's first drinking experience was."

"Not sure. I know he didn't start before he was legal. And he doesn't talk about college that much," Scott said.

"I'm sure there's a story there."

"John? I doubt it." Scott replied. The two brothers met each other's gazes and burst into laughter.

"Scott?"

"Yes, Virgil?"

"Promise me you'll be there?"

"Be where?"

"With me. When I die."

"Again, Virgil? Really?"

"I'm not happiest when I'm in Thunderbird Two. I'm happiest when I'm with you. We're a team, Scott. I want you to be there."

"I don't think-"

"I know. But promise me you'll try," Virgil pleaded.

"There was never any doubt! But you should know that I'm going to do everything I can to save you, Virg. I love you too much to let you die on me."

"I love you too, Scott."

"Damn alcohol. Makes me sappy."

Virgil snorted. "Bullshit. You've only had one. You don't have to pretend in front of me, Scott." Scott yawned. "What it does is make you tired. Go back to bed."

"Bed? You're kidding. I normally get up in another half an hour for my run."

"Nope. You're going to bed. Sleep in." Scott yawned again. Sleep sounded good. Perhaps just a two hour nap then.

He wearily made his way back to his room and snuggled into his sheets.

He slept until 11:00.