Well, I'll start with hello! This is my first Thunderbirds fic, other than a crossover, so I'm a bit nervous! I occaisonally write Downton Abbey fics but this is my first time venturing completely out of that zone!

Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds. I do own a copy of Shane Rimmer's autobiography, but that's probably as close as I'll get!

Hope you enjoy it. :)


"Scott darling," Scott rolled his eyes, before looking up and forcing a smile for the woman in the doorway of his office. The pretty blond receptionist had been flirting with him ever since she'd found out that he was single last Christmas. "Telephone for you. It's your father." Scott frowned.

"He doesn't normally call me at work." He mused out loud.

"Shall I tell him you're busy?" She offered enthusiastically.

"No. I'll take the call. Thank you, Edna." She smiled at him again. Sickly sweet. He sighed, irritated by her persistence, before picking up the phone. "Hi dad."


John hung up his trench coat on the stand in the hallway of his flat and was leafing through the letters which had been lying on the doormat when the phone rang. He went into the kitchen, placed the mail on the counter, then realised he'd left the phone in the other room. The living room was barely visible under the various piles of books. John often questioned whether he had more books at home or at work, and considering he worked in a library, it was a close contest. Pushing more books aside he found the phone and answered it.

"Hi dad."


Virgil had been commissioned by the gallery to produce a painting for a customer. In his mind this was one of the perks of the job. He was supplied with a canvas and good quality oil paints, as opposed to acrylics which he normally played around with. On top of which he was getting paid to do it. Obviously the customer had a say in what they wanted, but the rest was up to him. The phone continued to ring. Virgil refreshed the red on his brush and continued applying it to the canvas. He was in his element.

You have reached the voicemail of Virgil Tracy. Please leave a message.


Gordon was pinning some rather nice purple corduroy to the inside of the flares he was preparing for his 70's cat walk project, when his phone rang. He was in his last year of university and had opted to take a course in fashion design alongside his degree in Oceanography. Naturally he wanted to specialise in swimwear, but he had to pass the course first. Luckily his flat mate, Vincent, had passed a similar course in Ireland and could offer advice. Gordon tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and waited for a response as he continued to work with the fabric.


"Oh, hi dad!" Alan took the call and flopped down on his bed. "Dad," Alan continued before the older man had the chance to speak, "could you maybe send some more money, 'cos I sort of spent what you gave me for the rent on other stuff. But now the rent is due."

It was at that point a group of Alan's mates burst into the room, proposing an afternoon on the town. He concentrated on his father's frustrated reply and something about sending him to live with Scott being cheaper. Alan interrupted again, grabbed a jacket, said goodbye and hung up, before following his friends into the hall.