Scott lengthened his strides as he rounded a bend in the trail. He rolled his shoulders back and shook his arms lightly as he found his rhythm again, breathing easily in time with his footfalls on the matted path. The pilot longed to quicken the pace and feel his leg muscles tighten and stretch at his beck and call, but he had a running partner to consider. Scott stole a sidelong glance at the stocky brother at his side. It didn't take him long to notice the sweat rolling down Virgil's face, the slight hitch in his breath. He put a hand on Virgil's shoulder and guided him to a slower gait. Virgil's amber eyes met his own, confusion evident on his face.

"Why are we slowing down? I can go faster," he said with a mischievous grin. Scott shrugged.

"I know you can, but I want you to save your energy for the race tomorrow. This is supposed to be an easy run, just something light before the big day. Besides, you were pushing the pace," the eldest chided.

"Says the guy who could run circles around me without even breaking a sweat," came the slightly winded reply. Scott pulled back the pace even more to accommodate for Virgil's stamina. "Seriously, Scott, I know you've been wanting to hit your P.R. Why don't you just go for it? I'll be fine."

"We signed on to do this race together, Virg, and I'm not gonna leave you behind. It's more fun to have someone to run with, anyway," Scott replied truthfully. He grinned when his dark-haired sibling started to inch his way forward again, causing a small ripple in their tempo. "Nice try," he chuckled, replacing his hand on Virgil's shoulder until they slowed to a complete stop.

"Wait. We're stopping? But we have another half mile to go," Virgil protested. Scott stretched his arms skyward.

"Nothing wrong with walking the rest of the way."

"B-but isn't walking like…giving up?"

"Giving up? Virg, this is a pre-race workout. It's okay to walk." He motioned for Virgil to follow him at a leisurely stroll along the trail. "C'mon, let's head back. I have a surprise for you waiting in the kitchen." Virgil's face lit up.

"Biscuits and gravy?"

"Nope."

"Steak and eggs?"

"No."

"Pancakes?"

"You're just going to have to find out when we get there." Virgil groaned at the vague response.

"Can I at least just jog beside you?"

"Virg."

The pair chatted amiably the rest of the way, pausing only once or twice, at Scott's insistence, to stretch and nurse their tight muscles. The eldest Tracy smiled, remembering the day when he first took their resident painter under his wing and introduced him to the world of running.

Just a month ago, Virgil could barely manage one mile without stopping. Their first run together had been nothing short of a disaster. Virgil's form was bowed and tense, his hands balled into tight fists, his breathing ragged. In other words, his younger brother looked miserable. A stray root had finally sent the bulky man crashing to the ground and Virgil had almost given up. He'd almost stalked back to the house and left Scott alone on the trail. But he didn't.

Scott recalled sitting next to a despondent Virgil that day and described what it felt like to run. To really run. He'd told Virgil that running felt like you were floating above the ground, almost as if you'd sprouted wings and taken flight. And once he'd reach that point where his mind and body worked in unison and he found his own cadence, his own style, then something inside him would click. Running would still be challenging and, at times, exhausting and frustrating, but it wouldn't be a punishment. It would be rewarding. Uplifting. Life-changing. And, at its core, running would be fun.

Two weeks into their training, Scott noticed a change in his younger brother during one of their morning routes. It was an average day on the island, normal in every aspect, but something about this run was different. Virgil's pace steadied. His breathing eased. His hands loosened at his sides. And he smiled. At the end of the three-mile loop, weary and covered in a layer of sweat, Virgil confided in Scott between gasps of air.

"I understand, Scott. That run—it felt GOOD. I felt like I could run forever."

"That's how running is supposed to feel, Virg. Sometimes it just takes awhile to get to that point. So, about our 5K coming up—"

"No, Scott. I want to do more. More than three miles. Is there another race we can try?" Scott had almost said "no", that it would be too much too fast, before falling victim to Virgil's large puppy dog eyes.

"If you're up to it, then we still have time to increase our mileage before race day. How do you feel about a 10K?"

And that was how Virgil became Scott's training partner and constant shadow outside of missions, all in preparation for the looming 10K race that was now one day away. Scott himself had chosen the race. It honored veterans and their family members, a cause he supported with ever fiber of his being.

Besides, if Scott was being honest with himself, he was looking forward to going out in public as Scott Tracy. Not as a member of International Rescue, but as a former Air Force pilot running a race with his brother.

The siblings passed the pool on their way inside and cowered behind the lounge chairs as Gordon splashed water in their direction.

"How'd the run go?" the blonde asked as he drifted leisurely back and forth down the length of the pool. Scott and Gordon reluctantly abandoned their makeshift shields to walk next to Gordon floating along the pool's edge.

"Ah, nothing special. Just a warm up before the real deal," Virgil replied. He gave his older brother a nudge. "But Scott said he got me something extra special in the kitchen." Gordon's eyes widened and he scrambled out of the pool, pausing only to loop a yellow towel around his neck.

"What is it? Biscuits and gravy? Steak and eggs?" A beat. "Pancakes?" Scott resisted the urge to rub his hand across his face.

"Well, I might as well let you in on the surprise, too. C'mon then, Gords." The swimmer complied with a wry grin and followed Scott into the house. Alan and Kayo were in the middle of a competition against a holographic John in a 3D zombie shooting game and barely gave the trio a second glance.

"Scott made us a surprise in the kitchen!" Gordon hollered, immediately putting a stop to any thoughts of zombie domination. Alan abandoned his place at the couch and took a seat at the kitchen table in anticipation. The others followed suit, including John, whose projection regarded Scott with a smile.

"I'm glad you're back. Alan and Kayo were about to take out my zombie army. I had to bluff my way through the last level," he said, out of earshot of the gamers in question. He lowered his voice even more as Scott made a beeline for the fridge. "Scott, I don't know how you did it, turning Virgil into a runner, but he loves it more than he lets on. I think he's really excited for the race tomorrow." Scott couldn't help but beam with pride.

"I know. You should've seen him, John. He kept wanting to push the pace today. Maybe you should give it a try, run a few laps around the space station." The redhead winced at the idea.

"Thanks but no thanks. I get enough exercise just watching you guys on missions. And something tells me that EOS wouldn't be good for moral support."

"She threw bagels at you again this morning, didn't she?"

"It's basically the highlight of her day," grumbled John.

Scott pulled what he needed from the fridge and carried the bundle to the table, sliding each brother—and sister—a personal carton of chocolate milk. Alan poked at it and wilted slightly.

"This is it? Chocolate milk?" Kayo smacked him across the back of the head.

"We never get chocolate milk! This is a gift!" she exclaimed and nearly downed her carton with one gulp. Scott looked at Virgil expectantly who turned the carton over in his hands, perplexed.

"This is great and all, Scotty, but after a run the last thing I want to do is drink anything with milk in it," he said.

"I know, it sounds weird. But, trust me, it works. I was going to give you one after the race tomorrow, but I didn't know if you'd drink it before having a practice round first. It's a good recovery drink. Just try it and tell me what you think," Scott replied. He took a swig of his own carton for emphasis.

"Okay, I'll try it. No promises, though." Virgil took a tentative sip of the chocolately mixture before chugging the rest of the contents with vigor. He ruffled Alan's hair affectionately. "Hey, bro, are you gonna finish yours or can I have it?"

"I'm gonna drink it! Take Gordon's!"

"No way! I just got done swimming laps!"

The argument ended with the Tracy clan raiding the fridge for more chocolate milk and Scott had to cradle two extra cartons protectively in his arms.

That evening Scott and Virgil forced their way through Grandma Tracy's homemade spaghetti. The other members of the family, Brains included, were mysteriously absent from dinner, leaving Scott and Virgil alone to face the horrors of the questionable noodles set upon the table. A delighted Grandma heaped their plates high with her creation and looked to both of them for approval. Scott and Virgil gave each other a nod of encouragement before diving in. For the carbo load! The charred meatballs seared Scott's throat on the way down and it was all he could do not to spit them out in disgust. Eventually, the runners parted ways and headed to bed early, despite Alan's protest of a family game night. Scott lay back on his quilted covers, the familiar stir of butterflies in his stomach keeping him awake in the darkness.

He knew he had no reason to be anxious. After all, he was going to be running Virgil's pace with no regard for time. But it was the first street race he'd participated in since his Air Force days and the nostalgia of it all brought that boyish excitement back. He was overjoyed he and Virg had found common ground outside of International Rescue and would be able to share this memory together. The thought lulled him into a peaceful sleep before he had the chance to slip under the covers.

Sirens. Sirens blaring. Scott awakened with a start and muscle memory had him sprinting from the room and descending the stairs two at a time. He was the first one to reach the couch, still trying to blink sleep from his eyes. He heard commotion in the hallway above as the rest of his brothers clamored from their bedrooms. For one single, selfish moment, Scott hoped that it was a space mission for Alan or something incognito for Thunderbird S. Please not for him. Not for Virgil. Not now. Not today of all days! As if he could read his mind, John sighed.

"I'm sorry about this, Scott," the space monitor lamented. Scott tried to smile but only managed a slight grimace.

"It's not your fault. The timing could be better, but we'll just have to make the most of it." His words of bravado did little to nurse the ache of frustration. When Virgil descended the stairs, Scott met his gaze and shook his head slightly. The Thunderbird Two pilot visibly slumped his shoulders in disappointment but said nothing. The mission came first. It always would.

Kayo, followed closely by Alan and Gordon, joined the briefing soon after. The youngest Tracy, unnerved by the grim faces of his older siblings, broke the silence.

"So, uh, how long will this mission take?" he asked, glancing from Virgil to Scott then back again. "If it's only an hour or two, then maybe—" John shook his head.

"It's a high priority operation. At best, half a day." John was polite enough not to state the obvious. He cleared his throat and continued. "Scans show that three bombs with set timers have been activated near a small mining community. The devices are scheduled to go off in a little over an hour." John commed Brains from his on-site lab.

"Brains, I'm patching you the data EOS was able to pick up from the explosives. Would you be able to talk Scott through disabling them when he gets on site?" The brothers saw the holographic image of Brains swipe through the contents from a tablet in his hands.

"A-afirmative, John."

"Good to hear, Brains. I knew we could count on you." Kayo stood up at the mention of Scott's name.

"I could go in Scott's place," she volunteered. "I've cross-trained with all of the Thunderbirds. I can manage Thunderbird One for a day."

"No, it's okay, Kayo," Scott said, getting to his feet. "I'm the most familiar with Thunderbird One. And if something else comes up, we'll need you here to take the call."

"Understood," she replied, but there was a hint of pity in her voice.

"I'm guessing that you'll need some heavy lifting from Thunderbird Two," Virgil said, eyeing John for confirmation. The redhead nodded.

"It's a mountainous area, so your main responsibility will be helping to evacuate the town. Bring the Mole with you. The readings indicate that the bombs are underground, possibly in the mines. We might need it."

"FAB," Virgil replied. He shared an apologetic look with Scott before they both disappeared down their concealed chutes and prepared for takeoff.

"Thunderbird One is go," Scott said, after reaching his aircraft and settling down in the cockpit. He tried to forget about the race and focus solely on the mission, but the disappointment still lingered, even as he launched his beautiful bird into the sky and punched in John's coordinates.

Scott reached the mine shortly, pushing his Thunderbird at a crushing pace. Whether he did this subconsciously, as if hoping they'd complete the rescue with time to spare, or whether it was for the benefit of the mining community, he couldn't be sure. Regardless, the thought made him sick with guilt. People were counting on him to make a difference, to deactivate a series of incendiaries, and here he was, fuming like a spoiled child. The pilot took a calming breath. Maybe tomorrow he could be Scott Tracy. Maybe the day after. Maybe never. But today he had to assume his primary identity as leader of International Rescue. And, much like running, the job itself could be challenging. Exhausting. Frustrating. But International Rescue was never a punishment, never intended to bring him misery. And, Scott realized, he would still be spending the day with Virgil doing something they were passionate about. By the time Scott landed Thunderbird One and exited the aircraft, he was feeling every bit the steadfast leader that his brothers came to rely on in a crisis. He surveyed the windswept surroundings and tapped his comm.

"Thunderbird Five, I've arrived at the destination. I see the remnants of a mining operation, but it looks like it's been out of use for awhile. Carts and shovels are scattered all over the place."

"That's strange," John mused. He could almost imagine the astronaut's face scrunched in thought. "Based on public records, it's still an active mine, owned and operated by a certain Owen Yorkshire." A few seconds went by as the space monitor continued his research. "The power's been shut off and I don't have access to their energy reserves. You won't have any electricity where you're going, Scott. Better take the headlamp."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Scott said as he peered into the inky recesses of the mining shafts below. While he fetched the gear, Brains joined the conversation, animatedly describing the components of the explosive devices.

"Each d-device is set up a l-little bit differently," he explained. "When y-you get to one of the d-devices, there will be a s-series of four c-colored clamps attached to the motherboard. Y-you'll have to swap two of the c-colors to de-active the countdown. MAX and I s-solved the pattern and can t-tell you which colors to swap."

"You're a genius, Brains. Keep me posted on the countdown." Scott strapped the headlamp across his forehead.

"F-FAB, Scott."

At John's instruction, the pilot lowered himself down the appointed mineshaft until his feet made contact with the gritty earth below. He set forth down the only path in sight, stepping nimbly over deserted equipment. Scott found the shaking light from his headlamp disconcerting as his eyes followed the bright beam. John's voice reverberated off the open spaces still cloaked in darkness.

"Take a right at this next fork, then a left one hundred feet after that. There should be a small room of some kind. That's where our first bomb is located. I'm going to touch base with Thunderbird Two. Let Brains and I know when you get there."

"No problem. On my way." Scott fumbled his way forward, using his eyesight and sense of touch to navigate the tunnel. Something rumbled overhead and tiny fragments of splintered rock showered him in a fine coat of dust. He pressed himself against the nearest wall instinctively. "Uh, John…what was that?" The response was immediate.

"Nothing good. I've pulled up the entire schematics for the mine. It looks like Mr. Yorkshire hasn't been keeping this operation up to code. Even if we wanted to use the Mole, I don't know if the structure could withstand the strain."

"I'm assuming that there's a silver lining to this," Scott said as he started to pick his way forward again.

"D-don't worry, Scott. The mine should stay s-stable. The explosives are placed c-close to the entrance, and it won't take long to deactivate the charges. J-just watch out for falling debris," Brains said. The dark-haired Tracy brushed the dust from his face.

"Copy that." He quickly located the small room housing the first device. "Okay, I'm at the first bomb. Tell me what I need to do, Brains." He crouched beside the blinking bundle of wires and coils. "Fifty minutes on the timer."

"You should see a p-panel with four clamps. What colors are the clamps?"

"Blue, yellow, red and black."

"Good. R-release the red and blue clamps at the same time, then attach them to the opposite p-port when I say the word."

"FAB," Scott replied. He freed the clamps and, after an agonizing ten seconds, Brains ordered him to reattach the colors. The timer instantly froze before dimming completely. Scott released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Nice work, Scott. Two more to go," John said approvingly. "The next one isn't far. When you exit this room, continue left to the atrium. You'll see five tunnel entrances. Enter the second tunnel on the right and look for a small alcove of some kind." Scott compiled, losing his balance only once as his foot rebounded off a half-hidden drill bit.

"Easier said than done," he grunted. He found the atrium easily and descended into the aforementioned tunnel's depths. Alcove…alcove…He shined the headlamp across the pockmarked walls. "I don't see anything, John."

"The signal is coming from your exact location. It has to be there." Scott craned his neck from side to side, even lowering himself on all fours to search for hidden crevices. He finally stood with a heavy sigh.

"Scott?" John's voice was pinched.

"Working on it," he replied. He glanced upwards as the ceiling above him gave another shudder. The headlamp beam reflected off a metal surface peeking out from one of the walls. "Got it!"

"V-very good, Scott. What are the four colors?"

"Yeah, one second. It's up a ways." Scott located the makeshift hand and footholds and climbed eight feet until he was at eye level with the taunting timer. He leaned forward against the rock face and studied the fasteners.

"The colors are purple, yellow, green, red."

"You'll need to switch the y-yellow and green clamps." Scott nodded, even though Brains couldn't see the gesture. He dug his feet harder into the wall for better purchase and shakily released his hands from the nearby fissures. He tugged the clamps loose from the panel and reversed their positions at Brains' instruction. The timer abruptly stopped and lost power like before. Scott slowly lowered himself to the floor, glad to be back on solid ground again. He braced himself as the mine gave another collective groan.

"Not long now. Just one more remaining," the space monitor said encouragingly. Scott raised an arm to protect his head from another layer of soot.

"Good, because I'm really starting to hate this place."

"That makes two of us. C'mon, let's get you out of here sooner rather than later. In two hundred feet, take a left, then continue for another four hundred feet before making a right. The last bomb should be around the corner." While Scott made his way to the last bomb, he asked about Virgil's status. "He's almost gotten everyone evacuated from town. So far, there's been no sign of our mysterious Mr. Yorkshire, even though he owns the largest property in the region."

"How convenient."

"My thoughts exactly," John agreed. "I'm having Virgil keep an eye out for him. Something tells me he's involved in this whole mess somehow."

The pilot maneuvered his way through the winding paths until he found the third bomb tucked behind a discarded cart. He crouched low to identify the colors.

"Purple, yellow, blue, green."

"It's p-purple and yellow, Scott," Brains said. Within seconds, the third bomb was silenced and the timer faded to black. Scott leaned against the cart in relief while their resident genius let out a victorious cheer.

"I'm glad that's over. Time to go topside." Scott retraced his steps, pausing when the mining shaft gave a horrifying shudder. A series of crippling groans pierced the empty pockets of the mine. In the chaos, Scott nearly choked on the fresh wave of dust that settled over his clothes.

"Scott! Are you okay?" John's voice cut through the slight ringing in his ears.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It doesn't sound like the mine is doing too well, though. Did it cave in?" A few seconds passed as his younger sibling flipped through the data on his tactile monitor.

"There was a small collapse near the entrance. The way you came in is completely blocked. Fortunately, there's another way out. You'll just have to take the…scenic route." Scott rolled his eyes at the choice of words.

"Scenic route. Just peachy."

"I d-don't understand, John. The m-mine shouldn't have collapsed like that," Brains interjected. Scott shrugged before he could stop himself.

"I'm pretty sure it was going to collapse eventually."

"No, Brains is right," John said. "I have an aerial view of the damage. The collapse wasn't caused internally. Someone must've sabotaged the entrance. Thunderbird Two, have you completed the evacuation?"

"On my way back, now. I'll take a look at the rubble and see what I can find out. ETA five minutes."

"FAB," John replied before disconnecting his link to Virgil. Scott paced in front of the useless incendiary, awaiting his next set of instructions, when he heard both John and Brains gasp.

"S-Scott…" Brains stuttered, but his statement receded weakly. The oldest brother frowned in concern. It was John who spoke next, his usually steady voice cracking slightly.

"There's a fourth bomb, Scott."

"A fourth bomb? That's okay, we still have time. Where is it?" A pause.

"We don't know. Something's jamming the signal. I can't find it." Scott's heart fluttered against his chest at the words. "Scotty. You don't want to be in those tunnels when that bomb goes off. The structure weakened significantly after the cave in at the front entrance. Another explosion could cause a chain reaction and bring the whole place down. We can't risk getting you out by the Mole. You're going to have to make a break for it."