Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. No money or personal profit is made from this.

AN: Random insanity written during a brief stint in hospital (grandfather clock incident) which scared most of my movie Scott-muse into oblivion. I'm going to have to wait and see if the rest of him finds his way back.

Oh, this is also set pre-Thunderbirds, when the boys are teens/kids, and it has no relation to any other story I've written.

Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Yin and Yang

They're fighting.

Under normal circumstances, I would sigh exasperatedly and roll my eyes tiredly. I wouldn't be worried, because every family fights at times. I would normally add an 'again' after the aforementioned statement, but this time, it's the wrong set of brothers.

This is anything but normal.

My eyes travel to the clock on the kitchen wall as I sip a cup of coffee, my e-paper burning a hole through my laptop screen.

Four o' clock. The boys should be - would be – walking through the solid front door.

I'm right, and am rewarded with the thunder of feet charging to the kitchen. My youngest son comes to a standstill in the doorway, causing his brothers to collide into him. I'm amused by the bemused expression on Alan's face, which in turn, is mirrored on his brothers' faces.

"What are you doing here?" Alan can't help blurting out. He has much to learn in the art of subtlety.

"I decided to take the afternoon off," I reply calmly, carefully disguising my true intentions. "There should be a few days when you come home from school to a parent."

"Sweet!" Gordon, my eleven year old, cheers. He dumps his schoolbag on his chair and raids the fridge. "Man, am I famished! Coach made us swim the mini marathon today. No rests at all." His voice is slightly muffled due to the three chocolate biscuits he's crammed in his mouth. "I came second," he adds, not so modestly.

"That's great, son." I can't help but feel elated by his achievement. "Just remember to leave some snacks for your brothers, OK?"

Gordon's face clouds over and Alan pouts petulantly at my comment. Looking at each other, they answered simultaneously, "Virgil and Scott don't deserve the biscuits."

Aha! I know I've hit the head of the nail with a hammer, but probing the topic will come later. "Even so, they'll be hungry. Isn't that right, boys?"

They don't respond. They're too busy glaring pointedly at each other. I know it's my presence that's forcing them to remain quietly civil to each other. If I weren't here, they would probably be screaming insults at one another.

Scott and Virgil don't normally fight, but when they do… run and hide. Not even a lead bunker can save you now.

"How was your day at school?" I press on, regardless of the fact that they've just ignored me.

"It was fine until he showed up," Virgil spat out venomously in the way only a fifteen and a half year old can, jerking his head in Scott's direction.

"It was my turf first," Scott shot back instantly. Seventeen year old logic comes into play. "If you don't like it, you don't have to go. I'm not moving."

I plant my face in my hands. Looks like it's started. Oh brother.

I think I preferred it when they weren't talking to each other.

"Never mind. Come and sit down for some biscuits." I grab the packet out of the fridge and present it in front of my four sons.

Four? Where's John?

"He's on the stairs, reading." Scott reads my mind and moves to sit in John's chair. It's a deliberate move, a way of showing his displeasure, a way of shunning Virgil. Normally, Scott would sit next to Virgil, but, like I've said before, this is anything but normal.

"John," I holler into the hallway, "snack time! Get the chocolate before it goes!"

I hear him zip his book back into his bag and hurry into the kitchen. I know it's just for the chocolate, and I have to grin inwardly at that.

John eyes the table warily, and with trepidation, he squeezes himself into the seat between his brothers. I know it's out of necessity, as opposed to choice.

Finally, I take my seat at the head of the table. My eyes rake over them, really drinking them in for the first time in months. They all remind me of Lucy, in their own unique way.

Alan is the youngest of the Tracy clan. Just like Lucy had been the baby of her family.

Gordon has her eyes. I'm not talking about the colour or the shape. I'm talking about the thoughts and feelings behind them. One can look into his eyes and read him like an open book.

Virgil has her looks and her musical talent. He is the one who resembles her the most.

John inherited her love of books. I can definitely say he did not get that from me.

Scott has her common sense. Lucy always knew how to pick her battles. I know for a fact Scott does the same thing.

Which means that whatever is brewing between him and Virgil must be Everest sized.

Luc, if you're up there, and not too busy, please give me the strength to get through this. That's all I need.

But I digress. Remembering her isn't going to solve the problem at hand.

"John, could you please ask Scott to pass the snack plate?"

Virgil's words jar me back into reality. I wonder why he can't remain civil enough to ask Scott the question. John shares my thoughts.

"Because, I'm not talking to the Spotlight Stealer."

Name calling insults. Is it just me, or are my boys regressing to five year olds now?

John sighs. "Scott, Virgil wants the cookie plate."

"Well, John, you can just tell Drama Queen over there that I'm still using it."

Drama Queen? That's a new one. So was Spotlight Stealer.

"John, tell Thingy that if he doesn't pass the plate down now, I'm going to punch his lights out. God knows I've got enough anger to do that."

John sighs again and relays the message.

Scott scoffs, clearly unperturbed by that threat. "John, tell what's-his-face I'd like to see him try."

"You tell him!" John snaps, unwilling to take part in this anymore. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not your personal messenger! That goes for you too, Virgil!"

It's an emotional outburst for John. It has something to do with the cosmos in the house. Everything has a set balance in this house. Alan and Gordon are the pranksters. John is the quiet one, with his head in the clouds or buried in a book. Scott and Virgil are the hyphenated. The best way to describe them is the twins who were born a few years apart. They are Yin and Yang; complementary opposites encased in a whole entity.

If one of those gets thrown out of synch, the whole household turns into an emotional catastrophe.

I don't like it when that happens. I don't like thinking about it either. I don't deal well with strong surges of emotion. Luckily for me, I have Scott. He tends to restore order when the unthinkable happens. But this time… When he's part of the problem, I can't expect him to pick up the pieces.

"But John," Virgil protests, eyes glinting with a spark of malice. It's out of place in Virgil; it's unnerving. He's getting ready to deliver the ace. I can tell from the way his lips curl slightly. "Why would I want to talk to a bad influence? Why would I stoop so low as to talk to a druggie who got a girl pregnant?"

It is game, set and match to Virgil. A few nanoseconds later, my mind registers some of Virgil's words.

Druggie?

Girl?

Pregnant?!

What happens next is inevitable. Almost in slow motion, Scott throws himself at Virgil, just as John squeals in terror and slides under the table. Virgil is tackled to the floor, and pinned down by his one hundred and fifty four pound brother. Alan, Gordon and I stare in horror, shocked to the core that Scott could do something like that.

I've never realised how out of the loop I am when it comes down to my boys.

Something inside of me snaps and I spring into action after hearing Virg's ragged breath.

"You take that back!" Scott yells. "You take it back because you know the former isn't true!"

That's an improvement. Wait... just the former?

I have more bones to pick with Scott, which makes me feel like a vulture picking away at a skeleton. And I will. Later. Right now, I have to stop my eldest from committing fratricide. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, I pry Scott away from Virgil's neck and shove him aside.

"Scott Tracy! That kind of behaviour is not accepted, nor is it tolerated in this household!" I roar, terrifying my younger sons. I'm staring him straight in the eye, which is a remarkable feat, considering he towers over me. "Now go to your room!"

He stays rooted to the spot, testing my patience.

"Go to your room now!" I place one hand on my hip, and point the other hand at the stairs.

Scott knows when to call it quits, and this is one of those times. He hurricanes away, barging into Virgil on purpose as he goes.

Yep, definite regression to childhood there.

"You too," I say softly to Alan and Gordon. "Make a start on your homework."

"But Dad," Gordon whines. "I wanna know what's goin' on!"

"But nothing, Gordon. Go."

I watch Gordon and Alan retreat into the living room. So much for doing their homework. John crawls out from under the table, grabs the plate of biscuits – or what remains of them – and scoots out of the room.

I turn my attention back to Virgil. "Son, are you OK?"

"Yeah," he gasps, massaging his throat. "Yeah, the feeling should return in a few moments."

"Do you need a drink?"

He nods gratefully, and I pour him a glass of water.

"Thanks."

"So," I begin, my tone light and airy. "What was that about?"

"Just Scott… pulling a typical Scott."

I raise my eyebrows. Virgil clearly thinks he's done nothing wrong. "You provoked Scott, Virg. Why?"

Virgil chews on his lip. I can tell he doesn't want to drag me into this.

It's too late.

I am already involved.

"Because he deserved it?"

"And why did he deserve it?" I can see Virgil isn't going to make this easy for me. I'm going to have to work my way to the root of the problem.

"Just… because."

"Because is not an answer," I admonish, staring him straight in his eyes.

"Because he's stealing my thunder," Virgil finally blurts out. I raise my eyebrow again, and Virgil knows it's time to come clean. "They've started a contemporary music club at school. It's a really serious one. They're entering competitions and everything."

I nod. I understand how important music is to Virgil.

"So I scrawl my name down on the sign up sheet." The floodgates are open and there's no stopping Virgil. "I stare at it for a moment longer, and I realise that no other Tracy has signed up. I'm elated. This is an opportunity for me to be recognized as someone other than Scott and John's little brother.

"When I turned up for the first rehearsal, I expected to be the only Tracy there, and I'm determined to make a name for myself. There was a swarm of people already there, and they've clustered around one person."

Three guesses who, and the first two don't count.

"Yeah," Virgil agrees bitterly. "Scott."

Maybe Scott's joined so that you and he could share a special activity. Scott does that with everyone else. He reads with John, swims with Gordon and runs with Alan.

"He's not doing it for a bonding activity." Virgil reads my mind and spits out his answer like its poison. "I asked him and he said it wasn't for that. When I asked him why he joined, he said he couldn't tell me." Virgil snorts in disbelief. "More like he wouldn't tell me!"

"I'm sure he has his reasons."

"But why?" Virgil deflates as he says that. "Why, Dad? That's all I want to know. Is he worried about me? Or is he jealous that this time, I would have been the first and only Tracy to join the music club? Just... why does he have to steal my thunder? For once in my life, I'd like to be in the spotlight." He pauses. "Dad, I'm sorry."

"I know you are. But it's not me you need to apologise to." I wrap my fifteen and a half year old up in an embrace he so clearly needs. "I don't know why Scott done what he's done, but I intend to find out."

Releasing him, I march up the stairs. The conversation with Scott is bound to be more trying.

I reach his closed door and take a deep breath. I feel like I'm up the creek without a paddle now.

Thank God Mother wasn't here for this showdown. Although, she would have sorted it out before it got this bad.

Without knocking, I power my way into his room. He doesn't hear me, which is unsurprising, considering he's immersed himself in maths.

"Scott, we need to talk."

"Fire away." He doesn't miss a beat. He answers, but his attention is on his work.

"Put the pen down, and look at me."

It irks me when he doesn't do as I ask.

"Scott," I warn, "don't make me repeat myself."

Almost regretfully, he places his pen down on his desk and slams his books shut. I perch on the edge of his unmade bed and tap the space beside me. He sits next to me but he places himself away from me at the same time. It's lack of contact. A barrier made of air. I'm sure it means he wants independence. I know I was like that when I was his age.

"You know you were wrong in what you did." It's a statement. I'm leaving no room for argument.

Scott shrugs.

"It doesn't matter how much Virgil provokes you, you do not resort to physical violence." I wait, letting that sink in. "Do you understand?"

Silence reigns.

"It's a yes or no question."

There more silence, before a quiet 'yes Dad,' escapes his lips.

"I know he was also in the wrong," I point out, eager to show Scott I'm not just pinning the blame on him. "But I cannot, and I will not tolerate physical fighting in this household. You are all old enough to know better." I lower my tone before starting up again. "Why, Scotty? He's much smaller than you. You could have hurt him." I don't expect a reply. "Once we're done here, I want you to go downstairs and apologise to Virgil. Can you do that?"

Scott nods reluctantly.

"Good man."

He moves away, but I call him back. He groans in despair, but I haven't finished with him yet. He knows that I know that he knows what I want to talk to him about.

It's not going to be pleasant.

"Before you even start, Dad, I don't do drugs."

It's what I wanted to hear, but I'm still not reassured.

If you don't do drugs," I challenge, "why is your brother under the impression that you do?"

Scott shrugs again. It's all he does nowadays.

"Is it a rumour going round school?" I press. If it's a rumour, and just a rumour, I know it will die out with time. But rumours are based on fact.

"Can I go now?" Scott asks. He doesn't wait for an answer, and all but bolts to his door.

"No. Get back here."

He retreats, but doesn't sit down. He has the upper hand as he stares down at me. I refuse to be intimidated by that.

"Scott," I'm close to pleading. Only my eldest son can reduce me to that. "Please. Talk to me. I can't do much if you don't communicate with me."

It doesn't open him up, but it does make me feel better.

"Are you in trouble?" I hold eye contact, unblinking.

He turns his head away. He breaks the stare.

It scares me.

And I don't like that.

Feeling scared is probably the strongest emotion you can feel. Apart from love. Scared... I don't like that emotion. I don't like fear either. They aren't measurable quantities. They just are.

But I digress.

"You are, aren't you." Again, a statement. This time, he agrees.

That's it. He's not getting out of here until I hear the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Scott swallows painfully. "Yes. Now can I go, please?"

I shake my head. "Tell me what happened."

He sits down beside me, places his chin in his hand, and begins to mumble. I pull his hand away, and for the first time in a long time, I listen to what he has to say.

What?! How could I not know about this!

I'm stunned. I've heard of these things happening at school, but I never thought my son would be victim to that.

"Let me get this straight," I stammer out. I've learnt that saying things out loud makes it easier to absorb. "They did a random locker search for stolen goods, damaged property and prohibited items. When they came to your locker, they found a packet of drugs which had been planted there. You don't know who planted it, but you are positive that it isn't yours. You were then given a choice…"

Is choice the right word to use here? It doesn't seem like much of a choice. Never mind, Tracy. Push on regardless. School has changed a lot since I went through it. In my day, no school would ever offer a deal like that.

"Of being suspended indefinitely for possession of a prohibited item, or having a minor misdemeanour on your permanent record if you joined the music club. Am I up to speed so far?"

"Yeah. Except you missed out the part where I said I would pee in a cup just to prove that I don't do drugs and to get out of the punishment. It didn't work."

My eye twitches. Trust Scott to be a stickler for all the sordid details. One thing still puzzles me. Why did they offer him the deal? Isn't it against some sort of rule to do that? A breach of ethical boundaries?

"They offered me the deal because they know I don't do drugs, but I still have to be punished for it. It also keeps me in there, which helps to boost their overall average. It's just as good for them as it is for me. Anyway, everyone at school knows music and me are not mutually compatible, so this seemed like a good punishment. I took the deal because it was the lesser of two evils."

I purse my lips. I'm not happy. I wonder why he didn't come to me when this happened.

"You were busy, Dad." He can't help but add the next bit. "You're always busy."

That stings. I know it's true, but that doesn't stop it from hurting.

"Son," I begin awkwardly, "I know I've been busy recently, but I'm never too busy for any of my sons. You know that, don't you? I will always have time for you."

Scott nods, his dark brown curls falling into his eyes. Impatiently, he pushes them out. "Great. Well, I'm gonna go downstairs now-"

"Hang on," I beckon him back and he sits obediently on his swivel chiar. "Just one more thing. Word has it that you got a girl pregnant."

Scott squirms in discomfort. I'll bet being on the receiving end of 'The Talk' is even more embarrassing as he gets older. God knows the first time I told him all of that was bad enough.

"How did it happen?"

The minute I pose that question, I know I've said the wrong thing. I watch Scott pivot around, with his trademark slow smile stretched across his face.

"Dad," he replies in mock seriousness, "you have five sons and you're telling me you don't know how it happened?"

I'm gob smacked. That is something I would have expected from Gordon, not from Scott.

"Again, is that true?"

Scott tilts his head to the side. "For the purpose of this discussion, yes."

Not the answer I wanted to hear, Scotty boy.

"And how do you feel about it?" I'm desperately trying to keep my rising anger in check.

The shrug is back. "I dunno. Haven't really thought about it, I guess."

The anger rises even more. How can he be so flippant about this? Doesn't he realise he's partly responsible for another human life?

"Well you'd better start thinking about it, boy." The anger is flowing like lava would flow from a volcano.

I know I said I don't like dealing with strong surges of emotion, but I think I can make an exception in this case.

"How are you going to support them? Are you dropping out of school?"

Careful, Tracy, don't want to go giving him ideas.

"No!" Scott appears scandalised at that thought. "I'm not dropping out of school! I'll figure something out. We both will."

"Scott, you are not ready to be a dad! You're seventeen, for crying out loud! You can't even marry her and raise the child together!" It's an old fashioned notion, but it's the one my mother hammered into me as I was growing up.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

"Pot calling the kettle black, Dad." Scott stares evenly at me, intense blue eyes unwavering. I can feel the unspoken word bouncing between us.

Hypocrite.

"Looks like the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree." Scott stands up for the final time, and walks away. He has effectively closed the conversation.

Once my erratic heartbeat returns back to its normal state, I follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen. By the time I get there, they're in a macho teenage boy hug. Scott tries to ruffle Virgil's hair and Virgil evades the hand.

A bitter-sweet feeling washes over me as I watch the scene play out. I can't identify what emotion it is. Maybe it's because there is no name for it. I'm relieved they've made up, but at the same time, I feel isolated. Looking at them, I realise just how far my boys have drifted away from me.

Not any more.

Yin and Yang have been restored. Now, with all my boys, it's time to restore Father and Son.