Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. All original characters are the product of my imagination in overdrive, and I'm pretty sure I can lay claim to that. No money is made from this.

AN - not sure what this is, exactly, but I guess this is a stand alone tale with minimal to no reference to my other stuff. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Déjà Vu

The moon bathed the almost blacked-out house in an ethereal silvery glow. Only one light glowed from the house, illuminating the silhouette pressed against the window as she watched the shadow outside mount the stairs that would lead him home. Sighing, she glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall and crossed her arms over her pregnant stomach. It was about time he came home from work.

"Luc?" he called out softly. "Honey, I'm home."

"I've noticed," she replied, just as soft, but tinged with worry. "You were supposed to come home over four hours ago. Where have you been?"

"Work, Luc. A meeting overran and…" Jeff trailed off, seeing the flash of anger that crossed his wife's face.

"And you didn't think of calling me to let me know? I have been standing at that window for ages, worried sick about you, scared that you had been in an accident because you hadn't come home and you're telling me you were at work?! Don't you think we warranted a phone call?" Lucy drew some air into her lungs in harsh, hysterical breaths. "Are we not important enough for a single phone call?! The kids were just as worried about you as I was!"

Jeff pulled Lucy into a firm embrace. "Hey, Luc, it's okay. I'm here now. I'm sorry I didn't give you a call." A small smile tugged at his cheeks as he felt their unborn child kick against them. "Guess you missed me too, huh, Leroy?"

Lucy recoiled against him slightly to look Jeff straight in the eye. "Don't call him Leroy, Jeff," she reproached. "You're making the baby sad with that name. He's a Gordon."

"Alright, alright," Jeff mumbled into Lucy's chestnut curls. "Sorry, Gordon. Why don't you head up to bed? I'll be there as soon as I close up here and check on the boys."

She wriggled out of Jeff's arms and clambered up the stairs, leaving him to finish locking the house up and making sure all the lights were turned off. Once he was satisfied, he trudged up the stairs, feeling well and truly tired. Jeff couldn't wait to crawl into his bed and snuggle under the feathery doona.

Before he could do that, Jeff had one stop to make. As quiet as a mouse, he peered into the darkened room where his three young sons slept.

Almost two year old Virgil was in a deep slumber. His chestnut curls fell over his eyes and a chubby fist lay next to his mouth. With a goofy smile, Jeff straightened the askew blanket and ran a hand through his curls.

Next, he stopped at three and a half year old John. John's hair was lightening, Jeff noted, from a darker gold to a lighter one. Given a few more years, Jeff was sure it would be almost platinum blond. Again, Jeff tucked the blankets around his sleeping son and placed John's plush star next to him.

Scott was the last son he visited. The just turned five year old had an arm draped over his teddy bear, hugging it close to his body. Scott rolled over in his sleep and Jeff instinctively placed a hand out to stop his son from rolling out of bed. The simple action stirred Scott out of his sleep.

"Daddy?" Scott blinked the sleepiness and sleepy dust out of his eyes.

"Yes, son?"

Scott grinned in only the way a five year old can. He threw his arms up in the air, demanding a hug from his dad. "Daddy! You're back! Did you miss me? Did you? Did you? Did you? I missed you, Daddy."

"Yeah, buddy, I missed you heaps. But you need to go back to sleep, okay? Mommy's not going to be happy if you don't. Even if it is Saturday tomorrow."

"But Daddy," Scott pleaded with puppy-dog eyes, "I'm not tired. Can you read me a story please?"

Blast his son and the big, blue puppy dog eyes. There was no way Jeff could turn any of his sons down when they did that.

Bundling his little Scotty into his arms, Jeff conceded defeat. "One story. And then you have to get to sleep, young man. Okay?"

"Yes Daddy," Scott agreed as Jeff carried him carefully down the stairs.

Jeff grabbed the nearest and shortest book at hand in the living room – Spot the Dog – pulled his firstborn onto his lap, held him tight and began to read.

It was a few moments after Jeff had finished reading and Scott had wrapped his arms around his father's neck. "Love you, Daddy."

"This much?" Jeff laughed, holding his fingers millimetres apart. "I'm hurt, son."

"No, Daddy," Scott protested earnestly, spreading his arms as far apart as they would go. "This much."

"Atta boy. You know how much I love you, Scotty?"

Scott shook his head and giggled at Jeff's expression of horror and shock.

"Well, Scotty, Daddy's about to tell you. There's a place where bad things happen and they call it hell. For you, Scotty, Daddy would go through hell and back again. That's how much he loves you. He'd do that for John, Virgil, Gordon and Mommy. That's how much I love all of you."

Jeff could feel his son nod his head.

"Now, Scotty boy, time to tuck you in. Snug as a bug in a rug, right?"

Once again, Jeff bundled his young son back into his arms and strolled up the stairs, feeling all was content in his world.