Alan and John Walk into a Bank
by Criminally Charmed
Disclaimer - Never owned them, never will.
Hmmm. Think you likey?
Chapter Two
Jeff set down his weekend bag, looking over as Alan and John followed him into the apartment. "I don't know about the two of you," he yawned, "but I'm beat."
"Yeah, Dad," John said as he grabbed the three bags, placing one each outside the correct bedroom doors. "But you were up late last night."
"And early this morning," Alan added, already heading for the kitchen. Feeling his father's eyes on him, he shrugged. "I'm a growing boy."
"Dad," John said as he stopped his brother, "why don't I take Alan out for a bite to eat? You head straight to bed."
Jeff almost argued, knowing that Ann-Marie, his ever efficient Personal Assistant, would have made sure that the kitchen was fully stocked for the weekend. Having been with Jeff since before Alan was born, he could guarantee that there wasn't just plenty of food but all of the boys' favorite snacks.
But then he saw the look on John's face, the one that revealed that John wanted to talk to someone – more than likely Alan. And with the level of energy Alan was showing, Jeff knew he would need all the rest he could get.
"OK," the father yawned once more. "But get back at a reasonable time. I'd like to have breakfast together before we part ways."
Jeff had barely gotten the bedroom door closed when he heard the apartment door slam shut. Smiling, he could hear the excited voice of his youngest son and John's calmer tones. Kicking off his shoes, Jeff pulled off his polo shirt and lay down on top of the covers. Until the boys came home he knew it would be impossible to fall into a deep sleep.
At least with John, they'll come home at a decent hour – unlike with Gordon - or raised voices – as they would with Scott, Jeff mused as he drifted off.
"John," Alan asked over his third slice of pizza, "do you think we can get around Dad coming clothes shopping? I mean, uniforms I can head into DiMare's and just have them measure me and they'll repeat my Wharton's uniforms from last year."
Frowning, John took a sip of his soda, amazed at how quickly Alan had downed his food. And as the teen picked up another slice, John thought to remind Alan that he shouldn't eat so much, but part of the big brother remembered all the times Alan hadn't eaten. The kid was good about his diet and he really hadn't eaten that much at lunch…
Shaking off any concerns, John remembered that even with the accident, Alan had been doing his best to keep in shape all along. The teenager wanted to be ready to rejoin the team – well, both teams – once he got the all-clear. And Alan really was a growing boy. At fifteen, he was already taller than Gordon. John would not be surprised for the kid to end up the tallest of the bunch. Pulling away from any concerns, the astronomer returned to the conversation as Alan was saying that the clothing shop near Tracy Towers, which also did a nice side-line in private school uniforms, could measure Alan quickly in the morning and they could then send Jeff to the meeting while the two brothers headed off to the sci-fi convention.
"So," John mused, "you are ok with Dad being there as you get measured for your school uniform but you don't want him there when you pick up new jeans, shirts and shoes?"
"And underwear, John," Alan grumbled. "The last time I went shopping with him, he tried to buy me jockey shorts with race cars on them."
"Well," John joked, trying not to laugh. "You were how old? Ten?"
"John," Alan sighed in that put upon way only a teenager can manage. "It was six months ago."
Giving up, John let out with uproarious laughter.
Having finished their meal, John and Alan headed out, stopping at a few stores. In truth, Alan hated clothes shopping with as much of a passion as teenage boys – or Scott. But the two blonde Tracys were having fun.
John was amazed at how much he was enjoying spending time with his youngest brother. The kid was actually fairly well read and had a variety of interests.
Alan had already bought five new pairs of jeans, sneakers and some shirts – button ups and polo's. But they had agreed that he needed a few t-shirts as well. John had picked up a long-sleeve tee that he almost dropped when he heard Alan snickering behind him.
Turning, John saw Alan holding up a shirt and trying to reign in his amusement. "Anything particularly amusing?"
Biting back his laughter, Alan tossed the shirt at John and exclaiming, "I so have to get that!"
Picking up the shirt, John chuckled as Alan became engrossed with a new top featuring a character from the boy's favorite movie. Seeing the pale blue shirt with the black lettering spelling out International Rescue on it, John tried not to laugh out loud. A salesman approached John as he placed the shirt on top of Alan's previous choices.
"Hello, sir," the man simpered. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"No," John said distractedly, trying to keep an eye on Alan without being obvious about it.
"I see you spotted one of our Thunderbirds' shirts," the salesperson, whose tag read Ronnie, continued with enthusiasm. "We are the only store in the area authorized by International Rescue, you know?"
"Really," John tried not to laugh. "I wouldn't think International Rescue would even get involved with stuff like that." Although, John wondered who was making all that money off all the bad knock off toys "featuring" the Thunderbirds.
"Well -" Ronnie began before glancing over at Alan, now about ten feet from where John was. "Excuse me." Picking up a handi-talk, the salesman spoke into it. "Security – do a sweep of section K."
Looking back over at where the man seemed focused, John's eyes widened slightly before rapidly narrowing at the undue attention the man was paying to his little brother. "Is something wrong?"
Any Tracy would have the good sense to be backing off at the moment. But Ronnie wasn't a Tracy.
"Teenagers," Ronnie hissed. "They'll steal you blind given the chance."
"Maybe he's just shopping," John interjected.
"Shoplifting more likely," Ronnie muttered.
"Can I speak with your manager?" John asked suddenly. Ronnie looked at him in surprise but used the handi-talk to page the manager.
An attractive thirtyish woman wearing a tag that read "Quinn Morgendorfer" came out and smiled at John. "Is there a problem here?"
Picking up the shirts in front of him, John shook his head. "No, no problem. I just thought you might want to know why one of your salespersons is about to cost the store about, let's see," he mused as he flipped through the shirts Alan had left with John, "oh, about a sale of at least two hundred dollars. It would have been more but I don't think I like Ronnie's stereotyping of an innocent teenager."
Any response was stalled by Alan walking back with a shirt while yawning slightly. "Hey, Johnny, I think we may want to call it a night. I'm getting pretty tired. 'Sides, with what still fits and looks good from last year, this should – do it…" Alan's voice trailed off as he saw his usually gentle brother glaring at the salesman.
Looking at the quality of clothing the two brothers – for Quinn could quickly deduce that Ronnie had put his foot in his mouth again – were already wearing, the manager tried not to lose her temper – or a lucrative sale.
"Sir, I apologize for any assumptions Ronnie may have made, and I can assure you he and I will be having a long talk about jumping to conclusions when there is no evidence to lead him there." Seeing John hesitate and guessing correctly the older blonde really didn't want the teenager to know what her salesman had suspected him of, Quinn smiled and leaned in like a conspirator.
"I'll ring you up myself. I'm salaried so it doesn't make a difference. But Ronnie works on commission."
John gave an almost Gordon-like smirk when the salesman tried to object only to be shot down by the glare from his manager.
Alan wasn't sure what was up in the store, but after the sale was rung up – and he surprised the manager by pulling out his own credit card, which was quickly approved after a thumb print recognition code, the teenager followed John out of the store.
"What was up in there, John?" Alan asked once they had cleared the entrance.
Glancing back into the store, John nodded at the sight of the manager coolly pointing to the back of the shop – and presumably her office.
"Nothing, Al," John murmured lightly before making sure they had all of their purchases. "Just making a point."
Alan shrugged. The trip, shopping and pizza were wearing down on him and he wanted nothing more than to head back to the apartment for a crash and burn of their own.
Jeff poured a cup of coffee, glad that someone – presumably John – had set up the coffee maker before heading to bed.
Heading out to the patio, Jeff enjoyed the sun rising over the Atlantic. Most of the bedrooms – as well as Jeff's office - were located facing the west so as to enjoy the sun setting into the Pacific. So the view was one the Tracys didn't get to enjoy that often.
Then again, most of the Tracys weren't exactly morning persons to begin with.
"Coffee helping any, Dad?"
Almost dropping his coffee mug, Jeff whirled around to see Alan sitting on a chair, a glass of juice in hand.
The blonde laughed at the shocked look on his father's face. "Seriously, Dad, you should see your face."
"Alan," Jeff asked as he pulled up a chair, surprise prompting his question. "What are you doing up so early?"
Shrugging, Alan stood up and began moving plates and silverware onto the table from a small serving cart in a corner. "I get up this early to go running. And Tin loves this time of day."
"Your mother always loved sunsets," Jeff recalled with a smile.
"So does Emily," John yawned as he came onto the balcony.
Alan grinned at his brother before heading into the apartment. Re-emerging a minute later, the teenager set a coffee carafe, a mug, two glasses and a pitcher of juice in front of John. "Get some coffee in you, John. You'll feel better." He patted his brother on the shoulder before returning to the apartment.
Pouring a cup, heavily adding cream and sugar, John sighed in relief as the coffee entered his system. "Thanks for making the coffee, Dad."
Looking at John in confusion, Jeff shook his head. "I didn't. I thought you did."
When Alan came back out, a casserole dish in one hand and a basket of biscuits in the other, the teenager froze when he saw his family members staring at him. "What?" he asked as he set down the dishes. Moving back over to the serving table, Alan pulled out a spoon and sat down, scooping out some of the breakfast casserole on his plate.
"You made the coffee?" John asked. "And, um -"
Alan sighed. "I made the coffee. The orange juice and biscuits are from cans. The casserole is something I made from stuff in the fridge. It's Onaha's recipe – eggs, potatoes, peppers and cheese." As his father and brother served themselves, Alan shrugged.
"I learned a lot from babysitters over the years."
Jeff picked up a biscuit and took a quick bite. Swallowing, he nodded. "Yes, Alan – I've been meaning to talk to you about that. Just what has Parker been teaching you?"
Alan didn't even pause as he snatched up a biscuit. "Well, how to drive, pick locks, boxing, and international law."
"International law?" John asked as he poured some juice.
Grinning, Alan waited until both Jeff and John had something in their mouth before answering. "Yeah, how to evade it."
"Alan!" Jeff strangled out as John tried not to choke on his juice, to which Alan roared with laughter. After a moment, the older Tracys gave in and joined Alan in his amusement. All in all, it was a great meal.
John climbed out of the taxi, holding open the door for Alan. Guiding his younger brother through a side entrance of the hotel that was hosting the convention, John felt obliged to do a last-minute big brother check list.
"Now, Alan," John started. "I want you to remember -"
"To not wander off, to tell you if I want to go somewhere, even the rest room, not to go anywhere with anyone you haven't introduced me to and preferably not with anyone but yourself," Alan interrupted. "And if the press spots me, duck."
"Got this a few times from Scott, huh?" John chuckled as the maneuvered through the displays that were in their finishing stages, awaiting the conventioneers gathering in the lobby and sidewalks.
Getting serious, John pulled Alan closer. "But seriously, Al – some of the reporters got kinda nasty that Dad never made you available to the media after the accident. There might be a few reporters at the book signing. Irving has a spot for you to stay off to the side."
Looking a bit sad, Alan stopped and looked at John. "Virgil told me, when I was in the hospital, how the reporters were after Mom died."
John dropped his eyes for a moment before raising them back up to Alan's, blue eyes to blue eyes. "It was bad. Dad's never courted the spotlight. None of us have. But because we do our best and our best – at different things – tends to be pretty darn good, reporters think they have the right to our lives, the good and the bad." Thinking of how the media had been after Alan's accident, John gave a small shudder before smiling at his brother.
"Now, don't worry about it. Let's just have some fun."
The brothers spent the morning meeting actors from several sci-fi movies or shows, and Alan was thrilled to get the new James Fletcher sci-fi book personally autographed by the author. They even posed in front of a screen designed to set you in a sci-fi scene. To their amusement, the randomly selected scene – because they couldn't agree on a scene – ended up being an artist's rendition of Thunderbird One - a rather inaccurate one, but the name written across the side made it clear.
"Scott's gonna love this," Alan snickered.
Before John could say anything, Irving Goldman came running up. Between his coke-bottle glasses and frantically flapping hands, the brothers realized the man's resemblance to the cartoon character Gordon had compared him to was, in fact, accurate. Holding back their laughter, they waited politely for the man to speak.
"John," Irving squealed. "What are you doing here? I want you to be presented and here you are mixing with the crowds!"
"Irving," John quietly said, his anger banked but visible. "This is my youngest brother, Alan. I am spending most of today with him. Now I agreed to the lecture and the book-signing but I will not neglect Alan for this dog and pony show."
"John -" Irving began to whine when Alan interrupted.
"Hey, Johnny," Alan said. "Why don't we grab some food at the restaurant in the lobby? That way we can come back when it's time for your book signing?"
Smiling at his youngest brother, John nodded and they began to make their way through the crowds. As they vanished from his view, Irving let out a breath with relief. He had heard of the infamous Tracy Temper but since the only Tracy he worked with was John, he had never experienced it in person. The closest Irving had ever come to that was a few weeks after Alan Tracy's accident, when the publisher had tried to push John to "know his priorities". In a cold e-mail message, John Tracy had made it clear that helping his youngest brother recover from the traumatic events that had almost killed the teen was John's priority. Irving decided at that moment, coming between a Tracy and a family member? Not good for long-term life plans.
At around one thirty, John was completing his lecture, based on his latest book – "A Century Among the Cosmos". As he finished, John invited some questions from the standing room only crowd before settling down for the book signing.
When the third question popped up about Jeff Tracy, John laughed. "I'm wounded, guys. I need to tell Dad to write his own darn book."
The crowd laughed but one reporter stood up, asking obnoxiously, "Come now, John – You have to admit, your family is well known for your tendency to hold themselves above the commoners."
John sighed. "Ms. Nevada. I'd like to say nice to see you again, but I am a lousy liar." He glared slightly at Irving, who had promised him that he would limit which members of the fourth estate were there. "But if I may remind you, my family has never viewed ourselves in such a manner. We grew up with chores, expectations of doing our best as the result of hard work and to take care of family above all else. If the Tracy family has a dislike of publicity, did it ever occur to you that irresponsible journalists like yourself are to blame? Ones who took pictures of devastated children who had just lost their mother? Or the ones who tried to ask my father how he felt not when Gordon won an Olympic Gold Medal but how he felt when we nearly lost that brother in the hydrofoil crash? And let us not forget you falsely reporting my youngest brother's death after a drunk driver ran him down?"
"Gee," he sniped sarcastically, "I wonder why my family avoids media?"
As security escorted the woman out – she had, after all, not obtained a media pass – John once more became the bright, clever astronomer so many of the people had come to see.
From the back, Alan smiled at his brother. A reporter – one of the authorized ones – noticed the teen and asked, "And what do you think of John Tracy?"
Still smiling, Alan nodded at John. "What do I think?" When the reporter nodded, Alan broke into a full blown grin. "I think he's one of my heroes."
A/N - OK, diabetic warning for that last line.
Alan - How about life and limb warning?
CC - Alan, I have yet to kill a Tracy. Well, permanently.
Scott - How about the limb part?
CC - Well, you get to keep all your limbs. Does that help?
Alan - That sounds like we are allowing you way too much leeway...Are you watching the news while we are talking to you?
CC - It's only until I get off my tush and put a DVD in. Maybe Daria. I like Daria.
Scott - Anything on the news?
CC - Hurricaine in the Gulf. My husband was worried because Brownsville, Texas, where his Grandma lives, is in the path. But turns out she is in the hospital in Minnesota with her daughter, my mother-in-law, who is super cool. So Grandma is OK.
Scott - Well, the hurr...Wait, stop watching that!
Alan - What's wrong with her watching the news?
Scott - A hurricaine? Do you want to inspire her?
CC -Don't be silly. I would never catch you in a hurricaine. Well, there was Hurricaine Meg in Standing Outside the Fire, but that was really just the outer edge. Doesn't count.
Alan - See? She wouldn't do that.
CC - 'Sides, Usher wrote "Hurricaine Mitchell" and did a much better job than I could.
Scott - Who gets hurt in that one?
CC - Well, it's on my list of favorites -
Alan (sighs) - How badly did I get hurt?
CC - Read the story. 'Nuff said. Cookies?
Scott - Chocolate?
CC - Triple chocolate.
Scott - Sounds good.
CC - Laters!