Scott hummed loudly and persistently all the way home, while Tin-Tin sat next to him, smirking slightly to herself and deciding to let him have the time he obviously wanted for his own thoughts. As he brought the jet round for the final approach, Scott spoke at last.
"Was Gordon staying in this morning?"
"I think so. He was fixing his diving mask on the kitchen table when I left. Going to grill him about his flight home last night?" Scott shot a glance at Tin-Tin and saw the amused look on her face. He looked back at the controls as his hand reached for the comms,
"I just like to check. He hasn't flown her for ages. He might have…questions." Tin-Tin didn't look convinced. Scott called his father,
"Ladybird to Tracy Island, permission to land please."
"Permission granted, welcome home Scott." The jet touched down and rolled to a halt before the great cliff face. The small hangar door opened and Scott taxied them inside. Tin-Tin pressed the hood-release and ushered Scott out of the pilot's seat,
"You go and sort yourself out. I'll put her away." Scott leapt to the ground with his bag,
"Thanks Tin-Tin."
Scott arrived in the lounge to the smell of solvents. His father was sat at his desk, his nose wrinkling slightly, doing some paperwork. Scott went over and sat on the edge of the desk. Jeff looked up,
"Hi Scott. Did you have a good time last night?"
"Yeah, thanks Dad. What's the smell?"
"Gordon is trying to fix the seal back on his diving mask with adhesive. Why he has to do it up here I don't know. His Grandmother's going to have a fit when she smells that in her kitchen…I'd stay out of it if I were you Son." Jeff and Scott exchanged a knowing look. They both knew to their cost what Jeff's mother in a temper meant. Scott smiled,
"I might go and warn him. I want to ask him about his flight back anyway. Was he alright?"
"He was fine. Got her in okay. I'm not sure he shouldn't do a little more training in her, iron out the wrinkles just in case…" Jeff saw Scott turn pale and laughed,
"I guess you're not so keen on the idea. Well, you've got to let her go sometimes Scott. But I know how you feel."
"Did Gordon fly her better than Alan?" Jeff let out a nervous breath,
"Aah…no. He's not really a pilot at heart. But he's probably better than John…at least he doesn't panic so much. No damage done though. Just an interesting approach pattern." Jeff hurried on as Scott's eyebrows hit the roof and he sprung off the desk, "I talked him back on track. There was just a moment when I thought he was going to land in the pool…I wasn't ready for him coming in on that bearing and he wasn't opening it himself, I thought he'd take a swing round. I had to send him off on another circuit…so if you find scorch marks on your sun lounger, that's why."
"If I did that you'd hit the roof." Scott stated, matter-of-factly,
"If you grounded Thunderbird Four on your way home, I'd laugh. Provided you were in her legitimately. I keep meaning to give you boys more time to train in each others' crafts, but I know how protective you are of your own. You know enough to get them home. That's what really matters. Don't go bawling Gordon out."
"I won't." Scott went to the kitchen and found Gordon sat at the table with his hands in the air as if he were meditating, a bit of mask pinched between his fingers.
"How's it going Gordon?""
"It keeps popping open." Moaned Gordon, "I've been trying since before Tin-Tin left. I just don't have the patience. You don't want to hold it do you?"
"No. You, uh, got Thunderbird One in alright then?"
"Yeah." Gordon glanced at Scott, saw his raised eyebrows and winced,
"Okay. It was a little…wobbly. But I haven't been in her for over a year. I didn't hit anything. Not a scratch on her, I swear."
"You know she's not meant to land in water…" Gordon laughed,
"Dad thought I was going to land in the pool. Like I would…" He said, but he didn't sound as confident as a second before. Scott got up,
"That really stinks Gordo. I'd clear out of the kitchen before Grandma gets to find out."
"How come you got leave last night?"
"I don't know. Virg and John asked for me I think. I guess they thought I needed it. Must have caught Dad at a good moment."
Scott left the kitchen and made his way to Thunderbird One's hangar. Leaning on the inspection rail, he looked her up and down. She didn't look damaged anywhere, but he'd want to look in the sheathes around her wings when he could get someone to come with him; the ice caking she'd had in there could certainly have done some damage. Scott heard footsteps behind him and looked round. Virgil was walking towards him, carrying two cups of coffee, a paper bag between his teeth. Scott took the bag and a cup and Virgil grinned,
"Thought I'd find you here. Brought a few slices of Grandma's pecan pie. There's fireworks in the kitchen right now."
"Gordon's gluing?" Virgil nodded, "Well, I did warn him."
"Brains said to tell you he's checked out Thunderbird One's body and there's a crack in your starboard wing hinge. It's not too serious, he's going to get in there with Tin-Tin later today and try to fix it. He said you can lend a hand if you want, but you're probably too big to get in there anyway. Must have been struggling too hard against the ice."
"She's usually okay with ice. The altitude often freezes her up a bit. I guess it was too cold to melt when I brought her down. Thanks for getting leave for me by the way. How did you do it?"
"John and I had a chat on the way back, since Gordon wasn't there. We decided to pester Dad for you a bit. You…I couldn't let that opportunity pass. John didn't fancy you moping around either."
"I have not moped! Not once." Scott drummed his fingers on the side of his cup and took a deep breath,
"Did you…had John told you about Ned and me before?" Virgil leant on the rail next to him,
"No. He didn't say a word. Alan and Gordon still don't know. I think." Scott half-smiled,
"You didn't look surprised. I thought…"
"I'm not surprised at all. Why should I be? I'm the one who saw you in that car with that man."
"Yeah. I guess. But even I didn't know. I wasn't sure about Ned. I didn't like him before. Miss him like mad now. You don't mind?" Virgil put his arm round his brother and gave him a quick squeeze,
"Nope. You know, I had a chat with him when I was flying him back to his base. Like I said, he seemed like quite an okay sort of guy when he wasn't after a story. If you like him, that's great. It's about time you got serious with someone."
"Thus spake my younger brother." Said Scott, turning his cup round and round. "I'm not sure what I'd have thought if it was you or John. It's not something I ever really thought about. I can't really get used to the idea."
"What difference does it make? We haven't blabbed because you weren't telling, it wouldn't be fair. I guess Alan and Gordon might tease you a bit, but it doesn't change anything. I don't see the problem."
"What about Dad?"
"Um…I don't know. I'd be surprised if it really bothered him. It's more the fact that you're going out with anyone, or that it's Ned Cook that's going to bother him."
"See, I don't even know if it's worth telling him. Do I even try to keep this going?"
"What? Scott, John told me what's been going on, on our way back yesterday. If you, well, if you love him as much as it sounds you do…"
"I've only seen him twice."
"Hell Scott, you've seen him every night in your dreams and half the day when we haven't been able to get a response out of you. I'm not stupid. Artist, remember? I just don't believe that something that makes you look that much happier when he's around isn't real."
"What?"
"The look on your face. You weren't even really happy, the situation was too bad, but you kinda relaxed. He's sure, anyway. Why wouldn't you want to carry on?"
"What do I do Virgil? I'm a member of International Rescue. I hear a call for help and it puts everything else out of my head. Heck, I hear about some project going on somewhere and even if it sounds really exciting and interesting, part of my brain is already looking for potential disasters, it's who I am. So along comes Ned and it throws me. I wasn't thinking straight half the time I rescued him from that ruin. It was dangerous. If I do carry on with him, I'm putting him through hell every time I'm on a rescue, and I'm aware of that, because he's not one of us; he's not on the calculated risk ticket with you and the others. And apart from that, I can't bring him back to the island because of the security risk, so I only get to see him a few times a year. I can't live like that." Virgil shook his head,
"Well, for starters, I think you've conquered the first one. You went yesterday as Scott Tracy, pilot of Thunderbird One. You weren't distracted when you left, or if you were, it was a great cover-up you did. Then you met Ned there and it was a surprise. Did that throw you? I'd say it didn't. You handled him like you would anyone. You didn't compromise anyone's safety, you didn't lose control of the situation, you just got on with the job. I didn't have a clue that there was anything extra going on with him and you until you kissed him. If you were screwed up inside, it didn't affect your work, and that's what matters. Apart from that, he's a risk-taker too, he admits it. Okay, so it's not the same thing, but he's still used to the idea."
"There's still the security risk."
"Maybe this is the time to risk it." Scott looked at Virgil with faint scorn, Virgil looked straight back, brown eyes meeting blue. Scott took a deep breath,
"Okay, I trust him. But, I. Don't. Know. Why." He pointed each word, still staring Virgil in the eye. "I've known him a few weeks, during which time my entire perception of him has changed, but I didn't get a choice in the matter, it was an accident. I…"
"An accident?" Virgil butted in,
"It was…strange. Normally I'd never have let him get close enough to change my mind. I was so tired that day, I mean really exhausted, I shouldn't have been there if there was a choice. We were stuck in that hole and Ned just… Well he'd obviously been, thinking about me, I guess, for a while, and he just grabbed me and kissed me. What do you do? I was too tired to argue, too tired even to really think about what he'd done. So I let him carry on. I, I enjoyed it. He's, um, good at what he does. So then he asked how he could see me again and gave me his number and I promised to call. I know how that can work, but I do not break my promises. Then, when I got home, I… I guess I worked out I was in love with him."
"Or Tin-Tin did."
"Alright. Tin-Tin did. It doesn't matter anyway. The point is that he was in love with me way before I was with him, and it was an accident that I fell for him at all. I still don't know whether it's real or it's just… Desperation."
"Are you desperate? You never look it Scott."
"I didn't think I was. But you don't know do you? You suddenly get something you didn't know you wanted and all of a sudden it's as if it is what was missing. I've never even felt the need to go on a proper date with the girls I meet when I'm on leave. Nor the guys for that matter."
"So you weren't in love before. It changes things."
"It doesn't change the fact that I'm suddenly in a position where I need to assess someone I've only known a short time in terms of their security risk, and all the boxes I'd usually tick come out marked black. He's a new face, he's known to behave irrationally, he'll do anything for a story, he's tried to film us before, he's only known by someone whose judgement is seriously skewed… How could I pass him? How could I possibly ask Dad to pass him?"
"Because if you keep on at him for long enough, Dad will go with your judgement. He trusts you on rescues, and if he still sometimes treats us all like kids at home, he recognises your ability when it matters. Work out what sort of threat Ned poses, then you can work out the arguments you need, for yourself as much as Dad. Otherwise John's right, you'll end up a sour old bachelor, wondering why you never took your chance. Dad wouldn't want that, he loved Mom too much to deny any of us that particular happiness."
"You're a fine one to talk. Where's the line of girlfriends? And don't tell me you haven't been asked, I've been there with you."
"Okay Scott, I admit it. I've never found the right girl, yet. But if I did…"
"She probably wouldn't be a ferocious news reporter with a chequered past and a bad reputation with Dad. And she wouldn't be a man. And you'd probably have had time to think it over before you got in so deep."
"Sure. I know there are problems. Just don't think they're insuperable. If you want my opinion, I'd tell Dad as soon as you can summon up the courage. Get him thinking about it. But make sure you tell him all the good stuff, like how he's changed and what he's done and said recently. Don't just tell him all your doubts and worries, I know you." Scott smiled wryly. Virgil took his cup from him and smiled,
"See you later Scott." He started to walk away, Scott stopped him,
"Hey!" Virgil turned,
"What?" Scott looked pointedly at the paper bag Virgil had picked up to take with him. Virgil sighed dramatically,
"And I was hoping to get a couple more slices for myself for once!" Scott cuffed him gently and took the bag, peering inside,
"Only two left?" Virgil coughed meaningfully and walked away. After all, he had only had one and a half.
As Virgil's footsteps died away, Scott went round and extended the walkway to Thunderbird One's cockpit. Stepping inside, he closed the door and checked that all her systems were off. Standing on the rear bulkhead of the cockpit, the pilot's seat came to midway up Scott's chest. He rested his folded arms on it and let out a great moaning cry of frustration. As the sound echoed round the tiny, enclosed space, he raised his head and took a deep breath. He felt better for that, but Virgil's suggestion filled him with dread: why should he complicate things by telling Dad? If he did tell him, Gordon and Alan would be sure to find out. He wouldn't get a moment's peace. He had a book to finish, he was in the middle of a strategy game with Brains, he'd have to repaint his Thunderbird's nose-cone which was a little scarified by the hard, icy snow. Wouldn't it be a lot easier to do these things free from extra, unnecessary worries? But the idea was there now. Virgil was right. He'd have to tell his father sometime. He was almost bursting from pretending he was fine while the others were around. Having a good yell had helped a little, but it was building again. A lump at the back of his throat was getting more insistent…
Never. He would never cry over it. Never in private, never in public. But he was getting damn close and if he didn't do something about it… Scott took another couple of deep breaths. Ned's face, Ned's voice were going round and round in his head again and that aching feeling of missing was back. It felt like when his mother had died. That ancient, unstoppable feeling of loss, of needing, of incessant feeling. He thumped his hand on the seat,
"Help me!" He shouted. Then the silence returned.
Scott opened the cockpit door and stepped out. On the lower gantry, Brains had arrived and was pushing a trolley of equipment in front of him. Scott went down to him and they looked over at Thunderbird One,
"H-hi Scott. I believe V-Virgil told you my findings."
"Yeah Brains. You reckon you can fix it?"
"W-well, I'll certainly t-try Scott. T-Tin-Tin is going to take in one of my s-special w-welders. I think it ought to uh, do the j-job. She's the only one s-small enough, it's a t-tight squeeze if we don't want to take the whole s-side off."
"Okay Brains, well call me if you need any help. I thought I'd touch up her nose cone while she's out of action. I guess Alan's created enough dregs by now." There was a slight moan in his voice, and Brains laughed,
"You know, it's m-much less w-wasteful. A-Alan gets b-bored at the e-end of a c-canister. You g-get a good finish, so why open a whole n-new tub which will g-go off?" Scott raised his eyes ceilingwards and nodded. He ran down the gantry steps to the storage area of the hangar, pulled out his painting overalls and went across to the paint store. As he pulled on the overalls, he looked at the big plastic container that held all Alan's dregs from the canisters he'd last used to paint Thunderbird Three. It was about three-quarters full. Scott hauled it out of the store and placed a filter over the mouth of a spray-gun reservoir. Tilting the paint pot up and resting it on his leg, he watched as a thin stream of red paint made its way through the filter, occasionally leaving behind a glob of rubbery, dried paint. He heard a sound above him, looked up, saw nothing, looked back down and cursed as the action tilted the pot a little too much and a great gush of red covered his hand. Wrinkling his nose, he stood the pot up on the floor, wiped his hand on his overall leg, wiped the outside of the spray-gun, and wiped his hand once more on the other leg. He put the large pot back in the store and climbed up to the top gantry again with the spray-gun.
Brains had disappeared into Thunderbird One's service hatch, and it sounded like Tin-Tin had gone in with him. Scott climbed the ladder up to the cherry-picker arm that jutted from the top of the hangar wall. Harnessing himself in, he attached the spray-gun to the pressure hose and operated the controls that swung him out towards the bright red nose of Thunderbird One.
Close to, the paint damage looked worse, but Scott was glad, at least he'd be able to see where he'd been. The paint on his hand was claggy and stiff now. He'd never be able to wash it off later. Deciding it was too late to put on the hot, uncomfortable gloves he usually wore for this job, he pulled on a pair of goggles and started to paint.
It was slow work, the leftover paint was less keen on being blasted out of a nozzle than it was when it was fresh. Little bits that had somehow got through the filter got jammed from time to time, making the nozzle spurt and splatter, and Scott had to speedily clear the blockage and re-spray the area before it dried. However, it was satisfying, seeing the cone slowly become glossy and smooth once more and Scott felt himself calming down as he worked his way round, top to bottom, round, top to bottom, check the join, round, top to bottom…
At last, job done, Scott made his way back down to the store, put the spray-gun in the centrifugal cleaner and climbed back up to the service hatch. He entered and climbed the ladder towards the wing-hinges. Squeezing past fuel tanks and rocket housings, he found himself face to face with Brains, holding a welding mask to the side of his face where he had an earpiece and mic, and reading instructions to Tin-Tin from the data on the electronic scanner in his lap. Scott waited until Brains paused and brought the welding mask down,
"How's it going Brains?"
"Uh, kinda slowly Scott. The e-equipment is definitely w-working, but it t-takes time. Tin-Tin can't er, keep going for too l-long at a stretch, b-but we'll do it."
"Thanks Brains. Tell Tin-Tin she's doing a great job. I'm off to get cleaned up. See you later."
Scott went back to the villa, picking at the gloss paint, now completely dried on his hands. Taking off the overalls, he got in the shower, scrubbed his hair and body and tried to get at least some of the worst off his hands. The difference was barely noticeable as he pulled his fresh clothes on, ten minutes later; the only good point seeming to be that the paint did at least match the red panel on his sweater.
Scott grabbed his book and walked to the lounge. There was no sound from the kitchen, apparently that argument was over or had gone elsewhere. Gordon, John and Virgil were nowhere to be seen, probably down by the pool, but Jeff was still at his desk, dictating notes into a recorder. He looked up as Scott came in.
"What have you done to your hands Scott?"
"I was painting Thunderbird's nose cone. Had a little accident." Jeff chuckled,
"We do run to gloves here Scott." Scott smiled at his father, his stomach lurching; if he was going to follow Virgil's advice, he should do it now, while Jeff was so obviously relaxed and in a good mood and not busy with other things on his mind. Jeff was looking at his eldest son appraisingly,
"You're looking mighty nervous Son. What's the matter? Something happen yesterday?"
"No. No, I just… Dad, have you got time to hear me out on something?" Jeff looked more serious,
"Sure Son, what is it?" Scott brought his hand up to rub his jaw, spotted the paint and hastily put it down again. He stood in front of his father's desk, playing with the edge of the wood.
"Sit down Scott." Said Jeff, and pointed to the chair at the corner of the desk. Scott sat. "Go ahead." His father said patiently. Scott took a breath and started,
"I've got a problem I can't deal with, but I need to give you all the details before you form an opinion, because I had to have all the details before I came to the opinion I did, and I don't think you're going to be very happy with how it starts. I wouldn't be." Jeff waved his hand for Scott to continue. Scott picked up a pen and started to twiddle it.
"I guess the main thing is that I've, I've… fallen in love. That's the base of the problem." Jeff's eyebrows raised, but he remained silent. He knew Scott must be serious, he was never on edge like this, even on a dangerous rescue, something must really be causing him problems.
"I guess I've realised that I can't continue only seeing them when I've got leave, it's not enough, it's driving me crazy. So I'd love for them to be able to come here. But that's where it gets bad. I've only known them properly for a short while and I can't justify the security risk to myself, so…" Scott stopped, he was doing exactly what Virgil had told him not to. Be positive, that was the key.
"I trust them. I don't really know why, but I'd trust them with my life and I just know they'd never do anything to damage us now." (Better, better.) Jeff was looking stern again,
"What do you mean 'now'? Have they in the past? Do I know her? I can't recall anything a woman ever…" Scott interrupted,
"No Dad. I mean, yes, they tried, but it's… it's not…" Scott was breathing heavily now, his red hands were drumming the pen on the desk and that lump was back in his throat. He swallowed hard and flattened his hands on the desk. Control, control, that was what he needed. This was an assignment, it was easy, he wasn't risking his life here, he was trying to make it better. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply again and thought 'calm'.
"It's Ned Cook." He said, softly.
"What is?" Asked Jeff, baffled.
"That I'm in love with. Ned Cook, the reporter who risks his life too much, too often, who tried to film us leaving the scene of a rescue and wouldn't stop, even though he scared his cameraman half to death, driving off when I chased him, who will do anything, almost, for a story. I'm in love with him, and I don't know if it's clouded my judgement, but I truly trust him now. He's talked things over with me. He knows now how important secrecy is for us and he respects us too much to abuse his position. He saved a little boy on that rescue yesterday. He risked his life to come in and help me when John and Virgil couldn't. I trust him. But I won't blame you if you can't. I know I wouldn't in your position. Why should you?" Jeff looked down at his desk, his chin in his hand, and picked at the corner of his blotter. Then he sat back and looked at his eldest son who was now watching him, his eyes fixed on his father, as if willing himself to keep looking against his better judgement.
"Ned Cook is, a man." Jeff said, rather unhelpfully. Scott nodded, his expression fixed. Jeff was silent for a while, his clasped hands hiding his mouth, then he spoke, his tone uncertain,
"Scott, you've given me two pieces of information here that I find hard to square with My Boy Scott. Oh, it doesn't…matter, I guess, that he's a man, but I have to get used to the idea before I can deal with the other bit that I really don't like. Can you leave me with that Scott, we'll talk again when I've been through the first bit with myself. I might bawl you out if you stay here now, and I don't want to do that." Scott got up slightly unsteadily,
"Sure, Father." He said, and went to leave.
"Good man." His father said as he left, and Scott felt relief flood him. Those words would do for now.
