Your reviews made me smile, you'll hate me for not including Jeff's reaction but it's coming! There has to be a bit of calm before the storm and I think we all know which Tracy that's best suited to.

hypersreak said it perfectly; "better to ask forgiveness then permission"
Maybe that's Alan's thinking, though he's a bit of a mess at the moment so who knows what he'll do. The kid's a magnet for trouble (or so these countless Alan whump fics keep telling me)

Anyway, thanks again for the amazing reviews, I love your reactions and it keeps me pushing forward with 'the dastardly plan'...

Oh Alan, my little tornado in a teacup.

The few weeks prior had seemed something of a blur, a mismatch kaleidoscope of memories no more than pins on a map marking the progress of his travels. His internal conflict and personal journey still existed, the extent of which he chose to ignore.

Alan was fairly happy with the rough draft of the story which had been written about him, his words were for what seemed like the first time his own, and although he hadn't wanted to mention his father or the problems they'd been having he had decided that honesty was an approach best taken. If people wanted to think badly of him then at least they'd have an honest structure to base their opinions, not hearsay and backhanded comments from other papers.

Back home he'd always felt as though his words had never made an impact, the amount of times he'd been called into his father's office and given a dressing down were countless, yet the amount of times his father had listened? It was a hands down zero.

He understood that with four elder brothers separated by mere years it would be difficult to be heard above the ongoing rivalries, jokes, and babbling interests which filled conversations. Alan's news was old news to brothers who'd already experienced the same achievements years prior, his stories were shadows against those of daring rescues and sonic jets.

The constant frustration of not just being left behind but feeling undervalued and somewhat forgotten had sparked those first thoughts of media attention, concreting his words in newsprint to be read again and again. His father may have made one bold step for man, but he, Alan Tracy, had planted the first Tracy footprint on the media world.

His own words were not just printed in ink a million times over, screaming to be read as much as Alan felt the need to be heard and understood, but he had also gained an achievement that could not be compared in any way to those of his brothers.

The editor, Georgina, had arranged security and a chauffeur to take Alan back to the hotel he'd been staying at, she'd promised a copy of the paper to be sent first thing the next morning and had left her personal contact number in case of problems. Alan also had the number of the security firm hired by the paper to look after him whilst he was in New York, so if he wanted to leave the quiet haven of the hotel he wouldn't have to deal with an overdose of flashing cameras or nosy reporters after a secondary scoop. There were ways and means around it.

He'd had signed a four month exclusivity deal, even if he wanted to he was thenceforth barred from speaking to journalists outside of News International. As he'd gone through the contract that had been written up between them he'd come to the conclusion that one paper was better anyway, he wouldn't have to worry about his words being scrambled across networks or recalling what he'd said to each of them.

Maybe the prospect of being interviewed, going against his families' unspoken wishes and/or coming public about his life for the first time should have sent spine chilling shudders through his mind at the mere thought, but it didn't. If anything, since leaving the newspaper's office he'd felt a weight lift from heavy shoulders and the air lighter with each breath he took. Perhaps it was the calm before the storm, or perhaps he was making footprints which were completely his own.

When the morning came there was indeed a newspaper left outside of his hotel room neatly folded and awaiting inspection. Alan had to admit, the camera liked him and apparently so did the journalist who had written the article. At that moment no one was pulling him down, he was happy to wave away the worry of a disappointing read he'd have to explain if forced back home.

He'd been honest to the point of still being kind, avoiding potholes of anger or that black hole of despair he'd left at the motel along with a gas station of alcohol. He'd been truthful to those mistakes which had led him to New York, to those which had led him to that final argument with his father and the unauthorized take off from Tracy Island.

It hurt to read but it was the truth. Alan Tracy uncovered, there for the world to see. If they still wanted to judge him then at least they had honest words, not hearsay and the un-ended silence from a family that neither confirmed nor denied the pain.

The volcano in Italy had finally erupted and had cut through the worry of what Alan's future apology was for. The call had come in the early hours of the morning, dragging the islanders from their sleep in a groggy haze that was all too quickly erased by the shrill siren of International Rescue.

Volcano's couldn't be stopped, they were a force of nature that had no off-button meaning such rescues were just that; rescues. Dowsing water on top of a volcano would have as much of an effect as buying Lady P a green sweater. The aim of the mission was to rescue and transport people in the surrounding areas moving them to safer ground.

Thank fully there had been a warning issued some weeks previous to the impending eruption, many families had heeded those warnings and got the hell out of there. But as ever, some people just didn't listen.

Scott flew Thunderbird Two, Gordon co-piloting whilst Virgil ran diagnostics of the effected areas whilst relaying information and details with John up on Five. Their father was running Command & Control back on the island assisted by Brains, between them they spoke to rescue teams and local services already at the disaster zone and prepared them for the Thunderbirds approach and participation. It was a plan they worked like clockwork, so used to each others role that there was no room for panic or uncertainty.

The skills the ground crews sought were negotiators, imploring stubborn home owners to let go of their prized possessions and accept the inevitable; either they lost the items of they lost their lives.

Once landed the main worry was the giant ash cloud that had enveloped the area for miles around, threatening to choke Thunderbird Two's engines and blind the rescuers efforts of seeking out those hanging behind.

"Hey, Brains?" Gordon spoke into the microphone on his helmet, watching his suit turn a silver blue to a dusty grey in seconds. He head off with Scott and a couple of local rescue teams into the main part of the town, Virgil went the opposite direction with another team. They're landed as close as possible but it was still a half hour walk to the areas the teams wanted to check.

"Go a-ah-ahead Gordon." Brain's voice was crackling across the airwaves, not a good sign but so far the equipment was coping.

"Have you thought about inventing some kind of massive fan?" Gordon was serious but he caught Scott's short headshake a few paces ahead of him, he'd thought about it before at similar rescues but hadn't broached the idea until now. After a rescue he tended to put it behind him and worry more about getting clean than his own amazing future inventions. "It could blow the ash cloud away, at least until the town was cleared of civilians. It might also clear the stench of rotten eggs the sulphur gives off."

"Gordon, mind on the job." Jeff's voice broke through what threatened to become a ramble, as short as ever when manning command and control. Easily swatting his second youngest's question away without a hint of consideration.

"I'm serious. Someone remind me to bring it up when we're home, you'll thank me next time a volcano decides to throw an Alan." He stumbled across a small paved area filled with grey pot plants and rusty garden chairs, following the three local rescuers and Scott ahead of him as they cut across ash blackened lawns and further into the darkness the cloud brought.

There was a few minutes silence as they checked the small homes and apartments they passed, calling out to those who may have been trapped of simply hanging behind. Clearing a street they headed on to the next, thermal imaging software proving useless as the heat of the cloud only intensified.

John's voice crackled through the radio. "Throw an Alan?"

"Lots of smoke but no fire?" Scott guessed, separating from Gordon as they both went in opposite directions to once again check buildings.

"I was thinking more of the fact that he likes to make a mountain out of a molehill, but I guess both comparisons work. We're all clear over here, can't see anyone around. Scott?"

"We're clear… again. We're going to start heading further out opposed to in, I can't imagine anyone would hang around too long with the heat as it is."

"If you go any further you're risking losing the comm links," There was some beeping on John's end as the computer up on Five supplied a constant stream of data. "plus the heat's only going to increase so you won't want to be in there too long."

Jeff murmured in agreement. "Head back out, suggested distance of one hundred meters increasing in area. Confirm with the other teams, they have a better idea of the area and will know which are likely to have residents still holding back."

Scott relayed the suggestion to the three rescuers they were guided by, all of whom were happy with the decision but continued to check the houses they'd missed as they began heading away from the centre of the dust cloud and the direction of the volcano.

"Virg, you there?"

"Reading you loud and clear Scott."

"Your line has been quiet. Progress report."

"Yeah, I'm still here. We picked up an older lady in one of the first houses we checked, said her neighbors headed out last week but she didn't want to leave her house incase kids broke in. She's not too fused about the volcano. One of the local team members is just walking her out with an oxygen pack but we're continuing to circuit the residential area."

"H-how did you g-g-get her to leave?" Brains asked, a hint of humor lacing his words.

"One of the team told her that there was a soup kitchen at the rescue camp where they wanted to take her, said that they were looking for volunteers. Apparently she was quite taken with the idea."

"So, would you say that she did a Gordon?" Scott smirked, they could hear it in his voice as he bumped through another house, vision limited but confirming another empty building. "Clear."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"Full of opinions but not much depth." Jeff came back, quick as a whip. "Keep on task boys, let's not get distracted."

"I resent that!"

"Gordon."

"Sorry dad. We're all clear here… again. Are we late to the rescue or something? Looks like most of the work's already been done."

"The camps that the civilians have been taken to have a basic idea of numbers but not everyone went to a camp, some went to friends, family and/or elsewhere, and then there are the possible missing." John was mainly keeping an eye on the shifting weather patterns, movement of the ash cloud and the status of the volcano, but he also shared the information which Jeff and Brains were sifting through.

Jeff sighed. "We were called in for extra numbers to speed up the search, those who have remained in their homes have been proving hard to shift. You're there to remain visible and to help where needed."

"F-from the spread of the a-a-smoke I would pr-predict a short stay, the a-a-ash c-cloud is moving too f-fast. Thunderbird Two will be gr-grounded if you stay t-too long."

"I'm agreeing with Brains." John crackled through, the comm link was becoming ever more fragile. "Unless you plan on losing your 'bird you've only got about half an hour stability before risking overheating the engines."

"Marked." Gordon muttered, beeping the time into his watch as a countdown.

"Marked. Confirmed Scott.

"Ditto." Virgil quipped, "We're heading back that way anyway, just a couple more streets to check and we'll be pulling the teams in."

Irritatingly, or perhaps luckily, only one other person was found before they wrapped up the mission and headed out again. A middle aged man had hung back with his dog in the worry that he would be forced to leave it behind, the shaggy animal seemed happier than the man to be leaving the area with the promise of a good wash an a belly of food back at one of the camps. They were set up in tents running on bottled water and tinned produce, a dog walking around was the least of their worries.

John signed off whilst Gordon, Virgil and Scott headed back to the island for the debrief. Jeff and Brains had run through a few diagnostics of not just Thunderbird Two but the radio interference and the effects the ash could have had on the equipment. John had signed off after Brains had left the conversation and headed off towards one of the silos with high spirits of trialing some new equipment.

After the last few hours of constant chatter over the radio feed it was suddenly very quiet, only the sounds of the space station's computer and hum of a soft engine keeping him company. Looking out across the stars it was hard to imagine the destruction the volcano could cause, it was a good job they were well prepared and knew how to react in such circumstances... Even if some chose to ignore the warnings and remain behind.

Although the rescue was a reasonably short one the time to and from Italy coupled with the slow search of buildings had eaten away at the night, Tracy Island would be serving a very late breakfast to the returning rescuers.

John set the monitors in front of him to automated and headed off in search of a hot drink before he could catch some shut eye, his feet padding through the insulated short corridor to the small kitchen area. He grabbed a mug and poured himself a tea, thankful to Lady P for introducing his favorite brew to him and reminding himself to restock when he got back home.

He made his way back along the corridor, veering through a door to the left and into the cramped bedroom he called his own. There was one other bedroom on the space station which he'd come to refer to as 'the guest room' which was currently unoccupied.

Whilst he sipped his tea he flicked open the small computer by the bedside and started his usual routine of checking world events and news, flicking through a few websites he had bookmarked and scrolling through stories that interested him.

Huh.

London's build up to the Olympics was looking interesting, the opening ceremonies seemed to have a herd of cattle and sheep involved. Gordon would love that. Apparently he had tickets which was impressive in itself, though since winning his gold medal he had kept in touch with team mates and athlete's he'd met during the course of the games four years prior.

John rolled his eyes, scrolling down to read the coverage of the volcano in Italy. The photos were hazy but as ever the media had caught onto International Rescue's involvement and had herded to the scene, snapping photos of Thunderbird Two and the uniformed figures of Scott, Gordon and Virgil.

He noted that he'd need to bring the problem up with Jeff again, something he'd mentioned on a dozen occasions after their photos had ended up on newspapers and similar websites. Sure, visors hid the operative's faces, but it only took one lucky snapshot to steal the identities of the entire operation. It was down to Brains to perfect the invention that had kept him working twelve hour days for the last two years.

John continued sipping at his tea, blowing the hot liquid to cool it down as he flicked through to the bottom of the page where stories of the latest celebrity scandals usually stood. Of all the things he'd expected to find his youngest brother's face smiling out at him was at the bottom of the list.

His first reaction was to stare at the image for a few long moments wondering how it had happened, eyes sweeping over the surrounding stories of divorces, drug busts and the latest diet to sweep the nation. Seeing Alan's face alongside them was surreal.

He was smiling, a smile that John couldn't recall seeing for a long time. The spark in his brother's eyes was held back though, instead there was something quite sad about it that the astronaut couldn't quite place.

Alan was an energetic sociable guy, he'd landed himself in trouble throughout school but also kept top of the leader board for track. As his education had progressed so had his grades and by the time he'd graduated college, some long weeks prior, he'd got the highest accomplishment possible.

That was something which John had learnt from Fermat, a source who should never have been made to deliver such news. It should have been Alan telling him, his homecoming barbeque should have been one of celebration of achievement. The smiles should have been proud and reflected on each one of their faces.

John had seen Alan happy so many times before, the memories which stood above the rest were those when all the brothers were home and work was not a priority. They'd hang out poolside for hours or sit as a group arguing over what movie to watch, they'd squabbled over the recipe that one time they'd baked Grandma's birthday cake, the nickname 'polar bear' easily re-found the youngest blonde after Gordon had emptied the remaining contents of a bag of flour upon his head.

The photo staring out of the computer screen didn't show a smile of that level of happiness, it reflected something far more disturbing sending a hollow feeling into the pit of John's stomach. The smile was one which had occasionally flickered on Alan's face when he'd argued with his father and knew he was right, it was a smile of victory. A different kind of achievement with the hint of all-knowing tainting it into something dark.

John didn't need to read the story to know that it was Alan who had approached the media, he didn't need to hear the apology he'd voiced to Scott on the phone the day before. Whatever Alan thought he was doing was planned.

The elder blonde had only planned to skim through the news, catch up with stories and maybe read a few longer articles. Instead he found himself sat for over an hour reading and re-reading his brother's story, staring at the few photos which accompanied it and trying to find some logic behind what Alan expected to achieve.

He loved that kid, but understand him? No.

Tintin and Fermat were not allowed in command and control during rescues, it was an unspoken rule that none but Alan had ever tested. Instead they'd found themselves sat on one of the long expanses of beach staring out at the morning sun which slowly made it's way into the blue sky above.

When Alan was around the three of them were the best of friends, they'd grown up knowing the unreliability of the family around them which connected the young trio, sharing that one secret no one outside of the island could ever know. When Alan was away though, conversation was suddenly hard to come by and an awkwardness settled between the pair.

They both had worries, from Tintin's concern over Alan's wellbeing and whether she'd be able to work up the courage to ask for time away from the island to Fermat's workload with his father. Although younger than Alan Fermat had graduated a year before him, he was continuing to study towards a Masters degree from the island but also worked with his father in the labs and on the technical side of the Thunderbird machines.

He worried about Alan, but from his stand point he didn't think anything short of a freight train would stop whatever he was doing. Fermat had seen Alan at his best and at his worse, the guy spoke his mind and disliked the distance he'd increasingly felt from his family.

Tintin could see that to, but unlike Fermat who tried to provide small hints and guidance in the families' direction, she tried to slot herself in to the empty spaces they left in their wake. She desperately wanted Alan to be happy and in doing so wanting herself to be a part of that, something Alan still seemed so blindly unaware of.

So they sat side by side, both mulling over their own concerns whilst night became day and the temperature on the island slowly rose. It was around eight in the morning when Lady P arrived with Parker.

Tintin and Fermat made their way to the jetty where the bright pink car moored.

"Hey Lady P!" Tintin greeted her with a brief embrace followed by a kiss on each cheek, so used to the greeting that it had become second nature to the young woman. "The guys are currently working, a volcano in Italy erupted."

Penelope greeted Fermat who wheezed on an asthma inhaler, waving briefly and grinning at Parker. "You d-don't have lan-landing clearance. The w-warden will have you to-towed!"

"I'll take my chances Master Hackenbacker." Parker smirked, following the two women who headed towards the house.

"I've spoken to John," Penelope was saying, making her way through the sandy path with a surprising ease considering the shoes she had on. "I thought it would be best to be here for when your father finished the debriefing… before he hears the news from another source."

Tintin frowned, briefly wondering why John had contacted Lady P before anyone else. It sounded important. "What news?" She knew without asking though, it had to involve Alan. If mediating with Mr. Tracy was needed then Lady P was the one to do it.

"I-If you don't mi-mind me asking," Fermat stuttered, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stumbled along, "Isn't J-John going to be in the d-de-de- roundup? Won't he h-have supplied back-backup data f-from Five?"

Parker nodded, quickly moving ahead as they climbed the steps to the front of the house. Running to get the door for Lady P before she reached it.

"Thank you Parker." Penelope smiled as they made it into the shaded building, she turned to the younger pair. "He wanted your father to hear it from me, I don't think he wanted to be the one Jeff took his frustration out on."

"It's Alan, isn't it?" Tintin blurted. If there'd been an accident Jeff would have been contacted immediately, the fact that John had gone out of his way to ask Lady P to deliver the news coupled with the fact that Lady P had agreed spoke of something far more sinister. "What's he done?"

Fermat frowned. "H-how do you kn-know that he's do-do-partaken in anything?"

"When he rang Scott yesterday he apologized for today."

"Oh…"

"Oh indeed." Penelope smile sadly, walking over to one of the large couches in the open plan lounge and sitting. "Some tea, Parker?"