Hey there everyone. Yep it's another speedy upload, I'd love to drag out the suspense but I get so fidgety!
Hi to Louise Hargadon (the undisputed queen of comedy- loving Last To Know), Baby Sue, Loopstagirl, (loving Never Too Late) Sam1, lamsey2010, geuss, Fran, Red Hardy and others who are out there reading and hopefully enjoying. Thanks to everyone for the great reviews that often have me ROTFL.
Disclaimers: The Tracys aren't mine. If they were, at least four out of the five boys would not leave this room with their clothing intact, let me tell you. OCs are mine. Rated M for adult themes. TV-Verse.
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John Tracy at last turned away from the bank of windows after having watched the bright flames of Thunderbird 3's retro engines dwindle into a pinprick glow as she headed down towards Earth and back to Base, taking his eldest and youngest brothers with her. He was now completely alone, save for the constant hum and chatter of Thunderbird 5's communications systems. These systems stayed on twenty four hours a day, never ceasing, never resting from their search for key words like 'help' and 'rescue'. John could keep the chatter muted for as long as he wanted because when a call for International Rescue came through it would be loudly brought to his attention no matter what part of the Space Station he happened to be in- whether in the dome of the observatory watching the stars, the crawlspaces and access tunnels doing basic maintenance, the kitchen area having a meal, or even in the bath.
John went through to the living quarters with his travel bag. If Alan's left a mess in here I'll kill him, he thought idly. He wasn't in the mood for finding cups and plates stashed under the bed today. He threw the bag down onto the bed and fished his phone out. He could still get a signal from up here, he was on a communications satellite, after all. But he wanted to see her. He'd have to get a web camera going, and make sure there was nothing in the immediate environment to alert her to International Rescue. No talking to her in your uniform, for a start, he thought with a wry smile. He kept the phone in his hand as he moved around the room, looking at all the books on the shelves, checking on his beloved potted plant that Alan looked after for him during the weeks that they swapped duty. For all Alan's annoying habits as the baby of the family, he was surprisingly reliable when it came to looking after other peoples' property. John's little plant sometimes looked healthier after four weeks of Alan's TLC than it did with his own, and Alan wasn't even a horticulture fan.
John sat on the bed and started unpacking his bag. He put all his clothes into neat piles and started putting them away in cupboards and drawers. He put some music on for company, a nice, soothing piano concerto that Virgil had played for him a couple of years ago during one of his visits back home. Virgil had pulled a face when John had asked to record the piece he had started to play, but John managed to convince him that a) the music was beautiful, and b) nothing would remind him more of Virgil and home than hearing his piano music drifting around the satellite during the hours when he felt most lonely. Virgil had been genuinely moved by that sentiment, and went on to play quite the most beautiful and heartfelt piece of music John had ever heard. It still took his breath away now, and he thought of Karen with more than just a physical longing as he hung his shirts and trousers in the wardrobe.
After putting his clothes away, John went to the kitchen. He put some coffee on and rooted through the freezer for something to eat. He selected a frozen burger and threw it into the microwave. Lazy cooking, but he just wanted something quick and filling- something to take the edge off the emptiness that was growing inside him.
The microwave pinged just as his coffee began percolating. He squeezed a small blob of ketchup onto the burger, pressed the top half of the bun onto it and carried his meal and his coffee through to the main communications room to listen to some of the messages being monitored.
John was good at at languages. Not only did he appear to have a natural ear for it, he listened to several thousand different dialects a day while he was here. He could even pick out regional accents in foreign languages if he listened carefully enough. He took huge bites out of his burger as he listened to Scandinavian weather reports and Portuguese firefighters and Armenian ambulance services. He swallowed coffee as he picked up the details of a collapsed sewer in a Spanish coastal town and wondered how his brothers would like to deal with crawling through rivers of effluent in the hot Mediterranean sunshine. They probably wouldn't enjoy it very much, he thought with a grin, picturing Virgil and Gordon covered from head to toe in steaming shit.
All these different voices chattered away, oblivious to the fact that International Rescue's space monitor was listening intently. It was a little like being in a room full of people that were ignoring you. John finished his meal, drank the last of his coffee, and pulled his cell phone out of his pistol holster. He wanted to talk to Karen, and he wanted to talk to her now. He moved away from the communications consoles and went over to the bank of windows, looking out at the huge blue globe of Mother Earth engaged in her endless, silent spin around the sun with him and Thunderbird 5 tagged onto her skirts. It was a pretty giddy trip, if you thought about it.
He already had Karen on speed-dial. He held the phone to his ear as he watched the planet revolve, his eye caught by flashes of ocean and swirls of weather systems. The ringing tone went on for a while but he didn't want to hang up. He'd leave a heartfelt message if she...
"Hello?" Her voice was low and breathless. "John, is that you?"
"Yeah, hi honey...what's up? Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"God, no. I'm so glad you called. My boss is in a bad mood and I'm hiding in the astronomy section because it's quiet up here. As you know."
"Yeah, well, it is usually." He smiled. "So, how are you, sweetheart? Dropped any good books lately?"
"Ha ha. No, I've got a cart today. We had some children in, and the vending machine in the lobby broke down and started giving out free drinks so there was a bit of a mini riot there for a while. But other than that, it's quiet, ish. How about you? Busy at work?"
"Dead," he replied. "I'm in the office. There's no-one else around, so I figured I could get away with a personal call." No-one else around? Ain't that the truth, he thought as he gazed at the Earth, at the distance between them. "I miss you."
"Me too, baby. I'm in the exact aisle where we met. Our aisle."
"Where we met? Where you almost raped me," John laughed.
"I think I even found one of your blond hairs," she laughed back. "I'm thinking of getting a full forensics team in."
"Did you, ah...look at any of my books?" To hell with modesty. He wanted her to read his work.
"I did, as a matter of fact. I'm taking a couple home with me. For research, of course."
John laughed harder. "That's the first time I've heard of astronomy as pornography."
"It won't be the last, either. Did you know you have a really sexy way of writing? 'Spiral galaxies stripped bare', things pulsating and slamming into each other. It's pretty hot stuff, John Tracy."
"Well, that's what happens. Things do pulsate and slam and throb and rotate. I told you, forget about your boring old soap operas. Watch all that bumping and grinding out in the cosmos. It's enough to make your grandmother cough up a hairball."
Karen snorted back a giggle. "I'm going to get into trouble if my boss finds me in the stacks talking dirty to my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend and respected author, if you don't mind. Just show her some of my titles. She'll cream herself."
"Sadly, she's more your Hitler Diaries kind of lady, and she doesn't go for men. But thanks for the image. Oh, John, there is something I wanted to ask you...I mean, it was on the internet, so...um, you know, I wasn't particularly looking for information, I just wanted to see what there was..."
"You googled me." John said.
"Well, yeah. Sorry."
"No, that's okay. The internet's there to be used. I'd have done the same. So what is it you wanted to ask?"
"Er, well, there was a short biography of you, saying you were born in Kansas and you went to Harvard and your dad's called Jefferson and that he was an astronaut. And then it went on to say that, ah...you had astronaut training too." She paused, he could almost hear her biting her lip. "John? Are you an astronaut?"
John rubbed his hand over his jaw. He hadn't known the astronaut information was quite so readily available. But then again, it wasn't a big secret either. He still had friends from his days at the the training facility years ago who had never made even the slightest connection to International Rescue.
"Okay, yes. I guess you could say I'm an astronaut. Maybe I should have mentioned it, but I didn't want to come over as a complete show-off. You know, author, astronaut, it sounds pretty far out, you've gotta admit."
"It does, you're right. You live in a world far away from mine, John. It scares me, in a way."
He felt his heart sink. "Honey, don't say that. I love you. What does it matter what I do?"
"It matters because what else am I going to find that you do? Brain surgery?"
"Don't be like that. I'm sorry about the astronaut thing. I trained so that I could be like dad, so that he could be proud of me. My dad was one of the finest in his field. I had the opportunity, so I took it. Wouldn't you have done the same?"
"I never had any opportunities like that, but yes, maybe I would have. Although my dad left my mom when I was sixteen, so I never had any desire to emulate him."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know that. Guess we didn't really talk much about ourselves, did we?"
"No, we didn't. So maybe it's time that we did. You know, while we're apart. It might be easier to say things when we can't see each other."
"I guess." John stared wistfully at his home planet. "This isn't looking good for me, is it. It looks like I've got a whole closet full of secrets that I'm not telling you."
"The astronaut business was a surprise, yes, but it's a noble profession, and I admit I'm thrilled that I'm dating a space jockey. So I'm not mad at you, John, just worried that I love you and yet I still don't really know you. And you don't really know me."
"I know. But I want to know you, Karen. Believe me, I want to know..." What? I want to know everything about you? It was hardly fair to say that to her when he was still withholding the biggest secret of all. John stopped talking.
Karen finished his sentence for him. "Everything?"
John sighed. The Earth glimmered, seemed to wink at him. "What I do know is...you have a mole on your right shoulderblade. You have a little silver crescent shaped scar on the top of your right thigh, at the back. You have a small fleck of brown in your left eye, and you have that little constellation of stars across your nose. Your natural smell is like olive oil and lemons. You're always chewing on your lip. All these things were enough to make me fall in love with you. For now, that's all I need to know. The rest will come when it's ready."
"Oh, John, you say the nicest things, really you do. But you finding out that I once worked for six months at McDonalds isn't quite the same thing as me finding out that you're an astronaut."
"Karen, I don't care about all that. I just know I want you."
There was silence for a moment, then a bit of scuffling, then she spoke again. "I thought my boss was coming so I tried to look as if I was busy. It's okay, though, she's gone again."
"Karen," John repeated. "You heard me, right? You heard what I just said?"
"Yes, I did. And I want you too, desperately. I'm sorry I googled you."
"No, Karen. I want you to google me. Google my dad and my family. I want you to know whatever's out there, and then whatever you want to ask me, I'll answer it. I promise."
"You sure?"
"Sure I'm sure. Dad, Scott, all of them. They're probably all linked. Go for it."
"But that's like snooping."
"No! Karen..." John rolled his eyes, frowned at the Earth. "You know what? I really wish you were here right now. Because if you were, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. We'd be fucking like rabbits. We wouldn't even have the breath to be talking about anything."
She laughed. "God, you're so right. I miss you so much. Listen, John, can I have an address for you? I want to send you something. Nothing porno, don't worry."
"Okay," he grinned. "I'll message it over. Don't worry, it won't be the first time one of us has received pornography through the mail. My brother Virgil is very fond of painting nudes." Okay, there. Now she had another name.
"Virgil?"
"Yeah. It's an unusual name, but it suits him. I couldn't imagine him being called anything else."
"Virgil who paints nudes. Sounds like an interesting guy." She laughed, then broke off abruptly. "Shit, my boss is coming back, she must be looking for me. I'd better go. I love you John, take care baby, I love you. 'Bye."
The line was disconnected before John could utter a word in response. The sudden solitude hit him again like a punch to the diaphragm. The visions he'd had while he was talking to her, of her crouched behind a bookshelf trying to avoid her boss, the dusty racks of books, the unique library smell, the laughing chatter of real people in the background, all became replaced once again by the hard metal structure of the communications room and all its winking, blinking, flashing, impersonal console lights. Even the constant background chatter was detached from him- no faces to put to the voices, no chance of engaging in friendly conversation. Not unless he wanted to risk the full wrath of Jefferson Tracy.
Mother Earth looked back at him in sympathy. What can I do? She seemed to say. The person you want is here. I'll do my best to look after her, but the rest is up to you.
You'd better look after her, John replied silently. You and I have a mutual understanding. We look out for each other.
John took his dirty cup and plate back to the kitchen, washed them and put them upside down on the rack to dry. He poured out more coffee in a clean mug. He massaged the back of his neck, rotated his head to relieve the feeling of tension that was building up. There was only one thing he wanted to do at times like this.
He carried his coffee through the communications room and climbed up into the dome. He stood at his beloved telescope and pointed it at a faraway star cluster. He would find one and call it Karen.
####
Teela Murphy's rant was going in one ear and out the other. Karen vaguely heard the words 'tardy' and 'timewasting' but she really didn't care. Her head was filled with thoughts of John in an astronaut suit, maybe hanging in zero gravity at the end of a long cord attached to a space shuttle. She still couldn't get her head around the idea. An author, yes. An astronaut? Such a far-fetched notion!
"Jobs are precious these days," Teela was saying. "You 'd think you'd want to hang on to yours."
That brought Karen out of her daydream. "Excuse me? Are you threatening me with the sack?"
"Don't be absurd. I'm merely saying, you don't appear to be concentrating on your work. Last week you argued about coffee breaks and made a hoo-ha about the availability of book trolleys. Today you arrive late and then go missing after lunch. Where have you been for the last half hour?"
Making a voodoo doll of you so that I can stick pins in it, Karen thought irritably. "In the stacks," she replied. "Putting books away. Doing my job, in other words."
"Don't be funny with me, Miss Meadows. You're only a part-timer."
"I work bloody hard, Miss Murphy. If it's people who don't pull their weight you're after, try the media room."
It was well known amongst the staff that two of Teela Murphy's nephews worked in the media room and spent most of their time playing World of Warcraft on the internet but never got into trouble for it. This was because their father, who was Teela's brother, was a local politician involved with funding for the Arts. This funding included the library and the museum and art gallery down the road. The last person that put in a formal complaint about Jamie and Lewis Murphy had found themselves transferred to another branch of the library out in the suburbs.
"Leave the media room out of this," Teela said, her dark green eyes narrowed. "You're employed to keep this place ship shape. Right now it looks like a ship wreck. Those children left sweet wrappers and crisp packets everywhere. You need to go down and sort that out." With that, she turned on her heel and strode off, her angular shoulders swinging back and forth.
Karen snorted to herself. She hated menial jobs. And it seemed the more menial the job, the more of a bully the manager. Metaphorically whacking everyone around the back of the head with the rule book and petty little observations that completely ignored a person's overall conduct. Never mind that Karen worked bloody hard on Monday if she missed a sweet wrapper on Wednesday. These were the inconsequential details that Teela Murphy involved herself with. Just because she was a hard faced witch who couldn't get a girlfriend, and whose last girlfriend left her because Teela had scratched up the woman's car with a set of keys in a jealous rage.
Oh well. Only three hours to go, and then she could pick up John's books, stop at the supermarket, and then get the hell home.
She had some looking up to do.
####
Three hours of losing himself in the stars and John was still restless. He hadn't found any stars worthy of bearing the name Karen. A star called Karen would have to be unique, unlike any other star. Oh well, he 'd just have to keep trying.
He grabbed some bottled water and went to the gym, stripped down to T-shirt and boxers, pulled on a pair of running shoes. He stepped onto the treadmill and switched it on, adjusting the speed and gradient of the machine, going from a brisk walk, to a brisk uphill walk, to an uphill jog, and then finally an uphill run. He listened to the steady thump, thump, thump, thump of his shoes hitting the moving belt, the sound of his breath coming in bursts. He swung his arms rhythmically, reached out and and increased the speed of the belt even more. His feet pounded on the belt, the machine whirred and the digital displays ticked over. Sweat began trickling down his face and neck. His back grew hot and clammy. He yanked the T-Shirt off over his head and threw it to one side, running barechested, his stomach muscles taut and gleaming.
He glanced up at himself in the mirror, saw a focused face with a pair of intense dark blue eyes glaring back at him. The forelock of blond hair that Karen seemed to love so much was flopping up and down on his head, dripping sweat into his face. He ran faster and faster, his thighs and calves burning, the sweat now running freely down his chest and back.
Keep going, he told himself. Keep going. Just do that extra mile...
He was pushing himself, but he needed to. He was wound up tight like a coiled spring. He had seldom felt such a need to make himself hurt. Not since high school, when he'd had to prove his athleticism in the face of teasing about his bookishness. He ran and ran and ran, ignoring his screaming leg muscles. He needed to run a marathon, the way he was feeling.
Time passed. John ran until he was in agony. He threw his head back, his sodden hair sending a spray of sweat into the air. He had broken through the wall and now it felt as though his legs weren't going to stop even if he wanted them to. He was soaked, and he had finished his water. He slowed the machine down a little and kept running, his feet continuously hitting the belt again and again and again. His mind drifted off and he almost came out of himself, like being asleep and awake at the same time.
That's it, man, run until you can't think.
####
Karen settled herself in front of her computer, a tall glass of coke on one side, a cheese salad sandwich on the other. She dug into a packet of pretzels as she switched the monitor on and mentally psyched herself up for a bit of Tracy family probing. Why did she get the feeling she was straying into forbidden territory? John had given her full permission to search, but when she thought about the way his voice changed when she started talking about his background, the subtle shift in his attitude, it almost put her off wanting to know.
She'd start at the top. The father, Jefferson Tracy. She loaded the search engine and typed in his name.
There was a lot more information on Jefferson, or Jeff as he was called here, than there was on John. And there was a photo. It was an old one of the man in his astronaut days, looking proud and confident, the tilt of his head reminiscent of the way John tilted his head, although Jeff was a lot more rugged in appearance.
The further she read on, the more impressed Karen became. She sipped her coke, never taking her eyes off the screen. Son of a Kansas wheat farmer. So, not born into money then. That impressed her, relaxed her attitude a little. 'A fascination with mathematics and machinery caused the young Jeff Tracy to join the American Air Force, where he progressed smoothly through the ranks until he eventually became a colonel'. Karen's eyes widened at this man's courage and tenacity. Then came the Space Agency Project (she made a mental note to look into that, too) and his journey to the moon.
She carried on reading. 'Jeff Tracy's career as a leading astronaut was ended abruptly by family tragedy. He immediately abandoned the path to fame and glory and returned home to Kansas to concentrate on raising his sons.'
Family tragedy? She wondered about that. If he'd had to return home to bring up his sons, then possibly something had happened to their mother. John's mother. Had she died? Had John lost his mom when he was young?
After returning home, Jeff Tracy had turned his hand to civil engineering and had started up a construction business. This business had seemingly grown and grown until Jeff Tracy found himself sitting on a considerable fortune.
So that explained the executive suite at The Walburn. John Tracy's family had money. Serious money. The favour John said he had called in? Probably a favour from his own father!
She moved her search forward. She typed in Scott Tracy/Jefferson Tracy, to weed out any Scott Tracys that weren't the right ones. She waited a couple of moments, then she found the information she wanted.
She was impressed by, but also disappointed with the accompanying photo. The man was sitting in the cockpit of an Air Force jet, with a fighter pilot's helmet on. She couldn't see his whole face, but the visor was up and she could see his eyes. They were the most extraordinary deep blue colour, with long dark lashes and dark, arched eyebrows. They were really quite the most compelling eyes she'd ever seen. The small area of face she could see around these eyes, including a bit of his nose, was tanned and healthy looking. An All-American guy, she thought. She knew the rest of his face would be handsome, she just wished she could see it.
So Scott had joined the Air Force too, after attending Yale University and then completing his education at Oxford, England. The Kansas wheat farm was getting left further and further behind.
She looked up Virgil Tracy, but was dismayed to find that there was only a small bio and no photograph at all. The man had attended the Denver School of Advanced Technology and was also a gifted artist and jazz pianist. Maybe she'd find more about him if she looked up jazz musicians.
There were precious few links from one Tracy to another. Jeff's bio had links to the Space Agency Project and other members of his astronaut moon mission, and Scott's had links back to Jeff and the American Air Force. But neither Scott nor Virgil had links to each other or to John.
John had said there were five of them, but she had no idea of the other boys' names. She remembered that he'd said one was into racing cars and the other was something to do with the Marines? No...a marine expert, that's what he'd said. But she felt like she'd snooped enough for now, anyway. There hadn't been any more stunning revelations, but the general impression was that Jeff Tracy was a rags-to-riches story and that he'd instilled a healthy work ethic into his boys who had all gone on to do well for themselves. You couldn't get to join the Air Force or become an astronaut, or graduate from an advanced school of technology if you didn't already have it in you, no matter how many connections your father had.
Karen switched off the monitor and sat back. She decided she'd really rather get to know John the natural way, through talking to him and letting him tell her things. Half of her wanted to keep searching, but the old adage 'be careful what you wish for' rang in her ears, warning her not to run before she could walk. John had made so many promises to her already. He'd promised to be truthful, he'd promised not to desert her. He'd promised to stay with her. And what had she promised him in return? She'd promised to trust him.
Trust him, Karen, she told herself, drinking coke and staring at the blank monitor. He's not like Alex, who betrayed you, and he's not like Marcus who had the worst roving eye ever. He's not like Daniel, who hardly ever spoke to you at all, and he's not like all those other ships in the night who were only after casual sex. And he's not like dad. That womaniser who showed you and your mother such disrespect that he couldn't even stick around to see you become an adult, to celebrate your eighteenth birthday or be introduced to your first boyfriend, and who didn't even care that your mother sat at the top of the stairs almost every night for three weeks sobbing her heart out.
John Tracy was different from every other man she had ever encountered in her entire life. So dammit, she was going to trust him if it killed her!
####
John switched off the running machine. He stood panting on the belt and hopped off as it reached the edge. His chest heaved as he drew in lungful after lungful of clean, fresh, sanitised air. His leg muscles twitched and trembled as he staggered over to a bench and sat down, sweat streaming off him. He pushed his drenched hair back, held his face in his hands. Spots and stars danced in front of his eyes. His whole body shook, protesting at the punishment he'd just dealt it. He could feel the oxygen rushing through his bloodstream, trying to suppress the levels of lactic acid in his muscles. Too late, he realised he'd overdone it. His stomach churned and heaved, and he leaned forward and spewed a jet of water, coffee and regurgitated hamburger all over the floor.
Before he knew it there were tears streaming from his eyes. His stomach heaved once, twice more, but there was nothing left except bitter bile that hung in threads from his gasping mouth. He coughed and coughed, his throat ripped and dry. He needed to clean this mess up. He got to his feet, nearly fell over as the blood rushed from his head. He moved slowly, holding a dry towel to his face and neck, wiping off the sweat that was now making him feel icy cold. He went to the kitchen and prepared a mop and bucket and several rolls of kitchen tissue. He poured a glass of lemonade and drank it in three gulps, leaning over the sink incase it brought on more vomiting. His heart rate was slowly returning to normal. His stomach felt less nauseous. He felt like a prick. What the hell was he doing? Having a giant fit of self-pity? His dad would tan his ass if he knew. Well, maybe he wouldn't quite tan his ass, Jeff Tracy had never 'whupped' his kids, despite their teasing and general dad-baiting. But Jeff would be disappointed, and that was the last thing John wanted.
John went back to the gym and cleaned up the mess he'd made. When he was finished, the floor was spotless and smelled of alpine forests. He chanced a look at himself in the mirror. The man who looked back at him was lean to the point of thin, his hip bones noticeable over the waistband of his boxers. His face was pale, but fair enough, he'd just tossed his cookies. There was something about the expression he didn't like. He looked irritated, fretful. Peevish, his grandma might call it. His brow was furrowed, his eyes dark. He turned away from himself in disgust and went to take a shower.
After John had showered and brushed his teeth thoroughly, he changed back into his uniform and sat at the communications console tuning his brain into the stream of messages drifting in and out. The voices raised and lulled him, like he was sitting in a small rowing boat bobbing up and down on a calm lake. There were emergency situations happening all over the globe and John always feared for the loss of life or limb, but if the situations were small and under control, the constant drone of voices had a meditative effect on him, lulling him as though he were just the other side of a room full of people.
He pictured himself on that lake, in that little boat, with a fishing rod and a picnic basket, and Karen sitting perched on a huge soft cushion at the prow, wearing a big floppy sun hat, just like in a corny movie about lovers in love. The sun was shining and the fish were jumping and there was nothing on God's green Earth to disturb them. He would catch a huge fish, and hold it up for Karen to admire and clap her hands to, and then he'd release it back into the depths, laughing as it flipped water at them with its tail before descending into the watery gloom. Then she'd lean forward and allow him to kiss her, and the boat would rock gently as they embraced.
He held those thoughts until he could actually feel the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck, taste the water in the air, feel the softness of her kiss. His muscles began relaxing one by one. With his feet up on the console and his head propped on one arm, John drifted closer and closer to the edge of consciousness until finally his breathing and heart rate slowed to the point where there was nothing left to do but fall asleep.
The constant hum and chatter of distant voices rose and fell, rose and fell. Thunderbird 5's environmental controls ticked over, making their endless small adjustments to air quality and conditioning. The space station hummed its steady hum, all is well, all is well. The console lights blinked on and off. The stars shone above, and the Earth carried Karen round and round below.
And the young blond man slept on, dreamlessly.
####
To be continued...