Wow ... this took a freakishly long time ...

Sorry for the delay in this. I had it all planned out almost 2 weeks ago, but then I had a back injury followed by work getting really busy. (Which pretty much sucked as I was still recovering from the back injury when things got busy ... but I digress.)

Well, I'm feeling better now and (FINALLY) got this thing done.

So, this is my second (and last) bonus chapter. (I went with the standard format as the last one didn't get a very good response.) It is dedicated to TheFABFive2015 for their encouragement over the last couple of weeks as well as their challenge to use both this word and brother.

I would also like to give a shout out to my beta, 1monster2, for helping me with my writing, writers-block, re-writes, and grumblings over the last two weeks.

Enjoy ...

Bonus Chapter 2: V is for Vase

Virgil hurried into the lounge, relieved to see that his father was at his desk. Not that he had doubted he would be, but the time crunch was making him a little paranoid. Logically speaking, he had no reason to believe that he would turn down his petition – but who had time for logic?

"Dad, can I borrow Tracy One?"

"Why?"

"There's an antique art auction in Malibu tomorrow afternoon," he explained in a rush. "They've got lots from the House of Stuart all the way to the unification of Germany! Can I go?"

Before Jeff could say anything, Alan came running in the room. The kid skidded to a stop in front of the desk – nearly knocking Virgil over- and began to talk at a mile a minute.

"Dad, there is a huge concert tomorrow night in Malibu! They have nine of the best bands from all over the world! Everyone who is anyone will be there, so can I go? Can I?"

"Yes … and yes," Jeff answered after a moment.

"Great!" Alan exclaimed, before seeming to realize what had just happened. "Why did you say yes twice?"

"I'm sensing a catch here," Virgil added, hoping his father wasn't thinking what he was afraid he was thinking. "… Dad?"

Jeff was silent for a while – long enough for Alan to start getting antsy – and the knot in the pit of his stomach tightened. His father couldn't be considering it … couldn't even be thinking it … but he was … Heaven help them, he was.

"You both can go … to both."

"What does that mean?" the teen asked, giving them a puzzled look. "It's one show … yeah it has nine bands, but still-"

"You can't be serious," Virgil said, ignoring his younger brother. "You send him to a place like that and we're likely to get a lawsuit."

"Hey!" Alan protested. "I've been to concerts before!"

"I think he's old enough not to set anything on fire," Jeff answered dryly.

"Fire is the least of our problems. They will be showing fragile ceramics, silks, paintings-"

"Um … are we talking about the same show here?"

While his dad explained what it was they were talking about, Virgil tried to figure out a way to get to the auction without his accident-inducing younger brother. Not that Alan was that much of a klutz – usually – but he seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble whenever they left the house … and sometimes without leaving the house.

"Dad, you've got to be kidding?" Alan protested, pulling him from his thoughts. "Do you know how boring those places are? There's a reason they don't make art like that anymore."

"Actually, they do," Virgil said coolly. "Hence, my studio."

"That just proves that you're boring too."

"Well, at least my form of entertainment doesn't cause migraines."

"Are you insulting my music?"

"If you want to call those screech owl calls music, then yes."

Alan took a step forward – probably to try and hit him – when Jeff stood up, ordering both to stand down or risk grounding. Now, Virgil might technically be an adult and wasn't likely to be sent to his room. However, when one lives on an island and one's father controls access to the family jet, the term 'grounding' takes on a while new meaning. So they both – quietly – sat down across from the desk and waiting for a chance to plead their case. Thanks to the seniority of age, Virgil got to go first.

"Taking Alan to an art auction is a mistake because he will get bored, and when he gets bored he gets dangerous."

"Name one time!" Alan challenged.

"The astronautics factory, the train museum, and Badger Pass … twice."

"Badger Pass was only once; that second time wasn't my fault!"

"Never mind," Jeff interrupted. "Continue, Virgil."

"Just think bull in a china shop; the cost would not be worth it."

He rested his case and watched carefully to see if his words had any impact. Unfortunately, when it came to keeping his expression neutral, Jeff Tracy had skills that rivaled Mount Rushmore. Handy in a boardroom, annoying everywhere else.

"Alright. Alan, what's your argument?"

"I'm not five! I've been around artifacts and fossils without breaking anything–"

"Except yourself," Virgil mumbled.

"– and I would be fine at his stupid auction … not that I even want to go … but if I did, I would be fine!"

"Fair enough. Now, Alan, do you have an argument as to why Virgil should or should not go to the concert?"

"Um, how about because he is boring? All my friends will be there and it would look bad."

Virgil really wanted to protest that he was not boring, but as he didn't want to go to the concert anyway, he kept his mouth shut. On the other hand, if he didn't go, it would be just Alan and his friends … at a concert … with no adults … it was almost too terrifying to imagine.

"Not sure I agree completely, but you have a valid point," Jeff said diplomatically. "Virgil, what is your counter?"

"If Alan goes alone it will be him and a bunch of teenagers – with no supervision – at a rock concert. I think that says it all."

"Duly noted. Here is my argument."

Jeff leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk and somehow managing to keep eye contact with both brothers. This was a side of him they didn't see often, but had dominated many a board meeting – this was Jeff Tracy, CEO.

"It is both a waste of time and resources to fly to Malibu twice. So, barring medical reasons, you are only taking one trip."

Virgil had been afraid of that. Of course, he knew that Alan was still too young to be crossing the Pacific alone. However, his father's addendum had him nervous. He would have to transfer one of the International Rescue's med-kits to Tracy One – just in case.

"Alan has made a valid argument in favor of him being able to handle himself at the art auction, but I will add the incentive that he will receive no concert ticket if he fails to meet the standards he set for himself"

First good news he'd got since hearing about the auction. If behaving what the only way he could hear that ear-splinting howls he called music was to keep his hands to himself, he might just do it. Of course he was still bringing the med-kit – just in case.

"After attending the art auction, Virgil will accompany Alan to the concert and fly him home afterward. Any questions?"

*V*A*S*E*

Alan found himself wondering – for the tenth time – if someone could die of boredom. Virgil had said on the plane that this was a silent auction, he never said that it was worst than the loud ones. A room full of hundred-year-old antiques with hundred year old people deciding which ones they wanted to put in their London mansions and which would go better in Beverly Hills – quietly of course.

"When's this gonna be over?" he groaned as his brother drooled over the fanciest vase in the history of the known world. "We don't want to be late for the concert."

"The concert is twenty minutes away and starts in four hours. I think we have time."

Alan glared at Virgil and turned to the only thing in the whole place worth looking at: a shiny suit of armor. According to the information provided, it was made some time during the time of Charles X. The name was almost as cool as the armor. Charles X.

"Hey, Virgil, check this out."

With a sigh he looked over the sign … but then just seemed confused.

"Okay … what about it?"

"See the name? It's just like the guy in the comic book!"

"Alan …" Virgil said slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That is referring to the tenth king of France to be named Charles – not a paralyzed psychic. Now, do me a favor and go look at the documents table. Even you couldn't accidentally rip paper."

He had to give him points for getting the reference, but his brother was still a killjoy. Still, he didn't want to risk losing his concert ticket, so he went over to see what there was. Let's see … 17th century etching of the Magna Carta – yawn … logbook from an 18th century cargo ship – boring … original propaganda from Natzi Germany – who would even want that? … wooden box – could be interesting.

"Hmmm," Alan murmured to himself, lifting the lid.

Surprise, surprise, it was a bunch of papers. There was lists of numbers and words in some European language that John could probably identify if he cared enough to ask. Pretty anticlimactic for something that looked more like a pirate's treasure chest than a file cabinet-

"What are you doing?" Virgil hissed, practically slamming the box closed.

"Careful," the teen admonished, enjoying being the scolder for a change. "That's an antique, you know."

"It's also labeled as sight unseen," his brother replied, pointing to the sign next to the object. "As in you're not supposed to open it."

Oops.

"I only saw it for a second," the teen protested. "How bad could it be?"

The answer came a second later when both brothers saw one of the auction officials headed their way, and he didn't look happy. True to his big brother nature, Virgil promised to handle it as long as Alan got far away from the document table and stayed there. Worked for him, that gave him another chance to get a look at that armor.

According to the sign, it was a reproduction of medieval armor and used only for decoration in one of the king's palaces. Still, copy or not, it was really detailed on the edges and had a breastplate that Alan could almost use as a mirror. If fact, it was good enough for him to see a spot on his shirt … or was that on the armor itself. He stepped closer to figure it out-

"Excuse me!"

The voice was so loud and so close that Alan jumped … right into the armor! The whole suit fell to pieces – and each one seemed to land on him. When the rain of metal finally stopped, he realized that the entire room had gone silent … almost.

"Alan!"

Oh crap.

Moving ever so carefully – as the seemingly lead-based was still piled on top of him – the teen managed to sit up to see his near-frantic brother standing over him.

"Alan wha- oh no!"

Virgil was quickly slipping into full panic mode which made Alan's heart-rate skyrocket. His brother had been more calm when it looked like he had been impaled in Badger Pass and even when he was dangling head first over a steam press. What could make him panic now? Had the spear gone through his leg? Did one of the plates slice off his arm? Did he have a gushing head wound?

"You cracked it!"

Or did the vase get hit by the helmet … yeah.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Do you even realize what you did?"

"Um … survived?"

The look Virgil gave him made the teen think he might have spoken too soon. Okay, so the fancy vase had a little – ish – crack in it. As far as Alan was concerned, better it than his head. Granted, he would probably be feeling it tomorrow – and next Tuesday. Who knew armor was that heavy? Forget the cracked vase, it felt like he dented a rib!

"Alan," his brother said in a deadly calm tone. "That vase was made in France during the reign of Marie Antoinette and was owned by one of her ladies in waiting. It survived the revolution and two world wars … but not you."

While he could see his point, the only thing that came out of his mouth was:

"Boy, you'd think if it got through all those wars it would be tougher."

And that was when his fate was sealed.

"So, Scott said as he flew him home in Thunderbird One. "Can you explain to me why there is a suit of armor and treasure chest in my hold?"

"Because Virgil wouldn't trust me with the vase."

He could only see the back of his brother's seat, but it wasn't hard to imagine the guy's expression. Virgil's call of a 'potential medical emergency' had had him scrambling to reach Malibu in record time … finding out the emergency was Alan hiding in a broom closet to avoid death-by-brother had been more than a little interesting – not to mention the angry mob of art lovers who where about ten seconds away from grabbing antique torches and pitchforks. Scott practically had to smuggle him out of the city, which made going to the concert impossible. However, that punishment aside, Virgil stilled vowed that he would pay for the damaged merchandise. Based on his estimation, he was going to be in debt until he was thirty … which would probably be about the time he would be allowed to leave his room again.

Art sucked.

So, did you like it better than the last bonus chapter?

I look forward to you comments and challenge words for W. (I promised, it won't be so long next time.)