Author's Note: Way 57 refers to the events of the episode "Brink of Disaster."
Way 57
Ask for help if you need it. Don't suffer from excess pride.
Jeff Tracy had never been a man to ask for anything.
If he needed someone's resources for a new contract, he would go to the head of the company in question, spell out the benefits and costs to both organizations, and get their buy-in based on the numbers.
If there was too much paperwork for the Corporation or International Rescue, he simply delegated some of it to his sons.
If there was some sort of problem that needed solving, and he couldn't come up with what he felt was a perfect solution on his own, he simply called together the group of people best able to brainstorm and problem-solve for whatever was at hand, and worked with them to fix things.
He didn't ever need help. Not Jeff Tracy.
On the farm as a kid, he'd done the chores his father and mother had given him, and rather than accept assistance from either of them or a farmhand, he stubbornly would complete each task himself, even if it meant little or no sleep before school the next day.
After Lucy's death, he'd done the best he could, but his family's large complement of relatives had come in and basically taken over, giving him the opportunity to sneak away and try to conceptualize a life that wasn't going to include his beloved wife. If anyone asked him, "Do you need help?" – whether they meant physically with the boys, or psychologically – Jeff had always waved them off.
But this situation right here, right now, this…completely intolerable mess he found himself in, well…he couldn't deny it. He needed help. He, Brains, Tin-Tin and that maddening jerk Grafton. And he needed help from the men he'd never allowed himself to ask for it from before: his own sons.
Well, help came. And that night, with Tin-Tin snuggled into Alan's arms as the two of them thought how close they'd come to never having this again; with Brains locked up in his lab doing only Heaven-knew-what in the aftermath of their near-death; and with Jeff seated alone at his desk wondering which course of action he should take to keep men like Grafton from being able to put people in peril like that ever again, Jeff was reconsidering the whole 'never asking for help' thing.
Of course, he could just brush it off as, "Well, Tin-Tin and Brains were with me," using that as the excuse for needing assistance.
But no. Jeff and the others had become the very victims he'd formed International Rescue to save the lives of in the first place, and putting in a call to them had made him no different from any of the other people in the world who called for help.
Except for one thing: they were his sons. Who'd had to save their own father's life.
He looked up as Scott walked into the Office, sauntered over, and sat down on the front corner of Jeff's desk. Their eyes met, and then looked away.
"Thunderbird 2 did pretty well out there," Scott finally said.
"Yes, looks like she can carry more weight than we thought," Jeff replied.
"I think Virgil's going to hit Brains up tomorrow for a discussion about increasing the tensile strength of her grabs, though," Scott said, scratching his chin.
"Good idea. I have to admit it did get a little hairy, not knowing whether she'd be able to hold onto us."
"You can chalk that up to Virgil knowing his 'bird," Scott said with a proud smile.
"Mm," Jeff grunted, nodding in agreement. He looked down at the small laptop in front of him, then back up at his eldest. "We need a plan for lobbying the council into upping the standards of construction so men like Grafton can't do this again."
"I agree, Father. It's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually."
"Oh? You have some ideas?"
"Yeah, I do."
Maybe Jeff was asking. Maybe Scott was offering. Maybe the both of them were too damn proud and too damn stubborn for their own good. Well, Jeff, decided, maybe for the second time in one twenty-four hour period, he did need help. And maybe on some level, Scott understood that.
"Well," Jeff said, rising to his feet and gesturing for Scott to walk ahead of him, "why don't we discuss this over beers, then?"
Scott looked at his father, smiled, and nodded. "Sounds good, Dad."
Author's Note: Way 58 was written as a companion piece to Way 55. It also references events in the episode "Atlantic Inferno."
Way 58
Accept who you are, but don't settle. Strive to improve yourself every day.
I am emotionally constipated.
There. Jeff had actually thought it.
I am an emotionally constipated asshole.
Yes. That was more descriptive, he felt. He wanted to make himself better. Make himself be more like he used to be.
Back in the day, Jeff had been equal parts manly jock and emotional sap. He'd never been able to hide anything from Lucille, nor hide how he was feeling about her from anyone who happened to be in the vicinity.
But then, well, he'd sort of closed himself off pretty good after that. Not where his boys were concerned, certainly, because he loved them beyond all reason and made sure they knew it. But as far as any other kind of love was concerned, well, for Jeff, that was completely off the radar. Not ever going to happen. There'd only been one woman for him, and she was gone, and that was that.
And then…
Then Penny.
Now, a man in Jeff's position – head of multi-million dollar companies, head of International Rescue, recognizable throughout the world – he couldn't afford to have trysts. Liaisons. And especially once IR had started operating, he really couldn't afford to let anyone get close.
That's what he told himself, and it was the story he was sticking to.
Except…
Penny.
Damn infuriating, aristocratic and yet completely down-to-Earth, too-smart-for-her-own-good and too-goddamn-beautiful-to-ignore Penny.
She pushed him. Pushed him hard.
And he withdrew.
So she eased up. Or so he thought.
Only to find himself alone with her at Bonga Bonga. Sheep be damned, it was IR he was worried about. He had to think about his sons, about what would happen if they were needed. So he couldn't pay any attention to the gorgeous, relaxed, holy shit, is she coming on to me? woman sitting in the lounger next to his.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
Only…
She did not give up. Jeff, well, he couldn't use the IR excuse where she was concerned, because she was part of IR. So that sort of went by the wayside.
And when he was on the island, he couldn't use the excuse of having to worry about how Scott would handle things in his absence.
And damn her, she knew it.
She was wearing short shorts. She was wearing a tank top. She was…sweating. She'd been playing doubles tennis with Scott, Virgil and John and holy shit, did she just wink at me? looked more gorgeous than anyone had any right to after that sort of workout in eighty-two degree heat.
Thankfully she soon retired to her guest suite to shower and change, and Jeff decided that getting together with the head of IR's agents could bring huge problems if it didn't work out. They always said, workplaces romances were a bad idea for just that reason.
Wait…romances? Romance?
I don't want to romance Lady Penelope!
Except…
There she was, in a flowing cotton sundress that bordered on see-through for how thin the fabric was, and fit her body like a glove and…oh, Mother of God…I can't get up from the desk now, how inappropr—
But…
She was standing close. Way too close. Far too close. She was looking down. Then she was looking into his eyes, and…oh.
Oh.
He cupped his hand around the back of her slim, perfect neck, reeled her in, and kissed her.
Luckily no one came into the office over the course of the next thirty minutes.
Because there wouldn't have been any story Jeff could've come up with to explain what he and the head of IR's agents…the wealthy British prim and proper Lady P…were doing in his desk chair during that timeframe.
I am an emotionally constipated asshole.
He gathered her close as they both came down from their high and whispered into her ear, "I love you, Penny."
Well, I used to be.
She beamed at him.
Not anymore.
He smiled.
And Jeff knew instantly that he needed this woman by his side to better himself. It would be slow-going. It would be a day-by-day thing. But he could do it, he knew, as he looked into her crystal blue eyes.
They could do it.
