Chapter 2: The Best Me

Alex's POV

"The bedrooms are down this way," Gordon leads the way down a different corridor to the right of the lounge.

"Nice fish tank," I comment, nodding to the cylindrical alcove and smiling at the colourful specimens inside. He pauses for a second to look at it, grinning.

"Thanks. It's also my launch chute."

Not used to hearing those words said together, my mind sputters trying to parse the phrase. "Uh, your…?"

Gordon chuckles at my confusion. "It's where I go to gear up and get to Thunderbird Four."

It's my turn to laugh. "Ah. Appropriately thematic. Your ship's stored in tunnels further down then?"

We start walking again. "Thunderbird Four is actually usually stored in a module for Thunderbird Two. There are easily-started protocols that Brains set up to make sure Thunderbird Four is in those flooded tunnels below if I'm running a mission without Virgil though." He gives me a curious smile over his shoulder as I giggle awkwardly.

"Sorry," I shake my head. "It's just a massive change from my normal plebeian life to suddenly be talking about 'missions' and the actual genuine Thunderbirds."

"It's sometimes hard to remember that the rest of the world lives really differently to us," Gordon rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. "What was your daily life like before you came here?"

I snort. "Very boring. Keeping food stocked up, making sure I have enough money to keep food stocked up, secured through one part-time job as a music club leader at a school and another doing small gigs at local pubs. The most dangerous missions I've been part of have been things like racing against time to get teabags or something from the supermarket before it closes, or desperately trying to convince an eight-year-old that smacking their assigned drum as hard as they can while I'm trying to speak isn't the most fun they've ever had."

"And the world thanks you for your sacrifice and service," Gordon bows his head in mock solemnity before bursting out laughing with me.

"Okay," he cheers, stopping and gesturing to the door beside us. "This one's yours, first door on the left. We all have name-plates on our doors, so it should be easy for you to find yours if you forget that."

"Awww, I want a name-plate!" I complain jokingly.

Gordon laughs. "Just ask Virgil. He spray-painted all ours himself, so I'm sure he can put together one for you no problem."

I raise my eyebrows. "He paints, too? Wow, what, did he get all the artistic genes or something?"

"Pretty much, actually," Gordon nods. "No one else showed any interest in music, and the rest of us are all varying severities of tone-deaf anyway. Pretty sure all of us have at least once tried to have a painting or drawing session with Virgil teaching us, all with almost pitiful results."

I laugh at the image of the disaster zone, a strained and long-suffering smile on Virgil's face.

"Anyway, in we go!" Gordon opens the door and walks in.

I should have prepared myself. I should have remembered that this was the home of one of the most influential and affluent families in the world today. Instead, I just waltz in like I'm being shown the spare room in a flat back home in Manchester. My jaw immediately drops open as the reminder of where I am slams into me when Gordon steps out of the way so I can get a proper view. The room – now my room – is a real life version of those photos that all hotels take, the ones that show their absolute best rooms that no one could ever afford, all primped and primed for an unattainable photo-shoot feel. The two walls that meet in the corner opposite the door are dominated by glass, sliding doors giving perfect views out over the ocean and one of them opening up onto a large balcony. A huge white chest of drawers lies just to the right wall by the door, probably big enough to fit all my clothes by itself, let alone with the addition of the built-in wardrobe on the other side of the door. Just beyond the wardrobe lies the bed – double, of course, because why wouldn't it be? – and a small opening past the bed. A quick exploration reveals a freaking ensuite bathroom down that opening, all bright and gleaming glass too, with towels already in the rails. That isn't the most striking part of the room though. The part that makes my eyes widen with delight is the colour….

"Brains told us your favourite colour is blue when we were thinking of how to decorate," Gordon says softly after a long silence.

They obviously took that information to heart. The drawers in the chest are a soft cornflower; the bedspread is a marble effect of white through azure to midnight; the decorative cushions on the bed are cerulean; the walls are delicate violet. Hands cupped over my open mouth, I slowly spin in the centre of the room and marvel at what is being offered to me. The Tracys' generosity and care fill my eyes with tears. I sniffle and swipe at my eyes.

"I don't just cry at everything, I swear," I give a wavering laugh to Gordon. He laughs once in response, uncertain.

"Are they good tears?" he questions carefully.

"Yes! Oh my god, yes!" I cry. "This is just incredible. This is the kind of bedroom people dream of! And the fact that you decorated it to my taste is unbelievably kind." I catch sight of the bedside tables again with blue tops and sigh. "Even the furniture is obviously brand new, bought especially for me. I feel so honoured and quite guilty."

"Alex," Gordon shakes his head, smiling. "This room has always been super plain, so it's nice to give it a bit more life and character. And Grandma has been looking for an excuse to go furniture shopping for months, so you've done us all a favour. Plus Virgil really enjoyed trying his hand at decorating; he said he's used to canvas and paper, but painting walls apparently feels different. Different technique needed or different things to pay attention to, I didn't much understand to be honest.

"Well," he continues, "we can just leave your bags and instruments in here for the moment – you can organise where your stuff is all going later – because right now, you're coming with us down to the hangar so we can give the tour down there, too."

"I get a backstage pass, too?" I laugh excitedly, eyes wide as I reposition my rucksack and instruments further into the side of the room from where I left them previously while I gazed in awe at the room.

"Hey, if you're living in our home, you get VIP access," Gordon winks before leading us out of the gorgeous bedroom again. Closing the door behind me, he points to an A3 size landscape canvas just right of opposite my door.

"That's one of Virgil's," he smiles proudly, and rightly so; the serenity and glorious beauty of a sunset over the whole of Tracy Island is as clear and bright as the air in my lungs. Before I can even comment on how stunning it is or how obvious how much emotion Virgil put into the piece, Gordon then indicates a door further left along the same wall.

"And that's my room there, so there's the name-plate he did for me."

I can't help but laugh at the spray-painted canvas that just seems so unmistakably Gordon; all funky blockish letters, blue centres with thick yellow outlines and stars for the holes in the letters. My wide-eyed gaze flicks between the two pieces.

"God, he's so versatile with his style!" I note. "That's so impressive."

"Thank you."

I jump back from the landscape as if I were a thirteen-year-old caught by a teacher actually enjoying education. Virgil smirks at my red face and sheepish expression, closing a door to a room that seems to be next to mine.

"Hey, bro," Gordon cheers from behind me. "You put your artwork away?"

"Yeah," he closes the five paces between us before putting his hands casually in his pockets. "I'd finished all I wanted to do on my latest for the moment, so I've just put it up to dry." He turns to me to explain. "I have various racks and easels in my room to let pieces dry before I either put them up, store them away or continue the next layer."

"His room is a mess," Gordon winks at me.

Virgil scowls at his brother as I chuckle. "You have no right to comment. At least mine is filled with artwork and projects, yours is just littered with food wrappers, packaging and dirty crockery."

The weird self-conscious timidity at being caught admiring art by the artist themselves passes, and I smile at Virgil.

"I'd love to have a look at your older work, too."

He blinks, startled. "Oh…. Uh…." He shuffles awkwardly, avoiding my eyes. Gordon chuckles.

"Mister Sensitive is shy about showing most of his work to people." He only grins cheerily in the face of Virgil's glare, probably because the effect is somewhat dimmed by the redness of his ears so easily visible against his dark hair. I try to keep my expression neutral so as not to feed his embarrassment, but it's a bit of a struggle.

Virgil Tracy blushes with his ears. That's…surprisingly adorable.

"Oh, don't worry about it then," I reassure him. "I completely get being defensive and protective of your work; all of my compositions are a little piece of my soul. You certainly don't have show your work to some weird girl you just met!"

He smiles in relief. "Thanks. I'll let you know if that changes."

"In the meantime," Gordon smiles, easily moving the conversation on, "Alex wants a name-plate."

"That, I can do," Virgil nods at me, grinning. "We can discuss the sort of design and colours you want later, then we'll see if I need any more supplies. I have a feeling I'm going to need to buy more blues though."

I stick my tongue out at his smirk. "Actually, I think my room – which is beautiful, by the way, so thank you – has enough blue. I was thinking maybe green and purple."

"Oooh, that could really work," Virgil nods, impressed, his eyes shining with inspiration. "Do you have any thoughts on the kind of font style you want?"

Gordon's arms appear on our shoulders as he laughs between us, ushering us further down the corridor. "Okay, you two, before you get too absorbed in art stuff, we're taking Alex downstairs, remember?"

Virgil leans back to meet my eyes around Gordon's head, still obviously very much in his creativity mode. "What about colour transitions and patterns? How do you want the green and purple to interact?"

"No!" Gordon insists, pulling us both along more forcefully. I'm too weak to resist much because of how hard I'm giggling, but Gordon lets go of me to stand behind his much larger brother, both hands braced against his back as he pushes bodily forward.

"No…art!" he strains against Virgil, who simply watches his brother over his shoulder with obvious amusement as he barely puts in any effort to resist effectively.

"Hangar now. Art…later!"

Virgil and I both crack up as Gordon shoulder-barges into Virgil, causing them both to stumble forwards a few steps. Gordon himself would probably be joining in the laughter too, if he weren't so out of breath from exertion.

Damn, it feels amazing to laugh so easily so quickly with these people.

"Why do I always feel nervous when I hear you two laughing together?"

The others are already assembled in the lounge area, all amused at our antics, but Scott is the one smirking at us the most. Gordon, recovering, simply flutters his eyelashes innocently.

"Couldn't tell you, big brother."

"I think he just hates seeing us happy," Virgil stage-whispers, winking at Scott to make sure he knows he's joking.

"Believe me," Brains chuckles, "it's m-made even more w-worrying by Alex laughing with them."

"I'd resent that," I glare at him, "if it weren't completely valid."

"Mm-hm." He shakes his head with a fond smile before offering me one of the to-go cups in his hands. "Earl Grey with milk and one sugar."

Groaning in bliss as I take the cup, I stare lovingly at my best friend. "You do know how to take care of me."

"It's hard not to remember the p-preferred form of your tea addiction," he pats my head. "I'm pretty sure tea s-sustained you through university more than food."

"You and Lady Penelope will get on very well," Kayo laughs.

"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward?" I cry, before puffing out a slightly panicked breath. "Maybe give me a few weeks before I brush shoulders with society that high."

Gordon puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, his sunny eyes and expression automatically calming. "Don't be so worried. Lady Penelope isn't one to judge people on something as shallow as money, etiquette or blood. She'll love you. She's amazing like that."

He's too distracted reassuring me that he misses Kayo and Scott trade a smirk over his head.

"Right," Scott says in that leader-like way of moving the conversation on. "Let's head downstairs to give Alex the rest of the tour."

"Yes, sir!" Alan salutes formally.

Scott sighs. "You don't need to call me 'sir', Alan."

"Sorry, ma'am!" Alan just grins as Scott shoves his shoulder lightly while walking past.

The brothers all slip automatically into trading good-natured barbs and mission stories as we descend the well-kept metal staircase. Kayo shrugs at me as I grin at their antics before chatting and catching up with Brains, each of us babbling excitedly about our newest music or engineering projects respectively. Of course, neither of us really completely understand what the other is talking about, but that doesn't stop us from enjoying and encouraging each other's excitement. I'm already halfway through my second rant about more awesome violin piece ideas before I realise not only am I out of breath but we're still descending the stairs.

"Holy crap," I gasp out. "Are we going to the hangar or doing your daily training?"

"Sorry," Scott calls back. "Maybe we should have gone slower, or just warned you and given you the choice to ride the elevator with Grandma. You can ride it back up with her later."

"Speaking of Grandma," Kayo grins at me from behind, "you're lucky she didn't hear you say that."

Gordon nods. "Oh, yeah; she probably would have gone easy on you since you just got here, but she still would've called you up on your language."

My eyes widen as my hands fly up to cover my mouth. "Oh, God, that's right; Brains told me that I should watch out for that. Please feel free to pick me up on it if and when I slip up. And I'm sorry for when I do slip up."

Virgil smirks at me over his shoulder. "Is your language that bad?"

Hanging my head, I give him a small shameful smile. "Let's just say I could probably have funded a decent portion of International Rescue if I'd had a swear jar in my second year of uni."

The staircase echoes with hearty laughter, but for some reason I can still pick out Virgil's voice over all the rest. My face is burning by the time they've all calmed down.

"Okay, well, that certainly paints a picture," Virgil wipes his eyes, still chuckling slightly.

"Don't worry about it around me, Alex," Gordon smiles. "I probably heard it all already when I was at school."

"Excuse me?" Scott raises his eyebrow at Gordon, the picture of a scolding parent.

Gordon spreads his hands and makes a face at his oldest brother. "Oh, come on! You can't honestly have expected me to go through school without hearing stuff like that, stuff that you probably also heard at that age."

The rest of us just laugh as Scott stares at him with an almost comically scandalised expression.

"My little brother," he laments. "Where did his innocence go?"

Virgil barks out a surprised laugh. "What innocence? He was born with an unashamedly guilty expression!"

I expect Gordon to at least be indignant, but instead he basks in our laughter, eyes closed with a proud smile on his face which is, indeed, unapologetic.

"I have no idea how you got on to that topic, but I agree with the observation." Sally waits for us at the bottom of the stairs – finally! – with folded arms.

"There is an end to these stairs!" I cheer. I bound nimbly past the brothers, only just remembering to place my tea on a random flat surface before almost flopping directly on the hard smoothed-rock floor, dramatically panting and groaning in exertion while the heartless lot simply laugh at my plight.

"Oh, dear," Sally smiles at me sympathetically as I roll onto my back. "You can take the elevator back up, and use it whenever you need to with no judgement. The others just like to take the stairs to keep their fitness up alongside their usual training."

"W-what happened to the woman who could practice her routines from n-nine until three with only two breaks and still go to a party in the evening?" Brains raises his eyebrows at me, eyes twinkling.

My smile falters, and I shift my gaze straight upwards towards the cavern ceiling, a hundred feet above me, to try and convince myself that the rock isn't pressing on my chest, that the room isn't closing in on me. I have no idea how long I lie without answering, but the silence is awkward and strained as I sit up, eyes averted from everyone.

"I haven't really been practicing recently," I mutter. "Playing or dancing." I groan out a sigh and cover my face with my hands. "I don't even know why I brought my instruments here; I'm probably never even going to play them."

A second of my internal anguish bleeds out into the surrounding air before:

"We'll see about that."

My best friend's know-it-all tone is like a glass of water to the face, my surprise and confusion slamming the door shut on despair. I blink at Brains's blatant proud but secretive grin.

"I have a surprise for you once the m-main tour of the hangar is done that I hope will make it impossible for you n-not to play. Now come on." He kicks my foot lightly. "Get up. There's an actual rocket just round the c-corner."

It takes me a second to collect myself and grin back. "Ooh, fun." I sigh before sticking my hand out to Brains. "Alright, help me up."

He grabs my hand without hesitation and hauls me to my feet. A moment of affection passes between us before I spin on my heels to face the direction we should be going. Rejuvenated by Hiram's intervention – and, I'll admit, curiosity at his "surprise" for me later – I skip ahead of the group down the rest of the staircase corridor into the open hangar. And stop dead.

I really need to stop forgetting where I am.

The hangar could easily hold my whole apartment block. Despite being underground, the air is far from stale; the sharp tang of metal helps alongside the ventilation system to keep it fresh. And the sources of that metallic smell are…phenomenal.

"God, they're huge…" I whisper, gazing in turn at the silver, green and red marvels.

"An airship-slash-jet, a cargo ship and a rocket," Alan summarises. "They kind of have to be big."

"Ahem!" Gordon almost has a fit trying to get our attention. "Aren't you forgetting someone?!"

His gesturing to the other yellow vehicle inside a module is almost comical in its melodrama. It takes all of my effort to not burst out laughing yet, and instead tilt my head as I regard Thunderbird Four curiously.

"Well…. I mean, that one's a little more…bite-sized…"

Gordon barely has time to deflate before I'm laughing and hugging him gently. "I'm kidding! It's a submarine; of course it's awesome!"

"And it's yellow!" Gordon grins. "That's awesome, too, right?"

Half a second passes, and I've just thought of something supportive to say before I'm interrupted by my so-called best friend with a grin.

"She hates y-yellow."

"Whaaaat?!" I've never known anyone to imitate the face of a kicked puppy quite like Gordon Tracy.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's nothing personal," I wince. "I just, I'm sorry, most of the time it's garish. I blame childhood trauma from this horrific banana yellow poofy dress I was made to wear at a wedding when I was three. Mum always said I loved it, but I was three; I didn't care what I was wearing back then! Trust me, if you saw the photos, you'd understand."

"I bet people thought you looked lovely," Sally beams.

"Oh, I was flipping adorable," I nod, producing a series of chuckles, "and yet I've since avoided the colour yellow."

"I'll just see myself out," Gordon starts to trudge away, but I stop him by hanging onto his shoulder.

"Don't you dare! Submarines are awesome! Besides, at least with that colouring, no one will crash into you."

Gordon studies me for a while before smiling begrudgingly. "Okay. You've convinced me. On with the tour!"

The ships are all even more impressive closer up. I even get to look through the window of Thunderbird Four to have a look at the inside, and at the inside of another of Thunderbird Two's modules, at the cool machinery and sheer variety of potential pod creation. It's basically all really awesome. As expected, but that doesn't make it less awesome.

"Ahh!" I cry with a smile, recognising a familiar landscape of desks, tools, blueprints and metal scraps. "And this must be where Brains's nerd magic happens."

"Science, Alex," Brains corrects me with a smile. "It's c-called science."

"Hey," I shrug, "remember what Arthur C Clark said? 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic'. As far as I've always been able to tell, you do magic."

"Makes sense to me," Gordon grins.

"Whoa!"

They all jump at my exclamation and observe me with amusement as I skip over to a huge metal tube, almost taller than me and big enough to lie inside. Eyes glittering, I happily study the colossus, sticking my head inside.

"What is this beast for?"

Virgil gives the object a quick and casual once over. "Looks like a spare exhaust for Thunderbird Two." Brains nods in confirmation.

I return to my gleeful examination of the inside of the opening. "I bet the acoustics are great."

Virgil's chuckle is slightly higher pitched, obviously caught off guard. "Uh, I wouldn't know, I'm afraid," he laughs. "It's not exactly a consideration that goes into the design."

Completely undaunted, I grin at him. "Well then, let's test it."

And, only just registering his expression change to confusion and surprise, I stick my face further into the pipe again and take a deep breath.

"Through Rohan over fen and field

Where the long grass grows,

The west wind comes walking

And about the walls it goes."

I nod in satisfaction at how my voice echoes throughout the cylinder and back off whatever metal structure is blocking the other end, giving the song the delicate, airy feel I'm looking for. "Yep, knew it; great for making –."

As I turn back to face everyone, their faces freeze any further words on my tongue. Brains is smiling at me proudly, knowingly, but everyone else stares with wide eyes and open mouths, almost completely motionless. Just as I'm getting self-conscious enough to start rubbing my arm, Kayo murmurs.

"You have a beautiful voice."

Cue the rest of the Tracy clan chiming in to support her statement. Blushing under all the praise, I mumble out my thanks and appreciation.

"Guys, guys, guys! You're all missing the most important part of what just happened!" Alan cries out before stepping right up to me, hands clenched into fists in front of him and eyes glittering.

"In that song, she said 'Rohan'! Like, from Lord of the Rings, right?!"

I immediately brighten. "Yes, I'm impressed you managed to pick that out! So when Boromir dies –"

"Whoa, spoilers!" Gordon complains, leaning back against the desk. My eyes widen as I clap my hands over my mouth, but just as I'm about to spout profuse apologies, he smirks.

"I'm kidding; I've seen all the movies."

I scoff at his prank before instinctively shoving him sideways lightly off the desk so he stumbles back a few steps. The thought that that could be perceived as mean and overstepping my boundaries flashes through my mind like an alarm before I register Gordon's easy grin and everyone else's laughter.

"Oh, you'll fit in here fine," Virgil chuckles.

Relieved that I haven't antagonised my hosts, I stick my tongue out at Gordon as he repositions himself. "As I was saying, when Boromir dies, you know how Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli hold a funeral for him? Well, my English teacher told me that in the book they also sing a song. I was bored one evening so decided to get the lyrics and compose a tune for it. What I just sang was the first half of the first verse. The rest I put harmonies to, and I obviously can't do them by myself live, otherwise I would have sung the whole thing."

"That's so cool," Alan breathes. "You just casually composed a song when you were bored one evening."

Shy at his praise, I just shrug awkwardly.

"And th-that actually brings us nicely onto your s-surprise," Brain smiles, wandering further through the hangar. My mind racing with possibilities, I follow him as my curiosity hums within me. I keep glancing around as we walk, trying to catch sight of anything that might give me a hint as to what it might be. As I meet Alan's eyes at one point, he shrugs at me, so it's likely Brains hasn't told anyone here what my surprise is. We skirt around one more block of what is obviously Brains's equipment before the man in question looks over his shoulder to grin at me, and steps aside with a grand gesture.

At first, I'm just confused. I mean, what, he's giving me a big open space? That's pretty cool, having my own designated workspace in the hangar of International Rescue, but I have no expertise about the stuff that goes on here; I don't know anything about engineering, electronics or computer science. But he nods for me to step towards the space to examine it more closely, so I take a better look around as I approach, noting the familiar black structures on the sides: speakers. And the steps up to this huge platform they rest on, it's almost like a –.

I freeze on the top step, my eyes shooting wide open. As I whip around to stare at my best friend, he grins at the realisation slowly dawning on my face but just points to the very right of the platform. I move somewhat awkwardly over there, torn between rushing over and hesitating in case I scare away my dream. When I see the familiar sight of the dials, buttons, lights and screens, my mind is completely blown. I can only sputter out barely-articulated sounds of disbelief.

"Bu–…. The–…. Hiram…. Hiram, this is all mixing equipment. This is a fully-equipped mixing and producing studio! With microphones and software and–…." I'm just whirling around manically, trying to take in everything. "…and it's all on–."

"A stage," Brains finishes, a massive grin on his face, "with virtual video recording capabilities so you can even record music videos. You've always been l-limited by your available equipment before. Well, I didn't want that here. You're t-too good to be restrained by something so trivial. This is my gift to you; to b-be the best version of you that you c-can be."

He hasn't finished speaking before I'm flying off the stage towards him, destabilising him slightly so he stumbles back a few steps as I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, hoping my crushing embrace conveys exactly how much this means to me. My excitement too electric to be restrained, I quickly detach myself from him as desperation sets in.

"I need to play something," I say breathlessly. "Right now. I need to try this out."

"I'll get your stuff from upstairs!" Gordon cheers excitedly. "Want me to bring your violin or guitar?"

"Violin," I grin at him, "and get my computer from the front pocket of my suitcase!"

"Got it!" He sprints off as I skip back up the stage to have a closer look at the setup, music and laughter already buzzing in my mind.