Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Thunderbirds Are Go - they belong to the late Gerry and Silvia Anderson.

Author's Note: So, this has been something that's been in the pipeline for the last few years that I never really got round to actually writing (probably brought on from the first time a bunch of us cosplayed from TAG) - and I've at least one person that's been waiting for this so I'm super sorry that it's taken so long to do! The theme of this fic (Complicated) is based upon the 100 Themes Challenge on DeviantArt - I started that years ago and never completed it so I figured it would be a good reason to tackle two birds with one stone.

This fic comes with a warning for swearing!

I haven't yet decided if this is going to be a slightly humorous fic of a serious one, but regardless, I hope that you enjoy the read! ^^

Crystalline blues slowly fluttered open for the briefest of moments before scrunching shut again from the sudden bright glare.

Even in the few seconds of taking in the harsh, bright light of the surrounding environment, the almost too clean smell, Scott Tracy was already ninety-five percent sure of his location and the thought of that alone elicited a small groan of despair from the pilot.

"Hey. You're finally awake."

Ah. A familiar voice.

And with it, yet another feeling of deja vu.

Grimacing with the effort, Scott forced his eyes to open once more, squinting against the sterile light of the medical bay.

'Shit...'

A moment or so later and a very recognisable head of raven black hair came into view.

Virgil.

"How are you feeling?" warm, chocolate-browns met with icy blues. There was a dark tint below Virgil's eyes; a sign that he had not slept very well. Or at all.

'Great... Just how long was I out for this time?'

This was certainly not the first time the brunette had woken to find himself in a bed within the infirmary on Tracy Island. His role as first responder and Field Commander for International Rescue came with a lot of occupational hazards - arguably, all of them faced unknown dangers on a near daily basis, but-

"Do you even realise how lucky you are to be alive?" the dark circles under Virgil's eyes clouded over even more as his brow furrowed. "How many times have I told you to wait for backup only to have you just ignore me and go barrelling in to things?"

Scott cringed at his brother's words. There was certainly no doubt about it; Virgil Grissom Tracy was one hundred and ten percent pissed off.

"You've been so reckless again recently! I don't think even you're aware how dangerous some of your own actions have been," Virgil's muscular arms folded in a stern manner across his chest. "I know things have been stressful recently with the whole TV-Twenty-One thing, but that's not an excuse to head down the self-destructive path. Again."

Sky blues yielded to earthy browns and Scott averted his gaze with a small sigh.

Virgil was right.

Things had been pretty stressful over the last six months. They had experienced a brief influx of call-outs, which had stretched their resources and cut down on their rest time. As a result, John had managed to badly sprain his ankle during a mission involving an out of control 'meteor collector' created by the self-proclaimed 'genius' that was Langstrom Fischler.

And then there had been the business with The Mechanic and the TV-21.

The mission had not failed per se, however, it still felt as though the Tracy family had lost something incredibly sentimental in the process... And even now, four months since that particular mission, Scott was still plagued by nightmares of what had happened and what could have occurred.

He shuddered.

"I'm just worried about you, Scott," slumping back into the bedside chair, Virgil let out a heavy sigh as he ran a weary hand over his face. "We've been through this before and we agreed, if things started getting... bad... that you'd come and talk to me about it. Not to go running head-first into danger with some kind of death wish in order to get an adrenaline rush."

"Sorry..."

Scott frowned at the sound of his voice and attempted to clear this throat; wincing as the faint, hangover-like headache made itself more apparent. Taking a breath, he tried again.

"Virgil, I..."

There was an odd look in Virgil's eyes as the brunette trailed off; the latter frowning in a mixture of bewilderment and concern.

The demolitions expert stifled a yawn as he rolled his right shoulder, trying to un-knot the muscle he had pulled during their last mission. Part of him was pretty glad that it was just the two of them occupying the infirmary right now. At least the situation would be a little more... manageable. Even more so without the Terrible Two hanging around.

"Holy shit! What the actual fuck?!"

Virgil glanced up to see their usually composed Field Commander sat bolt upright in bed; blue eyes wide and hands wandering in an uncharacteristically frantic manner across his body.

Or rather her body.