CHAPTER 3

"Irresponsible, but always expected to do the cross checks."

It was Alan, grumbling to himself as he systematically followed the last part of the shut-down procedure on the flight deck after Thunderbird Three's early morning return to Tracy Island. It was almost two and he was beat. Both Scott and John had returned to the villa thirty-five minutes ago, after John insisted that he report in to their father and Scott agreeing that it was a darned good idea.

Alan still couldn't understand why his father didn't consider him competent to fly Thunderbird Three on his own. When it came to doing the menial stuff, he was considered more than capable of that. Still scanning the electronics, he sighed in sorry resignation. He'd been hoping that Tin-Tin might have waited up for him but guessed that by now she would have given up and gone to bed. It would have been nice to rinhale the deliciousness of her subtle Parisian scent. If nothing else, it would have been a welcome distraction from what had happened over dinner and the hauling over the coals Scott had given him on the way to Thunderbird Five.

But no matter what Scott thought, Alan did respect him every bit as much as he respected their father. When Scott gave him advice, he usually took it, even if sometimes it was after the fact and he had gotten himself into hot water ... again. Tonight had turned out to be one of those times. Deep down, Alan knew he should have kept his cool exactly as Scott had warned him, but he'd always had a low tolerance when he thought he was being baited, and as usual he'd cracked. He'd felt foolish enough at how he'd behaved during the rescue without being made to feel worse before the routine trip to Five. Scott hadn't wanted to listen to anything he'd had to say, demanding to know whether he valued what he had to say or not.

Alan replayed his agitated response.

"Of course he did. Wasn't he the one everyone turned to if they had a problem?"

"You could have fooled me," Scott had growled back.

But the biggest problem he had right now wasn't Scott. It was Tin-Tin. He simply didn't know whether it was right to want to move past the point of friendship with her. He knew he was no innocent when it came to women and whilst he'd never really pushed the point, she carried herself like she knew everything about men. He'd never felt this way about anyone before. It was nothing like the love he felt for his family. Maybe it wasn't love at all. Normally he'd have cornered Scott and asked his opinion but after the blast he'd received earlier, Alan wasn't about to ask Scott anything.

"I knew I'd find you here."

The voice behind him made him jump and after he jerked his head in the direction of the elevator, he almost panicked. Of all the times for her to visit Three's Hangar - there she was - hair tumbling loose over her shoulders ...

Tin-Tin.

"What are you doing down here at this time of night? You scared me half to death!" he scolded.

"I was starting to think something had happened to you, " she scolded back. "Clearly, nothing has."

Given his current dilemma, Alan decided the safest thing for him to do was build on her sarcasm and resume their "friends only" banter.

"No such luck. " Then he added with his usual wink, "Unless, of course, you intend to give me that birthday present you promised."

"Oh Alan!" she berated him, coming to stand beside him at the console. "You can have that after you get some sleep."

"But I want it now," he teased her, pulling at the tie to her bathrobe, only to redden when it fell open, revealing a short black satin nightgown.

"You're not about to unwrap anything, Alan Tracy," she warned, adjusting her clothing. "Let alone in Thunderbird Three."

"Hey, it was only a joke, Tin-Tin."

"And I'm not laughing."

But when she said it, the two of them locked eyes again, long enough that he reddened even further.

"I'm sorry." he said, swinging back to the console. "Momentary loss of restraint."

"Restraint?" She sat down beside him and made a face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means nothing, Tin-Tin."

"No, I want you to tell me, Alan."

For a moment, it crossed Alan's mind to tell her exactly what it meant and suggest that they continue the "discussion" upstairs in the privacy of his suite. But Tin-Tin was ... Tin-Tin and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to risk it. Common sense told him it would complicate everything. She was Kyrano's daughter - he was his father's son - plus he was still adjusting to life away from the racing scene and his role in International Rescue.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said, ending the conversation.

He didn't want anything to complicate his friendship with Tin-Tin right now.

He'd have to figure this out for himself.


Upstairs in Virgil's suite, Scott took a large gulp of the whiskey his brother had just handed him. Tired as he was, he needed to get his head around the last twenty-four hours and, as usual, Virgil's hospitality didn't disappoint. It like a breath of fresh air talking to Virgil even at this time of night. He was Scott's anchor - reliable, level-headed, intuitive and gifted.

He was also the only brother Scott felt comfortable confiding in and the one who looked the most like their mother.

Virgil sat opposite him sipping from his own glass. Nearly three years younger than Scott, two years older than John, the contrast between the three brothers had always been more than the dark, the chestnut and the blond. Unlike John, who was comfortable doing his own thing, Virgil had been Scott's sidekick for as long they could both remember, and with Scott's knack of keeping them out of trouble, it wasn't a secret that they shared a special and common bond.

"You know Dad's going to have something to say if he finds out the liquor," Scott mused.

Virgil shrugged broad shoulders. "I'll risk the lecture."

Scott grinned back and said that he was thinking the exact same thing too.

For the next fifteen minutes, they replayed the rescue, the close call at the dinner table before finally debating whether or not Alan had thrown himself under the bus for failing to update Base about the automation before blasting off from Thunderbird Five.

"I guess we'll find that out tomorrow," Virgil said evenly. "But heads up from me. I was there when Tin-Tin briefed him and I think it's fair to say that he wasn't impressed."

Scott made no attempt to play the situation down. "Dad has every right to be pissed."

"You've got to hand to Alan when it comes to bad timing."

"Dad can seperate Alan's dummy spit from how he'll be feeling about Mom.

As they savoured a second single malt, Virgil momentarily dwelled on the night twenty-one years ago when their family was unexpectedly torn apart. He admitted to Scott that he was glad he couldn't remember most of it. Over the years he'd spoken to their grandmother in an attempt to fit the pieces together to try and understand the motivations of his childhood. Sometimes the information had been helpful, other times definitely not. It didn't change the fact that, as a five-year old, the only way Virgil had learned to cope was to express himself in his music, writing songs and by painting images.

"It sure was tough back then," Scott murmured, happy to plunge himself further into the void of pleasant numbness.

"We survived."

"I guess we did."

"But still, I wouldn't like to be in Alan's shoes tomorrow. "

Virgil's return to the original discussion made it clear that there wasn't about to be any more admissions when it came to their childhood.