I hear him before I see him, that loud voice yelling my name as he enters
the house. I dart out my room as he walks down the hall and grab him,
pulling him inside and putting my hand over his mouth.
"Are you trying to get your father to become suspicious?" I ask John, my fingers holding his lips shut.
"Suspicious?" He repeats, though it sounds more than slightly muffled because of my hand.
"I'll let you go if you promise not to do anything that will get him on my case." I search his eyes until he nods, hoping he won't break this vow.
John rubs his jaw and looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "Are you nuts?"
I smile at him and turn, picking my brush up off my nightstand and running it through my hair absently before closing the door. "Maybe." I replace the brush and sit on my bed, looking at him squarely. "I take it Gordon told you what he saw this morning."
"No," John says, confusion apparent on his pale features. "What did he see?"
Great job, Tin-Tin. Since you opened your big mouth, you now have to tell John that you were in Virgil's closet wearing a sheet because you couldn't get out of his bed quick enough to change before Gordon barged in. I sigh, realizing Gordon had left that part out because he'd been just as embarrassed as we had.
"Nothing. I just mean. . .nothing," I trail off. "But he told you, didn't he?"
"About you and Virgil? Yeah, he did. There's a lot of time to fill between here and the mainland," John answers.
"I suppose you'd better go get him and Virgil so we don't have to repeat ourselves."
"What about Scott? Shouldn't he know this too?" The blond man covers his mouth as he coughs and I notice that although he's getting better, his symptoms from his cold are still hanging around.
"He does."
"He knows? Why didn't he tell us?"
"He doesn't approve," I admit, looking away in ignominy.
"Oh, is that so?" John rolls his eyes. "I wonder why? Could it be that someone who lives in our house, with our family, is going behind Alan's back with our own brother? I can see why he isn't fond of the idea."
"Alan knows, too," I add quietly.
"Good Lord, am I always the last person to find out these things?" John groans and leaves the room, presumably to bring Virgil and Gordon to me so we can discuss everything that's been happening.
A few moments later, he returns with two of his siblings in tow. Virgil takes a seat on the bed and slips his hand in mine supportively and we look at each other before focusing on Gordon and John, both standing expectantly across from us.
It doesn't take too long to tell our story, and I feel so much better getting it off my chest. Now, the only people left to tell are Grandma, who will be devastated, as Alan seems to be her favourite grandchild, and Mr. Tracy himself. Just the thought of telling the commanding, serious man that I've been dishonest to his youngest son makes me feel sick to my stomach.
+++
My late night walks seem to have become a tradition as I pull on my robe and slippers. I wander all over the house to ease my restlessness before returning to my room. I debate whether to go to Virgil's and let him comfort me again, but decide against it. We were lucky there was no need for a rescue operation that day, as both he and I felt as if we were drugged by the lack of rest.
On my way to my quarters, I pass the door to Thunderbird Three's hangar. The sofa in the lounge are one way in, the other is a door concealed at one end of the house. It allows us to perform repairs without having to ride on that couch and also to enter the hangar without drawing attention from any visitors.
I force the urge to go marvel at the enormous crimson craft down and close my bedroom door behind me. Unknowing to my tired mind, the corner of my brain not covered in cobwebs of sleep is forming a plan.
I find my limbs disobeying my order to tuck themselves back into bed and instead find myself pulling a small suitcase out of the top of my closet. I don't know what I'm doing, but my head seems to. I pack two sets of clean clothes, my toothbrush and comb, and anything else I'd need for a short trip.
Before I know what's happening, I'm holding the bag in one hand and staring at the door to Thunderbird Three's hiding spot. I've left the pajamas, slippers and robe behind and traded them in for a t-shirt and jeans, soft boots and the sweater Alan gave me last year for Christmas.
I push the door open and make sure it's shut securely before turning to face the craft. The vast ship stands proudly in it's launching position, nose pointed at the sky. I take a deep breath and start determinedly for the entrance to the main cockpit, one I've been through a million times during routine checks.
I drop my bag on the floor and make sure it's firmly wedged in the corner. I don't want it going anywhere and messing up my concentration. The familiar controls glint under the overhead light and I feel my heart beginning to beat faster.
This is a piece of cake, I tell myself. Alan taught you how to fly this thing and you've been over everything so many times. It's easy, like breathing. There's nothing to it.
Even my encouraging words aren't enough to stop the nervous butterflies in my abdomen as I stare at the buttons, screens and levers that decorate the control panel. I sit down in the chair in front of it, the lessons Alan had given me flooding back as I try to calm down.
I run over the pre-liftoff procedure, checking to make sure everything is in perfect condition as silently as I can. I've watched Alan, or even John on occasion, do it over and over again. I settle in the chair once more, realizing what I'm about to do.
I'm about to fly the giant scarlet spaceship on my own to Thunderbird Five, only to encounter a man who doesn't want to see me.
Am I insane?
I glance over my shoulder, once more steadying myself before beginning to put my plan in action. I see the elevator that shuffles the crew between floors, the passenger seats and the windows. It brings back fond memories of a time when Scott was on vacation and Alan was scheduled to relieve John in the space station, taking me with him instead of his dark-haired brother.
We had sat side by side during liftoff, and then Alan had stood up, stretched and taught me everything about the ship. I can almost hear his voice in my ear now as he told me what this button does and why I shouldn't push the red one and how, if I pull this lever, we'll both be sucked into space. I recall the moment he'd shown me my favourite switch on the entire board, the one marked autopilot.
Alan had pushed it, set the course for Thunderbird Five and pulled me from my seat. I can feel my cheeks reddening involuntarily as I stare off into nothing, remembering what had happened after that. We'd left the craft running on it's own and had had some real fun.
A voice pulls me from my reminiscing and I jump from the chair, staring at the person who has caught me.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Are you trying to get your father to become suspicious?" I ask John, my fingers holding his lips shut.
"Suspicious?" He repeats, though it sounds more than slightly muffled because of my hand.
"I'll let you go if you promise not to do anything that will get him on my case." I search his eyes until he nods, hoping he won't break this vow.
John rubs his jaw and looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "Are you nuts?"
I smile at him and turn, picking my brush up off my nightstand and running it through my hair absently before closing the door. "Maybe." I replace the brush and sit on my bed, looking at him squarely. "I take it Gordon told you what he saw this morning."
"No," John says, confusion apparent on his pale features. "What did he see?"
Great job, Tin-Tin. Since you opened your big mouth, you now have to tell John that you were in Virgil's closet wearing a sheet because you couldn't get out of his bed quick enough to change before Gordon barged in. I sigh, realizing Gordon had left that part out because he'd been just as embarrassed as we had.
"Nothing. I just mean. . .nothing," I trail off. "But he told you, didn't he?"
"About you and Virgil? Yeah, he did. There's a lot of time to fill between here and the mainland," John answers.
"I suppose you'd better go get him and Virgil so we don't have to repeat ourselves."
"What about Scott? Shouldn't he know this too?" The blond man covers his mouth as he coughs and I notice that although he's getting better, his symptoms from his cold are still hanging around.
"He does."
"He knows? Why didn't he tell us?"
"He doesn't approve," I admit, looking away in ignominy.
"Oh, is that so?" John rolls his eyes. "I wonder why? Could it be that someone who lives in our house, with our family, is going behind Alan's back with our own brother? I can see why he isn't fond of the idea."
"Alan knows, too," I add quietly.
"Good Lord, am I always the last person to find out these things?" John groans and leaves the room, presumably to bring Virgil and Gordon to me so we can discuss everything that's been happening.
A few moments later, he returns with two of his siblings in tow. Virgil takes a seat on the bed and slips his hand in mine supportively and we look at each other before focusing on Gordon and John, both standing expectantly across from us.
It doesn't take too long to tell our story, and I feel so much better getting it off my chest. Now, the only people left to tell are Grandma, who will be devastated, as Alan seems to be her favourite grandchild, and Mr. Tracy himself. Just the thought of telling the commanding, serious man that I've been dishonest to his youngest son makes me feel sick to my stomach.
+++
My late night walks seem to have become a tradition as I pull on my robe and slippers. I wander all over the house to ease my restlessness before returning to my room. I debate whether to go to Virgil's and let him comfort me again, but decide against it. We were lucky there was no need for a rescue operation that day, as both he and I felt as if we were drugged by the lack of rest.
On my way to my quarters, I pass the door to Thunderbird Three's hangar. The sofa in the lounge are one way in, the other is a door concealed at one end of the house. It allows us to perform repairs without having to ride on that couch and also to enter the hangar without drawing attention from any visitors.
I force the urge to go marvel at the enormous crimson craft down and close my bedroom door behind me. Unknowing to my tired mind, the corner of my brain not covered in cobwebs of sleep is forming a plan.
I find my limbs disobeying my order to tuck themselves back into bed and instead find myself pulling a small suitcase out of the top of my closet. I don't know what I'm doing, but my head seems to. I pack two sets of clean clothes, my toothbrush and comb, and anything else I'd need for a short trip.
Before I know what's happening, I'm holding the bag in one hand and staring at the door to Thunderbird Three's hiding spot. I've left the pajamas, slippers and robe behind and traded them in for a t-shirt and jeans, soft boots and the sweater Alan gave me last year for Christmas.
I push the door open and make sure it's shut securely before turning to face the craft. The vast ship stands proudly in it's launching position, nose pointed at the sky. I take a deep breath and start determinedly for the entrance to the main cockpit, one I've been through a million times during routine checks.
I drop my bag on the floor and make sure it's firmly wedged in the corner. I don't want it going anywhere and messing up my concentration. The familiar controls glint under the overhead light and I feel my heart beginning to beat faster.
This is a piece of cake, I tell myself. Alan taught you how to fly this thing and you've been over everything so many times. It's easy, like breathing. There's nothing to it.
Even my encouraging words aren't enough to stop the nervous butterflies in my abdomen as I stare at the buttons, screens and levers that decorate the control panel. I sit down in the chair in front of it, the lessons Alan had given me flooding back as I try to calm down.
I run over the pre-liftoff procedure, checking to make sure everything is in perfect condition as silently as I can. I've watched Alan, or even John on occasion, do it over and over again. I settle in the chair once more, realizing what I'm about to do.
I'm about to fly the giant scarlet spaceship on my own to Thunderbird Five, only to encounter a man who doesn't want to see me.
Am I insane?
I glance over my shoulder, once more steadying myself before beginning to put my plan in action. I see the elevator that shuffles the crew between floors, the passenger seats and the windows. It brings back fond memories of a time when Scott was on vacation and Alan was scheduled to relieve John in the space station, taking me with him instead of his dark-haired brother.
We had sat side by side during liftoff, and then Alan had stood up, stretched and taught me everything about the ship. I can almost hear his voice in my ear now as he told me what this button does and why I shouldn't push the red one and how, if I pull this lever, we'll both be sucked into space. I recall the moment he'd shown me my favourite switch on the entire board, the one marked autopilot.
Alan had pushed it, set the course for Thunderbird Five and pulled me from my seat. I can feel my cheeks reddening involuntarily as I stare off into nothing, remembering what had happened after that. We'd left the craft running on it's own and had had some real fun.
A voice pulls me from my reminiscing and I jump from the chair, staring at the person who has caught me.
"What do you think you're doing?"