35

Tracy Island-

Gordon had chosen to leave in the early morning, before most everyone else was awake. He'd already said everything he thought he needed to, and was anxious to start for Europe.

The island's airstrip featured a cliffside hangar, smaller brother to Thunderbird 2's echoing cavern, and it was here that the private planes were kept, when not in use. Gordon had completed his preflight checklist and refueled the yellow turbo-prop, when TinTin rushed in with Scout. The spotted terrier (a 'Jack Russell', according to Virgil) raced over and began leaping at Gordon until he knelt down for a proper greeting.

"He woke me up," TinTin explained, shaking her head at Scout's ecstatic, face-licking joy.

"He is very smart, your dog," the pretty girl continued laughingly. "Smarter than you, I think."

So much for strategic retreat. Gordon got to his feet, holding the eager dog, who seemed to think they were going flying again, or wave-running. At least she hadn't brought Alan...

Reaching into his blue-and-gold team jacket, Gordon pulled forth a clumsily wrapped package.

"I was goin' t' drop it in th' post from Madrid, but..., as you're here...," he handed the box past his sniffing and snapping dog. "Your souvenir, from Tahiti. Hadn't a chance t' give it t' you, before."

Not entirely true. More accurately, he hadn't the nerve. Gone suddenly all big-eyed and acquisitive, TinTin accepted the little box, tore off several layers of taped newspaper, and opened the lid. For several reasons, she made him think of Christmas.

"Ohhh..., Gordon..., it's lovely!" She didn't say anything foolish, like 'you shouldn't have'. Just lifted the shimmering necklace out of its case. "Help me to put it on!"

He set down the dog and obeyed, fastening the golden clasp against the back of her curving neck, once she'd lifted her heavy, dark hair out of the way. She turned, then; mischief and glee and heart-tearing beauty in one slim, perfect package.

"How does it look?"

A single Tahitian pearl, colored sort of warm, creamy pink, hung from its chain by a little golden loop in the shape of twin, leaping dolphins. Cost most everything he'd had on him at the time, but he'd thought it might please her. How did it look, hanging above the lace of her halter top?

"Beautiful," he told her, with perfect honesty. TinTin wrapped her arms about his neck, and gave his forehead a swift kiss. She didn't have to tip-toe up to do so, either, being nearly as tall, now, as Gordon was. He hated being short.

The physical contact was accompanied by something harder to describe, but no less welcome; the light, joyous brush of her thoughts against his. With Gordon, alone, she maintained no guard, enjoying the sort of free contact she didn't dare attempt with anyone else. What he felt... what he wanted... was perfectly clear to her, but also perfectly safe. He would never press her, no matter what she wore, or how she behaved. He wasn't like that.

Perhaps it was simply human nature to reject what was freely offered, and long for that which sparkled just out of reach.

After returning the embrace, he held her away, saying with some difficulty,

"I think you should tell him."

TinTin looked at the young man who loved her, cocked her head to one side, and gave him a fond smile.

"You are a better friend than I deserve, Mon Couer," she told him, letting go.

"Not that good," Gordon admitted, managing a slightly lop-sided smile. "Either it'll be yes... which would make you happy..., or he'll not be at all interested, and I'll be happy."

TinTin laughed, at once embarrassed and playfully vexed, then smacked at the top of his red head with a reproving hand.

"A true lady," she sniffed, with mock hauteur, "is never forward. Penelope informed me, herself."

"Right," Gordon replied wickedly, "and when I meet one, I'll tell her so, straight off." For which he happily endured a flurry of kittenish punches.

"Seriously, Angel...," this bit was far harder to say, but he knew his brother, so... "He'll not work it out on his own. He's not that... observant, I suppose. Can't see a thing past Thunderbird 2, th' paint pots, and th' keyboard... unless maybe his guns and fly rods. You'll have t' tell him."

Pink as the pearl around her slim neck, TinTin snugged closer, suddenly, and buried her hot face against Gordon's broad shoulder.

"Promise me something?" She asked, in a desperate, whispered rush. "If...?"

" 'Course," he replied, rubbing her knobby-boned little back with one hand. "Goes without sayin', Angel."

And then he kissed her. Not the way he wanted to, but as a friend would, or a future brother-in-law. Still, there was always the hoped for 'if...'.

He extracted a promise that she'd look after Scout, then climbed into the plane, started her up, and taxied out. TinTin stood on the sparkling-wet tarmac for a long time, holding the dog, and waving farewell.