A/N: Well, here's chapter three, featuring a lot of Latin. Also, I must warn you guys, I have no idea how well this is actually going. This chapter in particular felt a little off, and there's not much going on but rambling. However, chapter four is being written, so you're guaranteed that much, at the very least.

Thanks to Amy for helping out on the Latin bits, I especially had fun on that last one, and for betaing. Again, MG's alien abductee's nickname is used, so thanks for that too.

On Station

"… and the others are still grounded, waiting to hear back." John finished, head beginning to buzz with the last of the rescue-induced adrenaline.

"Thanks John. I'll, uh, get back to you and your brothers soon. Base out."

"Right, Father. Thunderbird Five out." The blond astronaut sagged backwards into the command chair, the microphone carelessly clattering against the cold console. He didn't know what his brothers were doing, what his father would make of this, hell, what any of his family were making of this, and right at that moment, he didn't care.

"I swear," he muttered, too tired to be properly angry, "I swear, some days, I'm a weirdness magnet."

Sighing, he slid further down into the chair, the soft upholstery cradling his aching body. It was one of the advantages to a private operation. John had never had anything this comfortable on the moon base.

It was several long moments before he realized that he'd dozed off, and several more moments still before he realized that his communicator was beeping. Rubbing his eyes, John lifted his watch.

"Go ahead, Scott."

"Hey John. You okay? Did I interrupt something?"

No, no. I was just…" John looked at his smugly knowing older brother, and grinned rather sheepishly.

"You fell asleep." Scott's tone wasn't accusatory, nor amused, but John knew he'd pay for the slip.

"Almost nearly."

Scott snorted. "Uh-huh. So in between naps, did you get a reply from Dad?"

"Sorry bro, no luck. I'm not sure he believed me when I told him."

"We're just lucky it's not Alan up in the station. I highly doubt Father would ever believe him if he called something like this in."

John laughed, trying to imagine his youngest brother convincing his father that they'd picked up an alien abductee. "I can just picture it."

"Yeah, well, it's just so strange. I mean, if he really was abducted… God…" All levity abruptly gone, the brothers stared at each other. "This could be huge. Just think, we'd have irrefutable proof of alien existence."

"Sure. If anyone actually believed us. That's tabloid material, right there. I can see the headlines now: International Rescue Aids Little Green Men."

Scott chuckled, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "True. It's still weird."

"Well, we are International Rescue. Weird is part of the job." John grinned.

Chuckling, Scott raised an eyebrow. "Funny, I thought rescues were part of the job."

"Either way you put it, our lives aren't exactly organized around high probability events."

"True that. Call me when Dad gets back to you, if you aren't snoozing the day away. Thunderbird Two out."

As the small watch face went dark, John grinned to himself. If nothing else, Scott had at least woken him up. Reluctantly, he heaved himself from the far too comfortable chair and off in search of heavily sweetened forms of caffeine.

Three cups of coffee, a cola, and a bathroom break later, he returned to the console, refreshed, awake, and ready for anything. Unfortunately, it seemed anything wasn't ready for him. Or, at least, his family wasn't.

"C'mon guys. Do something already." John tapped impatiently at a few buttons, monitoring several weather-related potential disaster areas. Routine, and boring. Unlike their hitchhiker. He tapped a few more buttons, ran a diagnostic, gnawed his lip until it almost bled, and cracked his neck.

The blond keyed the comm., deciding to take matters into his own hands. After all, how long could it possibly take to make this decision?

"Thunderbird Five to International Rescue. Come in Base."

It was several long moments before his father answered the call, during which John impatiently tapped out a few more routine commands on Five's monitors. When the older Tracy finally did open his end of the channel, John noticed how harried Jeff truly looked.

"Hey Dad, are you alright down there?"

"Yes son, I'm fine. We've just been busy discussing our options."

"Come up with anything yet?"

"That would be a negative." Jeff sighed, tiredly mussing his hair, then smoothing it out again. "We're stuck, just now."

"You don't want to bring him back to the island." John made it a statement, confident he knew his father well enough to gauge him that much.

"No. I – we – don't think it's safe. Honestly, what proof do we have that this isn't some elaborate scheme to infiltrate us?"

John could only shrug helplessly.

"Well, I'll call you as soon as we decide. Tracy Island out."

John cut the comm., trying to think past the logical part of his brain, which was currently having a field day trying to get his attention. The problem with this situation was that it required a rather serious suspension of disbelief. Logic had no place here, not really. After all, logically, this wasn't even happening.

John reached up and carefully selected a hair from the top of his head. With one sharp tug, he pulled it, root and all.

"Ow!" Jumping, John sagged backwards. "Fine then. Have it your way…"

Muttering to himself, he opened a channel to Thunderbird Two. After all, misery loves company.

Virgil answered the comm., looking rather fresher than either Scott or his father had. And cheerful. Why the hell was he cheerful?

"Hey John, what's up?"

"Hey Virg. I was just hoping to get an update for Dad."

Virgil grinned, and John wanted to smack him. "Well, Gordon and Alan are busy trying to figure out where Titus came from, Scott's brushing up on his Latin, just in case, and I'm doodling."

"Right. So…"

"You want to talk to Scott?" Virgil's eyes had lost a bit of their merriment, though his smile (smirk) hadn't changed.

John only nodded, and a minute later his eldest dark haired brother appeared.

"Aspice," John began, just to piss Scott off. "Officio fungeris sine spe honoris amplioris."

Scott stared. "What?"

"I said, 'Face it, you're stuck in a dead end job.'"

Groaning, Scott shook his head. "I shouldn't have asked. So, why the call?"

John took pity on the pilot. He looked worn, more so than the last time John had seen him. "I was just looking for an update, and Virgil is beyond usefulness. How is he so cheerful?"

Scott shrugged. "Beats me. He seems to find this whole situation amusing."

After several moments of silence, John decided that if he couldn't torment Virgil, Scott was the next best thing.

"Y'know," John raised an eyebrow, "he did mention that you were brushing up on your Latin."

"Right. Well, I thought it might be useful knowing a few phrases."

Scott must have been tired, the astronaut decided. He missed entirely the subtle clues of impending doom. "Huh, right. So what have you learned so far?"

"That I'm not good with languages."

"Well, Scott, you do know what they say." He grinned.

Scott sighed, slowly shaking his head. "No, John. I don't know what 'they' say. Who are 'they', anyway?"

John ignored the rhetorical question, his grin growing wider. "'Stercus accidit.'" Knowing he would regret it, yet unable to help himself, Scott merely raised an inquiring eyebrow.

The grin grew predatory. "It means, brother dear, 'Shit happens.'"

Scott stared. "That's terrible John."

"Cogito ergo spud?"

"Oh no."

"I think, therefore I yam."

"Why me?"

"Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?"

"Please don't tell-"

"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

The last thing John heard before he cut the comm. was his older brother's groan of intellectual agony.

TBC