Cheat!

It started – as most ideas did on the island – with a seemingly innocent comment from Alan.

They were firmly in the middle of monsoon season; and this year Mother Nature was feeling particularly destructive. International Rescue was run completely ragged. Missions were taking days instead of hours. Too often, the members of the elite rescue team found themselves responding to calls alone when the circumstances would ordinarily call for a larger team. They barely had enough time to refuel themselves and their ships before they were being called out again. A much-hated routine had been established: wake up, shove food down throat (time allowing), get in ship, go to rescue, go home, five-minute shower (exhaustion allowing), nap, repeat. Grandma didn't approve, but local rescue services just couldn't cope without them. They'd already had to turn down a number of calls because they simply couldn't get anyone there safely.

So it came as something of a surprise to the rest of the brothers when Alan raised the subject of board games.

'We haven't played one in years!' the youngest Tracy declared at breakfast one morning.

It had been weeks since they'd all been available to eat their morning meal together. Even John was present, having come down from Five to provide extra boots on the ground. In fact, it was John who reaffirmed Alan's point.

'Four years and three months, to be a little more accurate,' he said. 'It was monopoly on Scott's birthday.'

The other inhabitants of the island cringed at the mention of that fateful day. Once again, it had been Alan who prompted the decision to play something, but with it being his birthday Scott had the final pick. Scott was good at monopoly. Too good, his brothers would say. Perhaps it was a result of inheriting their dad's head for business. The night had ended with the board being engulfed in flames. They were yet to find the culprit, but almost everyone suspected Gordon. (Though their prank-loving brother insisted his innocence to this day, claiming that such a stunt was not only cheating, but a show of poor sportsmanship.)

'Alright,' Scott said. He drained his glass of orange juice in a single gulp, casting a nervous glance at the comm unit. 'What'd you wanna play?'

'I dunno. The Game of Life?'

A groan echoed around the table. It wasn't a favourite. But with their workload so full, it was eventually agreed that it was the best option. Easy to set up, basic rules – they could walk away from it if they got called out and come back later.

Which is exactly what happened within minutes of completing the set up.

It was John who came up with the idea of how to keep playing. He and Scott were the first to return home in Thunderbird 1, and they both noticed the lonely board still sitting on the table in the early evening light.

'Shall we pack it up then?' Scott asked. His half-lidded eyes suggested that he'd actually much rather go to bed, but big brother responsibilities won out.

'Not so fast,' said John, a spark flickering in his eyes, chasing away all traces of exhaustion. He disappeared for a moment before returning with an old notebook and five coloured pens. 'We did say we'd come back to it.'

He spun the dial, landing on a 5. Predictably, he opted to get an education and moved his piece accordingly. Then he took $50 from the bank as the space instructed and, using the orange pen, made a quick note of his movements. Everything was recorded; from the number he rolled all the way through to highlighting Scott as the next player. 'Like taking minutes at a meeting,' he explained.

Scott shrugged and moved in to take his turn. Not one to waste time, he picked the career path and had the good luck to draw the Police Officer card – giving him a $60,000 salary and the bonus of taking $5,000 from anyone rolling a 10. That was where his luck ran out. After rolling a 7, he was forced to pay $50,000 in hospital fees (thank goodness he'd passed two 'PAY DAY' spaces or the board would've been flipped straight away). Taking the blue pen from John, he made note of his play. 'So we're operating on blind trust then, huh?'

John shrugged. 'Call it a training exercise. It's not all that different to trusting each other in the field.'

xxxxx

It was nothing like being in the field. Within two days, accusations of cheating were scrawled out in orange, blue, red, yellow, and green. Nothing was said in person, but glares were thrown across the villa whenever the boys happened to bump into each other. Ultimately, Alan won, although no one could quite agree on quite how he did it. But with no proof either way, all the older boys could do was give him a quick pat on the back on their way up to bed. The game was over. That was it.

Or, that should have been it. Only, for the next few days, each of the boys would return from whatever gruelling mission they'd completed and trudge into the kitchen intent on updating what they were calling their playbook. It would take a moment of confused blinking before they remembered that the game was back in its box in the storage cupboard. Various growls would be uttered, and the offended party would skulk off to bed, usually ignoring their grandmother's written reminders to eat. After what they all guessed was about three days of this routine, Scott and Gordon came home to a surprise.

With Virgil on enforced rest period after a solid forty-eight hours of work, and John and Alan on a space rescue, Scott had been needed to pilot Thunderbird 2 so Gordon could rescue the crew on a sinking ship in the Indian Ocean. Due to a breach in his suit, the aquanaut was soaked through and freezing the entire way home, but he had nothing to change into because all his spare uniforms and various civilian clothes were in the laundry. He'd made a miserable journey to the kitchen, set on getting some hot chocolate started so it would be ready by the time he got out of the shower when he'd seen it: the board set up on the table.

All the brothers had their specialities. Scott's was Monopoly; John's was Scrabble; Virgil's was Clue; Gordon's was Battleship; and Alan's was, apparently, The Game of Life. But Risk wasn't just a game in the Tracy household. Risk was a battle of wills and strategy – and the last time they'd played the four eldest had been pretty evenly matched. That had been years ago. Gordon was willing to bet that Alan was right up there with the rest of them now.

Careful not to drip all over it, he took a quick peek at the old notebook. There, in green, was Virgil's handwriting. Apparently his medic senses had been tingling. He was worried how the drop in morale was affecting their mental health. The Game of Life had been a brief respite each time they passed it and it gave them something to look forward to. So Virgil prescribed a game of Risk to give them all a boost. Gordon grinned, towel drying his hands and picking up the yellow pen. The cogs in his brain began to turn, even as he scrawled out his first move on the pad.

xxxxx

Alan woke with a start. Blearily lifting his head off the rug, he fumbled for his game console to check the time. Seven a.m. He'd been asleep for two hours. He flopped back down with a groan, trying to remember what woke him. Not a mission – Eos would still be bothering him, and besides he was on rest period. Not a nightmare – he didn't wake up from those that easily.

There had been a sound. As soon as he thought it, Alan leapt to his feet. It had definitely been a sound that woke him. The trouble was, no one else had been home when he'd fallen asleep. Grandma was visiting a sick friend in Kansas, Brains was in Switzerland with Moffie, and everyone else was out on missions. It was entirely possible that he'd just missed someone returning to base, but… He shook his head. There was only one thing for it. He cast around his room for a weapon and snatched the old guitar off the wall – he'd always wanted to smash one over someone's head.

Their father had deliberately had a few of the stairs to the kitchen engineered to squeak, allowing him to catch anyone trying to sneak downstairs for a midnight snack. Of course, it'd taken Gordon five minutes to suss it out, and less than an hour to find Alan and teach him. Grateful for what he could now call survival training, Alan soundlessly made it to the bottom step. The kitchen was empty, but not undisturbed.

The game pieces had been moved since Alan went to bed. Interestingly, the next player hadn't written anything in the notebook. That was fine. Alan knew whose turn it was anyway, and after studying the board, he was able to fill in the gaps and write it down for him. It was a good move, too. Very Scott. Pacified, Alan yawned loudly. The sound that had woken him was probably Scott lumbering past his room on his way to bed. He'd probably been too tired to remember to fill in the playbook.

Shouldering the guitar, he made his way back up the stairs, feet dragging along the hallway back to his room as tiredness took hold once again. He'd double check his interpretation of big brother's move in the morning.

xxxxx

Gordon wasn't normally a fan of coffee. It was bitter and gave him a stomach ache if he drank too much. Not to mention how the excess caffeine frazzled his unfrazzleable nerves. But when monsoon season got bad, coffee was a must. And the giant coffee mugs provided a perfect hiding place for his smirk. He'd known his plan was good. Come on, it was him for crying out loud. All his plans for pranks were good. But this… this turned out even better than he could have dreamed.

He was practically vibrating in anticipation as his youngest brother joined them in the kitchen, rubbing his tired eyes. Kayo was still in bed – the poor girl only got in an hour ago – but everyone else was present for breakfast. They were having bagels with cream cheese and bacon; possibly a little optimistic of them, but they'd been deprived of decent toppings for weeks now. The smell of them and the initial morning weariness were probably the two biggest contributors to Alan missing what he would almost certainly call his greatest achievement. And yes, that included winning Olympic gold and relearning to walk.

In fact, the poor kid was so out of it that he was halfway through his bagel before he noticed it.

The mood in the room was ice cold – but Gordon maintained it was worth it. Besides his brothers had no one to blame but themselves. As an athlete, Gordon couldn't stand cheating. As the youngest who always fell victim to it, Alan couldn't stand it either. Which was why he shrieked in delight when he took in the eldest threes' appearances. Gordon had really done it this time – he'd caught them not only red-handed, but red-faced too. Literally. 'CHEAT!' declared the paint on their foreheads. 'CHEAT!' proclaimed the indelible ink on the backs of their writing hands. 'CHEATERS!' declared Gordon's messy yellow handwriting in the playbook.

'How'd you do it?' Alan asked, trying not to choke on his bagel.

'That's what I'd like to know,' Virgil grumbled.

Gordon sipped his coffee. 'Oh, I'll never tell.'

'Did Brains help you?' John scowled.

'Of course not. He values his life.'

'Kayo?' asked Scott.

'With what time?'

'Speaking of,' Scott replied, a frown working its way onto his features, 'How did you have the time.'

'I may have skimped on a few hours' sleep here and there.' Gordon shrugged. 'But no worries, I didn't break any rules. Now do you want the trick to washing it off or not?'

'Aw!' Alan pouted. 'You mean it's not permanent?'

Virgil smacked him on the upside of the head.

With a devilish grin, Gordon pulled a bottle of clear liquid out of his back pocket. 'There's one for each of you, I'll go get the rest in a minute. But first, I think you three owe two people here an apology.'

The eldest three shared long-suffering looks.

'We're never gonna live this one down, are we?' Scott sighed.

'Not when I've got pictures, you're not!'