A/N: Wow, I never dreamt that I would get so many reviews for the last chapter! swoons Thank you so much, everyone, for reviewing. It means a great deal to me when I can hear back from my readers. :)

Just bear with me for the next chapter. It was the first one in the story that I wrote with the boys (excepting John), and I've re-written it at least five times since I first did it. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I can't really remove it because it ties into some of the later scenes. sigh I can't have everything, I guess. So if the characterization doesn't quite seem right, I'm sorry. Maybe it's better now, but I've read it so many times that I can't tell anymore. lol

DISCLAIMER: Same thing, I don't own the rights to Thunderbirds, and I don't plan on making any money from this. It's just for entertainment purposes, and to keep me from doing my computer homework that's due next week!

Boy's Talk

June 2015

"You can be really stupid sometimes," Gordon Tracy drawled, his body lying prone across a wooden poster bed. "Did anyone ever tell you that?" The thirteen-year-olds chest heaved up and down in a silent laugh, and his ginger red hair fell onto his face so that it obscured his eyes and the freckles that dotted his cheekbones.

A snort came drifting into the bedroom, and Gordon could distinctly hear the sound of splashing water.

"Shut up," sighed Virgil Tracy from the washroom, his normally passive face creased into an expression of irritation as he gazed into the mirror. "I didn't do it to myself. And," he muttered as an afterthought, "I'm not stupid."

"Just a guy who doesn't have a girl friend anymore," Gordon responded lightly, his eyes dancing mischievously. From where he lay, he could just make out Virgil's form standing in front of the washroom sink.

"Not funny, Gordon." Dipping a wash cloth into the sink, Virgil gingerly wiped a thick layer of lipstick from his upper forehead. "You have no idea what happened."

"I was there, Virg. I was walking home with you, remember? She marked you good with that lipstick."

"That isn't the entire story," huffed Virgil, "Heather and I had another talk, after, when you were walking ahead with Alan. I was a polite gentleman."

"You mean you didn't call her fat?"

"I did not call her fat!" Virgil gasped, poking his head out of the washroom long enough to glare at Gordon. "She wanted to know how she looked in the skirt. I told her that I liked the other one better. It was an honest response, I don't know what she was mad about."

Gordon gave a sympathetic sigh, and waved a hand nonchalantly in the air. "Virgil, do you ever listen to dad when he talks? Don't talk about clothes with girls, he says. It's dangerous to your health."

"Oh, like you know. I haven't seen a girl draped over your arm."

"I listen to dad. He knows."

"No he doesn't. Dad doesn't understand this stuff," the older boy grumbled, finally sighing in relief as the lipstick came off his face. "He's really useless when it comes to talking about girls. He just looks embarrassed whenever I ask, and then he tries to come up with some weird advice so that he doesn't look stupid."

Tossing a red lock from his eyes, Gordon fell silent for a long moment. "Betcha mom wouldn't have been like that."

"Oh." Virgil's face fell like a rock, and any anger that was left in his eyes disappeared when he saw how quiet the normally exuberant Gordon had become. "Gordon, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't," Gordon sighed, "but it's true, isn't it?" He pushed himself to a sitting position, and met Virgil's softening glare. "When we were little, we would all go ask dad about something, and then we'd end up crawling on mom's lap when we didn't like what he told us. It always happened that way. I wish it could happen now."

Making his way over to the bed, Virgil let the washcloth drop from his hand so that he could wrap his arm around his brother's shoulders. "I'm sorry," he repeated softly, "I didn't mean to trash dad. I'm just frustrated."

"It's still true, though," Gordon insisted, "we always harassed mom for help when we couldn't talk to dad."

Virgil thought for a long moment, then grinned slowly as a thought came to his mind. "Hey, that's right, Gord. Remember the time that John mooched all of the candy from the pantry, and he felt so guilty about it that he had to tell someone?"

"He told mom," Gordon responded immediately, "and then she laughed, punched him on the arm, and told him not to do it again. He was so scared that he'd be grounded, and he was so happy when she just punched him." A laugh escaped his mouth, and he playfully punched Virgil with his fist.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"Mom always said that love hurt," Gordon snorted, his face becoming distant. "Guess she was right. Sometimes I really miss her, Virgil. I don't even remember her as much anymore. I probably should."

"It's not your fault," Virgil explained softly, "you weren't that old. Heck, you were only eight. I was ten. I should be the one that feels bad, because I can't remember what her voice sounded like."

"Really?"

"Yeah." The words hung in the air until it seemed as though an eternity had passed. "I just tried so hard to survive when she died, to get through it all. I pushed her away, I tried not to think about her, and in the end I guess I did make it. But I lost mom in the process. I got rid of the pain, or most of it, and I got rid of her too."

"She was already gone," Gordon observed, his voice rasping slightly, as it had done a few months ago when he had gone through puberty. "Remember? We couldn't do anything about it."

"I know." The brown haired Tracy reached up a hand to rub the moisture from his eyes. "I know, I know."

"You weren't the only one that did that." Gordon continued. "I think we all did. Everyone dealt with it differently - look at what happened to dad! It was like he was dead for months afterwards." Sighing, he cast a forlorn glance at the empty bed that rested on the floor beside him. "And Scott was always there for us. He didn't want help. He helped everyone else instead, but he was still upset, I think."

"I know he was," Virgil responded, "he used to lay awake at night, staring up at the ceiling. I would sit up too, watching with him just to make sure that he was okay. It really bothered me."

"I didn't know that," Gordon said after a while. "He never told me that."

"He didn't want anyone to know. I think it embarrassed him to think that people knew he was upset."

"I miss Scott," muttered Gordon, "It just hasn't been the same since he left."

"He'll be back, Gord, as soon as summer comes around. They'll give him a quick break for the holidays, and we can hang out like we always did." Virgil smiled, and turned to stare out the bedroom window. "Wonder if he's flying right now."

"He can have it for all I care," Gordon said immediately, his face indignant. "I'd rather be swimming."

A snort escaped Virgil's mouth, and he affectionately ruffled his brother's hair. "You're a fish, Gordon. A real guppy."

Gordon laughed, punched his brother again, and then fell quiet against Virgil's shoulder. The two sat silent for several moments, Virgil's arms still about his brother, until Gordon finally rolled his eyes and let out a quiet yet resonating chuckle.

"Maybe she'll phone you back."

"No she won't." Virgil's tone was quite final. "It wasn't going anywhere, Gord. We had differences, probably one too many, and things just weren't working out. I'd almost feel better if she didn't phone."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "But you're always talking about how much you like her! Don't you want it to work out?"

Before Virgil could respond, the sound of a slamming door echoed into the bedroom. From their place on the bed, the two brothers could hear the sound of a bag being dropped on the hardwood floor of the main hallway.

"Sounds like John's home," Gordon observed. He jumped up from the bed, and quickly walked to the door of the bedroom. "Guess we'd better look like we're doing something other than sitting around and chatting." His eyes crinkled for a moment, as if he were trying to remember something. "Isn't there something-"

His eyes suddenly wide, Virgil sprinted past Gordon, his long strides taking him through the door in a heartbeat. "Geeze, we forgot about Alan!"

John Tracy walked into the kitchen, took one look around, and dropped the rest of his bags on the spot. He just couldn't believe what he was seeing; it was as though a tornado had gone through the entire room and pulled out every drawer and appliance that could possibly be moved from its spot.

A tornado called Alan, John immediately observed, finally seeing the youngest Tracy standing by the counter, a bag of sugar in his arms. Alan's face was covered in what appeared to be flour, and various measuring utensils were scattered around him on the linoleum floor.

Unable to find words to express his shock, John simply walked forward and helped Alan to push the sugar onto the counter. The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment, until the blond haired nine-year old blinked at the blond haired sixteen-year old and gave an appropriately sheepish grin.

"I have homework," Alan finally muttered, glancing at the mess around him.

"Uh huh. And this is it?"

"Yeah!" Alan said enthusiastically, he head bobbing up and down. "She wants us to make cookies! Isn't that cool?"

Slightly suspicious, John gave Alan a knowing look and then turned to gaze out at the disaster zone. "And she probably wanted an adult to help you. You seem really happy about this whole thing. That's really odd, Alan, because I've never thought of you as the cooking type." His eyebrow arched up in amusement. "But I suppose if you can make a mess in the process . . ."

Alan laughed again, and nervously poked a finger at the bag of sugar. "I didn't spill that much."

"No," John muttered, dragging his own finger through a film of dust on the counter, "not too bad. I've seen worse. Speaking of which-" He turned around suddenly, just in time to catch a glimpse of two figures sprinting from the doorway. "Why didn't you ask Gordon and Virgil for help?"

The younger boy's face crinkled slightly, and he shrugged. "Gord was busy with something. Besides, I didn't want help. I told him that."

"Really." When I catch those two, John thought with a touch of anger, they are really going to think twice about goofing off when they're supposed to be watching their brother. "Well, what were they doing?"

Reaching for the sugar, Alan didn't turn around to face his brother. "Talking. Virgil had a fight with his girlfriend."

There could not have been a worse thing to say at that moment to John Tracy - he had just spent four hours of his life tutoring a freshman when he should have been at home watching his younger brother, taking care of his family like he was expected to.

Four hours spent with a girl that - for all John could tell - was only interested in the cumulative volume of a guys' hair and the exact hue and intensity of his eyes. It hadn't been frustrating, no –

It had been a nightmare that he had willingly subjected himself in order to get that one extra bit of distinction for his graduation. It had been a complete waste of his time, a useless exercise of his patience, when he could have instead been home showing Alan how to bake cookies.

How hard was he trying, while Scott was off flying across the mountains, and his dad was at work until the god-awful hours of the night? How hard was he trying, while Gordon and Virgil went around acting like nothing was wrong, like there was nothing for them to do at home to help out?

John shook his head, trying to suppress the horrible feeling of rage that was building in him; it was a useless effort.

"Virgil!" The words exploded from John's mouth. "Gordon! Get your butts in here right now!"

His eyes beginning to water, Alan carefully pushed the bag of sugar onto the counter so that it wouldn't fall over. Then quietly, very quietly, he turned and fled the room as fast as he could.

"Alan!" John gasped, watching as the boyish figure darted past him and out the door. "Alan, get back here!"

"No! Not until you stop yelling!" Alan's voice drifted into the room from a distance, and John guessed that he was probably already hunched over his Lego sculpture on the floor in the entertainment room.

Not until you stop yelling . . . the words echoed around in John's head, and by the time that Gordon and Virgil sheepishly stepped into the room he was past being angry. Alan's words had awakened him to an obvious and horrible reality.

He was tired, exhausted, and ready to give up.

"I just yelled at my little brother," the blond-haired teenager moaned, drawing curious looks from both of his siblings.

"Was he being a dork?" Gordon asked honestly. "If he was, then you can yell at him. It's the only way that he listens to anyone."

"Because you ignore him!" John snapped back quietly, the bite in his voice making up for its lack of volume. "He doesn't listen because no one ever listens to him. Maybe if you took the time out to help him . . ."

"But he didn't want help!" Virgil argued as he reached out a hand to lean on the doorjamb. "We asked him, and he said that he was fine. And then Gordon said that we were busy, but we'd be in the house if he needed us."

A profound sigh escaped John's lips, and he closed his eyes and tried as hard as he could to make everything else go away in his mind. "You don't get it, do you?"

Exchanging confused glances, Virgil and Gordon shrugged. "Get what?"

"That we're supposed to be a family! We're supposed to help each other! And what do you do? You screw around with girls and act like nothing's wrong!" John suppressed the desire to punch out his brothers then and there.

"I do not screw around with girls!" Virgil burst out immediately, his eyes wide. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"And why are you blaming us?" Gordon continued, his face colouring to nearly match the shade of his hair. "We're not dad's age, John! And I don't see you running around playing trucks and planes with Alan either!"

Those final few words did it. Without even realising what he was doing, John lunged forward and slammed Gordon down into the ground.

"You little asshole," he growled, his entire body shaking with rage, "don't you ever notice anything else but your own stupid life, and your stupid school, and your stupid friends?" He let Gordon go immediately, pulling his hands back as if they were poisoned, then fell forward onto his knees as his strength left him.

"John." Virgil had knelt down beside the two, shock evident on his face, and had taken John's shoulders in his hands. "John, if there's something wrong you can tell us. Seriously, we would help you, but we need to know if you need help. We can't just guess and hope that we guess right - you need to talk to us."

John didn't have the stamina left to explain that he generally talked to Scott when he was upset. It was Scott that generally fixed things for him, because he was the eldest, and Scott was now flying around in an F-15 somewhere and probably didn't have a care in the world. John didn't have the heart to tell Virgil that he couldn't talk to him, that he couldn't bring himself to dump his problems on his brothers when their own lives were going so smoothly.

He couldn't bring himself to be the horrible older brother that always yelled and told people what to do because he was stressed out himself. Yet, for whatever cruel reason of fate, he was becoming just that. He was expecting Gordon and Virgil to pick up the pieces that were falling from his own poor attempt at trying to forge a career of his own.

"We didn't know," apologised Gordon quietly, a red patch blooming on his neck where John's hands had been wrapped about the skin. "Honestly, John, we thought you were all right."

"Don't do so much if it's making you stressed out," Virgil suggested, his voice shaking slightly. "Honestly, John, don't do this."

Blinking hard, John shook his head and tried to keep the tears at bay. "And let God knows what happen to everyone else? Who is going to hold everything together?"

"We can," Gordon replied, his voice even quieter. There was no humour left in the tone.

"Yeah, and then who looks after you? Dad, when he's never home to help out?"

Gordon and Virgil both traded worried looks, then shrugged. "I didn't think of that," Virgil muttered softly. "I'm just used to someone being around all the time."

"And now that Scott's gone," Gordon continued, "someone has to look out for us."

"Yeah." John's voice sounded tired and weary. "Yeah, that's about it."

The three sat silently on the ground, glancing at each other until no one could find something to say to break the silence. Finally, when it looked as though no words would suffice, Virgil and Gordon reached over and wrapped their brother in a warm embrace.

"You are such a dork," Gordon finally decided, the words sending a subdued bit of laughter from Virgil's mouth. "You think that you can be dad, Scott, a high school student, and a college student all rolled into one. None of us would be stupid enough to do that."

John nodded slowly and closed his eyes in relief. He didn't want to throw the problem on someone else, yet he didn't have any choice in the matter. "You don't have to do much, Gordon. I'm not expecting a miracle - I just wish that you would do your own washing and not expect me to make supper on nights that I can't even get home on time."

Virgil snickered, and gave Gordon a superior look. "I do my wash. Guess who doesn't?"

"Oh shut up."

Watching from the doorway, Alan Tracy decided that his brother was sufficiently calm enough to approach. He traversed the width of the kitchen silently, his sock-covered toes making no noise on the hardwood floor.

John was startled at first when Alan sat beside him and threw his head - mop hair and all - against his shoulder. More than anything, though, John was relieved that Alan had come back to the room at all.

"You had me worried there," he whispered, rubbing Alan's head affectionately and mussing up the boy's hair. "I thought I'd scared you away for good."

"Nah," Alan grinned, "it was kind of funny. I heard you call Gordon the A word - you never say that."

Gordon snorted and gave John an amused grin. "Yeah, what happened there? I might have to tell dad about that."

"You wouldn't," John sighed immediately, "because then I'd tell him about Alan and the cooking mess and you'd never leave this house again until your thirtieth birthday."

Though John's tone was teasing, the words were not. Gordon and Virgil didn't miss the hint.

"Time to grow up, I guess." Gordon laughed hollowly. "Well Virg, it was nice while it lasted." His lip curled upward in a mildly malicious grin. "At least you got to kiss a girl, though. That'll never happen to me now."

Red began to seep onto Virgil's cheeks, and he quickly turned to John and began to change the topic. "Guess we'll clean up." Virgil stood up, and glanced around the kitchen. "Holy cow, Alan, did you pull out everything?"

The silence afterwards was only interrupted when Gordon couldn't hold in his laughter any longer. Soon, all of the Tracy boys were laughing, and no one could say that the sound was not healthy. It had been a long time since they had all shared a good laugh, and even Virgil found himself chuckling at his own expense.

Finally, John wiped the mirth from his eyes and pointed at the counter. "Now, let's get those cookies done so that I can go study."

"You go study now," Virgil replied insistently, taking John by the back of the shirt and pushing him towards the doorway. "When I'm taking college classes during high school, I'll take the time out to study. But right now you need to work and pass both of those stupid programs so that you can quit having stress attacks. I think we'll get along just fine with the three of us."

Sighing, John let Virgil push him from the room. "Thanks," he offered, "I think." It was always hard to tell when his brothers were joking, but John had a sneaking suspicion that Virgil was correct on all counts, and that he was guilty on all charges. "Thanks, Virg."

Tune in next time for "A Tracy Family Holiday", coming soon to a fanfic near you. ;)