DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Thunderbirds, nor do I intend to make any profit from this story. It is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

Christmas Secrets
December 2015

The local airfield, though generally busy at all times of the day, was very quiet for once. Hangers lay empty, and most commercial aircraft were already en route to some destination, ferrying thousands of people home for Christmas.

Though it was quiet, it was not quite empty. To the far side of the private tarmac, four boys stood, bags of luggage lumped around them on the ground.

His face split into a huge grin, Gordon Tracy gave his brother Virgil a knowing look. "Just wait until we get home - I will eat every ounce of cookies and cake that Dad keeps at the place."

Virgil snorted, noting his brother's less than wire-thin figure. "It doesn't look like you've starved any."

Gordon grinned again. "Not really. I'd just love to get my hands on something other than a bologna sandwich for lunch."

"I like bologna."

"No you don't, Alan," the ginger-haired Tracy responded immediately, biting his brother's retort in the bud. "That's why you trade lunches every second day with Fermat."

Fermat, who was protectively clutching what appeared to be a bag of calculators and math utensils, ducked his head and didn't say anything.

His face reddening, Alan folded his arms across his chest and glared at his brother. "Yeah?"

It was obvious to Gordon that he was in over his head, especially if one compared the sizes of the two boys. Though he was not quite Gordon's height, Alan was of comparable body mass. At nine years of age, he was already showing signs of growing to be taller than even Scott.

Laughing at his brother's predicament, Virgil wisely backed away from the two. "I think I'll just stand over here and guard the luggage."

"Wimp," Gordon muttered, though he understood that Virgil wanted to stay out of a fight if at all possible. "Your fingers won't get hurt that badly if you fight."

"It's not you that has a recital next month."

Gordon laughed and took a pretend swing at Virgil's face with his fist. "Prissy piano player."

Rolling his eyes, Alan let his arms drop to his sides. "You're so geeky, Virgil."

Virgil, who gave Alan a mild glare, echoed the eye-roll. "Hey, do you actually know what geeky means? Or do you just say it because it sounds impressive?"

"Yeah," Alan argued loudly, less than convinced of his words.

"Which one?" Virgil sighed in exasperation.

"I'm glad that you're hear to drill him about grammar." Gordon gave a shrug. "I'm not exactly passing English. Let him say that he wants."

"Just wait until Dad hears about that one," Virgil muttered, giving his brother a knowing look. "I'm sure he'll care enough to make up for it."

Gordon's face clouded over for a moment, a look of disappointment shattering his normally jovial features. "Yeah, I know he will."

"I'm passing English," Alan put in proudly. "I have an eighty five in the class."

"Good for you," Virgil replied sharply, saving Gordon from having to answer. "And if you stopped acting like an idiot so that you get detention every week, then maybe you would actually make the honour roll."

A low buzzing sound interrupted their bantering. The three boys looked up in time to see a small turbo-prop drop from the cloud line, and float gracefully down onto the runway. Its tires dropped from the fuselage, and the plane glided to a stop only a few feet from the Tracy children.

"Whoa," Fermat gasped, obviously impressed with the aeronautic display.

"Scott, I think," guessed Virgil, wondering if his brother was trying to show off again.

"Don't know." Gordon squinted at the plane, and tried to see into the cockpit. "It's hard to tell. It sure looked like something he would do, though."

When the side door opened, all four of the boys turned in anticipation. When John Tracy stepped out, his expression a combination of nausea and pride, all three of the Tracy kids simultaneously dropped whatever bags they were holding and ran to greet him.

"John!"

"Hey, man!"

"How many times did you throw up?"

"Whoa!" John held up his hands, still grinning widely, and jumped the rest of the way down the ladder. "One thing at a time. First," he glanced at each of his brothers, "hello, hello, and hello." He took special time to thump Fermat on the shoulder, giving the cowering boy a reassuring smile. "Glad to have you onboard, Fermat. Second, hey man to you to, Gordon. Third," he shrugged weakly, "I didn't throw up, Alan, if you really want to know. But thank you for asking."

Alan laughed, and reached over to join Gordon and Virgil in their backslapping. "Cool."

"When did you get it?"

"Last week," John replied, giving Gordon a hearty whack in return for the wallop that he had just received. "Normally they require more hours that what I worked up over the summer, but my instructor was impressed with how I could handle the jet. She said that I'd be okay as long as I didn't short circuit the controls with my vomit."

Alan's nose crinkled up in disgust. "Ew."

"Her words, not mine." He nodded in satisfaction, then walked to and grabbed some of the luggage bags. "Here, I'll give you guys a hand. I want to try and get home before dark. Trying to find the island after sunset is a real pain."

Between the five of them they were able to quickly drag the bags into the plane. Once Virgil, Gordon, Fermat, and Alan were strapped in, John released the brake and taxied the plane out onto the main runway.

"Tracy One, requesting clearance for take-off on runway five."

The speaker in the cockpit crackled for a moment, then cleared as the tower made contact. "Clearance granted, Tracy One. Have a good flight, and Merry Christmas."

John smiled, and prepared to key the throttle. "Thanks, tower, and Merry Christmas to you too."

In the passenger section, Virgil and Gordon were trying desperately to see around the chair and into the cockpit. "You in there, John?" Virgil pushed himself forward, then winced as the restraining harness locked in place and pulled him back to his seat. "I can't quite see you."

"Of course I am," John replied dryly. "Where else would I be?"

"Just checking," Virgil responded lightly, "in case you were in the back throwing up in the toilet."

John raised his eyebrow, and in his mind he weighed two very distinct evils - not getting back at Virgil, or making himself sick for the rest of the flight. One was definitely the lesser of the two.

"It's bound to happen anyway," he decided with a determined smirk. "You boys strapped in?"

The plane began to pick up speed as it rolled down the runway.

A chorus of 'yeahs' echoed from the back.

"Okay then, hold on." Grinning ferociously, John pulled back on the yolk as hard as he could. The plane lurched almost straight upwards, sending him and his brothers backward into the seats.

Screaming in surprise, Virgil grabbed onto the armrests and closed his eyes as the inertia of the plane slammed him into the backrest. "John, you're gonna stall the engine!"

Subdued laughter drifted in from the open cockpit.

"We're gonna die!" Fearing the worst, Alan covered his face and buried his head in his hands. Fermat also ducked his head, which seemed to disappear into his thighs.

The plane continued to climb, and even bucked from side to side as it crashed through several pockets of turbulence all at once.

Gordon didn't bother to yell at his brother; he simply swore as loud as he could, one curse upon another, and didn't stop swearing until the plane finally levelled out at a decent altitude.

The clouds were now passing by the plane at a horizontal angle, splitting the fuselage in half so that clear sky was visible through the upper half of the windows. Any turbulence was well below; the plane had jumped upwards several hundred feet in a matter of seconds.

Finally deciding that it was safe, Virgil and Alan opened their eyes and looked about. Luggage was strewn across the back of the plane, and several bags had fallen open to reveal clothing and underwear. Gordon's swimming trunks were draped ceremoniously on the door handle of the back hatch, swinging about like a flag on display.

His head popping up from his legs, Fermat reached up a hand to right his glasses. Something akin to the word 'horrifying' escaped his lips, though no sound actually left his mouth.

Gordon, catching his breath, turned to look at Virgil. His face was red, almost the colour of his hair, though the very tips of his cheekbones were a stark white colour similar to ivory, causing his freckles to stand out quite plainly. All in all, he was quite a mess. "I'm gonna kill him." He glanced around, saw the swim trunks, then moaned in horror. "I'm gonna kill him."

"No you won't, it was too funny." Against his better judgement, Virgil shook his head and gave Gordon a light slap on the shoulder. "You should see your face." He snorted. "You look like a spotted fox."

A profound sigh escaped Gordon's lips, and the teen intentionally let his body relax in the cushioning. "It was so not funny. He nearly killed me."

The horrible sound of someone retching interrupted Gordon from his complaining. He glanced at Virgil, then over at Alan who had finally crawled up from his seat. Realising that it was none of them who were sick, he came to the final obvious conclusion.

"John," Gordon called, as he made his way up the aisle and to the cockpit, "you okay?" Peaking around the corner, Gordon caught sight of his brother just as John was plunging his head down in a barf bag.

"Guess not," Virgil sighed, from his position beside Gordon in the doorway. "Want me to fly?"

A gurgled muttering could be heard from somewhere inside the bag. "Please do." An ensuing slurp and splat resounded in the cockpit. "Please."

His nose wrinkling in a manner very similar to Alan's, Virgil stepped forward delicately and tried to avoid stepping in the trails of vomit that were on the floor. "I see you missed the bag. You should really keep it up front with you."

John coughed from his seat. "I need more practice with that manoeuvre."

"The climb and fall?" Gordon couldn't resist the temptation to get one final jab in at his brother. "Or the drop and barf?"

"I could practice on you," John managed to put in, bringing his face up from the bag long enough to glare at Gordon before another round of nausea set in. "How about that?"

"Nah, I think I'll pass."

Meanwhile, Virgil had settled down at the co-pilot's station and had brought the plane onto a more satisfactory course. "Geeze, the way you had us going, we were heading out to Alaska." He shuddered, and with a flip of the switch set the plane to auto pilot. "Why'd you do that if it makes you sick?"

"It's not supposed to anymore," the blond-haired teen sighed. The nausea had finally subsided, and he was once again sitting upright in his seat. "Dad seems to think it's all psychological, like a phobia, and that I'm bringing it on myself. The really crazy stuff still makes me sick, but it's been a while since I've actually thrown up. That's why I had the bag behind me."

Wiping the sweat from his face, John gave one last cough, decided he was finished, and proceeded to tie up the bag.

"That's gross," Alan commented, his blond hair whisking around the edges of the door. "Really gross."

"I need to get rid of this . . ." Still not ready to give up in his attempt to get back at his brothers, John casually tossed the tied up barf bag in Gordon's direction. "Here, chuck this for me."

"Gross!" Gordon yelled, catching the bag with one hand and holding it in front of him as though it were contaminated. "John!"

"That's my name," John laughed, glancing over at Virgil as if to threaten him too with a bag of vomit. "Don't wear it out."

Everything was ready for dinner by the time that Tracy One glided in gracefully onto the island runway. Scott had already arrived at home hours earlier, and between him and his father they had managed to work up quite a feast. Meanwhile, while they were cooking, James Wilson had dragged out the plates and silverware and had done an excellent job of setting the table.

Jeff was waiting to greet his children at the door. When they finally bounced up the stairs into the main dining area, he grabbed each of them in turn and wrapped them in a tight hug. Fermat, anxious to get to his own father, ran past the mess and into James' waiting arms.

"L-l-l-look at you," James smiled, rubbing his son on the head. "You've g-g-g-grown so much!"

"Not really," Fermat muttered, though he was so happy to see his father that he wasn't really up to arguing the point.

"Ahem." Everyone turned to look at Scott, who was resting his arms across the backrest of the head chair. "I think we're all ready to eat right about now."

"Maybe you're ready," Virgil laughed, "but we just got home. What if we want to talk to dad some more?" When Scott's face turned anxious, Virgil snorted and held up a hand. "Geeze, Scott, we're just joking. We're ready."

"Definitely," Gordon whispered as they moved to sit down. "Dad hasn't asked me about my report card yet."

"Lucky."

Once they were all seated, with Jeff at the head of the table and James and Fermat beside him, Jeff placed his hands on the plate in front of him and bowed his head. The rest of the boys followed suite.

"John," Jeff began, his voice unusually hoarse, "would you like to do the honours?"

It was not even out of favouritism that John was asked; he was the only one that was able to stay composed when doing the Christmas prayer. Simple courtesy forced Jeff to ask every year.

"Lord, let us remember the things that we have been given. Let us not dwell on that which we do not have, but look instead to the future and those things that we will come to us in time. Most of all," John's voice became barely a whisper, "let us remember that which we have lost, that was precious to us and will not be returned with the passage of time." He closed his eyes. "Let us give thanks."

Glancing around at the rest of his family, Virgil bowed his head and closed his eyes. Christmas was supposed to be a time of reflection for the family, yet he somehow always ended up looking further back than he was probably supposed to. He believed praying always sounded better if it were directed at a person rather than the air, and there was only one logical recipient. He wasn't an overly religious person, though of any of his brothers Virgil alone was open about his beliefs. He had stated it many times to them: it didn't matter to him whether or not his mother could hear him. To him it was the thought, the effort on his part to keep his mother involved in the family, that meant the most.

Hey Mom, it's been a while since I've talked to you. I guess that a lot's happened since last Christmas, but you probably already know it all. I broke up with Heather in June, things just weren't working out well between us. I keep telling myself that I won't be like Scott and John, but the older I get, the more I feel like I'm an adult in a teen world. Heather and I just didn't see eye to eye anymore.

The new school's been okay. I miss my friends, but this way I don't have to worry about helping around the house. And it's taken a load off of John's shoulders. I hate to see him cranky. It's just not like him.

Don't tell Dad - not like you can - but I'm thinking about going into engineering when I graduate. Weird, huh? All of the work that I've put into my art and music, and I've decided that tinkering with stuff is more fun. I found that out when Dad let me help him re-build the engine for Tracy One.

I'm actually considering asking dad if his engineer friend could take me on as an apprentice. I think I could apply for a practical education course, and they might let him teach me. It's worth a try, at least. I just don't want to spend four years hooked up in college - not like John. I want to do something now, and maybe that's the way. If I'm lucky, I'll prove good enough that maybe Dad would be willing to hire me on with the company.

Dad's really proud because I have my pilot's license. I think he's hoping that I'll try and join NASA like John wants to. It probably won't happen. I don't like space that much. I hope he's not too disappointed.

I guess that's it, Mom. Hope you're still watching us, and that you haven't got too tired or too mad at us yet.

Love you always.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable about the entire ordeal, Gordon submitted and bowed his head. He had always been told by his father to 'be honest', to reflect back on how the year had gone and what he had done. For Gordon, Christmas was a time of guilt when he was forced to silently admit everything that he had done wrong. There were happy moments for sure, but more often than not they were overshadowed by his memories of punishments and lectures. It for that reason, perhaps, that Gordon's thoughts inevitably turned to his mother. He could remember how much he and his brothers had confided in her when she was alive, and it seemed right that, if he had to confess to anyone, it should be to his mother.

Gordon snickered quietly but kept the full laugh to himself. His mother had always had a way with her children, using guilt against them to make them reveal their secrets to her. He still carried that feeling with him. It made him to do at Christmas what he would never dream of doing any other time of the year. He didn't care much for prayer – though he liked to think that his mother could hear him - but he understood how much Christmas meant to his father.

Some traditions had to be maintained, and some feelings were too strong to ever vanish completely.

Hey, it's that time of year again. Tired of watching us? Probably. I guess I've been giving everyone a lot of grief. This year, though, I'm trying to behave better. Dad told me last month that my behaviour 'wasn't appreciated'. And I got another 'lecture' earlier this year. I swear, Mom, John nearly killed me.

I never thought that I could do anything for our family, other than make everyone laugh. I guess I was wrong. Funny, huh, how everyone needs me to be serious for once. I wish you were here, Mom. I really need you. I'm not up to this. I'm just not ready.

I guess I can tell you this, because you won't be telling Dad. School isn't going so well. I'm really trying, just like you always said to, but it just isn't working. I'm just not good at it like John and Virgil. Even Alan has higher marks than me. What am I supposed to be good at? Dad wants me to do something with my life, but all I've done is fail my classes so far this year. I wish there were something I could do, something that I'm good at.

I won the regionals last month in swimming. I hope that you saw it. Swimming is kind of worthless to Dad in the long run, but it makes me feel good. I actually am good at something! The coach even said that I might have a shot at the Olympics in a few years!

Maybe I can become a lifeguard or something. I don't know if there are any jobs out there for scuba divers or not. I like doing that. Living on a tropical island has its perks.

Thanks for listening, mom. I don't want to tell anybody else. They think I think school is just a big game. They think I don't care. I'm just a disgrace to the family. But I'll keep trying, I promise.

See you, Mom.

Unsure of what to do, Alan bowed his head and tried to look as though he was busy. The rest of his family was already deep in thought, and he couldn't even think of anything to say. At least he had a starting point. The previous Christmas he had bothered Gordon about the prayer so much that the redhead had finally sat him down and explained it to him.

"The idea," Gordon had said, "is to try and figure out where you screwed up and fix it."

Alan had observed that his father had always told them to think of good things.

"I guess," Gordon had laughed, "or we'll all be awfully depressed after. Man, I always feel so guilty when I do mine."

"Who am I supposed to talk to?"

"I dunno." The redhead had shrugged then. "I talk to Mom. Guess it's habit, Al."

"She can't hear us."

"Yeah she can."

Alan shrugged mentally, and decided that he could at least try what Gordon had suggested. It was better than sitting around doing nothing.

This is so stupid. I don't know what to say. I don't even know if you can hear me. Gordon always tells me that you can, but he says lots of stuff that isn't true.

I guess school's been okay. There's this kid, Fermat, he follows me around a lot. We have lunch together. I can't have lunch with Virgil and Gordon anymore, their friends don't let me. I miss sitting with them. Fermat's okay, I guess.

I wish Dad would let me come home. It's not going to happen. I'm stuck at school forever. At least I have food. I hate bologna, but it's better than what Virgil and John cook. They tried to poison us all the time.

I wish you were here. Then I wouldn't be at a dumb school, and I could have a normal family. I don't want to be there. Dad thinks I'm stupid, he thinks that's why I get detention. I'm not stupid. I just want to be doing something else. Maybe if they would kick me out, then everything would go back to normal.

This isn't different from talking to Dad. He doesn't answer anyway. I don't know if he listens. It's all the same.

Bye, I guess.

It had started as a simple tradition many years ago, at the first supper that the Tracy children had spent without their mother. Scott could still remember bowing his head as he was now, praying to his mother for some form of guidance. At fourteen he had been old enough to know that there was going to be no answer, but the prayer had given him a time to express his feelings in a way that he had never been able to do around his family. As the oldest child, he had been looked to for strength and security. While others could cry and complain, he had not had that opportunity. In many ways he still did not.

So it happened that the only one he could truly confide in was his mother, at Christmas time, around the dinner table. She alone would not be affected by his personal hardship. In fact he felt an obligation to tell her how her family was doing, just as he had an obligation to that family itself. Scott smiled sadly, and began to look back on the previous year and all that had happened.

Christmas time already. Who'd have thought that this year would go by so fast? I thought it would never end. So much has been happening in this family that I thought we'd never make it to December in one piece. We have, though, and we're doing okay. I think that we are. It's like we are a family again, and not a bunch of strangers thrown into the same house. We're taking our problems in stride, dealing with them together, not individually like we were in June.

I don't know if you agree with what Dsad did. I don't know if you are mad at him for moving us all to the island. He could have left us at the house and still sent them to boarding school, though it would have kept the cobwebs lying around that I think we've finally brushed away. I guess maybe you could say that dad is uncaring, that he's thinking about something other than his kids, but I don't think so. He cares too much, that's his problem.

I hope we're making you proud, mom. What dad wants to do - I would give up a lot of things to help him out. Even if he made me help, without asking, I still would. I haven't told dad yet, but I'm quitting the air force. It just isn't my cup of tea. There's too much mindless shooting and not enough thought about what we're shooting at. Dad needs help getting everything off the ground, and I think his idea is better in the long run anyway.

I just wish I could tell everyone else what's going on. At least that way they'd know why dad did what he did, and they could choose to be mad at him or not. There'd be no more of this fog hanging around us that's still holding us back from the clear sailing ahead. Dad wants to tell them, but I won't let him. Neither way is really better. It's all a mess to begin with.

I'm glad that I can tell you this. I know you can keep a secret. Anyway, I hope you're all right where you are. I know that you are. And I'll try and keep everything going steady here on the ground. Don't worry, you can count on me. I'll watch over Dad for you.

I'll make you proud.

The words from the prayer were barely out of his mouth when John lowered his head and closed his eyes. For him, Christmas was a special time when he could do the one thing that he always wanted to do without guilt or fear of being laughed at. He could speak to his mother.

In many ways that aspect of Christmas was present all year, every moment and every time that he thought about his mother or whispered her name under his breath.

But yet, he insisted, it was still different. Emotions were raw around Christmas, as were memories that were too painful to be thought about. But he did anyway. With the memories came the fading images of his mother, her warm smile, her rolling laugh so much like Gordon's, and her tight embrace that he had felt so often as a child on his shoulders.

Easter was always supposed to be the time of renewal, John thought sadly. But it was Christmas that allowed him to remember the one thing that was beginning to slip away from him. He couldn't let it go. As much as he had to be thankful for, to treasure and still hold onto, he could not let his mother disappear. She meant to much to him to ever allow him to forget.

Throwing all other thoughts aside, John let his mind drift to the past and prepared to accept what he knew would come next.

Hi, Mom. It's me again. It's funny how when Christmas rolls around, I realize that another year has gone by without you. I know that I say this every year, but I really do miss you. I know that you're gone, that you can't answer me, and that you may not even be able to hear me . . . but it doesn't matter.

Things are finally looking like they're settling down. Poor Gordon and Virgil. They had some hard times over the summer, trying to adjust to the move. I feel just horrible that what happened . . . happened. They did what they did so that I could continue on with my schooling. It's weird, because now that I'm set to take my test in two years, I'm not really excited. It's something that I want to do, yet no matter what I say to myself it doesn't feel that fulfilling to me.

Maybe it's because I was doing the greatest good helping out my brothers, staying at home and cooking for them and taking care of them. I feel like I'm being a horrible brother to them now. They've had to give up a portion of their lives for me, and it just doesn't seem right. But I can't just sit at home forever. I have to get out and do something!

And a part of me is mad at Scott, because he ran off and got himself a job. I hate being angry with Scott. I'm doing the exact same thing that he is, and I understand more than ever why Gordon and Virgil were mad at me. I'm being hypocritical.

I know that you can't help me with this. I have to figure this out on my own. I just wanted you to know what's going on, in case you're wondering. Dad is so happy about the NASA offer. He's excited that one of his sons is finally going to follow in his footsteps.

And I have my pilot's license! Can you believe that? I never thought it would be possible. I just hope that it's enough. I'm really worried that I won't pass the space-worthy test, and that I'll be shunted to some desk job somewhere. I suppose that'd be all right, but the chance to be able to see the stars up in space . . .

I know, you're probably smiling at me and shaking your head. I should get my head out of the stars and back down to Earth. I guess I'll just let it all play out and see what happens, Mom. I hope that everything straightens out, and that everyone finally finds their place.

I just wish that I could do something more to help. Or maybe I'm worrying about something stupid - maybe they're stronger than I am, and they'll pull through on their own.

I hope so.

I promise, Mom, I'll make you proud. I may have stumbled a bit since . . . you died, but I haven't stayed down. I won't give up. If I can do anything with my life, I will. I don't know if NASA is truly the answer, but it's a start. Hope it's good enough for you.

Over and out.

"Grace." Jeff's hoarse voice awakened everyone from their thoughts. The boys opened their eyes, to see tears running down his face. "Let's eat."

No one spoke while the food was being passed around. No one asked Jeff Tracy what he had been thinking, or why he was crying. No one had to. The tears on the faces of all of the children were enough explanation in itself.

Even Fermat and James Wilson looked distinctly wet-eyed, as if they too had been fighting with some sort of inner dilemma.

Finally, the meal having been distributed, Jeff cleared his throat and looked around at his boys. "I know that this year hasn't been easy." He glanced quickly at Virgil and Gordon, checking to see if they were all right. "You've got through some hard times that would have finished off most people your age. And you're not boys, anymore. You're young men that have taken on the problems of people twice your age and you haven't fallen. You have done me proud."

Blushing at his father's words, Gordon looked down at his plate as if he were embarrassed about something.

"I just want you all to know that no matter what happens, we're still a family, and we'll always be there for each other."

"That's right." Scott had set down his silverware, and was also looking across the table at his brothers. "So no more of this bickering, or fighting, or hiding things from each other. We never used to be that way, and we shouldn't be now."

Instead of arguing, Alan, Gordon, and Virgil looked at each other, sighed, then nodded.

"I guess."

"Scott's right."

"Yeah."

John, his eyes looking elsewhere, nodded absently and reached a hand to brush back a lock of hair from his eyes. "Things aren't going to become easier. We have to make do with what we have." His eyes finally cleared, and a tiny smile creased the corners of his lips. "That's what this meal is all about; to give thanks, and to remember what we do have."

"Please don't go sappy on us," Gordon mumbled, "I don't think I can take it."

"I don't have to say it," John replied, "you know what I'm talking about. So let's forget about this all for now, and get to eating this food. We're family. That's the end of it."

"A-a-a-and me too?" Fermat asked from the other side of the table.

"Of course." Jeff smiled, and placed his hand on Fermat's shoulder. "You and your father are always welcome at my home."

"What are we waiting for?" Fed up with staring at his plate and not being able to eat, Scott was anxious to dig in. "I am so hungry, and I had to spend all afternoon cooking this food without being able to eat any of it."

"Too bad for you," Gordon laughed, taking pleasure in popping a carrot into his mouth. "It tastes so good, too."

Laughing along, the rest of the Tracy family reached for their forks.

"Merry Christmas, boys."

A/N: Well, this was supposed to be posted for Christmas. :P A bit late, mind you, but it's posted all the same. I hope no one minded too much that I included prayer into the scene. I've always thought that a very traditional family like the Tracy's would be familiar with that sort of thing. :)

Anywho, reviews! Look, there's more of them again. ;) (Gosh, I'm greedy . . .)

Thank you everyone who took the time out to review the last two chapters!

Marblez – Don't worry 'bout it. I had that problem when I wanted to post something else. :S I'm glad to have you reading, though! :) (Any sign of a new chapter on A Tracy Childhood? Tease tease.)

thunderbirdgirl – Yeah, my little brother's like that. It's always about food and video games. :) Hey, if you want someone to look over your story when you think it's ready, just give me a shout. I'd be glad to help. :)

zeilfanaat – It's just in some of the episodes, not all. But the ones that stand out for me are . . . For Gordon and Virgil – the episode where Tintin is out with that Eddie guy and they're roasting Alan about it. A lot of my G/V stuff is derived directly from that. For Scott and John – the two episodes that I can think of when he's downside, notably the one where Tintin and Brains go treasure hunting, and the (lovely!) episode where John goes on a rescue to the tanker. Whispers Don't listen to Ariel, she's being a tease. ;) I'm glad to see that you're so into the story, though.

miz greenleaf – It'd hard not to like Fermat. ;) He was so little-kid-adorable in the film. Thanks for your reivew!

Ariel D – Are you flaunting your unfair advantage? ;) Shame. You can flaunt it even more once you read Ch. 14 and 15.

Devlinn Reiko-sama – Hey, you're at Waterloo? I went there for a physics summer school two summers ago! :D Lovely country around there. There was one restaurant in Waterloo that I was particularly fond of, some sort of Bistro in the downtown area. Anyway . . . ;) Fermat was on our math final . . . it was very easy to remember. ;)

Anywho, the next chapter will be a little short 'teaser chapter' entitled "Conspirator's Unite". Hmm, wonder who that could be?

FAB!