DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Thunderbirds, and no profit is intended to be made from this story. It is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended, and none should be inferred.

In the Know
December 2017

The warm currents of the Pacific Ocean drifted about Tracy Island, keeping the land heated even during the cool winter months of North America. Palm trees swayed slowly in the light breeze, growing under the harsh glare of a tropical sun.

Stretched out upon a beach blanket, Gordon Tracy raised his hands in the air and gave a long yawn. "This is so the way to spend Christmas holidays." Ginger locks trailed across his forehead, having been pushed there by the gentle southern winds.

Lying beside him on his own blanket, Virgil Tracy nodded and folded his hands behind his head. "Yeah. I'm not much for the snow that they're getting back home right now." The words escaped Virgil's mouth before he even considered them. No matter how much he tried to convince himself, the island still didn't quite seem like home.

Rolling over, Gordon extended his arms above his head and buried his face in the cloth. "I'm thinking I can get a good tan here," he mumbled through the blanket. "What about you?"

"Just make sure you have enough lotion on," Virgil responded, deciding that the beach was a good a place as any to finish his book. He reached over to the side and picked the pocket novel up in his hand. "You know what happened last time."

"I was young and stupid then."

Virgil raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. "That was two years ago. And you are what now?"

Gordon's body shook slightly as he laughed. "Possibly old and stupid, but what would that make you?"

"Ancient and senile, apparently." A laugh escaped Virgil's mouth. "Fifteen makes you old?"

Not responding immediately, Gordon took a long time to think his answer through. "Well," he began, "when Scott was fourteen, I considered him to be an adult. I thought he was kind of old. And since I don't like to act like an adult, and I have been recently, I think that makes me definitely old, considering that I'm fifteen."

Finding the entire conversation amusing, Virgil chuckled and flipped to the next page in his book. "Suit yourself."

"Absolutely. I prefer this swimsuit to anything else."

An hour passed before either Virgil or Gordon said anymore. During that time, Gordon simply lay stomach down on the blanket, trying to do something other than burn in the sun.

Virgil had been completely absorbed in his book and had not even noticed that an hour had gone by. Having finally finished his book, he turned to look at his brother, only to discover that Gordon was beginning to turn a rather loud shade of crimson.

"You're starting to fry, Gord."

A loud snore was Gordon's response.

Shaking his head in dismay, Virgil grabbed a stick that was lying nearby on the beach. He prodded Gordon in the side, then groaned when his brother didn't respond. "Gordon, you are a lazy bum." When Gordon didn't answer again, Virgil truly began to worry. "Gordon, wake up. I think you're getting burned."

Finally acknowledging his brother, Gordon moaned then tried to roll over. He managed to turn over halfway, stopping and groaning when his back touched the ground.

"Why didn't you wake me up!"

Virgil's mouth opened and closed several times. "Oh, never mind." He sighed, and helped his brother to his feet, making sure not to touch Gordon's tender back. "Looks like you missed a spot."

Gordon's face crinkled in pain. "You don't have to tell me."

"Come on." A quick sweep of his hand had the blankets lying across Virgil's arm. "There's water back at the house, and I think there might be some ointment somewhere around as well."

Watching Virgil and Gordon mess through the fridge, Alan thought the entire situation to be rather humorous. "I can't believe you forgot to use sun-tan lotion," he laughed, leaning against the door-jam to the room. "Only an idiot would do that."

A pair of irritated sounding mumbles drifted from the fridge.

"Huh?"

Pulling his head from the door angrily, Gordon turned to stare at his brother. "I called you a mouthy little brat. In case you didn't hear."

Alan made a face but continued to chuckle at his brother.

"Found it." Virgil gave a hard tug and pulled a container of ice down from the top freezer. "There should be enough here."

The ginger-haired Tracy sighed in relief, and went over to the couch to lie down. He flopped himself onto the cushions stomach first, so that his reddened back was exposed to the air. "Please pour it on now."

Unsure of whether it was a good idea, Virgil hesitated. "I don't know . . ."

"Just get some cloth first," Gordon directed airily, "then put the ice on. Virg, I have a degree in first aid. It came with the swimming class. You know that!"

"Oh, I know," Virgil muttered, moving to drape a blanket across Gordon. "But after the suntan lotion mishap, I don't know whether I should trust you in the first place." The blanket in place, he took the ice container, opened it, and poured the contents onto Gordon. "Besides, I think you really are suffering from heat-stroke. And I'm sure that you're not supposed to put ice on burns, now that I think about it."

Gordon's eyes went wide as the ice thudded onto his peeling skin. Even with the blanket, the pain was still searing. "Owwww!"

"Serves you right." Virgil replaced the container in the freezer, after filling it full again with water. "Next time you'll be more careful. And drink some water too."

Alan snickered and pointed a finger at his brother. "Ha ha. Gordon's not saying much now, is he?"

Raising an eyebrow, Virgil turned, grabbed Alan by the shirt, and began to drag him from the room.

"Hey!" protested the younger Tracy. "What are you doing?"

"You're coming with me," Virgil muttered dryly. "You're going to help me find medicated cream."

"Oh." Alan rolled his eyes as he threw Virgil's hand from his shirt. "Joy."

"You'd think Dad would have some somewhere," Virgil sighed, re-checking the medicine cabinet for what had to be the fifth time. "Gordon's not the first one to burn his back. I know Dad carries burn ointment with him when he goes outside."

"If it's with him, we're screwed," Alan shot back, having quickly searched the utility closet in the hall. "He's out with Scott and Brains, and they're not going to be back until later."

The nickname that Alan used caught Virgil by surprise. "Huh?"

"Oh, that." Alan shrugged, and tried to look at though he was busy searching for ointment. "Just a joke with me and Fermat."

"Brains?" Virgil rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then gave his brother an appraising look. "Brains? Are you sure that's polite?"

"Sure," Alan replied, "it's a compliment! I mean, he's smart, isn't he? It sounds cooler than James or Mr. Wilson anyway."

Still not completely assured, Virgil simply shrugged and pointed back at the door. "Whatever. You can catch heck from Dad for it later. Right now we need to find that cream. By the way," he raised an eyebrow, "where is Fermat?"

"Reading Einstein." Alan's voice was so deadpan that Virgil couldn't tell if he were joking or not.

"Whatever," Virgil repeated with a sigh, directing Alan subtly with his hand towards the upper half of the house. "Let's check the rooms upstairs. Maybe we'll find something there."

"We can't go in there!" Virgil hissed, grabbing Alan as the younger boy moved to open a securely latched door. "That's Dad's office. We're not supposed to go in there."

"Come on, Virg," Alan replied coolly, pushing his brother away from him. "Seriously, what are we going to do, steal his files? We're his sons."

Virgil looked worried. "I don't know about this."

"Gordon needs that cream," Alan responded emphatically. A quick flick of his wrist had the door open. "Besides, I want to see what's inside."

"That's what I was afraid of." Following his brother into the study, Virgil was surprised to see a distinct lack of . . . nearly anything in the room.

A large mahogany desk sprawled out in the center of a vast study, open to the sky on one side by large picture windows. Filing cabinets lined the walls, but only a few scarce papers - most of them blank - actually lay out on the desk.

"Neat freak, isn't he?"

Virgil laughed and punched his brother playfully in the arm. "Dad always likes to say that you're like Mom, not him. She must have had a horribly messy room when she was your age."

The two spread out and quickly surveyed the room. It didn't take long for them both to discover that there was not much in the way of medicine lying around.

"Where is it?" Virgil was about to tell Alan that it was time to leave, when his hand brushed lightly against a protrusion in the back wall. Curious, he turned around, bent down, and studied carefully the door handle that extended from the white plaster. "Weird."

"Huh?" Alan walked over, saw the handle, then crinkled his nose in confusion. "There never used to be a door in here. I remember; Dad used to take me in here when I was really little."

"It looks new." Gently, so as not to disturb anything else, Virgil took the handle in two of his fingers. A light tug snapped the handle forward, revealing a crack-line in the wall that formed the outline of a door. "There is a door here."

The two boys looked at each other for a long moment, confusion evident on both of their faces. It was not normal for their father to hide things from them, and the presence of the mysterious door suggested just that.

"Do we go in?"

"No." The words jumped from Virgil's mouth. "No, we go find John."

"Hmm." Studying the door carefully, John shook his head, a motion that sent his blond locks falling into his eyes. "This is really weird."

Behind him, Virgil and Alan both nodded in agreement. "We thought maybe you'd know about it," Virgil sighed, throwing his arms up in the air. "Now we've got a mysterious door, a brother with sun-stroke, and no lotion."

"We've got a mess," Alan summarised, shooting his brother a superior look. "A big mess."

"If you needed lotion you just needed to ask me," John muttered absently, reaching into his shirt pocket with his left hand. He pulled out a long thin bottle of ointment, and tossed it in Alan's general direction. "I burn something horrible; it seems to run in the family. Alan, why don't you take it to Gordon."

When Alan began to once again make a face, Virgil laughed and gave his brother a gentle push in the direction of the door. "We'll wait for you, don't worry."

"You always make me do things," Alan muttered darkly as he left the room, "and you'd better not go without me."

John shook his head, and continued to stare in curiosity at the wall. "Don't worry, we're not going anywhere yet. Truth be told," he turned to face Virgil, "I'm almost scared to open it. Who knows what's back there?"

"Dad does," Virgil responded immediately, his face placid. "Alan's right - I don't ever remember him having another room connected to his study. This must be something new, and it must be something important."

"It must be work." John squinted and tried to see through the hair-thin crack in the plaster. "Maybe it's something top-secret."

"I don't know about that," Virgil replied, walking over to have a look himself. "If it was something top-secret and it was actual mechanical stuff, it would be at the compound. If it was paperwork, it'd be in his desk."

John didn't want to admit it, but he was beginning to agree with Virgil. It wasn't like Jeff Tracy to keep secrets from his sons. He would have mentioned if he was keeping work material at the island, just like he always did over lunch. Jeff trusted his sons explicitly, more than anyone else in the world.

Decided, John stood up and took the handle in his hands. The steel was warm to touch, which made John wonder if perhaps there was some sort of power grid running behind the wall.

"Do we go?"

"Yeah." John nodded, trying to maintain a calm air about him even though he was in truth quite scared of whatever it was that lay behind the door.

Leaning over John's shoulders so that they could see, Alan and Virgil peered down a long and winding corridor that seemed to progressively fall into the side of the island itself. John braced himself in the doorway, his hands pressed against the warm steel arch that separated the world of the study from the world of the gloom beyond.

The three of them, Virgil in swim trunks, Alan still decked out in his sleeping boxers and shirt, and John dressed in a snappy work shirt and pants, made quite the scene.

Silently, John fumbled about in his shirt pocket until he found a small utility flashlight on the end of a long cord. He flipped it on and directed the beam about the hallway. The light cut straight through the gloom, uninterrupted by dust or other particles. There was no visible end to the hallway.

"This is too clean to be an older hallway," he muttered, unsure of why he was bothering to be quiet. "There would be dust and mildew if it were an older passage."

Nodding, Virgil reached out a hand to rub the smoothed wall of the corridor. "These are pretty smooth."

"Laser cut," John confirmed, feeling the rock with the palm of his hand. "I think it's granite."

Carefully, as if testing for some hidden menace, John reached out his foot and laid it on the stone. When nothing jumped out at him, he relaxed visibly and began to walk down the long passageway. Virgil trailed closely behind him, his eyes just peaking over John's shoulder.

"This is like Indiana Jones," Alan offered, following his brothers happily into the darkness. "Like in the Temple of Doom, when the rock falls from the roof-"

"If this were like that," John snapped sharply, turning to glare at his brother, "then I would be pancaking on the floor. Don't even suggest making me run."

"That's what you get working at a desk. What happened to being in shape? You were a couple of months ago."

John snorted in an irritated manner, and continued down the hallway. "Shush."

"Indiana Jones works at a desk, and he can run."

"Alan, you're not helping me any." John shook his head, stopped, then turned to face Alan again. "Know what? Indiana Jones is made up, fictitious. He doesn't exist. He's like a super hero - he can do whatever he wants."

A laugh escaped Virgil's mouth, echoing over and over again down the hallway. "I can just picture John in tights."

"Ha ha!" Ignoring John's frustrated glares Alan began to howl in amusement. "What would his name be?"

Virgil arched a thoughtful eyebrow. "Hmm."

"Indiana John!"

"Alan!"

"GI John!"

"Virgil!"

"Little John, man in tights!" The pair offered the last one in unison.

"STOP IT!"

John's last comment fell oddly silent, as did the group. His words had suddenly amplified to twice their normal volume, echoing huge amounts compared to what had happened earlier. Unsure of what caused the sudden change in acoustics John waved his flashlight in an arc above his head, noting the sudden expanse of space.

Girders flashed at him from a height that he could only guess at, while stalactites jumped out from the sides of unfinished walls. The air was warm, but for the inside of a mountain it was quite obviously air-conditioned. The soft whirring of a power plant confirmed John's initial hunches of a power grid.

"There must be a light-switch somewhere," he muttered, waving the flashlight around. The beam bounced off what appeared to be boxes and steel beams, until it came to a stop on a solid wall of rock. Carefully, so as not to trip, John made his way through the mess until he could lay his hand against a wide metal panel. He caught a metal protrusion in his hand, and gave it a gentle prod.

The lights came on instantly, emitting from high-power beams from what appeared to be large LCD panels built directly into the roof.

"Holy crap."

John didn't even bother to correct Alan's profanity. The outburst from the youngest Tracy pretty much summed up everything that John felt upon seeing what the room actually looked like.

A huge sprawling cavern stretched before them, reaching from the tiny doorway all the way to what appeared to be an underground river system on the far side of the opening. Massive beams supported the ceiling, and miles worth of cable stretched and connected into almost every piece of metal. The entire room glowed with a surreal light, as though it had been crafted out of some miraculous material that was made with stardust.

Finally finding his voice, John shook his head and continued to stare in awe at the spectacle. "What is he doing down here?"

Virgil, his expression also awe-struck, simply shrugged. He reached over and picked up a piece of machinery from the nearest work bench, flipping it over and over in his hands, trying to figure out what it was. "Making stuff. At least it looks that way."

"These boxes are from work." Pointing at a large, securely packed steel crate, Alan flipped a piece of hair from his eyes and attempted to peer past the lid. "There's just more parts in here."

"Tracy Industries," Virgil confirmed, tracing a finger along the part that he held, where the name of the company was etched directly into the steel.

"This must have cost a fortune," John decided, taking a mental tally of all of the packaging in the room. "There are at least a hundred crates here, all big enough to carry a car engine or more."

"There's more over here," Alan called, having walked over to what appeared to be an outcropping in the rock. "Shit."

"Alan! I don't know where you're picking this stuff up, but it stops right now." Giving his brother a disciplinary glare, John walked over and peered around the corner himself. He nearly caught the expletive before it left his mouth. Almost. "Shit is right."

At least a thousand boxes of different sizes lay in what appeared to be a sunken bunker. Row upon row, stacked end upon end, they filled the entire sub-cavern. Many of them were cracked open, most of them were untouched, but a few of them were strewn about the ground near the entrance, as though someone had half-dragged them into the main room.

"Now I know where Dad has been going with the plane," Virgil offered dryly from beside John. "He's been carting this stuff back and forth from the factory."

A very large thought hit John smack in the face at that moment. "Geeze," he whispered, turning to Virgil, "I'll bet that Scott knows about this."

Virgil's eyes went wide in surprise, and in what seemed to be irritation. "I'll bet that he does too."

"Why didn't they tell us?" Alan asked, poking at finger at the nearest crate. "I mean, I don't even get why this is all down here."

A long sigh escaped John's lips, and he leaned carefully against the granite wall. "Listen," he began, "I don't know what Dad is doing either. I'll wager a guess, though, that Scott and James Wilson are involved. Whatever it is, they aren't telling us kids about it because they don't want anyone else to find out."

"Why not you, though?" Virgil asked quizzically. "I mean, okay, I could see maybe not telling Gordon and Alan and I, but who are you going to tell? You're not exactly a kid, John."

"The less people that know about something the better," the older Tracy responded, gazing about, still slightly shocked at the massive size of the entire underground facility. "I don't know what he's doing. But he doesn't want anyone to know about it."

"That's why we're here."

The three boys twirled around, only to find Gordon standing at the entrance to the cavern, supporting himself heavily against the steel beam. His face was pale, but there was no longer sweat pouring down his face from fever.

"Don't you get it?" He walked over to his brothers, took a look in the storage bay, and shook his head. "If he's trying to do something secret, he couldn't do it at work, or at our house. It's why we moved. I knew there was something screwed up from the start. He lied to us."

"Maybe it is for work, Gordon. Maybe it's some sort of project. That could be why James is always over here."

"Maybe, John." Gordon gave a short laugh, though there was no happiness in the tone. The words were bitter, forced out between his teeth and clenched jaw. "So once again, Dad put work ahead of us. But hell, what else is new? He's always done that. Why would things be any different now?"

John opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he realised that he didn't have anything concrete to say. He didn't have to, though.

"Gordon," Virgil said quietly, "we would have moved schools anyway. I don't think he did that for selfish reasons - he really did want to help us."

"Not me," Alan muttered, too quiet for his brothers to hear.

Virgil's voice was enough to clear up Gordon's mind. Of any of the Tracy brothers, Virgil's opinions seemed to carry the most weight. Between that, and the shock of finding the underground cavern, Gordon didn't look as though he wanted to argue the point any further. "I guess." Throwing his hands up in the air, Gordon turned around and gave the cavern a quick looking at. "Geeze, there's a lot of stuff here. What the heck is this place?"

"That's what we've been trying to figure out," Virgil replied evenly, "before you came down and started trying to fight with us."

Gordon's expression turned apologetic. "Sorry. It's just hard when Dad seems to be working behind ours backs."

"You've got a sunburn," John explained, "they make people irritable when they have them. I know; I get horribly moody when I burn."

"He's like a red version of the Hulk," Virgil added jokingly, though his voice was warm. "Watch out, John's on the loose."

"Ha ha." Gordon's eyes suddenly locked on something in the distance. "Is there another way out of here?"

"Why?"

Pointing towards a large sheet of metal on the far wall, Gordon turned to face John. "That looks like an exit of some sort."

"It looks like a hanger door," Virgil explained, squinting so he could see. "It's like the one where we keep Tracy One, only bigger. Cripes, this place just keeps getting bigger and bigger!"

"I'll bet the Tracy One hanger and this cavern are connected," John thought out-loud, "it would make sense. The door would be over by the river system somewhere."

As the four boys tromped over to the bay door, Virgil rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "I am horrified. How many hours have I spent in that dinky little hanger fixing that dinky little plane, when he has this monstrosity of a bay already built down here?"

The hanger, which it clearly was when viewed from a closer distance, was unlike anything that any of them had ever seen before. The gigantic door stretched a good hundred feet at least towards the ceiling, and a plain number, one, was etched and painted onto the steel so that it cut across the opening point.

"One," Virgil muttered quietly to no one in particular. "I wonder if there are other hangers somewhere."

Not hearing Virgil's words, John was busy looking over a complicated instrument panel built directly into the wall. "There must be an open switch here. It looks like the power supply feeds directly into the drive for the door." He flipped a switch, only to have all of the lights go out in the entire bay.

"John!" A chorus of voices cried out in unison.

"Guess not." The lights came back on. "Maybe this one." He jumped backwards as the doors began to open. The movement was noiseless, as though they were running on a frictionless surface.

Once the doors were half-opened, a set of roof set spotlights flipped on, bathing the next chamber in a deep blue glow. Virgil, Gordon and Alan nearly fell over when they finally laid eyes on what stood in the chamber.

"A much better guess," John muttered, turning to face his brothers. "So, what's up? More storage containers? Mini-airplanes?"

Virgil's mouth opened and closed several times, his face strangely white. "Airplane," he finally choked out, "a very big airplane."

Before the four boys lay an immense rocket bunker, built of concrete and stone into the very floor of the hanger itself. The center of the floor bunker was carved out, leaving a large gaping hole where exhaust could escape during takeoff. The craft was tall and metallic, with wings that were folded delicately into its sides, and the tip of the ship reflected an odd auburn colour onto the walls of the silo.

"Rocket," Alan corrected, gazing up in wonder at the apparently finished ship that lay in front of him. "Look at the huge engines. This is so sweet! It's like on TV. Maybe Dad's a spy or something and gets to fly in his own rocket ship!"

Virgil nodded dumbly in response, still too shocked to say anything in response. None of the boys argued the point, for the presence of the ship itself was more farfetched than any story of spies that Alan could weave. They all understood quite well their father's profession, and though he often spoke of supplying rocket parts to companies like NASA, he had never mentioned owning a ship of his own.

"You'd never see something like this on TV. It's a scramjet," John explained, his own voice awe-struck, "with some sort of conventional rocket engine built in. I've never seen anything like this except in conceptual drawings. I don't even think the military has something like this. I know we sure as heck don't at NASA." He took another look at the ship and absently shook his head. "Damn. What the hell is he doing down here?"

Even Gordon looked extremely impressed, though he was not generally one to care about anything related to machinery or engineering. "Yeah. No wonder we haven't seen Dad for the last few years." He walked forward into the chamber, tilting his head up so that he could see to the top of the silo. "This thing is a monster. What the hell does he need it for?"

"He's a spy," Alan repeated, drawing a dark glare from Gordon.

"Dad? A spy? Seriously, Alan, think about it. If Dad is a spy, then I'm Flash Gordon. Just wait. When Dad comes back tonight I'll make him tell you." The redhead turned towards his older brother and raised an eyebrow. "Right, John? John?"

"Ah." John came up from behind Virgil and Alan, and made his way to a long workbench that was set up beside a fifty-foot tall work ladder. "That explains much."

"Huh?"

Picking up something from the table, John gave his brother a half-amused grin. "Here, you can use this." He tossed something at Gordon, which the ginger-haired teen caught easily.

"Oh, man," Gordon muttered, his own face becoming slightly jovial. "They must have been doing welding down here. That explains why they needed the cream."

"Welding?" Virgil looked shocked at the idea. "Dad, maybe, but are we implying that Scott has been involved? I don't think he even knows what a wrench is." He shook his head, muttering in dismay, "welding. Welding. No wonder they needed the cream."

"I wonder what it's made of," Alan wondered, walking up to the ship. "It must have taken them forever to put it together if they're getting it in those little boxes!"

His senses suddenly jumping, John reached over and tried to grab hold of Alan. "Hey, wait a minute." Stories of top-secret organisations and their penchant for security raced through his mind. "Alan!"

A soft ringing noise sounded just as Alan's hand made contact with the craft. "Crap."

The four boys turned to look at each other as the entire cavern burst into the noise of sirens and the flashing of strobe lights. Without warning, the strong overhead lights of the silo flipped off, and the doors slammed closed. The strobes faded out, to be replaced with a dull blue glow that seemed to emanate from the craft itself. Too shocked to move, the boys didn't find the time to leave the silo before the launch cylinder sealed.

A loud and resounding boom echoed through the room as the magnetic latch locked the blast doors.

"We are so screwed."

No one bothered to add anything to Gordon's one-liner.

A/N: Cliffhanger! Ah, how I do love cliffhangers. :) I am so evil sometimes. Thank you, once again, to Ariel D for beta reading this for me! Thanks for fending off the comma monster. ;)

Reviews! Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter:

Leap of Fate – Hey, glad to hear from you again! It's good to hear that you're enjoying the story. Now, about Virgil . . . he will be in the story more later on, but I'm currently about half-way finished writing a short story that's just about him and Gordon. Chronologically, it happens right before this chapter, so it should fit in nicely. :)

Marblez – I know, I honestly wanted him to be one too. :P It just didn't want to happen . . .

Ariel D – I know that I'm doing something right if you like it. :D Thank you.

ladc – Absolutely, he'd better make it up there sometime. ;) On a side note, I remember reading that Scott went through the same thing when he applied for the air force, because of the time that Jeff had spent working there in his younger years.

thunderbirdgirl – I love reading multiple chapters at once – more bang for the buck:D

zeilfanaat – Naw, it couldn't be those. ;) Side note: I love Cry Wolf, especially the part at the end when Scott ends up in the barn. My sis and I have tossed around the idea of making a t-shirt that has TV John on the front (looking really happy) with the words "You little buggers! If you call this station again I'm going to kick your sorry little asses!" and the little kids on the back screaming, "Ahhh!". I have the weirdest sense of humor.

andrewjameswilliams – And he was offered a pretty nice job. I mean, they could have made him the janitor:o

miz greenleaf – As I mentioned above, Virgil does get a short story, and Scott comes into it more later on. Just look out for the chapters with Penelope. ;)

Assena – Nah, I had no idea that you liked Gordy. ;) Actually, he's been growing on me ever since I started writing this story. I didn't like him much at first, but I really enjoy writing him now.

Okay, I'd like to make the answer to your next question a little bit more noticeable in case anyone else is curious.

Why did I name Brains "James Wilson"? Two reasons:

I wanted to make the nickname something special that was given to him by the boys. After reading this chapter you'll have seen why, which makes this a/n a little bit late in the coming. ;) I thought it worked into the story better this way, and helped to solidify the relationship between Brains and the Tracy family. It's like his letter of acceptance into the boys' club.

I found that calling him Brains – especially at the beginning – made him more of a mysterious enigma figure than I liked. I'm trying to avoid making any of the characters seem superhuman, and by giving him a normal birth name it helped me to make Brains seem a lot more like a normal guy that just happens to be brilliant on the aside. :D I've found out now that he does have an 'official' cannon name other than Hiram Hackenbacker. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. ;) If I had the chance I'd give him a name that doesn't start with J. There are too many of those running around . . .

Catch next chapter, "Lucy's Thunderbirds", for the conclusion of this little two-part saga. (Don't worry, it's not the end of the story.)

FAB!