Dislcaimer: Thunderbirds is the property of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, as well as Carlton and Universal. 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. The short reference to Star Trek is not claimed copyright either, and is owned by its respected owner.

Yes, M'lady
April 2018

The city of London, capital of Great Britain and home to the greatest tea that Scott Tracy had ever tasted, was burning. Or, to be more precise, the department building in the downtown district was burning. The old four-story shack had caught fire in the early hours of the morning, and the blaze had quickly spread to three neighbouring buildings before the fire department had arrived.

Surveying the scene from a safe distance, Scott leaned carefully on the portable computer from Thunderbird One, his brows furrowed in confusion. He tapped absently at the metal control box, thanking his father silently for sending the object along in the first place. The portable computer, 'Mobile Control' as Brains called it, provided him greater communications access with Thunderbird Five, and a place on ground to actually carry out computations.

In effect, he could co-ordinate the entire rescue operation from the site itself, rather than being forced to spend an exorbitant amount of time in his ship. It freed him up to do work directly at the rescue site, something that Scott appreciated more than anything. Even if he wasn't always involved with the actual rescue, being able to see what was going on eased his heart.

Making up his mind, Scott reached over and flicked a switch on the computer. "Virgil, how're you coming?"

"Just fine." The younger man's voice came clearly over the comm system, filled with a hint of excitement. "The crews are getting everything under control."

It was not routine for Virgil to be sitting in on a mission, especially with his schooling still unfinished. And it was unusual for spring break to be so late into the month, but circumstances that Scott didn't fully understand had forced the school to let out later than expected. But, as their father had noted when the rescue call had come in, spring break was spring break, and Virgil was showing no signs of easing up on his studies.

June would come soon enough, but it had happened that Virgil's first mission had come a great deal earlier then that. He was now on his third, and the ease with which he had settled into the role of pilot of Thunderbird Two still surprised Scott; the young man had obviously been practising in the simulator during his free time at home. He honestly wondered how they would handle without the extra hands when it came time for Virgil to go back to school for the last few months of the academic year.

"How's Dad?"

"Fine. Firefly is working like a charm."

Firefly was another product of Brain's imagination, one that Brains and Scott's father had managed to build in a few short weeks after conception. The machine, in essence a large bulldozer fitted with a fire-fighting spray and heat-resistant coating, had proved absolutely integral to International Rescue operations. Virgil had even lent a hand in the building when he had arrived home from school.

Scott smiled at the thought of Virgil hunched over the hulking frame of Firefly, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he welded the parts together. As much as Virgil claimed to enjoy his music and art, there was no doubting his passion for engineering. There was no doubting his skill in the trade either.

The strong voice of his father shook Scott from his reverie. "Scott, are you worried about your old man?"

"Of course not," Scott laughed, only half-joking. "We know that you're smart enough to turn tail if things get too hot."

"Scott, sometimes I wonder-"

The older man's voice was cut off suddenly. The sound of cracking plaster instead filled the comm, and a quick snap of Scott's head had him facing the building just in time to see an entire side wall come tumbling to the ground. A cloud of smoke went up in the air, and flames from the inside jumped high towards the sky.

"Dad, are you okay!" Scott choked, waving his hand in an attempt to clear the air. "Dad?"

"He's fine," a calm and collected voice put in. The cool tones of John Tracy were unmistakable. "I've still got a lock on his vitals. Heart rate's up a bit."

"No wonder," Scott murmured, shaking his head in relief. "Is he stuck?"

"I can see him," Virgil jumped in, his voice relieved also. "Firefly's pulling out from the rubble. Looks a little scratched up, but otherwise it's in one piece."

"That was a warm reception," their father finally joked over the comm system. The humour in his words was not able to disguise the worry that was in his voice. "Too close for comfort."

"You should let one of us do that next time," Virgil said quietly, "just in case. We wouldn't want to lose our commander."

John's patient snort resounded from the speaker. "You guys had better learn to calm down, or you might both drop from heart attacks. Virg, do you have any idea what your vitals looked like twenty seconds ago? You were worrying me!"

"We could remove the monitors," Scott argued, busily cueing some data into Mobile Control to be analysed. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about us."

"I'm not a heart-rate expert. I'm a scientist, not a biologist."

"There's no difference, Doctor McCoy," Scott snorted.

"Boys." The older man's tone was firm. "We're still at an accident scene. Try and at least remain semi-professional."

Scott sighed, bit back his final jab at his brother, and returned to his work at Mobile Control. "Check, Dad. Sorry about that."

"Fire's almost out, Dad, you can probably pull back. The crew can touch up the hotspots." From Thunderbird Five, John could not only see the fire by tapping into other space satellites, he could access the Thunderbirds' own sensor displays and analyse the information for the pilots.

A smile crept onto Scott's face, easing in amongst the black soot and sweat that had been deposited there. It had been the right choice to allow John to go up to the satellite, just as it had been the right choice to allow Virgil to help with operations over break. Both had become indispensable members of the team, and he could not imagine International Rescue functioning without either of them present.

"Thanks, John. Pulling Firefly out now."

"I must thank you for your help."

For the fifth time, Scott shook his head, smiled broadly, and tried to convince himself that the man would eventually stop. "Really, sir, it's my job. You can thank us, however, by making sure that no pictures are taken of our craft as we leave and assuring us that we will not be tracked." The dark haired pilot raised an eyebrow. "I assure you, we have methods of keeping that all from happening, but we'd much rather have it happen willingly. I wouldn't want to have to wipe this area with an EM wave just because someone is camera happy."

The head of the local fire department nodded in relief and gave the Thunderbird pilot a thankful slap on the shoulder. "My good man, if it weren't for you, there'd be a large number of families without a place to stay in the future. As it is, the apartment was smoke and water damaged, but these people should be able to move back in a few months time when things are sorted out and cleaned up."

"That's good to hear," Scott murmured, reaching up a hand to brush the radio transmitter that rested near his lips. "Did you catch that, control?"

"Sure did, Scott. I'll pass that onto Thunderbird Two immediately."

"Thanks John." Scott sighed, then jumped out to grab the fire fighter as he was about to leave. "Sir, is there any news on the cause of the fire?"

"Arson," the man replied darkly, "without a doubt. Some bloke heaved a gasoline can into the elevator shaft of the department store. Almost took a whole floor down with it. We're lucky it was early in the morning, or someone could have been seriously injured. Don't know how they got in, either. They must have broken in somehow without triggering the alarm."

Arson, Scott thought in disgust, wishing he could get his hands around the neck of the man who had lit the fire. Glancing over to the building, he caught sight of a small group of people clustered about. By their dishevelled looks there was no doubt that they were the families from the apartment complex. The children, their faces black with smoke and eyes wide with shock, walked about as if in a trance. The adults were no better, gazing about with empty eyes at the destruction around them.

"I'd like to get that guy and wring his dirty little neck." The pilot folded his arms crossly, trying to gain some satisfaction from only visualising the scene. "Bastard. What kind of man does that to children?"

The fire fighter nodded, shifting his weight so that he could gaze up at the wrecked hulk of the department store. "A bloody sick one."

Though he tried to deny it, Scott also knew that part of his anger stemmed from his own experiences as a child. He could still remember clearly the horror of seeing the monorail wreck that had killed his mother. The mangled steel, the still smouldering rubble - it had almost been too much for him. Even days after the accident, when it had partially been cleaned up, it had still been horrifying.

And the children, watching their building burn around them, likely felt no different.

"Bastard." The words were searing and harsh, and he wished that the man - he was sure it was a man, for reasons that he could not explain - responsible would step out so that he could test out the laser pistol that Brains had armed him with the week earlier.

His father had specifically stated that the gun was only to be used in the most desperate of circumstances. Scott was ready to argue the point if it came down to that.

Another thought, however, nagged at the back of his mind and refused to go away. "Why?" he muttered, finally having a chance to puzzle through the thing that had disturbed him since he had first landed his craft and surveyed the damage. "Why?"

"Delinquent?" The fireman offered with a shrug. "I don't know why people burn things, but it happens often enough. Lord knows we put out enough fires set with gasoline."

Nodding, Scott's attention was suddenly on the commotion that had sprung up around the building. A shouting match had erupted between the fireman and -

Without thinking, Scott pushed the fireman out of his way and dashed towards the crumbling hulk of the department store. He activated the out-going setting on his headset with one hand, and absently drew the laser gun with his other. Habits of the armed forces apparently died hard. "John," he called into his headset, "what's going on?"

His brother took a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice was filled with confusion. "There's some sort of scuffle going on. The firefighters are trying to subdue a man." There was a pause and a noise as John flipped switches in an attempt to listen in on a different radio line. "He's trying to get in the building through a side entrance. He's wearing a ski-mask. Damn it."

"What happened?"

"He just hit some guy over the head with a metal container. No, wait. It's an industrial lighter."

What the hell? Scott wondered, clenching his teeth and pushing his body even harder. A few more strides had him at the edge of a gathering crowd, though he could hear shouts coming from inside the circle. "Let me through!" When the crowd didn't listen, Scott sighed and firmly pushed aside the people nearest to him. "I'm with International Rescue! Let me through!"

The last few words did it. The people parted almost effortlessly before him, letting the grey-suited pilot through to the front of the building in mere seconds . . .

Just in time to see the man break away from the fire fighters and rush into the front of the building.

"Dammit." Stopping in front of the fire fighters, one of which was nursing a bleeding nose, Scott pointed at the building and frowned. "I'm going after him."

"Sir," one of the men responded, helping his comrade to his feet, "the structure isn't stable. It could go at any moment."

A deep growl escaped Scott's throat, and he turned towards the building. At the moment he could care less about structural stability and the threat of injury. What he wanted, more than anything, was to ram the man into the wall, handcuff him, and hand him over to the police for arrest.

"Scott!" The worried voice of his father suddenly came over the radio line. "Scott, what are you doing?"

"He's getting away!" Scott grimaced as he touched the frame of the door and found it still hot. A quick glance inside revealed a smouldering pile of wreckage.

"He's not going anywhere," the older man argued over the crackling comm system, "let him run. The police will get him."

Without answering, Scott carefully took three steps into the building. The smoke was immediately in his eyes and his mouth, choking him and blinding him. Reaching into a utility pouch, he brought out a small breathing apparatus that tied easily to his face.

"Scott!"

It was not International Rescue's mandate to arrest criminals, a fact that Scott understood very well. But in a way that Scott did not completely understand, the arsonist had made the situation very personal, and he intended to finish it himself.

With a flick of his wrist Scott snapped off the receiver portion of his comm-set. He didn't need any distractions. With the breathing mask finally set properly, he took a long breath and disappeared fully into the building.

Watching the young International Rescue operative dash into the building, a discreetly dressed figure raised a finger to her lips and shook her head in disappointment. The woman wore a bland white cowl about her head which covered her luxurious blond hair, and her navy blue coat and pants – though stylish if one took the time to consider them carefully - afforded her a degree of anonymity that was crucial to her work.

"Parker," she whispered delicately, the words carrying into a receiver built directly into a broach that she wore on the neck of her jacket, "the arsonist is getting away."

The cowl also cleverly covered the small radio receiver that rested against her ear. From the receiver, the thickly accented voice of a man responded, "Yes, m'lady. Should I pursue?"

"No," the woman said, a cultured British accent rolling the words around and giving them a lushness that few others could manage. "He's already inside, and I fear you won't reach him in time." She carefully checked to make sure that her automatic was tucked in tightly to her belt. "I'll follow him."

For a reason that she could not identify, Penelope Creighton-Ward did not inform her butler Parker of the presence of the International Rescue man in the building. As she prepared to follow him in, she realized why the young man had startled her.

Somehow, buried within twenty-two years worth of memories, she was sure that she had seen him before.

At some point on the second floor Scott realized that he was being trailed. The quiet yet distinct sound of heels on concrete echoed amidst the noise of smouldering and falling steel. The fact that he was followed didn't bother Scott so much as the identifying noise of the shoes did. He had half-expected the police force to trail him inside, but he had never heard of a police officer wearing stilettos.

Stopping behind a steel support bar that was not completely melted, the pilot hid himself and carefully peered out from behind the metal. The ground was covered in the charred ruins of household appliances, but there was plenty of clear space to see across the room. Sure enough, on the far side beside what appeared to have been a refrigerator, stood a figure – a woman, he saw – dressed in a dark and concealing jacket. Her right hand rested absently on her pant line, and when she moved Scott thought he saw a flash of metal underneath the cloth.

Suddenly, things had become a great deal more complicated. In his experience in the military Scott had been exposed to many different organisations, most of which had their own rules and regulations about firearms. There were very few, however, that actually allowed their men or women to carry them on a regular basis. By the calm and official demeanour of the woman, he could tell that she was no thug. Every movement of her body was intentional and spoke of control and purpose.

So British Intelligence is involved, he thought, his eyes still on the woman. Very interesting. There must be more happening here than meets the eye.

Assured that the agent likely posed no threat to him, but not wanting to take too many chances all the same, Scott leaned out from the beam and took a longer and clearer look at the woman. She had a very nice build, he noted with an unintentional grin, and even from the side he could see the locks of golden hair that tumbled out from under her cowl hood. It was strange, he thought, but she seemed oddly familiar even from a distance.

As if sensing his presence, the woman turned suddenly and stared in his direction. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and a flash of recognition passed through Scott's mind like a bolt of lightning. He had seen her somewhere before, though he could not quite place a finger on it.

That thought, and the realisation that his cover was likely blown, hit Scott like an incoming missile. When the woman's eyebrows rose in surprise as she too saw something that she knew, he understood that he now had two situations in his hands. The arsonist had to be apprehended, that was fact. But the woman also had to be dealt with in one way or another. He didn't know if she knew exactly who he was or where he came from, but the chance that she might remember . . .

A blast of feelings flashed through Penelope's mind as her eyes looked over the man. He was tall, taller than quite a few other men, and was strong featured all across the face. His dark brown hair, swept back from sweat and smoke, framed a pair of blue eyes that were so proud-looking and –

Familiar. Very familiar.

But she couldn't place the young man in an exact memory, only a set of feelings that she remembered having carried since a time in her childhood. Perhaps she had been at school with him, she thought, only to discard that after remembering that she had never at any time been at a school with boys. They had met before, though, that she was sure of. And by the look on his face, the same startled expression that she likely carried on her own, she knew that her feelings were not forged.

Slowly, so as not to pose a threat, she raised her head and motioned calmly with her left hand. Understanding what she meant, the young man nodded and stepped out fully from the beam so that he was standing exposed in the middle of the smouldering floor. Glancing around for smoke, he shrugged and pulled off the air mask that he wore about his face.

"International Rescue," she observed politely, her voice calm and to the point.

"British Intelligence," the man replied in the same collected voice, his eyebrow rising slightly as if in victory. "It looks as though we're after the same man."

Penelope chose her next words very carefully. She intended to end the conversation there and had no intention of revealing to the man why she was at the building in the first place. "I wasn't aware that International Rescue was in charge of making arrests."

The young man laughed and slowly walked towards her. "I wasn't aware that there was anything in this building to concern British Intelligence. Besides, don't the police normally handle this type of work?" He grinned. "It looks like we're both out of our place."

That put a damper on her efforts. Penelope bit her lip and gave the young man as stern a look as she could manage. When he only grinned and laughed, she realized what he was trying to do. "Flirting will do you no good at all," she declared sternly, irritated that she was being put in that type of position in the first place. "I'll have you know that I deal with men of your kind all the time. Being friendly to me will get you no further in my books than if you tried to kill me."

"My type?" The young man snorted and held his ground several feet in front of her. "I'm not a flirt, ma'am. I'm simply assessing the situation and dealing with it as my organisation's protocol deems fit. I think you're being a little bit too hasty in judging me."

"As are you," Penelope replied tersely, "in your assessment of my chest. Now, if you could kindly disengage your eyes, we can proceed with our chase. And, if that is the case, you may also wish to revise your protocols."

The man's face turned a very dark shade of red, and he honestly looked embarrassed at Penelope's accusation. "Sorry, ma'am."

"And I am not a 'ma'am'," she continued as she resumed her walk across the destroyed sales floor. "You may address me as Lady." Once again back in her element, Penelope felt confident that she could – with the help of the young man – apprehend the criminal at large. With only one way out of the building that was passable, the arsonist had nowhere to go. If it had been the man's attempt to steal away unnoticed while the building was deserted and smouldering in the early hours of the morning, then he would find an unexpected surprise waiting for him when he tried leave.

And you can call me Scott, the pilot thought, but he kept the words to himself. He had no intentions of pushing the topic any further. It was never Scott Tracy's intentions to irritate a beautiful woman, especially one with as much class and character as his companion, but he was used to dealing with woman who were too distracted by his own looks to bother fighting back. It had helped on occasion during rescues, for John had observed several times – all too dryly, Scott remembered – that he could hear the ladies swooning over the radio.

But the blond woman was quite the looker herself, and he unintentionally found his eyes wandering back to her face as the two of them silently picked their way up the stairs to the third floor. There was something alluring about her, something appealing about her suave ways and her sharp wit. It was something that he had never found in women during his high school years, or even during his time spent with the airforce. Those ladies were generally either too soft or too strong, and Scott preferred something more in the middle.

The delicate lady spy, whom he was sure would blow off his head in a moment's notice if she had to, was a nice combination.

"Danger is apparently enticing," Scott muttered in amusement, thoroughly enjoying being in the presence of a woman who quite obviously could think for herself. It was refreshing to not be dealing with fainthearted women who had a tendency to chase him around after he saved their life.

He could distinctly hear John's happy ramble in the back of his head. "Quit playing around with their emotions, Scott. We can't save people from heartache you know."

Scott knew – though his brother obviously enjoyed poking fun at him – that his words were lacking real feelings of jealousy behind them. They both knew that for either of them, especially John, finding any sort of companionship would be nearly impossible given their occupation. It came with the job. The secrecy, the lack of identity – the joy of being able to flirt around with every female that he spoke to, only to have to let her go again when the mission was over . . .

Scott sighed without even realising it. He had told himself over and over again that that portion of the job wouldn't bother him, yet it always seemed to come up over and over again in his mind. He could never actually become involved with anyone, for the secrecy of International Rescue was more important than anything else.

And, he thought, the British woman was refreshing, but she was also dangerous. As much as he hated to admit it, he really had never dealt with a woman who was as strong-willed as the one who stood before him. She had batted back his remarks as if she had been playing tennis, which was something that made him uncomfortable.

If Gordon ever hears about this, Scott thought glumly, I'll never hear the end of it. Scott – the ladies' man who always won over the hearts of women, only to bravely discard them after the fact out of necessity – would be free picking for months. Making up his mind, Scott decided that he couldn't let that happen. Even if it happened in the smallest of ways, he had to gain the upper hand over the British spy. There was plenty that he could do without ever giving the woman his name. It might only be a game, and a brief game at that, but it was a game that he was going to play to win.

"You nearly had me."

Scott looked up startled as the woman spoke. She was nearly half a stairwell above him, and looked down on him with her face framed in the remnants of an outdoor window. The sunlight caught at the edges of her hair, given a halo effect to her already porcelain like face.

"Excuse me?"

The woman waited a few moments for him to catch up, then continued her jaunt up the stairs. "That was well-executed." The words sounded like a confession to Scott, an admission that was forced from her lips.

Completely confused, Scott shook his head and repeated, "Excuse me?"

The woman's smile was dazzling. "Your charade, little man." Scott bristled slightly at the brush off. "It was well done. You must have women simply falling off you in droves. Every rescue, hmm?"

"Oh." Unsure of what to say, he tried another grin and hoped that it would suffice. "Yeah, my brother always jokes about that."

She raised a curious eyebrow. "A brother?"

Shit. Scott mentally slapped himself. Eventually he was going to say something serious, something that could be used against his family if it fell into the wrong hands. He didn't know exactly what British Intelligence thought of International Rescue, but he knew that if Intelligence knew things, then inevitably someone else could steal those secrets and put them to evil purposes.

"Not in the business," he finally clarified, hoping that she couldn't see that he was lying through his teeth. "He just knows about it."

"Really." They both stopped walking, having finally arrived at the fire exit to the forth floor.

"Yeah." Suddenly very worried that he was about to say something very foolish, Scott wondered why it was he that had to be stuck in the predicament. Isn't this what you always say you want? He thought, laughing at his own stupidity. Stuck in a smouldering building with a beautiful woman who's about to kick your ego to the moon?

The woman smiled again, that smile that made his cheeks flush, and leaned in very close to scrutinise his face. He could feel her breath on his lips, wanted to do something about it desperately, but his brain was completely frozen. He was scared to move for fear of getting a knee in the groin.

"Do you know what I would love to do?" The woman whispered teasingly, bringing her hand up to caress his face.

"Uh."

She smiled sweetly, a hint of naughtiness coming to her eyes. "Catch that man upstairs, get out of here, and put a thousand miles between me and the blushing man in uniform in front of me." Her finger flicked his cheek playfully, and she turned and grabbed hold of the handle to the fire doors.

Scott stood for a moment while his brain tried to unthaw. The first thought that crossed his mind, when a thought finally did, sent a second wave of embarrassment onto his cheeks.

She was playing you, dude. Good move. You were completely suckered.

He knew right there that he would likely never live it up with the woman – if he ever saw her again outside of the rescue. She had suckered him completely, hook line and sinker, and he – in all of his proud arrogance – had bit and chewed.

As if sensing his mood, the woman turned and gestured impatiently towards the door. "If you would be so kind, I require some assistance opening this. It seems to be blocked from the other side."

Scott heard the words but stood and thought for a long time before answering. When he finally did, it was with a sly smile of his own. He stalked forward determinedly, braced his shoulder against the door, and heaved as hard as he could. The metal groaned under the impact, and he hit it again, and again, until it finally snapped and the door flew open under his weight.

Turning to the lady, Scott bowed ever so slightly and gestured into the room. "After you, m'lady."

He took great pleasure in the ever-so-confused smile that managed to creep onto the woman's lush lips.

Not expecting me to keep up with your game, did you? He had decided that he liked her after all, even after her little trick, and if she wanted to play tough-to-get then he would just have to do something to outclass her. It was quite beyond physical attraction and into the realm of egoism and other similar emotions. He wasn't even sure if it had started out as physical attraction, or if it had only been a challenge and a reply from the start.

"Why thank you," she finally managed, her voice suspiciously shaky, and Scott thought he could detect a hint of honest appreciation in her tone. "But it really wasn't quite that necessary."

"I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, m'lady," he grinned, finally back in a role that he could play with a great less doubt. "You have such a pretty face."

Her eyebrow slowly raised in surprise, a mirror image of his own face minutes earlier on the second floor. Then, ever so slightly, her eyes softened, and he knew that she had accepted the game. "Quite right," she replied sweetly, stepping gracefully into the room. "Right, then, shall I expect you to clear all the obstacles for me?"

There was the opening, he thought smugly: 'Impress me or get out'.

He had never been able to resist such an open challenge in his life, and he certainly did not plan on ignoring one now. Giving the woman's back a smooth smile full of teeth, he followed closely behind her. "Ladies first."

Glancing only briefly to see that her companion was still in his position, Penelope shook her head mentally in surprise at what had happened. Perhaps she had been a bit hasty judging the young man, for he had shown a level of intelligence and wit that she really had not been expecting from a pilot. Behind his proud and arrogant façade lay something a little bit deeper, something that apparently was tired of being chased around by hundreds of idiotic women bent on placing their thank-you directly onto his lips.

A part of Penelope was very flattered that the man was taking the time out to chase after her at all. She had decided – after much consideration – that he was the type of man to generally flirt but not touch because of the secrecy required from his job. The fact that he had been so indecisive when she had approached, so honestly unsure of what to do, revealed that plainly to her. A flirt was a flirt, but the International Rescue pilot apparently came across as a flirt because of a subtle lack of experience.

They were in the same position, both unable to do anything more than tease the opposite sex, and she honestly wanted nothing more than to have him leave her be. She could take the unwanted advances of scoundrels and cads, but Penelope had no desire to have her heart played with by a man that – in another lifetime, another profession – she might actually have taken a serious look at. Men like him were a sorry reminder of the instability in her life due to her work with Intelligence.

She glanced over again, stealing a look at the man's face. Positioned behind a crumbling pillar in anticipation of the reappearance of the arsonist, the pilot seemed to be in deep thought. He was rather attractive Penelope finally decided in resignation, but some feeling of familiarity still nagged at the back of her mind. And it was not just a memory of his face, but of his entire being that made her wonder where she had met him before. She was sure that she had at some point, obviously far before the conception of International Rescue.

However, having been taken to hundreds of high society balls by her late father, Penelope was not quite sure where she could have seen him. He was American, yes, which perhaps narrowed the field a bit – but not enough. There were enough rich American men in the world to make him the possible son of literally thousands of millionaires.

"Lady." His voice, lacking the brash pride that it had contained earlier, startled her from her thoughts.

"Yes?" She turned and smiled sweetly, hoping that her recent most contemplation would not show on her face.

His brows furrowed for a moment as he studied her face in an intense and practical manner. "Have we met someplace?"

Ah, so there it was, Penelope thought. He had confirmed her thoughts, and she – ever so curious about the matter – was interested to see if they could come to some sort of conclusion together.

"I believe so," she finally replied, also loosing the forced sweet quality of her tone, returning to her normal voice that she used when dealing with those whom she knew well. "A while ago, I might add. I don't clearly remember you."

"But you do." He frowned, and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm sure that we've met somewhere before."

The memories were so strong, Penelope thought in wonderment, trying to place a point in her life that would have instilled such obvious and lasting feelings into her mind. "I agree."

She knew what would likely come next, could see it in the serious and almost fearful expression on his face. If there was any chance that she knew his identity then something had to be done, some sort of silent agreement had to be reached. Trust was most definitely an issue, and even Penelope herself was aware that she was in some danger if the other man knew of her.

"Then we are both in a bit of a bind, are we not?" She smiled, and the man nodded in response.

"It looks that way." He shrugged and grinned in an apologetic manner. "I'd like to think that I can trust you, but we can't be too sure. Secrecy is very important to our operation."

"And to mine," Penelope agreed, and in her mind she finally decided on a course of action. "My name is Lady Penelope."

The young man's eyes narrowed in confusion, then jumped in surprise as he realised what she was entrusting him with. "But-"

"I believe that I have reason to trust your organization," she explained quietly. "You have never displayed any interest in world politics, and I believe that you have no reason to betray my cover on me if you ever chose to research further into my name. You cannot trust the same of me, but you may accept my promise of secrecy on your behalf." The smile that lit her face was a very honest one. "I would like to know your name."

He thought for a long moment, gazing up and down her body until her finally came to her eyes. She held his gaze for a time, allowing him to peer into her soul. Finally, he nodded and replied, "Scott."

Scott. There it was again, a sudden burst of memory upon hearing the name. "Have you by chance ever-"

Her words were cut off mid sentence as a door on the far side of the room slammed open and a man came barrelling out. He was dressed in black and his face was covered by a ski mask, something that Penelope thought would be dreadfully warm to wear in such a place.

It all happened at once, without any thought or delay whatsoever. Scott, from his position three pillars down, jumped out from his cover and took the man down by his knees. The arsonist, busy trying to stuff a thin metal box into his shirt, didn't notice the coming projectile and subsequently went down hard. The two struggled for several seconds until Scott managed to knock the man completely down with a well-placed kick to the face.

As slowly as she could so that the man would not see her, Penelope walked forward, drew her gun from its hiding place, and placed it against the side of his head. "If you so much as try to move," she explained sweetly to the startled arsonist, "I will pull this trigger, and you will never have to worry about where you will find a lawyer that will represent you. Actually," she thought for a moment and came up with a better idea, "what if I did this and saved you the trouble of deciding?" A quick flick of her shoe to the man's temple had him out cold.

Pulling himself to his feet, Scott gave the man a look of pure and complete disgust. "Sadistic bastard."

"Quite right." The two of them, with Scott's strength an added benefit, managed to turn the arsonist over on his back. Penelope quickly produced a pair of handcuffs from one of her pockets and set to making the man as immobile as possible. "Men like him should be behind bars indefinitely." While adjusting the cuffs, she took a moment to find and relieve the man of the metal box. Stowing it carefully in her jacket, she took one last look around and decided, "I believe that should be quite enough. The smoke has cleared enough that we can leave him right where he is. The police will find him."

Scott gave her a quizzical look. "Did you call them?"

"Never," she replied quickly, "so we should be quick and leave before the both of us become more involved in this than we would like to be." When he moved to speak again, she assured him, "If he so much as tries to complain about the kick that you gave him, I will make sure that Intelligence deals with it for you."

"Thank you." He also glanced about, then nodded in agreement. No mention of the box left his lips. "Let's get out of here."

Finally out in the sunlight, Penelope and Scott quickly blended in with the crowd and put as much distance from the building as they could. Mere seconds after they left, a police team arrived, storming into the building in an attempt to find the dangerous arsonist.

"They will know Intelligence was there, of course," she laughed, thinking of the surprise that the team would have when the found the man already apprehended. "We bother them a fair bit with our antics. We were alerted to the planned theft as soon as it took place. We can't have individuals burning down public buildings in order to steal our secrets, no matter how insignificant those secrets are. And if they think that setting fires will stop our security systems in the first place, then they are sadly mistaken." Then she turned to him, and found herself quite unable to say a proper good-bye. "I suppose that you have business to attend to."

"Yeah," Scott sighed, absently reaching up a hand to flick a switch on his headset. "They're probably having kittens right now." He cringed as a barrage of sound came from the speaker, which Penelope could hear from even a few feet away.

"Scott, are you all right? We've been worried sick! Dad's been fit to be tied; he was about to go in after you himself."

"I'm fine, John. Tell Dad not to worry." He glanced at Penelope apologetically. "John, can you give me a couple of minutes? There's something that I have to do." He waited, then smiled as an audible click came from the headset.

"Brother?" Penelope asked teasingly, drawing a shrug from Scott.

"Maybe." He grinned. "Maybe I just don't want him to listen."

The cad! Penelope thought, though she could not contain a smile of her own. "You military men are all the same." His face was becoming suspiciously close, and she tried desperately to keep from looking too enthusiastic. "Cocky, arrogant."

"Handsome, intelligent," Scott smirked, his lips mere inches from her own. "Irresistible."

Perhaps she would allow him just the one. It was against her better judgement, and she hated to give into something so personal, but it was only the once.

But, much to her own shock and dismay, instead of meeting Scott's lips she instead ran directly into his upraised hand. "The arsonist's been arrested," he whispered quietly, "so I think it's time to put a few thousand miles between you and me."

She knew what came next.

"You almost had me there." With one final smile and a smug wink, he turned and walked away from her into the crowd. "See you around."

Penelope stood for a very long time before she finally decided in her mind what had happened. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had truly wanted to – or had he? It became very clear to Penelope that her own game had been played right back at her.

You wanted to! She felt like shouting at his back, for she was absolutely certain that he would have kissed her had he not wanted to prove a point even more. Yet, in some manner, she felt that she would have been disappointed in him had he given in. The brush off, the invitation to play another day, was as much a part of his character as his confident and dazzling grin.

More than anything though, she could not expect dedication from a man who quite obviously was not in a position to begin any serious relationship. He had his job and stuck to it, which she admired perhaps more than any other aspect of his personality. What had happened between them had been simply wishful thinking at best, a personal and inside joke between two individuals trapped in the same jail but kept in different cells.

"The dangers of becoming involved." She sighed, gently tapped the microphone receiver in her cowl. "Parker?"

"Yes, m'lady," came the immediate reply.

"Bring around FAB One. It's time to go home."

"Yes m'lady." There was a pause. "I assume everything went well?"

"Most certainly, Parker." She hoped that her voice reflected her words. "Everything went wonderfully."

"Are you all right?"

"Of course."

And Penelope had no intention of leaving things where they stood. She had a hunch that she planned to follow up. There had not been time to question Scott in the building, but in time she hoped to prove her thoughts either right or wrong. Maybe then, when things were sorted out, she'd have time to find and deal with the cocky pilot that had unintentionally stolen her heart.

A/N: Before I do anything else, I need to correct I boo-boo from last chapter: I need to thank Ariel D for beta reading! She not only read Spirits of the Night once, but she read it twice and offered the best advice that anyone could have offered for it. Thank-you:D Now, what will happen with Penelope and Scott? We'll just have to wait and see . . . Here's hoping that my characterizations came off like they were supposed to. lol

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Onto reviewer responses:

Ariel D - Oh, that perfectionism. (starts laughing) Poor John, poor poor John. Actually, poor Zeil too. ;) What if she doesn't give you another flaunt point?
Moonlightbear - Hey, it's not a big deal about reviewing. ;) I think I was just suffering from paranoia left over from exams. And I tried to send you an e-mail to your other address but both of them seem to be out of commission blocked your other one) so I'll tell you here. I'd be delighted if you wanted to use my story as a basis for yours. Credit at the top of the story is more than enough. Also, if you'd like me to read it over for you when it's done, definitely send it over my way. :)
Jnr Cpl Scarlet - LOL Everytime I go to do a review I have to look your name up again. ;) How do I get them long? (sighs) The plot bunnies won't stop nibbling at my brain until I put everything in that needs to be there. Lol Oh, and I hope your English exam went well for you!
Ms. Imagine - Thank-you so much:D You know, I never actually planned on any of this to happen. It just started writing this section and it happened! Lol It seemed to be a logical step in his development, though I will admit that silly chapter was edited (including beta reading) probably about eight times before I posted it.
Assena - (grins sheepishly) The next chapter was Scott. ;) Okay! Listen up, all! lol Here's a general idea for who's in what chapter for the rest of the story (starting with what will be chapter 23): John, Scott-Penny, John-Virgil, Kyrano-Trangh, Alan-Tintin (though this chapter has a lot of Virgil and Gordon too), Gordon/John, aaaand . . . Gordon (with everyone else too), Gordon, Gordon, Gordon, Gordon/Jeff, Jeff (epilogue). ;) Hope that helps everyone.
Andrewjameswililams - Don't worry about it. :) I should have worried, considering that people are busy at this time of the year. (grins) I give John about half-an-hour before everything is ready for habitation. ;)
Zeilfanaat - (starts laughing) It's okay, I don't mind if you use the same word over again. I'm still flattered. ;) . . . I guess I don't really want to change much in Winds, because what I'd have to do is write more chapters and at this point it seems complete as it is. I do have some editing to do, though, because I completely forgot to write Parker into chapter 24! (falls over) Bad me, bad me.
Barb from Utah - It's all right, I was being paranoid about reviews for some reason. ;) I'm glad to hear that you liked both chapters, though. They were hard to write, but I think they came out well.

Catch the next chapter, "The Voice of IR", where a rescue places John in the most awkward and frightening position that he can imagine. Until then, FAB all!