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. All original characters are the property of the author. This story should not be used or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

At Midnight
April 2019

A soft patter of rain fell against the window of the boys' dormitory, creating a soothing pattern of noise and visuals that almost sent Gordon Tracy into dreamland. His eyelids flipped open several times, taking in the rain that had descended upon the school. He tried to convince himself that he was back at the fitness center, back in the pool and the water that he loved so much. He found that if he looked through the very edge of his eyelashes, he could almost believe that he was underwater, far away from the boarding school and its inhabitants.

Save for the grove of trees that grew past the window, the effect was almost complete. Gordon was tempted to try and find a way to uproot the poplars so that they would blow over during the next rainstorm, but decided against it for fear of crashing one of them through the window of his room. The room got messy enough on its own without any outside intervention.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Gordon looked down at the desk he was sitting at, his eyes falling to the laptop computer that rested on the polished mahogany surface. The screen was blank, except for the small flashing cursor that indicated it was all right to type.

Two thousand words, Gordon thought in near panic. How was he supposed to write two thousand words by the next day, on a topic that he not only didn't care about but also knew nothing about to begin with? It was as though his teachers intentionally tried to make his life hell, slamming him with homework on the nights that he had swim practice or was too tired from the swim drills to even think of doing work.

"Explain the effect that first-person narrative has on the mood of the novel," he muttered, glancing briefly at the crumpled instruction sheet that lay on the desk beside the computer. "Is it effective? Is it a hindrance to the story? Discuss in detail."

It was the words 'discuss in detail' that annoyed Gordon. He could answer the questions well enough in his own mind, but when it came to explaining them to someone like a teacher, he could barely get past yes or no. It didn't help that English wasn't his best subject. Had the assignment been in one of his science classes he knew that he would be able to pull it off, even if it meant staying up all night to write it up.

English, however, was a useless gesture, a bit of futile effort that was becoming stupider and stupider sounding to Gordon every time he tried to make an analysis of a novel or a poem or some other piece of literature.

Not for the first time that night, the ginger-haired teen turned to stare out the window and wished fervently that he was back in the pool, doing the one thing that he truly enjoyed with all of his soul. It was too bad that there were no marks in school for swimming, or he knew that he'd have his first ever A-plus in a high school class.

Minutes passed and Gordon continued to watch the water run, imagining the driving bodies of his team mates, their arms rising and falling in an effortless rhythmic pattern that pulled them through the water. If only he could . . .

Aggravation mounting in his mind, Gordon tossed the assignment sheet onto the nearby bed and turned to the computer. He knew that he shouldn't be goofing off, but he just couldn't bring himself to work on the report. Taking a break was the only thing that was appealing at the moment. That and thinking about a problem that had been troubling him for the past few days, a problem that stubbornly refused to be resolved.

As his lips pinched in frustration at his life in general, the boy brought up an instant messaging program and quickly signed in. He hoped that someone would at least be online that he could talk to, or he'd have to go back to working on his English assignment. There was the possibility of sneaking out and talking to someone in one of the other dorm rooms, but he didn't feel like taking the risk of getting caught by one of the hall monitors. It was close to midnight already and he doubted that his teachers would be pleased if he were up so late.

"Come on," he growled, subduing the urge to punch the desk in frustration. It wasn't that late back home on the island, but there were very few instances when any of his brothers were actually on the communications network. Brains had drawn up the instant messaging service as a reasonably secure method of communication amongst the family. Gordon had found it immensely helpful at first until his family at began to use it less and less, to the point that it was only checked occasionally. They rarely sought him out for conversation.

There were phones available to use, but Gordon just wasn't the type of person to sit down and have a chat with someone when he needed to talk. For all of the loud conversation that he made during the day, it really meant very little and did nothing other than amuse him during the hours between classes. For all of the talk that he did, he found it immensely hard to phone up one of his brothers and discuss something private with them.

But it was something very private that he needed to discuss, for running the idea through his own mind had led him to nothing but indecision. He actually needed to put forward the thoughts to someone else, to see what they had to say. There was just the problem of finding the will to actually do it.

As much as he hated to admit it, Gordon wasn't comfortable talking about life with his brothers. It was just like at school where he was known as the class joker, the comedian who could make anyone laugh and make anyone's day. Yet who was there to make his? It wasn't their fault, of course. He was perfectly capable of finding someone to talk who would be willing to listen.

He just didn't want to. There was something about serious issues that made him sweat, a threat of indescribable substance that threatened to take away from him something that he treasured. More than anything, Gordon was scared of losing the part of his life that made living fun. As much as he knew he would have to grow up someday, he desperately wanted to find a balance between the two that would suit him. Acting serious . . .

It hurt too much.

He sighed when the messaging service showed up as unused. It really didn't matter, he supposed, for he probably wouldn't have ended up talking about school with whomever sat on the other end anyway. The topic would have shifted to something casual, like girls or sports, or maybe the recent antics of his family, rescue service extraordinare.

"This homework sucks." he finally typed in out of sheer boredom, knowing that no one would bother to answer. It had been that way almost since Virgil had graduated and Alan had been kicked out for causing trouble. Gordon had been left alone at the school, alone to fetch for himself and deal with his own problems. Constant isolation drove Gordon up the wall, more so than almost anything else in the world did. He liked being in the presence of others, to make them laugh, or to laugh along with them, and hated having to spend nights on his own doing work.

"I wish I could talk to someone about this."

"Shoot."

It was several moments before Gordon noticed the word, printed in black text, on the third line of the messaging program. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion as he realized that someone might be hacking into the program from the outside. The service had not informed him of any of his brothers entering the chat room, and the last thing that he needed was for someone to accidentally or intentionally discover something about him that they shouldn't know.

His cheeks flushing ever so slightly, Gordon responded to the single word query.

"Who are you?"

"Look up. Look way up."

"What the hell?" He shook his head, about to abort the program altogether, only to suddenly realize who it was that was speaking to him. It seemed slightly unlikely, for he had never known his brother to resort to something so . . . humorous sounding. But then again, he hadn't spoken to him face to face since Christmas – he hadn't been home for spring break - and even then he had only been around for a few days. But he had, once he thought about it, noticed something very different about his older brother than what he normally saw.

"John?"

"Give the man a prize."

A smile blossomed onto Gordon's face. Suddenly the night didn't seem quite so bad. He hadn't really planned on talking with John of all people, yet he couldn't really bring himself to not talk to the one person that seemed to remember that he existed.

"How'd you get in without triggering security?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" An evil emoticon followed. "Gord, I spend my entire day up here spying on people."

"Why spy on me? Trying to catch me having some hot times with my girlfriend?"

"Gord, you don't have a girlfriend. Quit saying that you do, it's no use. Anyway, I have it set to trigger an alert when you log in."

The alert was news to Gordon. "Since when have you been spying on me?"

"Since last week. Felt kind of bad. Dad said we kept missing you when you were on, and he wondered if maybe I could keep an eye on you."

"Ha ha." Gordon grinned, slightly reassured that his family did remember that he existed. It was a stupid thought, really, for they always did check up on him. It was just hard on nights when he truly wanted company. "Does he think I'm going to wreck the school or something?"


"Nah, I think he's more concerned about Alan in that regard. You only dump a bucket of water on people's heads when they're wearing their best suits." There was a very long pause before John continued. "He was expelled from school again. Dad's pulling his hair out trying to find a place near you - again - that will take him. I don't think it's going to happen."

The words slammed Gordon right in the gut. He knew how much potential his younger brother had, and it burned him to see the kid screwing around when he could actually be doing something important. Of course, the same was true with him, but he was trying to juggle schoolwork and swim practice at the same time. Alan couldn't say the same – he was just goofing off because he didn't want to be there. Gordon goofed off to relieve tension, and he couldn't help it if he found a bucket on some poor idiot's head funny.

"Little bugger. Why doesn't he behave? He should have known better the first time. This is the second school now!"


"I seem to remember you doing nearly the same thing at that age. You weren't exactly well-behaved either."

Gordon bristled at the remark. "Funny. At least I'm working my ass off to finish school. Why doesn't he try? At least he's good at what he does."

"So why are you talking to me at midnight then? Don't you need sleep so you can be awake tomorrow?"

It was irritating - how John could read his family members like an open book. Gordon really wasn't too sure how much he wanted to tell John. John had always been the other adult figure in the household, the serious person that wasn't supposed to be confided in. Confiding in John held the same appeal as the thought of confiding in his father.

And while Scott had always looked after Gordon and his brothers in an official sense, it was John who was focused about work and had always been on his brother's cases about schoolwork and the like. How did he explain his problem to John, the career perfectionist who would never in a million years dream of putting something ahead of his job?

It had never mattered before, for John had rarely sought out conversation with the rest of his family unless it was necessary. He had obviously enjoyed his time alone, and Gordon had not been one to normally intrude on it.

Yet, perhaps things had changed, Gordon mused. It wasn't that long ago that John had tried to dye his hair and had ended up nearly burning his scalp off with hydrogen peroxide. That was hardly responsible behaviour, considering that he'd left his post in the middle of a rescue mission. There were also all of the times that he had called down from the space station to simply talk – and those were only times when Gordon had been home to witness them.

Something had definitely changed. He was right, there was something different about his brother.

"What colour's your hair?" Gordon finally typed.

"What type of question is that?" An odd and quizzical-looking emoticon appeared.

"Well?"

"I don't know. Blond? White? It's hard to tell. The roots are showing really bad, though. I'd like to dye it again, but I'm a bit scared to. I had a rash for a week last time. It's just that I'm growing attached to it for some odd reason. Don't know, maybe my mind is going. It looks kind of cool, to tell you the truth. I guess I'll just have to be careful next time."

A small part of Gordon's mind was settled by the odd revelation. The hair hardly looked perfect on his brother, and if John wanted to keep it just for the novelty of it all . . .

As strange as it felt to talk with his older brother like they were . . . brothers, it seemed more comforting than if he were talking with someone like Scott or Virgil. The other two were more open, though Scott was grave and Virgil quiet, but they were also prone to the teasing that was inherent in such a relationship. John, however, went about relationships in the same way that he went about his job.

He respected the material in question.

"What's up?"

Gordon could almost imagine John's quiet voice, a touch of concern coming through, asking the question. Though he had never ever had John ask him it, it was not hard to pretend that he had. The moment felt oddly familiar, something he had felt before.

It's like talking to Mom, he realised with a start, when we were kids. She'd never judge us, just listen and let us talk. Or she'd offer advice when we didn't have any of our own. No one could replace his mother, but there was a startling similarity between her and John that he'd never really noticed before. Perhaps it was because John had never had the chance to speak to him before - in a manner that didn't involve disciplining or parenting - that he'd never made the comparison.

"I've got a problem." He finally replied, feeling an immense weight come off his chest as someone else finally shared it with him.

"English again?"

"Well yeah," he gave the paper an evil glare, "but that's not it. I just don't want to do that."

"And you chastise Alan when he doesn't do his work."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Berate."

"What?" Gordon shook his head in confusion. John didn't seem to be doing it on purpose, but the language that he was using sounded like riddles to the ginger-haired teen.

"Criticise, accuse, that type of thing."

Any of his other family members would have jumped on Gordon immediately, teased him – chastised him, Gordon thought with a smirk – for not knowing what the word meant. But John honestly seemed to care about him, didn't seem to want to judge him.

This, the teen thought curiously, from the guy who used to always be mad at him for one reason or another. Whether John had forgotten all of those times, or he simply didn't care, Gordon honestly didn't know. What he did know was that he wanted to tell John everything that he had wanted to talk about since Christmas break.

"Hey . . ." Gordon finally typed absently.

"Hmm?"

"I need to tell you something."


"Haven't you been saying that since we started talking?" The winking emoticon didn't irritate Gordon, but instead made him laugh. John was right, he had been avoiding the topic.

"Sure."

"So, for the third time tonight, what's up?"

Gordon slowly typed in the words that he had been dying to share with someone since he had first found out. He had tried to tell Virgil over spring break - but had been scared that even the brother he was closest to would let the secret slip.

"I've been accepted into the state swim team."

There was a momentary pause, followed by a sudden outburst of random letters and symbols on the screen. It was as though John had lost his balance and fallen on the keyboard.

"Seriously!"

"Yeah." Gordon grinned widely, suddenly wishing that he could have seen John's face when he told him. His brother seemed so genuinely excited about it, something that Gordon was not used to. Normally the interest that his family showed in his swimming was semi-forced, due to the fact that they all held the opinion that swimming was in many ways a useless venture. Even Virgil, who had such talent in the fine arts, had opted for a formal career in engineering.

There was no room in the Tracy family for games.

"SERIOUSLY!"

"Seriously."

"Then what's wrong?"

He was halfway through typing the words 'nothing's wrong' when some part of his brain told him to stop. The brush off would have been his typical answer to the question, but it was not a typical problem. Thankful that John couldn't see the embarrassment that was flooding his cheeks, Gordon erased his comment and began to work on another.

"I can go to the Nationals in Florida this May. But I have to miss almost two weeks of school."

"That could be a problem," was the immediate response. "Isn't that close to the end of school?"

"Yeah. I can't catch up on that much work. But the coach said that he talked to my teachers, and they'd let me run overtime into the summer in order to catch up."

"That's nice of them."

"John, I want to graduate."

It was so easy to talk over the computer. No one could see the red on his cheeks, or the essence of fear in his eyes. He felt so removed from the words, almost as if someone else were typing them.

"Of course you do. If you buckle down after the swim meet you'll be fine."

"Yeah."

Gordon knew that he would likely be angry with himself in the morning for coming clean with John, but at the moment he didn't care. Besides, he had been right about one thing – there was something different about John. He seemed more relaxed, more casual.

And he appeared to have a sense of humour. That alone made the conversation a hundred times less stressful than it would have been otherwise.

"So, what's the issue then? What do you want to do?"

Gordon stopped what he was doing and stared at the screen for a moment. What do you want to do . . . what was that supposed to mean? He had been expecting John to jump in and give him some sort of advice, but instead he simply –

Gave him the choice, more than anyone else had ever done. Gordon leaned back in his chair, considering the moment carefully. His own father had tried to control his life, telling him where to go to school, even to the point of trying to convince him to not join International Rescue when in fact Gordon had pretty much decided that he didn't want to anyway. Scott was always giving his opinion, trying to point him in the right direction. Virgil wasn't outright with his answers, but when he did give them they too were opinionated.

"I don't know," Gordon typed back immediately, both elated and unsettled at John's comment. "I need to tell Dad."

"But?"


How did he know that there was a 'but' coming, Gordon wondered. "I'm-"

"You're what?"

The word was so hard to type. "Worried."

"About what?"

"That he'll say no. Because he's expecting me to join the business when I graduate."

The next response, so quick in its reply, was soothing to Gordon's mind. "That's all right."

"What?"

"It's okay to be scared. I was scared the first week that I was up here. It's perfectly normal."

The revelation was startling. Gordon had always assumed that John was fearless, the way that he went about things with such a large degree of strength and determination. The thought of his older brother, scared and helpless, was almost unsettling.

"Like hell you were." The words felt wrong even on his fingers. He knew they were wrong, but he typed then anyway. It was what he always did. "What does this even have to do with swimming?"

"Loads. And yeah, I was scared like hell. Why would I lie to you?"

"I-" Realizing that he was about to respond out loud, Gordon snapped his mouth shut and glared in irritation at the screen. "I don't know."

"Exactly. Why don't you trust me?"

That was a good question, one that Gordon thought he had known the answer to when the night had started - but was now beginning to think that the answer was not quite so simple. He tried to think of something to say, something that would calm John, something that would sound vaguely like the apology that he knew he should give.

He sat on the chair, mind completely tangled, and did nothing. Finally, on the screen appeared the words: "If this is about that time when I strangled you, I'm sorry."

It was about that, Gordon knew, and about every other time as well that he had ever done something immature to hurt or annoy his brother. It was not John that it affected, however, but himself. He knew that he had a history – still did – of causing trouble, and more than anything he expected certain responses from his family because of that.

"It was my fault."

"No," Gordon jumped in immediately, "it wasn't. I was being stupid."

"So was I. Trust me when I say this – I would never do anything to hurt any of you, including lying to you when you need to be told the truth. 'Kay? Just because you're stupid sometimes doesn't mean that you're not my brother."

Gordon's cheeks flushed at the bluntness of the comment. "Cripes, how do you do it?" So much for escaping the teasing . . .

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like punching you in the face."

"For being right?"

"Yeah." The words came from Gordon's mouth as he typed them. "Bloody know-it-all."

"Potty mouth."

"Then why're you still talking to me?"

"Because there's no one else to talk to."

Gordon's finger stopped halfway above the keys, the truth of the comment finally sinking in. "I thought you liked being alone?"

"I like being left alone. It bothers me when people forget I exist."

The words were so much like the ones that he himself had thought earlier, Gordon noticed in amazement. He had never really thought about John that way before – but then, many things had changed between the two since they had began to talk. John likely hadn't noticed it, but Gordon sure did.

"Like when they think about you all the time? When the wonder if you're all right? Is that what you mean?"

"Sure it is. 'Cause if I ever need anything, I know they'll be up here in a second."

"Like if you kill yourself?"

"It's not so funny. D'you know how dangerous it is up here? There are practically no defence systems. I could be taken out by a meteorite at close range, and I wouldn't know until I'm plastered against a wall."

Gordon's face furrowed in disgust. He'd always assumed that the station was perfectly safe from natural disaster. Of course, that didn't explain the escape capsule that Brains was still trying to perfect. "Then why are you up there?"

"Because someone has to do it."

My brother the martyr, Gordon thought absently, wondering if John had taken to heart the time that Alan and Virgil had bothered him about being a superhero. "Cripes John, you don't have to."

"Cripes Gordon, don't you listen?"

"I just think that you'd be lonely up there. Aren't you worried?"

"Sure, but what about you? You're the one that keeps bringing up the topic. Both of them, I might add."

His mouth hanging open slightly, Gordon snorted and responded, "Am not." He was only going so far with the conversation, and he drew the limit right there. There was no way that he was talking to any of his brothers about his feelings of loneliness, at least not directly. There was just no way.

"Fine. So, what're you going to tell Dad?"

"I don't know," Gordon breathed out loud, stopping from typing it into the keyboard. He was sick of being indecisive. He never was most of the time. It was out of character for him, an uncontrollable combination of fear and uncertainty that bothered him greatly. He was used to jumping headlong into a situation, laughing at his troubles, and making the best of things.

He couldn't do that, though. Not with something that he cared about so much. He had to handle it carefully, so that the outcome was just what he wanted.

"I'll tell him."

"Good. It'll work out. He'll understand."

Gordon wasn't quite so sure about that, given how his father felt about his extracurricular activities. But he hoped that something as prestigious as going to the Nationals would grab Jeff Tracy's attention and make him bite.

"If he doesn't understand, I'll make sure he does."

"Thanks."

"Anytime. I'm always up here."

A smile once again broke onto Gordon's lips, and he realized that it had somehow left minutes earlier.

"I don't mind talking. We didn't do it enough when we were kids. I feel like I should know you better than I do."

There it was, written plain as day on the computer screen. How he wanted to yell 'yes!', to tell his brother that he was right, that something had been missing and that he had been wrong in many of his assumptions.

"Sure, whatever."

Why did it never come out the way that it sounded in his head?

"I've got some homework to do, 'Kay?"

Immaturity was addicting. Even when he tried to be serious, to say one thing that might be important, he never could. It stopped seeming like a good idea as the words left his mouth. Instead, it always twisted into some funny joke or something that would make him or someone else laugh.

"Okay, just give me a call if you need help."

He wondered if John was laughing at him.

"I'm good. 'Night John."

"G'dnight Gord."

Clicking off the messenger program, Gordon sat a long moment at his desk before he even made a move to pick up the paper. Tomorrow, the next day, he was going to call his father and tell him that he needed two weeks off from school to go to a swimming competition. The thought nearly scared him witless, but he was going to do it anyway. He was going to tell him, grin, laugh, and take whatever his father said in stride.

The assignment sheet glimmered on the edge of the bed, teasing him. He desperately wanted to goof off, wanted to forget about it, wanted to go to sleep laughing about throwing the sheet in the garbage. But if he couldn't do one assignment, Gordon knew that he would never be allowed to leave for Florida. The two would go hand in hand, if he knew his father the way he thought he did.

"It's just you and me now." He grinned at the paper, giving the assignment an evil look. "What's say we dance, and I step on your feet a bit?"

Outside, the rain had let up slightly, and the full moon was beginning to shine through the poplar trees. The night was calm, and on the ocean it would be clear sailing in the morning.

A/N: If that's not a teaser chapter than I don't know what is. It's also a set-up chapter, so everyone should know what's going to happen in the next ones after it. :) A huge thank-you goes out to Ariel D, who graced this chapter with her red pen of marking plus five. ;) Without her help, I'm sure Gordon would show even more signs of not understanding the English language.

Zeilfanaat – You're back! (grin) I'm glad to hear that the scorpion made you laugh. The next few chapters are going to get progressively darker and more serious, so I thought I'd put in a little slapstick while I can. It's good to have you back:D
Ladc – Hey, no problem! I'm a bit behind with posting, so . . . :P
Mcj – Don't put your stories down like that:o It was reading "Tales of a Grandmother" that gave me the courage to write something like long, because I knew that people out there would be willing to read it since they had stuck with your work. :)
Rachie Loves Donald Duck – It's great to see that you're making this long and tedious journey with us. Thanks for reading!
Ms. Imagine – Thank you! I can't remember how many times I've edited the John and Scott conversation at this point . . . quite a few, I think.
Barb from Utah – Thank you! It was a challenge to try and figure out how all of the brothers would interact with each other at this point in time. And jealousy is definitely a part of it, as you will see in coming chapters.
Andrewjameswilliams – Yeah, I think you're right there; Virgil would be on a rampage if someone pulled a prank with his ship. ;) Hopefully Gordon won't get it in his mind to do that, or Alan, or Tin-Tin for that matter . . .
Numbuh 14 – I'm glad that you liked it! Alan is definitely in for some hard times, considering that everyone else is growing up and he's still stuck in school. The next little bit won't make it any easier for him.
Opal Girl – Thank you! I didn't like her as much in the tv-series either. I always thought she had to be hiding half a brain somewhere in order to work on her engineering studies. ;) Definitely keep Gordon's ambivalence in mind for the next little bit.
Marblez – Hopefully this update will work for you. ;)
Math Girl – Oh yes, he'd better watch his back, especially with Tin-Tin around now. ;) I'll confess, John's character gets more screen time than the rest do . . . but I can't help it. (sighs) He's my favorite . . . Thanks for the kind words! They mean a lot to me. :)
Assena – Tin-tin and Scott and Virgil will have a little interaction, but not as much as I would like in coming chapters. I would have loved to have developed that, but it was one of the interactions that I had to cut down on due to time constraints when I was writing this.

Ladies and Gentlemen, drum roll please. Next chapter begins Part 1 of 5 of a saga of triumph, failure, death, and re-birth. Please be on the look-out for "Racing" in the near future. Until then, FAB all!