A/N - I do not own the Thunderbirds, I just like playing with the characters.
xoxoxox
Chapter 1
The office was tiny, barely large enough for the single desk it contained. It didn't really matter. This room no longer had a permanent resident. State wide cuts to the careers service and an investment in online guidance meant that careers advisors were stretched across districts; a few lonely individuals doing the rounds of the high schools to dispense reassurance and wisdom in statutory ten minute blocks. As a consequence this area of the school hadn't been refurbished in many years and had a general air of neglect. The carpet tiles had been worn bald in a clear path to the two chairs in the room, one in front of the desk and one behind. The painted cinderblock walls were covered in posters, bleached and faded by the California sun, bearing inspirational quotes.
You can do anything!
Be the change you want to see
Aim for the skies
The posters mirrored the sentiments he had heard at home too many times. Although at home they tended to come tinged with disappointment as he handed over yet another report card that didn't meet the standard set by the siblings who had gone before. Yale, Harvard and the Denver School of Advanced Technology had already accepted a Tracy. Gordon just couldn't match up to their lofty heights of academic success. He was bright but that just got overshadowed by the glittering trio above him. Anything he did had always been done better by at least one, but more often all, of his older brothers.
The pressure to achieve academic excellence had lessened slightly as his swimming training had ramped up in intensity. As competitions progressed from local, to state, to national, to international the family had grown to accept that this was no passing hobby. But Gordon still lived with the constant threat that he would be pulled out the pool if his grades dropped too low. It was taking all his energy to keep on top of his school work to the required B- average insisted on by his father so that he could keep doing the one thing he felt truly good at. The one thing that set him apart from his over-achieving brothers.
At least the teachers didn't judge him or at least couldn't judge him against his more intellectual siblings. As soon as John had graduated high school and started at Harvard, an accomplishment for which he was several years younger than the average after skipping a couple of grades, Jeff had moved himself and the youngest boys away from rural Kansas to Los Angeles. The old farmhouse was retained but was no longer a permanent base for the family.
The move to the city was a strategic decision by Jeff and one that was only delayed in order to allow John to complete his high school education without the disruption of an inter-state move. For Jeff it meant the ability to site himself in the commercial heartlands expected of the business that was flourishing under his direction. It also meant he was able to get back each night to care for his youngest children, even if he sometimes didn't make it back to the apartment before midnight.
It may have been expected that Jeff Tracy, an individual rapidly climbing the lists of America's richest and most influential individuals, would have used the move as an opportunity to enrol his youngest sons in the finest educational establishment Los Angeles had to offer. But Jeff Tracy was a man raised in Kansas wheat fields. A man for whom his own success and the successes of his eldest three sons had been built on the foundations of learning delivered in small town rural schools. What was good enough for him was good enough for all his children. There were no private tutors or exclusive schools. Gordon and Alan found themselves enrolled in the regular district school with its air of neglect and underfunding.
A large part of Gordon really wanted to be back in his math class. Not because he had any great fondness for the subject but because he found it hard in a way the others didn't. He was not above digging out Virgil's old annotated English texts or Scott's history files if he wanted a bit of extra insight for his essays but math was different. Any notes left by his siblings were generally an incomprehensible scrawl. Not that any of them had made many math notes; they all seemed to just get it.
Gordon still remembered the first time after John had headed off to Harvard that he had called for help with his homework. John had tried to be patient but there had been an unmistakeable tone of annoyance accompanied by a condescending eye roll clearly visible on the call screen. Gordon had been left in no doubt that John found the idea of a Tracy struggling with algebra to be frankly insulting. Virgil had displayed rather more patience and understanding but the pity that came with the help was too much for Gordon to take. He didn't want to find out what Scott's reaction would be. The golden haloed first-born was becoming increasingly distant and superior as his career in the Air Force progressed.
And so Gordon ploughed on alone. Taking study guides to swim competitions to read between the heats. Trying to juggle the conflicting demands of Team USA and Team Tracy. The former striving for physical excellence and peak performance, the latter demanding excellence across the board.
The careers advisor on the far side of the desk looked up at the young man sat opposite her. The school records showed he was academically above average. He had prospects.
The students that entered her office tended to fall into three broad categories. There were the ones that didn't really need their regulation advice session having already got their chosen career path mapped out, whether that involved furthering their education or just jumping straight into the local jobs market. There were those that were bewildered and clueless about where to turn next. Then there were those that just didn't seem to care and who drifted through her office much like they drifted through the rest of their school career. She wondered which she would encounter in this interview.
"So Gordon" she smiled at the teenager, "have you considered what you want to do after you graduate high school?"
The teen looked at her with a slightly surprised expression.
"Swim, ma'am"
It was said bluntly and without preamble, accompanied by a mid-western politeness that the move to the city hadn't shaken off. Stated as fact rather than as some hypothetical idea. She had encountered plenty of teenagers with dreams of making it big on the sporting circuit but very few made it professional. Usually the dreams were of football or basketball; swimming was a new one to add to her list.
"Swim?"
"Yes ma'am, swim. I've already got my qualifying time sorted. Come the summer I'll be at the Olympics."
Cogs clicked into place. This was her nineteenth interview of the day and the students were beginning to blur together, even with the supplementary notes put together by the tutors that actually got to see these kids each day. The low attendance scores suddenly made sense. Gordon Tracy, the rising star of the swimming circuit.
"Of course." She flustered slightly over her notes. It was a new experience to have a member of the Olympic squad sat before her. But she was obliged to be a sounding board for his career choice for the next ten minutes. She couldn't just send him back to class off the back of a one word answer. She decided to stick to familiar territory; if they know the plan, find out the backup plan.
"Have you considered what you will do after swimming? You have good grades here. I'd recommend making a college application."
The youngster gave a hollow sort of chuckle. "Not good enough for anywhere that matters. I think I'll stick to what I'm good at, ma'am."
The interview was brought to a close by the final bell of the day and Gordon was glad to be able to scoop up his rucksack and escape the claustrophobic confines of the office. He was sure the careers advisor meant well but he felt that the session was a pretty pointless experience. Actually being in class would have been a better use of his time.
As he reached the front of the school he spied Alan waiting for him in their usual spot. The younger boy was scuffing his shoes in the dirt while waiting, the bored expression of his face breaking into smile when he saw his older brother. They set off on the short walk back the apartment.
"Good day, Al?"
"Yeah, ok"
"Much homework?"
Alan grimaced. He was about as fond of homework as Gordon was.
"I'll take that as a yes. Well make sure you get on with it as soon as we get in. No video games until it's finished."
"Yes Sir!" The response was accompanied by a mocking salute which earned Alan a gentle whack on the back of the head.
"Hey, less of that. I'm not Scott. But seriously Al, just make sure you get it done. I've got an extra training session tonight but only a short one; you'll have the place to yourself until about 6. I'll sort us some dinner once I'm home."
"Will you be able to play video games with me once you're back."
"Sorry, I'll have my own work to get on with."
Alan's shoulders slumped dejectedly and his feet dragged along the sidewalk.
"Another quiet night then."
Gordon hated seeing Alan so flat. The pair spent a significant amount of time together and, like all his brothers, he had a desire to protect the youngest. He wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the shorter boy and was rewarded with a shove in the ribs. Evidently anything even slightly resembling a hug in public was out this close to the school grounds.
"I'll see what I can do."
They had reached the apartment by this point. Gordon dashed inside to grab his swimming kit and left Alan with strict instructions to make sure he got all his homework done. He didn't like leaving Alan home alone but it was a regular occurrence now. Their father wouldn't be home for hours and with all the others moved away the youngest two had got used to fending for themselves. He left Alan with a promise that they would spend some time together later.
The training session passed in a blur of drills. There were now more days with both morning and evening training in preparation for the Olympics and the extra workouts were taking their toll. By the time Gordon reached the apartment his shoulders ached and all he wanted to do was stand under a scalding hot shower before collapsing in to bed. Unfortunately he knew he had other responsibilities to attend to first.
Gordon rolled his shoulders, plastered on a smile and scanned the entry system for the apartment.
xoxoxox
Normally weekday meals were Gordon's domain or he was at least there to help out if Alan ventured into the kitchen. But he had completed his homework quicker than expected and in the boredom of the empty apartment it had seemed like a good idea to start dinner.
He took the pack of greens from the fridge, prodded the pan of pasta and gave the chicken a quick stir. As he sliced the greens an acrid smell assaulted his nostrils. The chicken, which had been cooking nicely until now seemed to have chosen the moment he took his eye off the ball to catch and stick to the bottom of the pan. Carefully prepared strips of prime breast disintegrated and crumbled as he tried to scrape the dried out offerings from the base of the pan. He cursed, turned out the stove, and went back to preparing the greens.
The clock ticked closer to 6pm. Steam rose in billows from the pan of greens which had reached a rapid boil. Perhaps he should have waited until Gordon was actually home before cooking the vegetables, the shredded leaves were starting to disintegrate.
At least the pasta should be ok.
The pasta which wasn't boiling.
More cursing filled the air as Alan realised his error. In his attempt to salvage the chicken he had turned off the heat under the pasta as well. Perhaps he should have just let Gordon cook the whole thing. This was a mistake. All he wanted to do was free up some time in the hope of getting a game in with Gordon and instead he had ruined everything. He wondered if it was too late to dig out the emergency credit card and call for take out. He would just have to make sure Dad took it out of his allowance rather than Gordon's.
The sound of the front door broke through his thoughts.
"Hi Alan." The voice echoed up the hallway. Footsteps approached, only pausing briefly as a kit bag was launched into a room, landing in a corner with a heavy thud. Too late to salvage anything now, within moments Gordon was in the doorway. "Hey, you cooked. Thanks"
"No need to sound so surprised. Don't thank me til you've tried it though. It's, um, not really gone to plan."
"I'm sure it's fine. Want me to drain these pans while you get the plates out?"
Alan signalled his agreement by delving into the crockery cupboard leaving Gordon to drain and stir together the contents of the various pans. He wasn't exactly looking forward to the meal but Gordon seemed grateful to be spared the chore.
Dinner was everything Alan expected it to be. They sat opposite sides of the kitchen counter, Gordon shovelling down vast quantities of noodles while he picked at his own much smaller portion. The meat was as dry as cardboard and stuck in his throat alongside the shards of undercooked pasta. Perhaps he ought to pay more attention in the kitchen, especially as Gordon was likely to be training more and more over the coming months.
Gordon's fork clattered onto the empty plate before Alan was even half way through. He looked up to see eyes the colour of mahogany under the harsh kitchen lights looking at him with concern.
"You ok? You've hardly eaten."
"I'm fine. Just wishing I'd ordered us a pizza instead." He waved a forkful of charred chicken to emphasise his point.
This earned him a small chuckle and at least dispelled the worry.
"Hey, no complaints from me over it. I think my coach would have something so say about that too, we'll save the pizza for the summer. I'll start clearing up while you finish off. You still want that game?"
Alan grinned. Suddenly the pasta was a lot easier to stomach if there was a chance to thrash his brother in the goblin realms at the end of it.
xoxoxox
As the clock ticked past midnight and into the small hours of the morning Gordon lay in the darkness, sleep refusing to come. His normally comfortable bed felt too lumpy and he turned this way and that. First facing the blank wall next to the bed, then the ceiling and finally the open room. A shelf of trophies glinted faintly in the light that managed to spill around the edges of the heavy blackout curtains. Back in Kansas Gordon had rarely bothered closing his curtains; he had always been an early riser and was usually up long before the dawn in order to get to early morning training or fit in a gym session before school. But the pervading yellow glow of the city from the ever present light pollution wasn't like the peaceful moon. On nights like this the city felt oppressive and he yearned for the open fields of home, as he still though of Kansas. Gordon might now be able to access better training facilities and coaches which had enhanced his Olympic prospects but he had never embraced city life.
He was exhausted. The training session after school had been intense and he had thrown himself into the drills with maximum effort. The gaming session had probably been a mistake but he hadn't wanted to let Alan down. The kid had gone to the trouble of trying to make dinner and save him a job. Ok, the noodles had been still firm to the point of being slightly crunchy and the greens had been on the verge of turning to soup but it's the thought that counts. It was calories. It was from his prescribed meal plan. It was mostly edible. He appreciated the level of consideration shown by a teenager who shouldn't have any more pressing concerns than getting his chemistry paper completed and working out whether Ellen from World Studies class had a crush on him.
His own homework had been its usual slog. He wrote until his eyes became sticky and the notes he was reading became a jumbled blur. Sleep should have enveloped him within minutes of climbing into bed but instead the words from his earlier interview kept churning around his head. The thoughts drowning out even the gnawing ache in his overworked muscles.
What about after?
He had always managed to stave these thoughts off before. Whenever his father had made comments about future plans he has always managed to deflect the conversations. He didn't have room in his head for anything other than visualising the dream. Why on earth should the words of a complete stranger, parroted from some state approved script, make life any different.
He was a Tracy. A name synonymous success and achievement. He had found his calling in a way that set him apart from the others.
He was going to swim.
He was going to represent his country.
He was going to win.
He ran through the visualisation that had been a constant companion in his head for years. He could feel the flow of the water over his body as his muscles flexed in perfect synchronicity. He could hear the roar of the crowd as the results flashed up on the scoreboard. He rode the wave of emotion as the medal was presented. This was the moment that would mark him out as more than just the fourth son of an astronaut. Gordon Cooper Tracy. A name in his own right.
With the sound of the national anthem still ringing in his ears Gordon tried to visualise the next steps. He tried to force the dream beyond its current conclusion but instead found only darkness.
