3. Virgil – Manners

Being a part of International Rescue isn't about being thanked. It's not about being recognised or appreciated.

It is none of those things. But one thing Virgil Tracy could never abide by was bad manners – even on rescues.

Fear he could understand. Worry and panic and abject terror are all concepts he had come to expect. And later, the relief at being rescued, the joy at being reunited with loved ones. In those cases, it was completely understandable for the victim to run straight into the arms of their families or their lovers or their friends, then cast a glance backwards just in time to see the mighty Thunderbirds already lifting into the air. All of these things were both normal and natural.

What was not normal and natural, however, was rudeness.

"Well, so far, your rescue attempts appear to be unsuccessful."

That line had set Virgil's teeth on edge. And then:

"International Rescue? Ha! International Slowcoach, more like."

Had Thunderbird Two been fully operational – having already been taken out by Fischler's ineptitude – Virgil would have flown up and kicked the crap out of him there and then. It was one thing not to say thank you when you were swept away by a wave of relief. It was something entirely different to be abjectly rude in the middle of a rescue.

But it didn't end there.

What happened next would have made a sudden, unexplained airlock failure acceptable – nay, necessary.

"So why do you spend all your time up here anyway, Mr Tracy?"

John had left the comm. system open so everyone could listen in on Fischler's…interesting take on life. All ears were tuned in. And when they heard the next words, there were daggers in every pair of eyes.

"Is it because you don't get on with people? I can see that. You're a bit of an odd fellow, aren't you?"

Virgil was convinced his teeth would be ground down to nubs. But it got worse.

"I mean, I can't imagine you have any friends, do you? It's true what they say: no one likes a ginger!"

Had Alan not already left the island in Three to collect Fischler and his crew – Brains vetoing the use of the space elevator until full checks had been carried out – Virgil would have plonked himself on the couch, remained cross-armed and steel-faced until he arrived on Five, then proceeded to beat the living shit out of Fischler. But Alan was gone. And so Virgil had to wait.

And as soon as Fischler's feet hit the ground, Virgil was waiting for him.

"You selfish, bad-mannered piece of crap," he snarled as he stalked towards him. "I swear, I'm gonna –"

"Whoa there, big fella!"

This time it was Scott doing the holding back. Virgil had already retracted his fist for a punch – but Scott's hand was on his arm, pulling it down.

Fischler simply looked perplexed.

"Well now," he said, brushing down the front of his jumpsuit, "that's not exactly the welcome I was expecting. Bit rude there, don't you think? If I was your employer, I'd fire you for insubordination and failure to greet your boss with a cup of tea on arrival."

"What?" Virgil spat. "Fischler, you are just asking for it!"

Then Gordon was hanging onto his other arm, using all his strength to hold Virgil back.

"Easy, bro!" Gordon said. "Don't go all Bigfoot on us now!"

Calm as anything, Fischler breezed past with his hands in his pockets.

"Hangars carved from underground rock, I see. Bet you had fun excavating these babies. Pew pew psssssshhhhhh. All those explosions, eh?"

And then he was gone, Scott on his tail and trying to keep him away from as much secret tech as possible. It was bad enough that Fischler knew who they were. It would be something entirely worse if he got ideas for his own rescue outfit. Or more disastrous still, if he decided to try to help them.

Teeth still grinding together, Virgil shrugged Gordon's grasp off and went to stalk after Fischler – but another set of hands on his shoulders stopped him dead.

"Virgil, it's okay."

Spinning around to face John, Virgil snorted like a bull.

"It's not okay!" he said. "None of what he said to you is okay."

And then John smiled at him – the same smile he had given Virgil a thousand times over in high school. It was a strange mixture of gratitude and gentle amusement. It took all the wind out of Virgil's sails. He sighed.

"I know, I know," Virgil said, pre-empting the lecture he was about to receive. "It's not worth it. Bad manners shouldn't beget bad manners. If I hit him, it'll just bring me down to his level."

"Right," John said. "Just ignore him."

Popping up between them, Gordon grinned.

"Maybe he'll 'accidentally' fall out of the plane when we get him the hell off our island!" he said.

Virgil nodded, brought his hand to his chin and tapped it lightly.

"You know, that could be arranged…"

"Gordon!"

John's scowl only lasted seconds. Then, the three of them fell into giggles.

His rage dissolved, Virgil slung an arm around his brothers' shoulders and smiled.

"C'mon," he said. "Maybe we can toss him in the pool, too…"