Author's Note – Travels in the UK, too many Judging commitments since returning. Pitiful excuses for the delay in updating this story. As much as you all hate Author's notes, I would like to add one now. The content of this chapter will not please some readers. Please allow the story to follow a full course. I assure you there is a true "Tracy style resolution" for the brothers in the end. mcj

"THE FIRE"

"Part 2"

"Sometimes all it takes is some quiet reflection"

He wished he'd thought about the fact night was falling before he'd gone overboard and blown his stack. He forgot how cold it could get down on the beach in the evening and to say it was cold out here at the moment was being pretty darned reserved.

Alan Tracy rolled down his shirt sleeves and pulled his knees in as close as he could to his chest. The sudden warmth to his body was welcome. Too bad it didn't make him feel any better.

The whole thing had sounded like it was his fault once the debriefing in the lounge got started. He was the one who'd made the first critical error of judgement. He was the one who had nearly cost Virgil his life. He should have known better than to go in there sight unseen, trying to pull a kid out of an inferno before he had the proper clearance from mobile control to do so. Scott had stood there and said it. John had looked at him through the screen and made a point of saying it, too.

He lifted his face to the darkness and felt his anger burn. Hell, for a while it had even looked like Father wanted to damn well say it. Father didn't frown and press a finger tent against his lips for nothing. He only resorted to the finger tent when he clearly wasn't pleased.

Alan raked up a handful of sand with his fingers and flung it towards the ocean as hard and as far as he could. They could all shove their opinions. This time he wasn't wrong. Going in to save the kid wasn't a crazy thing to do. John hadn't seen the terror on her face. Scott hadn't heard her scream.

This time the ball of sand disintegrated in a thousand directions after being aimed at the centre of a palm tree.

Why didn't everyone around here just get it? His reaction under pressure was instinctive. He'd never make any deliberate attempt to hurt or endanger Virgil. Virgil was his brother. But someone had to do something before the fire swallowed the kid up, didn't they? Couldn't they understand why he did what he did when he did it?

Scott said it wasn't about why he did it; it was the point that he'd miscalculated and she was too far out of his reach. He didn't agree. He'd reached the kid in less than three minutes and was on his way back out. There was even time to tell her not to panic … time to ask her to trust him. The dull ache at the base of his skull reminded him she trusted him so much she'd damn near wrenched his neck.

Yeah, he'd heard Scott panic all right; yelling at him through the flames to get his ass back out of there on the double. What he didn't hear was the part about the change in the wind direction. When the entrance disappeared he didn't know which way to turn. He was trapped, surrounded by blistering heat. The kid started screaming again. Neither of them could breathe.

"Jesus, Alan."

That was the next thing he heard. That and the sound of a collapsing building. Less than twenty feet away the Firefly was rumbling into shutdown. The fresh air and a massive coughing fit told him he'd somehow managed to get the kid out. He wasn't sure exactly how until he'd looked to his left at a blackened Virgil lying face down in his smouldering uniform, hardly able to breathe.

The third fistful of sand travelled twice as hard and far as the first.

Virgil should have bawled him out on the way home, instead of waiting until they all stood in front of Father making it sound one hundred and fifty times worse. Yes, he did know there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity and no, he didn't need a lion's dose of expletives when he'd dared to suggest that the real problem had been the delay in taking command of mobile control. Hell, he wasn't criticising Scott or anyone else when he said what he said to Father. He was only saying what he thought. Wasn't that why Father made them endure the mandatory debrief the moment they'd set foot in the lounge?

Alan lifted his chin in defiance.

He didn't regret one single thing he'd done out there today, and he'd do it all again right now if he had to. If Scott had given the all clear the moment Gordon had the Firefly out of the pod, the evacuation would have been routine. He didn't understand why the information from Thunderbird Five needed to be checked, double checked and then rechecked. This was Johnny they were talking about. Johnny was so blasted particular about everything, it was sickening.

Alan's brow furrowed.

No; he was standing firm this time.

The evacuation should have happened immediately, and he'd said exactly those words to Father. How dare Scott stand there and threaten to knock some sense into him simply because he didn't like what he'd heard? His fist slammed downwards hard and fast into the sand. One of these days he swore Scott was going to learn the hard way he wasn't a kid anymore.

And then there was the argument with Tin-Tin…stalling him on the stairs like that …trying to make him go back inside and apologise to his brothers for nothing…

Alan pursed his lips together and replayed the sequence of events which had resulted from her trying to calm him down on the stairs.

It didn't take long for the blond head to lower.

She was right. He had behaved badly. It wasn't her fault he couldn't cope with his pride being threatened and there was absolutely no excuse for losing his temper with anyone; and least of all with her.

He probably should have gone after her instead of hot headedly striding off in the opposite direction. But she didn't understand. She wouldn't understand. He was angry when he walked away from his brothers and he needed time to think. Why couldn't she have sensed his mood and left well enough alone?

Remorsefully he began to trace her name into the sand with the tips of his thumb and index finger.

What a mess he'd made of everything...the rescue...the debrief...the argument with Scott... and now her.

Her face mirrored up at him despite the darkened shore.

He wondered where she was right now.

He hoped she wasn't crying.

He winced as he laid the palm of his hand flat on the glass of the small round table. Carefully, he assessed his fingers. Fingers he'd kept well hidden from everyone until reaching the privacy of his room.

The glass was cool to the touch and at least decreased the burning sensation which continued to tear at his nerve ends. There was no doubt about it. The blistering was getting worse.

Thank goodness Father would be thinking anger was the reason he wasn't playing his favourite pieces tonight. The way things were shaping up, he wouldn't be able to play anything for at least the next couple of weeks. The burning in his fingers was really painful.

Virgil Tracy made a fumbled attempt to lift a glass of cognac with his less than unco-operative left hand. He didn't realise how useless he was without his right one, until now. Right hand. Left hand. Both hands usually co-ordinated perfectly; whether it was playing the piano, painting his latest canvas or flying Thunderbird Two like a maniac to get the right equipment to the danger zone.

Virgil allowed waves of mixed feelings to wash over him. How close had Father come to finding out that little chunk of information? The next time John mouthed off about unsafe practices he needed to think a bit more carefully about who he was dumping head first in front of the firing squad. Virgil was surprised he hadn't been summoned back to the balcony already. He knew Father didn't buy his story.

The cognac was rich and soothed the dryness in his throat. Normally, he didn't get a dry throat during the rescues. He preferred to leave the order-barking completely up to Scott. Scott was like Father. He liked being in command.

With the second mouthful, he systematically relived each and every order he was given. The third reminded him he'd chosen to ignore a few of the more vital ones. He shrugged and swallowed a fourth. Oh well; there was a first time for everything in his life, he supposed, even a little insubordination.

As the hour passed and a second glass emptied, Virgil closed his eyes and exhaled long and hard. He didn't think he could take the burning too much longer. It was time to give in; swallow his pride and seek some attention in sick bay. No amount of cognac was enough to numb the pain he was in orprotect him from the fuss he knew Grandma was going to make when she saw the extent of his injury.

Thoughts of his elderly grandmother mellowed into the shape and form of his brother.

Damn Alan. Why in the heck did he have to do that? The moment Scott had given Gordon the all clear; the Firefly had gone straight in. There had been no need for risk taking or heroics. When was Alan ever going to get it straight in his head that he couldn't take chances where the risks were that extreme?

Flashes of past victims only fuelled the anger inside of him; the charred figures, the burning flesh; Father's consolation that despite their best efforts sometimes it just wasn't possible to save everybody. Those bodies were the stark reality of what Alan didn't want to know. Those bodies were the stark reality that Alan didn't want to face. No matter how many times Father warned him, Alan just kept on pushing his luck. That kid deserved to have his butt kicked from one end of Tracy Island to the other. It was almost like he thought he was invincible or something. Didn't he understand how close he came had come to being one of the ones "they couldn't save?"

Then the dreaded debrief…

He'd tried to be as diplomatic as he could when Father asked for his version of what had happened. Angry as he was at Alan, he was very reluctant to make a scene. But when Scott swung around from the window and interrupted him in mid-sentence, he unexpectedly fired up. The pointed statement that Alan had gone in without orders, he agreed with, but he wasn't about to cop to what Scott went on to aim squarely in his direction. Going in against orders was not worse than going in without them and he didn't care if someone with his experience was expected to know better. What was he supposed to do when Alan and the kid didn't come out? Leave them in there to frickin' fry?

Scott had made no secret of the fact he was furious at the way the whole thing was handled, even before anything was said. He'd left the danger zone as soon as everyone was accounted for and made no contact with anyone during the flight. Usually when a rescue went according to plan, the journey back to base was a celebration. They would share a few laughs, mainly at Alan's expense, before settling down to what they'd fondly come to know as "the debrief before the debrief"; Scott's no holds barred assessment of their performance during the rescue. Scott would outline over the frequency what had and hadn't gone right and if any of them had screwed up, he'd say so, and in no uncertain terms.

But that was where it ended.

Scott rarely let Father in on the details of any screw-ups. He said what Father didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and besides he had enough to worry about with the rescue co-ordination without hearing about near-misses, too.

Virgil took a deep breath and held it to work through another debilitating crescendo of pain.

Well, Father had certainly gotten to hear about the screw-ups this time.

Scott had held nothing back.

Neither had Gordon, John or Alan.

Alan had even been prepared to stand his ground when Scott threatened to take him out for his show of blatant immaturity. Alan had never done anything like that before. He respected Scott almost as much as he respected Father.

And that was the moment Virgil knew he'd lost what little was left of his cool.

He could still see himself pushing in between them.

Why didn't the two of them do everyone a favour and just back the hell right off? Taking each other out wasn't going to change things or make anyone feel better about them not pulling together as team. What happened, happened. Yes, there had been communication problems. Yes, three of them had nearly died. Surely the most important thing to come out of all this was a warning that they needed to be more careful? International Rescue wasn't as sharp as it needed to be. Steps needed to taken to make certain the same thing didn't happen again.

Father had nodded and opened his mouth to agree with him, but Scott hadn't given him the chance to say a single, solitary thing.

OK then; maybe Scott was right. Maybe it had happened because no-one in this family was prepared to follow orders. Maybe the rap he was handing out in front of Father was very well deserved too. But one thing he didn't deserve was the guilt trip. Alan was their brother. There had been no option but to go in after him, and Scott was fooling himself big time if he believed he wouldn't have done the exact same thing himself.

Scott hadn't appreciated the challenge of being confronted with his own principles. The look he'd thrown from across the room at that moment was nothing but pure acid. At the time Virgil remembered thinking that for once in his life he didn't care less. Scott knew he was right, but he was so damn fired up about everything that he wasn't prepared to admit it.

Two hours later, Virgil wished he'd remained calm and kept his opinions to himself.

When Alan had stormed off towards the beach, Scott had bulldozed his way out too and this time there was more than just acid in the glare he'd directed over his right shoulder. Scott had expected his Virgil's support, particularly in front of Father. Most of the time he was happy to give it…choosing to express any difference of opinion when he and Scott were alone.

Today, he couldn't support Scott on principle.

He was sorry to say it, but today Scott needed a dose of his own hard-nosed directness. He needed to hear he was over-reacting and he needed to hear it in front of Father. There were times when his orders couldn't be followed and he had to trust them to do their best. The only regret he had about the reality check was the rare display of his Tracy temper.

Virgil's eyed gazed worriedly into the blackness.

Scott would still be peeved at him and it didn't take an engineering degree to know he'd be taking the whole thing hard. Despite the pain, despite the burning and despite the fact that Grandma would lecture him into the next century for failing to attend to his injury, perhaps it was time that he was out there too.

His chest continued to heave up and down despite the fact it had been almost ten minutes since he dragged his body out of the pool and promised himself a shower.

Scowling into his chest, he tried to contain his breathing.

Maybe his breathlessness was a signal his fitness in the water would soon be under scrutiny too. Why not? After all, it had just been made very clear that his fitness for anything else was under the microscope at the moment.

Just how many more times did Scott have to interrupt what he was saying to insist he was way out of line? It had been a split second decision to take the Firefly back in. All he was trying to do was explain his reasons to Father. He'd meant what he said when he warned Scott to shove a fist in it. Scott wasn't giving him the chance to say or explain anything.

He couldn't believe how little had been said about the extra lives he'd saved. Why wasn't Scott focussing on the positive? Why wasn't Father? Two extra people were still alive thanks to his quick thinking and all Father seemed willing to do was fold his arms against his chest and wait for Scott's bawling out to finish.

Gordon Tracy sat on the edge of the swimming pool; ignoring the chill of the breeze and how icy it felt against his crop of dripping red hair. One hundred laps of the pool since then and he was still sitting here all worked up. He didn't like it either. Life was too short to deal with this sort of crap, especially after what he'd already been through.

"Live each day as if it will be your last, dear," had been Grandma's bedside recommendation. "Remember, one of these days we will all have the misfortune to be right."

Grandma hadn't been kidding. After the hydrofoil accident, Gordon had woken up to the reality that he needed to make the most of every minute. He soaked up the billionaire lifestyle and treated International Rescue as a buzz. He enjoyed working with his brothers and made sure he did everything Father required him to do. When the rescue team was despatched, he played his part with enthusiasm. When Scott called the shots at the danger zone he followed the instructions to the letter. He saved lives. He felt good. He didn't have a problem with International Rescue. So why all of a sudden did International Rescue seem to have a great big problem with him?

Gordon hung his head, clenched his jaw and refused to acknowledge that he was shivering.

He didn't care how much Scott had to say about the importance of following procedure. He was not going to accept that he had acted irresponsibly in saving those people's lives. The building had looked stable enough to him before he'd gone for broke the second time and the Firefly had more than the required capacity to handle the expected increase in temperature. In his opinion, Scott simply liked to hear the sound of his own frickin' God-damn voice. How did he think a guy made first lieutenant in the WASP outfit if he didn't exercise good judgement?

Gordon shrugged and moved his feet absently through the water, wishing his thought process had kept a few seconds ahead of his tongue.

Maybe he shouldn't have overreacted to the inevitable silence that followed. Father had filled the void with, "that's a very good point, son," but he knew what the rest of them were thinking. First Lieutenant Tracy wasn't always renowned for his good judgement, now was he? Seven people would still be alive today if it wasn't for good old First Lieutenant Tracy.

Gordon's hands made savage swipes down and across the length and breadth of his face. The past was the past and he didn't want to think about the hydrofoil accident anymore. He'd saved ten times the number of lives lost in that accident since International Rescue began. He hoped he would get the chance to save a whole heap more.

Lives like the mother and the kid out there today.

The kid Alan had gone after.

The mother he had saved with his "act of irresponsibility."

"I'm not saying what you boys did wasn't worthwhile …" had begun what Gordon knew was the lead up to one of Father's stern-faced warnings. He and Alan had received one too many of them over the years not to recognise the signs. The clearing of the throat, the slow focussing of the eyes; all of it a clear sign Father was about to deliver his parental address on where one or both of them had gone wrong.

Tonight he hadn't been in the mood to stomach it. He'd been dirty, tired and sore. He also hadn't eaten a damn thing since Grandma had forced two pieces of fruit into his hand on his way down to the hangar with Alan. The words had come out before he could contain them and definitely before he had had time to weigh up the consequences of challenging Father with his heart and not his head.

"It was worthwhile."

Even a hastily added "sir", hadn't made the interjection sound any better.

Father had stopped in mid-sentence; the expression on his face quickly reducing Gordon to a small boy about to be berated for his temper.

Blindly he'd stumbled on.

It wasn't like he was being disrespectful or questioning Father's better judgement. What he was trying to say, badly, was he took the rescue business seriously. To him, every life was worth saving and that was all he'd been trying to do.

"Well why the hell didn't you think more carefully before risking the loss of your own?"

His gut churned. His temper burned. A liquid fire rose inside him, threatening to consume his chest.

He would have hit him.

Should have hit him.

Still wanted to hit him.

The splash echoed into the stillness as Gordon Tracy forced his exhausted body to plough up and down the pool once more.

Johnny didn't know how lucky he was to be too many thousand miles away.

Father had made it very clear to him what the role involved long before International Rescue began.

One…the resident astronaut in Thunderbird Five was expected to complete a month on, month off stint in the satellite.

Two…during the period of duty in the satellite, the communications were to be monitored twenty four seven and potential rescue situations identified.

Three…if the services of International Rescue were required, it was essential to contact base without delay and provide the relevant details.

Four…the resident astronaut would stay in constant contact with the danger zone until Thunderbird One arrived and mobile control was in place.

Five…additional information was to be researched and made available to mobile control immediately.

Six…in short, he was expected to do everything he could, as quickly as he could and as thoroughly as he could to ensure the success of every rescue.

A big thing for a young man, Father had said in one of their initial conversations, and one he could guarantee would be very draining at times. He would need to adjust to broken sleep, nuking all his meals and be happy to live alone with nothing but the universe for at least five months every year.

"Come on, Dad, you know that's what we do."

His response back then had been a verbal acknowledgement of the special bond he was proud to share with Father. They were both astronauts. They knew the dangers, they loved the silence, and sleep was the last thing on their minds when it came to the rush of the rocket ships.

John Tracy paced the length of Thunderbird Five and reminded himself that chewing his nails when he was aggravated was a habit he needed to kick. He seemed to be doing a lot more of it, and noticeably too, at least according to Grandma. Only yesterday she'd tactfully suggested it might be a good idea to ask Father if he could take an extra couple of weeks off the next time he returned from rotation.

"You're looking tired, John," she'd observed, her blue eyes filled with concern. "You need to take some time away from all this. Your father will understand."

John sighed. No matter how hard he tried, he could never hide anything from Grandma. She knew when he was unhappy. She knew when he had something on his mind. She was also one hundred per cent right that he was well overdue for the opportunity to rest and recharge his batteries.

The outfit had been demanding lately. Sleep didn't come easily and was it fitful at best. The rescues were frequent and most of the time they were hectic. Scott pushed him to the limit for updated information. Alan's heroics scared him half to death. Father expected to be kept informed at all times.

The work was stressful and the work was tough and until today he'd been enjoying every single moment of it.

Today it had been different. Today he had nearly lost three of his brothers; the two who nearly drove him crazy with their antics and the one who still allowed him to see the face and smile of his mother.

Two rows of white teeth clamped down once again on agitated, restless fingers.

The misunderstanding should never have happened in the first place. It had been nothing more than a straightforward rescue when he'd patched through the distress call to base. Father had even toyed with the idea of not sending Gordon at all.

"I don't think we need…" he'd begun to say, until a last minute update from the danger zone indicated they were going to need the Firefly. Then, Father's whole demeanour changed. The Firefly meant everyone and when it came to fire-based rescues, Father always became uneasy.

"Tell them we're on our way, John," he'd directed with his usual controlled calm. "Scott will be in contact with you as soon as Thunderbird One is airborne to obtain the latest details."

"FAB, Dad."

FAB.

John Tracy growled at the universe and wished he could give all four of his brothers a dose of good old FAB. One minute he was rolling his eyes at the verbal ping pong going on in the lounge; the next he was being implicated and Father was dragging him into the equation. Was it true what Scott was saying? Was there any valid reason why Mobile Control didn't have access to full and updated information?

"John?" Father had frowned at him through the screen when he'd been too speechless and shell-shocked to answer.

No access?

How could Scott stand there right in front of Father and say he had no access to the information? Scott knew he'd given him every piece of information he had. He'd made sure he ran the required data the moment Thunderbird One hit the dirt. He'd gotten it all…construction material, slab depth, wind direction, terrain. He'd even run a blasted profile on the structural Engineer. Jesus, what more did he want?

More to the point, what more did Scott expect? He'd done everything by the book. He'd stayed in contact and followed orders; right down to when Scott contested the information on the wind direction and expected him to run the whole damn thing again.

It had taken him a few minutes to find the right words, each minute feeling like an hour with Father's eyes fixed firmly on him.

"The information I had was accurate, sir," he'd heard himself growl quietly. "Unfortunately Scott still seems to be of the opinion that I should have been some sort of mind reader."

The words had come out calmly…too calmly…a combination of one too many sleepless nights and hours of constant drain.

He'd seen Virgil take a sharp intake of breath as Father turned back to Scott and looked at him for an explanation.

Then he'd felt his own breath falter as Scott denounced every word.

"I made it very clear to Thunderbird Five what I wanted, Father and until I received it, I was not prepared to take any risks."

The words had been slow, low and deliberate, and the inference behind them was clear. Scott was right. He was wrong. End of brotherly conversation.

The de-briefing had then blown sky-high.

Scott? Not prepared to take any risks? Surely that was a laugh and a half. The risks of entering a burning building were nothing compared to the risks he'd already expected Virgil to take getting the Firefly from base to the rescue zone. Pushing Thunderbird Two to deliver an earlier ETA was downright irresponsible.

All of a sudden the focus was on Virgil, who'd vehemently shaken his head. Everything Scott had asked him to do had been in order, he insisted. There hadn't been any risks involved. John must have somehow misheard.

Grandma probably would have intervened by now; telling him to calm down or that red didn't suit his blondness. Even as a child he'd coloured up the moment he was out of his depth or angry.

This time he was just plain angry.

Misheard? There was no way in hell he'd misheard. Scott had needed Virgil on site and he'd needed him on site damn fast. Virgil always cut heaven and earth to meet Scott's deadlines. The math was there for everyone to see. Eighty six minutes did not equate to two hours.

The words, "that's enough, John," failed to shut the floodgates. It all just poured out of him. Father could ignore the facts if he wanted to. He refused to bear the brunt because the rest of them didn't shine. No matter what information he'd provided or how fast, it still wouldn't have satisfied Scott. Scott had chewed out his ass every rescue for at least the past two weeks. Maybe Grandma should suggest to him he needed a little vacation. He wasn't sticking around to hear one more word of this crap.

"No, son…wait."

John Tracy resumed his pacing, satisfied that cutting all links with Tracy Island was the only way his voice would be heard.

"Well why the hell didn't you think more carefully before risking the loss of your own?"

He'd said it to Gordon and when he'd said it, he'd meant it. In hindsight, he should have said the exact same thing to Virgil and Alan too.

They had no right to play at being heroes and expect him to shoulder the blame.

"Oh, dear."

The beach.

The balcony.

The pool.

The satellite.

Lord only knew where the other one was. It was a wonder the house was still standing, he'd banged the door so hard.

Josephine Tracy sighed in frustration from the solitude of her personal balcony and reflected on the leaves in her tea cup.

He had told her this wasn't a family matter.

He'd warned her not to interfere.

And as much as she disagreed with him this time, she knew she would have to honour that.