by Daria
[Disclaimer: All Thunderbirds characters are the property of ITV/Granada Ventures; all rights reserved. The references to "Wendy," "Neverland" and the "Lost Boys" is from "Peter Pan" by J. M. Barrie, published by Charles Scribner's Sons. (Copyright varies worldwide). This work of fiction is solely for non-profit entertainment. Please do not republish this work without notice to and permission from the author.]
Eventually, John, Mrs. Tracy and Tin-Tin retreat to the kitchen, and out of curiosity I follow. Americans seem to consider the cooking area a suitable gathering place, a bit of a surprise to me. I'm not accustomed to this habit, finding it rather strange that they'd rather meet there than in the far more tranquil plush lounge or patio areas. Since they didn't object to me joining them, I pull up a chair at the breakfast table and settle back. John pours coffee for each of us, then turns a chair toward himself and saddles it backwards, lanky legs curling cowboyishly around the base of it. Tin-Tin makes up a plate of small savory sandwiches, chips and chocolate and ginger biscuits and sits next to him, talking in such a quick and excited manner that Mrs. Tracy has to remind her several times not to eat and talk at once. The girl nods politely and apologizes, yet proceeds to do the same thing again and again, much to Mrs. Tracy's amusement. When able to, "Grandma," as she is called by everyone in the household save Kyrano, comments on the girl's use of make-up and new clothing and starts Tin-Tin off into a gallop of sentences in another direction. I find that she and I have a passion for the same French designers, a fact which leads us to a fast friendship.
Surprisingly, John doesn't seem lost in the 'girl talk' and pleases her by being just as aware of the latest in fashion trends. Noting the expression on my face, Tin-Tin giggles and throws an arm around her surrogate elder brother. "Oh, don't mind Johnny, Lady Penelope," she coos in her blended Anglo-Franco accent. "He's as close as I've ever gotten to a big sister. He has got the steadiest hand with eyeliner and taught me loads about accentuating my eyes and cheekbones! He learned so much about that in theater classes and it's certainly helped me when I've needed it. He's brilliant at makeovers, too!" Somehow, I can't see Jeff being too thrilled about this fact, being the macho man type, but after the look of pride in his eyes as he'd viewed Tin-Tin in the lounge upon her return, I can't see him denying the girl anything, especially not the friendship and aid of one of his sons.
"So, what should I know about these Tracy men, Tin-Tin," I ask, curious as to her perspective on what I'd managed to deduce about this family. "Oh, they are everything they appear to be," she giggles, "only more so. You have to mind yourself around Gordon. He's the 'merry prankster' of the bunch, though Alan can be just as bad when it comes to practical jokes and gags, I'm afraid. They'll drive you nervous with that sort of thing. Best to keep a stun gun handy if you're forced to be in their company." John smiles a sideways grin and dryly adds, "I'd recommend chloroform, early and often."
"Well, a few jokes here and there must keep things interesting, I'd think," I comment, helping myself to a lump of sugar for the coffee John sets before me. "That's not the worst of Gordon," John states, that snide side of his voice evident. "He's a whiz at wasting money on gadgets of all sorts---especially if it's water related. He's an awful flirt with the girls, too. Back when we were in high school, there were times where he'd have three dates at the same time because he couldn't bear the thought of a girl who liked him sitting at home alone on a Friday night. Heck, he only said 'no' to a girl once, and that was only because he didn't hear the question in the first place!"
"Oooo, poor thing! He certainly seems a cheerful sort, that one. And what of Scott?" I venture, after our laughter dies down. Tin-Tin sighs and responds, "Oh, Scott's usually quite steady and reliable. You can trust him with your life," adding, "Any girl would be lucky to get him. He's dreamy, in the 'Mount Olympus' material sort of way. Mr. Tracy loves all of his boys, to be sure, but Scott is his 'right hand,' as his grandmother would say. He's so dependable that you can set your watch by him."
"Pity is," Mrs. Tracy interjects with her Kansas plains accent clearly evident, "he can't be trusted with the baked goods. Heaven help him if he marries a girl who can cook. He'll be as big as a house before he's thirty-five!" Laughter surrounds us as we picture a corpulent Scott in our minds, no one more tickled than Mrs. Tracy. "But she's right," she adds, waggling a finger at Tin-Tin. "That boy is as steady as they come. Virgil, too. He's a smart boy and so very talented!"
Tin-Tin joins in, "Yes, he's quite artistic, and though people speak about 'artistic temperament' as if it were a bad thing, there's none of that angst or impatience in Virgil. He just has a resolve to be the best that he can be at everything he puts his hand to, but he's never snotty or unkind about it."
Tin-Tin pauses briefly to sip her coffee, then continues, "I use to sit next to him on the bench and turn his sheet music for him as he played piano. I don't read music as fast as he does, so I was often nervous about the possibility of missing a cue to turn the page. Because of that nervousness, I'd developed a bad habit of swinging my legs to-and-fro. One time when he was playing Chopin, I knew I'd messed up because he looked a bit annoyed and then he'd reached up and slapped the page over rather sharply. I didn't want to upset him, but I was having ever so much trouble catching up with where he was in this difficult piece. Well, the more I fought to catch up, the more I swung my legs. Finally, he took advantage of a momentary dramatic pause in the music, leaned into my ear and softly said, 'If you're going to kick, honey, then please keep time with the music.' Then he kissed me on the top of my head. Can you imagine his amazing patience with me?!"
A long laugh later, I ask them, "How about Alan? What's he like, then." Tin-Tin looks bemused at the question, then nudges John to top off her coffee as he's closest to the pot. "Alan's a dear boy," his grandmother states matter-of-factly. "It's just hard for him to settle down from that race car driving lifestyle of his. Land sakes, I don't know how he's going to stand being out here on an island where he can't ride something fast."
With a sigh, John chimes in. "Don't worry about that, Grandma," he assures her, patting her hand as he does. "He got Dad to buy him an off-road buggy on which he's already broken the axle...twice...while exploring the hillsides. He's still racing; he's just not getting a trophy for it!"
"I think it's dangerous and reckless, but that's Alan," Tin-Tin says, not daring to look up at his adoring grandmother. "But he'd never hear any of it. He won't be happy until he breaks his neck, and even then he'll love it as long as he wins a prize at it!"
John nods and rests his chin on his folded arms across the top of the chair back. "Guess you missed that limp he's got, then, huh?" he asks, sure that he already knows the answer. "He did nearly break his neck yesterday afternoon as he drove his three-wheeler on the beach. A wave came up and 'whoosh!' He was lucky Virg and Scott were nearby. We told him to be careful driving in the sand, but he never listens. But he's happy!"
A cloud of worry creeps over Tin-Tin's face, though she's trying desperately to hide it. "He's not...not really hurt, is he?" she questions, tugging at John's shirt. "Ehhhh...he's not bad enough for an emergency ward, but he could use a stint in the infirmary, I think, just to keep him out of trouble. If Father knew what he'd done, that's exactly where he'd be. But don't worry, kiddo, he'll live." Having said that, he raises his eyebrows toward me and his grandmother, certain that Tin-Tin hasn't noticed his expression.
"What about this one, my dear," I ask her in aid of breaking the silence while reaching over to pat John's hand as it rests in the crook of his elbow. "Is he a good catch?"
Tin-Tin looks a bit distracted for a few seconds, then stops to think for a moment before being overtaken by a broad smile. "Ooooo, John is a treasure: he's talented, kind, clever, genius material, infinitely patient, sweet and shy and an excellent cook as well. He's a whiz at tai chi, which Father taught him, and he's a wonderful dancer because he's quite agile and graceful. He moves like a gazelle, very fluid and lovely. Oh...and he loves to skin dive and usually comes back from a dive with dinner in hand, so you can't beat that. I've had a crush on him from the moment I met him, back when we were children. I made him promise to wait for me when I was ten and he was fifteen, but he kept growing anyway, the meanie!"
"I tried my best to stop, hun, but my body wasn't having it!" John teases her, nudging her head with his own. "I'd never find anyone better than you, dear, so I've never bothered to look."
She swoons in a mock manner, placing her forehand to her forehead, patting her heart with her other hand. "You see the trouble I have, Lady Penelope?" she questions, blushing violently. "All of these perfect men about me. What's a girl to do?"
Mrs. Tracy taps her teaspoon on the rim of her cup, then sets it down definitively. "What you do is work on the one who isn't perfect, child, and help to make him so. Land sakes," she drawls, "In my day, women knew that all men need a bit of fixing up, just so as to make them suitable companions for us women-folk. 'Fact is that it's only the sons of Adam that we've got to choose from; that's our lot in life. Best hitch up your britches and make the best of it."
Before Tin-Tin has time to react to her remark, Gordon runs through the kitchen, banging into John as he does so. He's running as if Hell itself were chasing him. Apparently, in this case, Hell itself is his younger brother. "I'll teach you to push me into the pool!" we hear Alan screaming as his wet and frantic form flies past us in a blur. "You don't have to teach me! I already know how!" Gordon yells back to him, slamming a door between them as they exit to the far end of the room and take the chase to the hall.
"Sorry about that, Lady Penelope," John apologizes, looking obviously embarrassed. "I reckon that boys will be boys, and crazy boys even more so." Smiling, I dismiss his unwarranted apology. "Oh, it's quite all right, John. I suppose that you boys will need your high-spirited ways to survive in your chosen task ahead."
John's face noticeably drains of color a bit with that remark, his eyes dropping to study the table. "Speaking of which..." he says solemnly, "you kind ladies will have to excuse me. It's been...real." With that, he rises, gives a gentle squeeze to Tin-Tin's shoulder, blows a kiss to his grandmother and nods gallantly to me. "Come on, Alan," he calls out down the hallway behind the kitchen. "Shake a leg."
Soon afterward, Jeff comes to collect us to shepherd us to the viewing deck of the Cliff House which rests over the landing strip opposite Tracy Villa. He directs my view to the Round House, the guest facility where I'm residing which is a curiously designed flat doughnut of a structure set off from the main house. "What is it I'm looking for, Jeff?" I ask, searching the grounds for signs of activity. "I can't see anything..."
Chuckling in that good-natured manner of his, he points forward. "The launch of Thunderbird 3, our space ferry, Penny," he states, reaching over to take his mother's arm. She suddenly looks so frail and worried and I'm surprised by that change in her when compared to the sturdy farm woman and proud matriarch of a few moments ago.
"They're just children, son...just boys," Mrs. Tracy sighs. "I'm worried sick for them," she says as she shakes her gray-tressed head which she then rests against Jeff's arm as they embrace. "They are men, Mother," he corrects her stoically. "They are the men of International Rescue. They are well-trained and experienced in their fields. They can handle this, Mother. They've got to."
I turn to see John, Alan and Scott dressed in their pert blue uniforms and respective sashes standing just behind us, poised to leave aboard the space ship. "Good, boys; very good," Jeff states as he inspects them. Like youthful cadets, they dress their line, arms straight at their sides. They stand erect for his approval, their eyes focused just above his head. I'm struck by their military-like decorum, especially since only Scott and Gordon, as I'd learned, had actually served in any sort of real military organization, with Scott having achieved the rank of Captain in the US Air Force and Gordon having been a cadet in the World Aquanaut Security Patrol. They look to me as if they've been Jeff's little soldiers for all of their lives.
Satisfied that his sons seem to accept the gravity of the situation, Jeff announces, "At ease," and the boys relax. A round of goodbyes commence, with Scott shaking hands with his father and younger brothers and Gordon and Alan trading rugged punches back and forth to each other's arms.
After a quick handshake and a hearty hug with Brains, the talented young scientist who designed the magnificent ships and equipment for our organization, John steps forward to me, removes his uniform cap and bows politely. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Ladyship," he offers. "I hope you'll enjoy the rest of your stay on the island. It'll be nice working with you. Wish me luck...and I'll see you again...someday."
Maybe I'm not grasping the subtly of what's happening here; he's made it all sound so...final. Passing me, he gives Tin-Tin a long, lingering hug, kissing her cheek as they sadly break away from each other. I hear him whisper to her as they part, "Give him a chance, kiddo. He's worth it." To Kyrano, he puts his hands together and bows his head; they then break their formality and hug each other. Before they part, the elderly man places both hands on John's cheeks, his thumbs leveled lightly against the boy's forehead, then closes his eyes, bows his head and whispers what I assume to be an earnest prayer in his native Malaysian tongue.
John then moves to his grandmother, tears now freely flowing from her eyes. "Now Grandma, you promised, dear," John sighs, hugging her tightly, so much taller than she that he's forced to bend down to do so. "I'll be fine, Grandma, honest! I'm more worried for you than anything. Be safe getting back to California and remember what I told you: If these goomers don't take good care of you, give 'em a good rap around the ears to shake 'em up!"
His grandmother beams up at John, eyes filled with grandmotherly devotion. "All right, I promise I will, child," she says, patting him on the back before pushing him away. "And you make sure you eat regularly, you hear me? I know you, boy---you don't EAT!"
He laughs and shakes his head at her. "Yes, ma'am," he drawls like an errant schoolboy. "I promise I'll eat if you promise you won't cry." Mrs. Tracy narrows her eyes at him and then looks at me with disgust. "That Johnny---he always was a card cheat, that one!"
A few brief moments later, I see John shaking hands with his father, curiously with no words exchanged between them. All they have to say seems to be within their eyes and their bittersweet smiles to each other. As I turn to remark on this to Tin-Tin, I realize that she's no longer standing beside me but instead chasing Alan to reach him before he exits the room. A brief exchange between them, a tender embrace and those three dangerous, dizzy words, "I love you," and he moves to take his place next to his two older brothers on a couch which functions as a conveyor to the underground hangar for the space ship. With a final wave, they are away.
Gordon moves to stand with the now solitary, silent, sobbing Tin-Tin and lends a big brotherly perspective on the situation. "Awwww, relax, kiddo," he chides her. "The twerp will be back before you know it. He'll be fine...unfortunately!" She punches his arm with as much force as the girl can muster and throws in an extra punch once he yelps. "That one's for flinching!"
Walking over to Jeff, I reach out to touch his arm. "Jeff, I'm not understanding. Why is everyone so sad? Haven't the boys flown the space ship before?"
"Why yes, Penny," he replies, his authoritarian tone filled with pride in his sons, "They've flown it several times and it's a great success. But tonight was John's farewell, as from now on his main base of operations will be the satellite, Thunderbird 5. We won't be seeing much of him from now on. It's a shame, really: I gave the boy a new home on an island paradise with one hand and take it away to send him off into space with the other. He's making the biggest sacrifice of us all, Penny: he's giving up his home and its comforts for our cause. After Alan is fully trained, they'll be trading off tours of duty, but for now John is on his own for a while. I'm glad that you've had a chance to meet him."
At last, the enormity of the moment arrests me. "As am I, Jeff," I reply. "As am I."
I'm suddenly filled with a new, healthy respect for these boys---these men of Jeff's. Yes, John is making the most overt of sacrifices, yet they are all giving up so much. Their personal pursuits and individual dreams, their free time, their social lives back on the mainland---all of this they have willingly abandoned for their father's dream of an independent rescue organization which will be there for anyone anywhere in times of peril. But these men will give so much more: their courage and passion to succeed against all odds, their innocence, their sense of hope in the face of doom, their brotherly love and compassion, their expert acumen at assessing the most expedient course of action, their combined strength...even their very lives, if necessary. They'll give freely and proudly to anyone anywhere who sends out a dire distress call and is in desperate need of their assistance. All of this is their gift to those with no other hope of survival.
And now, as I stand at the deck and view the gigantic red rocket, Thunderbird 3, burst forth from the silo far below the Round House and hurtle into the ominous black skies above, I literally feel my heart burst with pride at being numbered among this gallant extended family. Endeavor: that's what International Rescue is all about, and like the astronaut heroes for whom they are named, these Tracy brothers most certainly have "the right stuff."