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“International Rescue, we have a situation.”
John’s declaration had the youngest three Tracy brothers perking up immediately. Internally, Scott groaned, knowing his quiet afternoon lazing by the pool had come to an end. Externally however, he straightened, schooling his features into the cool, collected leader his brothers expected him to be. With an air of authority completely at odds with his current position (sprawled out on a doughnut floatie in the middle of the pool) he asked,
“What’s the situation?”
“A deep sea fishing boat has broken down off the coast of Tasmania. The crew is uninjured, but the vessel is taking on water.”
“How many in the crew?”
“Two.”
John’s tone was entirely composed, but Scott could detect the slight edge of mischief a mile off. He turned to Gordon and Virgil, who were both frozen on the steps of the pool, bodies taunt with anticipation. Like any good older brother, Scott decided to fuel their excitement further, shooting them a cool grin as he said, “Sounds like a job for Thunderbird 4.”
Gordon practically shot out of the pool. “FAB! Virgil!”
“Right behind you.” The two began their elaborate, pre-launch sequence, and Scott watched on with amusement.
A mop of blond hair appeared in his periphery, and the side of his floatie dipped as two little hands grappled for purchase.
“Can I help?” Alan asked, gazing up at him. Droplets of pool water clung to his lashes, twinkling in the afternoon sun alongside pleading, baby-blue eyes. Something went warm and mushy in Scott’s chest. Damn adorable, baby brothers.
“Not now, Alan,” he said gently, “it’s Gordon’s turn.”
“No fair. I want to go on a mission too.” The pool’s surface rose an inch up his chin as he struggled to keep his face above the water.
“Next time, I promise. Besides, you and I have our own job to do.”
Alan mumbled his agreement, albeit reluctantly. At that moment, Virgil and Gordon were ready to launch.
5. 4. 3. 2. 1.
Thunderbird 2 is GO.
They watched as Thunderbird 2 wooshed past.
“I have visuals on the fishing boat. Deploying Thunderbird 4 now.” Virgil said, before cheerfully tossing Gordon into the pool.
“International Rescue” was a game their family had been playing for as long as Scott could remember. It had begun with just him and his father, and had evolved with each new addition to the family, their organisation becoming more elaborate as each brother joined the roster. They had invented two vehicles––the “Thunderbirds” they called them––new technologies, new adversaries, and new and elaborate crises to solve.
Though he and John were arguably getting too old to play pretend, their little brothers loved the game, and so they made it a point to play at least once every few days. Sometimes their neighbour Kayo would even join in, despite also being in her late teens. What could she say, Alan and Gordon’s puppy dog eyes were difficult to say no to.
While most 18 year olds would like to pretend they were too cool to play make-believe with their siblings, Scott would honestly admit that he enjoyed the game, and appreciated that they were still likely going to be playing it for several years to come. Though that didn’t mean that he didn’t get exasperated by it from time to time.
Up on the deck, beneath the umbrella, John was lounging comfortably in one of the deck chairs, far from the inevitable chaos. Long ago, John had designated himself the “Communications Specialist”: the guy who manned their space station and delegated missions. This translated into him getting to sit around and do nothing while Scott did all the heavy lifting (literally, because who else was going to get “Thunderbird 3” off the ground?). Scott frequently envied how clever of a decision that way.
Okay, in John’s defense, it wasn’t like he didn’t participate at all. As a matter of fact, he played a very vital role in inventing new and interesting storylines for their game. But still, Scott wished he could “come down from orbit” more often and take a more active part in their sessions, if only to give his arms a rest from carrying his brothers around all the time. Though, the younger three were weirdly stubborn about John’s position, and refused to even entertain the idea of him and John swapping jobs for a day. The conversation would always play out as follows:
Scott would ask something like, “What if John flew Thunderbird 1 today?”
“John can’t fly Thunderbird 1!” Gordon would exclaim. “We need him in space!”
“Well, what if I were to––”
“No!” Alan would chime in. “We need you down here!”
“C’mon John,” Scott would plead, and then John would give some ridiculous reason for why he couldn’t, like:
“Sorry Scott, but you’re not space station-certified.”
“I co-pilot 3!”
“That’s a rocket, not a space station.”
And then Virgil, who was old enough to know better but fueled the chaos for his own amusement, would quip, “You know Scott, if you can’t tell the difference between a space station and a rocket, you’re probably not qualified to man Thunderbird 5.”
And then the younger two would hum inquisitively and nod their heads in agreement, as if they had come to some great, philosophical revelation instead of a ridiculous conclusion about Scott’s made-up qualifications (And, for the record, Scott absolutely knew the difference between a rocket and a space station, thank you very much).
After what looked to be a particularly rough crash-landing, Gordon’s head popped out of the water, unphased, and he began wading towards them.
“Help!” Scott melodramatically cried, playing the part of the victim, and Alan followed his lead, dunking his face under the water and aggressively blowing bubbles in a rendition of what his 6 year old mind thought drowning looked like.
Seeing this, Gordon dove under the water. He glided along the bottom of the pool, his silhouette fragmented like a mosaic beneath the water’s choppy surface, before kicking off the tiles and bursting to the surface to wrap Alan in his skinny, tanned arms. Alan squealed in surprise, and Scott scrambled to keep afloat in the resulting shockwave. Fhew, close call.
“International rescue! I’m here to help!” Gordon exclaimed. He looked between his eldest and youngest brothers and frowned. “Um, Scott?”
“You’ll have to evacuate us one at a time.” Scott prompted.
“I’ll have to excavate you one at a time!” He declared. “Alan, get on my back.”
“It’s evacuate.” Virgil shouted from the sidelines.
“That’s what I said! Escalate!”
Virgil rolled his eyes and Scott huffed a laugh, neither bothering to correct him a second time. With great effort, Gordon piggybacked Alan to the shallow end of the pool, intentionally dunking him under the water every few seconds just for fun. Alan was giggling up a storm, his early melancholy easily forgotten. After delivering him to the pool steps, Gordon turned back to retrieve his eldest brother.
He poked the side of the doughnut. “Scott, you have to get off so I can rescue you.”
Scott reclined in his floatie. “No can do Gordo, the captain goes down with his ship.” For good measure, he crossed his arms behind his head. Scott had gotten his hair perfect this morning, and he had no intention of getting it wet. He knew his little brother too well; if Scott got off the floatie, Gordon would insist on carrying him too, and that could only end in disaster.
“Virgil?”
“I’ll help tow!” There was a splash somewhere behind Scott, and his floatie rocked with the resulting wave. “Deploying grapples.” Virgil made an appropriate sound effect to follow.
“I’ll grab his legs!” Gordon announced, because he still hadn’t wrapped his head around all the technical terminology, and a small hand wrapped around Scott’s ankle.
Slowly but surely, his brothers began “towing” him across the pool, though he could tell Virgil was doing most of the work. Satisfied that their game was coming to a close, he allowed his eyes to drift shut.
… a bad move on his part.
John, who never missed a chance to mess with Scott, called out, “The fishing boat has taken on too much water, it’s going to capsize.”
Scott’s eyes snapped open.
“What does capsize mean?” Gordon asked.
He could hear the grin in Virgil’s voice. “It means we get to flip Scott.”
“Don’t you dare––!” But he was too late, and in the next moment Scott plunged into the water. Oh, John was so paying for that. He pushed himself to the surface and floated limp on his back, letting his brothers drag him to the other end of the pool.
“Mission accomplished!” Gordon shouted gleefully, and he and Virgil exchanged enthusiastic high-fives. Scott heaved himself upright and stood waist-deep in the shallow end, brushing his ruined hair out of his face. At the top of the steps, Alan was flexing his feet back and forth under the water, waiting patiently.
“My turn?” Alan asked hopefully.
“Your turn.” Scott smiled, then called out, “John? Any missions for Thunderbird 3?”
In the few minutes since Scott had last looked over at him, John had shifted even further down in the deck chair. At the sound of his name, he hummed sleepily. “Let me think…” He trailed off as he stretched, not unlike a cat, and Scott raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his ease.
“Take your time.” Scott said, voice dripping with sarcasm. In response, John lifted a closed fist, which was their way of flipping each other off without their brothers or grandmother catching on.
“Alan, I have a very important mission for you. It’s something only you can do.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I need you… to deliver supplies to Thunderbird 5.” He gestured lazily to the cooler in the corner.
Scott rolled his eyes, a bit miffed that John was giving Alan such a lame mission. Alan didn’t seem to mind though, too fixated on the glamour of getting an “exclusive mission”.
“Ready for launch?” Scott asked, and Alan waded over to him. He counted down from 5 in a dramatic, booming voice. The same way his father used to do for him.
5. 4. 3. 2. 1.
He hoisted Alan into the air with as much fanfare as he could muster around the strain. His little brother squealed happily as he rose, and was then swung around so Scott could carry him horizontally against his hip. It took a bit of effort, but Alan wasn’t going to be little enough for them to do this for much longer, so Scott was happy to indulge him.
“Say the line!” He stage-whispered.
Alan grinned. “Thunderbird 3 is go!”
With Scott’s best impersonation of an engine’s roar, he carried Alan out of the water. The cooler was only a few feet away from John (another reason why this “mission” was so lazy) so Scott made a point to fly Alan around the pool a few times before setting a course for John. And if the soda can got shaken up in the process, well, that was anyone’s fault.
“Nearing Thunderbird 5 now.” Scott announced as they reached the side of the deck chair. John was the very picture of laziness, with his body sprawled out and limp like a discarded marionette. As if guided by a string, he raised a slack wrist and held his hand out expectantly, not even bothering to open his eyes from under his sunglasses. Big mistake, Scott thought, as an idea formed in his head.
“Initiating docking procedure.”
John’s eyes flew open. “Wait—“ but it was too late, and his baby brother, who was still dripping from the pool, was dumped unceremoniously in his lap.
The soda was practically shoved in his face. “Your drink, John!”
“Thank you, Alan.” John gritted out, taking the drink and glaring up at Scott.
Payback, Scott mouthed with a grin, which only soured his expression further.
John sighed and shifted himself into a sitting position, Alan giggling as he moved with him. All Scott’s energy went into schooling his features as John curled a slender finger around the tab of the can.
With an almighty hiss, the can erupted like a geyser, spraying soft drink directly in John’s face. He jerked back in surprise, but it was no use, and the soda continued to gush over him until it gradually slowed, becoming a trickle which spilt over his hand and down his chest.
The backyard was deathly silent.
Alan was the first to break, giggling as he wiped stray droplets from his face, an unfortunate casualty caught in the crossfire.
Then Gordon cackled, which sent Virgil into hysterics. Scott bit his lip, trying his hardest to hold in his laughter.
John slowly removed his sunglasses and lifted his head, his expression stormy. Oh, he was furious, and in any other situation the look he was giving Scott would have struck a note of fear through his body. However, with his ginger fringe soaked flat against his face and dripping a trail of soda down his nose, John looked about as pathetic as a kitten caught in the rain. And the instant Scott got that image in his head, his composure crumbled.
He laughed heartily along with his three youngest brothers, head thrown back and his diaphragm convulsing. He was only vaguely aware of John’s steadily darkening expression.
“International Rescue,” He seethed, moving Alan off his lap, “we’re about to have a situation.”
He shot out of the deck chair and launched himself at Scott.
“Shit!” He shouted, stumbling over himself in an effort to escape, but it was no use, and an instant later he was tackled into the pool.
Scott’s back collided with the pool's surface in a loud splash that was quickly swallowed up by the water. Bubbles fizzled around them as they sank deeper and deeper into the pool, and their brother’s voices became distant, muffled by the liquid.
John was on top of him, arms wrapped tightly around his midsection, and Scott fought to shake him off. He pawed at his brother blindly, managing to push him off only for John to hook a foot around his leg and draw him in again. The two proceeded to wrestle beneath the water, their movements slowed as if they were fighting in zero-g. It had been a long time since they’d rough-housed, and doing so again sent a jolt of exhilaration through Scott. He opened his eyes and found bright green staring back at him, the pool tiles casting John’s face in a bluish hue.
John’s hands found his shoulders, and he gripped on tight, using his weight to hold Scott under. While they were practically the same height––give or take an inch––Scott was much fitter, and this––tied with John’s absurdly poor coordination––meant he could easily overpower his brother on the worst of days. Underwater was a different story however. Freed from the grip of gravity, John had the maneuverability of a seasoned astronaut, giving him a great advantage. This was apparent as Scott fought to dislodge his grip, only for his attempts to fail pitifully. The pressure in his lungs began to build, and a few stray bubbles escaped from the corners of his lips.
This was bad. Not that John was actually going to drown him or anything, that would be ridiculous, but it was unspoken that whoever had the advantage before they pulled up for air would be the victor, and Scott’s time to turn the tide was quickly running out. He needed a new strategy.
If he could catch his footing on the bottom of the pool, he’d have the leverage he needed to shove John away. The only problem was the angle; John had him horizontal in the water, with his shoulders being the lowest point. He’d have right himself if he had any hope of reaching the bottom.
With the last of his strength, Scott thrashed his arms and legs out, trying to build enough momentum to turn his body. John’s weight against him provided a lot of resistance, but he managed to straighten just enough to get his legs under him. He kicked his feet out, searching blindly for the tiled floor. After a moment, he made contact. Yes! All he had to do was push and––
His foot slipped.
Just like that, any sense of stability Scott had crumbled, and an irrational, instinctual panic set in. The deep end of the pool became a bottomless chasm. The distance between him and the surface seemed to stretch further and further away. Unreachable. Untouchable. Unfathomably far. The weight on top of him became a terrifying, immovable force. His movements weakened. His lungs were burning, his head was pounding, every cell in his body was screaming for air.
He wasn’t going to make it. Oh God, he wasn’t going to make it.
In an instant, John’s grip shifted, and he heaved Scott upwards. The two burst through the surface with a gasp, gulping down the precious air, and a wave of dizziness crashed down on Scott’s skull. He kicked his limbs about clumsily, straining to keep his head above the water. John pulled him further up the pool until they could stand comfortably.
“Are you alright?” John asked after a couple of seconds, a little breathless. It took a few more deep breaths before Scott managed to puff,
“Yeah.”
John didn’t hesitate to shove him under again.
Scott surfaced to John’s laughter echoing across the backyard, his earlier outrange forgotten. Pleased that his brother was in good spirits once more, but not one to let any transgressions go unpunished, Scott launched a handful of water at his face.
“Ah!” John sputtered, wiping pool water from his eyes. “Haven’t you tormented me enough for one day?”
“I could ask you the same question.” Scott grinned.
The look they exchanged promised a challenge. Oh, it was so on.
But before the two could resume their wrestling, a body collided with Scott’s back, and two skinny arms wrapped around his neck. “Rah!” Gordon shouted in his ear, and he winced.
“Rah to you too––hey!” A second pair of arms grasped onto him, and he was dragged under the water. Again.
He didn’t let Gordon and Virgil bask in their victory for long. In a series of quick movements he shook off both brothers, and when he surfaced he had Virgil pinned to his chest in a crushing hug.
“Aw, did you want a cuddle that bad, Virg?”
“Ugh, no. Get off.” Virgil twisted in his grip to no avail.
Seeing his comrade captured, Gordon attempted to flee from the danger zone, only to be swept up in the hug as well. Then, Scott leant down and gave Gordon a big, noisy kiss on the head. Mwah!
“Eww!” Gordon began wriggling relentlessly in Scott’s hold, only to elbow Virgil in the process.
“Ow. Watch it!” He hissed.
“Johnny, help us!”
John looked way too amused to intervene. “Don’t call me Johnny.” Beside him, Alan was clinging to his arm and giggling along to their antics.
“What’s that Virgil?” Scott asked, squeezing him tighter. “You want a kiss as well?”
Virgil made a scandalised noise. “As if!”
“Was that a yes? I think I heard a yes.”
“No! John!”
“I-International Rescue!” Gordon cried.
John held his free hand up to his ear, as if answering the phone. “This is Thunderbird 5. What’s your situation?”
“We’re been kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped? By who?”
“Thunderbird 1!”
John let out a deadpan gasp. “Thunderbird 1? How could he?”
“We’ve been betrayed!”
Scott let out an evil laugh and began dragging Gordon and Virgil deeper into the pool.
“Wait!” Alan cried. They paused their melodrama.
“Yes Alan?”
“But what if, what if he’s not Scott, but he only looks like Scott.”
“You’re right,” said John, “this could be the work of… the Hood.”
Scott did a slow clap––which was incredibly difficult to do while floating in a pool with your arms full of younger brothers, but he made it work. “Well done, you’ve figured it out.” He sneered in the nasally, articulate tone they used when voicing their main villain.
“What have you done with Scott?” Gordon demanded.
“Let’s just say, Thunderbird 1 is a little… occupied at the moment.”
“You monster!”
“This is bad.” John murmured. “Two of our operatives have been kidnapped, and our commander is MIA.” He turned to his youngest brother. “It looks like it’s up to you and me to save them, Alan. Do you think you’re up to the task?”
Alan lifted his chin diligently––or at least, Scott assumed that was what he was going for. It was hard to tell when he was neck-deep in the water. “FAB!”
“Right then. Climb onto my shoulders. I’ll fly and you co-pilot.” Alan excitedly scrambled onto his shoulders. “Thunderbirds are––”
“Aren’t you forgetting someone?”
They all jumped. “Kayo!”
Dressed in a swimsuit and rash shirt and sitting cross-legged on one of the deck chairs, Kayo watched the boys with an amused glint in her eye.
“How does she do that?” Gordon whispered, equal parts freaked out and awed. Scott was wondering the same thing.
He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. “Uh, how long have you been there for?”
“Long enough.” She stood from the chair and padded towards the pool’s edge, her footsteps near-silent. “I heard you guys from over the fence.”
“Great.” Scott muttered. John was silent, but he could tell by the set of his jaw that he was also feeling a bit self-conscious. It was one thing when Kayo joined in at the start of the game, but being caught mid-roleplay was another thing entirely. By the way Virgil had gone rigid at her appearance, Scott could tell he was also a bit embarrassed. Fortunately, the youngest two had no such reservations.
“Hi Kayo! Are you here to play?” Alan asked excitedly.
She sent him a soft smile. “Of course. You can’t take on the Hood without Thunderbird S. Besides, someone has to protect you boys against Scott’s, uh… affections.”
“Thank God.” Said Virgil.
“About time!” Said Gordon. “Scott is the worst kisser.”
“Hey!”
“He gives the wettest kisses.”
“Hey!”
“It’s no wonder his girlfriends keep breaking up with––gah!” He dunked Gordon under the water before he could say anything else defamatory.
“That’s enough from you. And for the record, I’m an amazing kisser.”
Kayo pressed her lips together. “Whatever you say, Scott.”
“I am!”
“We believe you.” Said John, in a tone that very much suggested that they didn’t believe him.
“Whatever.” Scott huffed. “Let’s just keep playing.”
Kayo joined them in the water and demanded, theatrically, “What is it that you want from us, Hood?”
“What do I want? The Thunderbirds, of course! And if you ever––”
“Scott,” she interrupted.
“Yes?”
She didn’t bother hiding her amusement this time. “You have to do the voice.”
He groaned as he felt his face begin to heat. God, this family would go to any length to annoy and humiliate him.
And yet, Scott wouldn’t have it any other way.