TB1'S LAUNCHPAD TB2'S HANGAR TB3'S SILO TB4'S POD TB5'S COMCENTER BRAINS' LAB MANSION NTBS NEWSROOM CONTACT
 
 
The Edge Of
Brief Insanity
by TEOBI
RATED FRM

After breaking up with Alan, Tin-Tin is surprised to find another Tracy brother waiting in the wings.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I want to thank Fran Lavery for her assistance with this story from its very beginnings a tiny fic into the epic it became, and for all the encouragement and laughs along the way.

And mcj for all the advice I didn't take because of my impulsiveness as a new writer. It did sink in, I promise!

And everyone at TIWF just for being FAB.

I don't own these marvellous characters, but if I did then I'd be a very happy bunny indeed.


PART I - THE PAST

Chapter 1

The day that Alan and I broke up, I ran to my room and cried for a whole afternoon. The intensity of my feelings surprised even me. We had been together for so long it just seemed as though we always would be. Perhaps I had been taking him a little for granted; but that happened to everyone, didn't it?

We had been to the mainland on one of my all-too-infrequent shopping trips. I was excited about all the new clothes I had bought and was wondering when I'd get the chance to wear them. Thinking back, I suppose I should have noticed that Alan was a bit quiet, but I was so busy showing off my things to the rest of the boys that right then, nothing else mattered. I flirted and giggled, holding up one item after another for their perusal. No matter how gorgeous or exquisite I thought these items were I knew the boys would tease me mercilessly, and I loved it! It was always nice to be the centre of their attention.

Alan took me aside later on in the kitchen, while I was still on a high. I smiled at him as he approached, suspecting nothing of what was to come. He stood by me and watched me pour myself a cup of mint tea, declining the offer of one for himself. He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Tin-Tin," he said, "I've been thinking."

I was still oblivious to the serious look on his face, still thinking about the boys' reactions to my purple hipster flares and lime green wedges- Virgil sitting there silently stroking his chin, Gordon with his eyes out on stalks, and Scott making references to Woodstock.

"Oh? Thinking about what, Alan?" I asked blithely.

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, Tin-Tin, about us."

"Us?" I was puzzled now.

"Tin-Tin," he went on, "I've been thinking for a while. How long have we known each other? I don't think I can remember not knowing you. We've just kind of, always been together."

To be honest, it was not something I ever really thought about. "What are you trying to say, Alan?" I asked him.

"I'm trying to say...gosh, Tin-Tin, I guess I'm trying to say, I think maybe we shouldn't be together so much. I mean..." he was starting to go red, staring past me at some spot on the wall, "...I feel as though you see me more as a brother, anyway. We're just kind of comfortable together. We hang out all the time without really thinking about it. But that's not enough for me anymore. I want to, I don't know, I just want to have more freedom, more opportunities to..."

We were interrupted then by Scott coming into the kitchen, no doubt on a quest for food. I looked at him, and he looked back at me, and then he looked at Alan. He tilted his head and frowned. I dropped my gaze to the floor.

"Okay, I'm outta here," he announced. He turned around sharply and returned to the lounge.

"Come on, Tin-Tin," Alan carried on. "You must know what I'm trying to say. I'll never stop caring about you, I just...I just don't want to be tied down. I don't want either of us to feel tied down."

"Tied down?" I stared at him, shocked. "Is that what I'm doing, tying you down? Oh, you poor thing, Alan."

"No, Tin-Tin, I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, what did you mean it like? I don't think there is another way to mean it."

He shifted nervously on his feet. He couldn't even look at me now. "I just don't think it's doing either of us any good to keep drifting along the way we are, always doing everything together. Like we're twins or something. Joined at the hip. Where you go, I go. That kinda thing."

Twins? Joined at the hip? Is that what he thought of us?

"You're saying you want your freedom, and you think I'm holding you back."

"No! Tin-Tin, I..."

I didn't let him finish. "No, Alan, that's exactly what you're saying. You don't want to be with me anymore, you just want to go off and do your own thing."

"I guess." He rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin, as though trying to erase his words, but it was too late to take anything back now.

"How long have you felt this way?" I asked.

"Kind of for a while. A couple of months. Well, a few months. Since I went to Monte Carlo with the racing team."

"Monte Carlo? Well, I see, the glitz and the glamour of the racing circuit, not to mention the girls."

"Tin-Tin..."

"How can I compete with the world of Monte Carlo?" I was starting to get heated.

"Tin-Tin, it's not about Monte Carlo. That's just when my feelings began to change." He looked at me in desperation. "Tin-Tin, I'm sorry. I'm trying to do this without either of us getting hurt."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "And how did you think you were going to manage that?"

He shook his head miserably. "I don't know."

I wanted to pick up a serving plate and smash it over his head. I didn't, of course. I just stood there, feeling panic welling up inside me, and the urge to run fast and run far.

"All right then, Alan," I smiled tightly. "If that's what you want so badly, then have it. But don't you ever come back one day and say you've changed your mind."

"Tin-Tin." He tried to take hold of my shoulders but I squirmed away.

"No, Alan. If you want it to be over, then it's over. Go off and find all these wonderful opportunities that you seem to think are all out there waiting for you. I hope they make you happy, because I obviously haven't!"

Perhaps it was a bit of an overreaction, but I burst into tears, turned around and fled out of the kitchen. I flew through the lounge past Scott and Virgil who looked startled as I ran by with my hand clamped over my mouth. I ran to my room and flung myself down on the bed amidst all my lovely new clothes. I picked up the lime green wedges and threw them onto the floor. I grabbed hold of a pillow and sobbed my heart out until the pillowcase was soggy with tears. When I had cried myself out I rolled onto my back and lay there staring at the ceiling, my eyes tired and throbbing.

After a while, a realisation slowly began to dawn on me. Perhaps Alan had a point. Perhaps we had grown a little too comfortable with each other. Perhaps I did treat him more like a brother, wittering on to him about other men like Cass Carnaby and Rick O'Shea, and flirting with Eddie Houseman in front of him without a thought to how he might have been affected. I know the others teased him mercilessly for days on end after Eddie had gone, and I remember thinking it was funny instead of realising how much he'd been hurt. He always forgave me for everything, and I suppose I had started taking advantage. He was only twenty one, and at times he could be young for his age. Perhaps I was the one who had started to outgrow him without even realising it. What if my tears were just tears of humiliation, because he had been the one to end it first, instead of me?

Later on, when I had stopped feeling quite so sorry for myself, I got up and went into my bathroom for a wash and freshen-up. I went out and sat by the pool to think about things. The sight of the rippling water was very calming. I actually started to feel quite peaceful, as though a brand new day was about to begin, sparkling and shiny and full of possibilities.

I was lost in drifting thoughts when footsteps and voices stirred me out of my reverie. Scott and Virgil had come down from the house and were walking across the pool deck. They appeared to be talking together in hushed tones. No doubt about me and Alan, I suspected.

"Tin-Tin, there you are," said Virgil softly. "We've been looking for you, honey." His brown eyes were kind- but then Virgil's eyes were always kind.

"Yeah," said Scott, "we were worried about you."

They stood there together, so similar yet so different, Virgil pushing the hair back from his forehead, Scott with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tan cargo pants. The setting sun threw a golden glow on their faces, and I had to admit, even in my dejected state, that they both looked very handsome.

"May we sit?" Scott said, pulling up a nearby chair and parking himself next to me, even though I hadn't said yes.

"I'm all right, really, Scott," I protested, but in vain. Virgil was already dragging his own chair over and soon I was caught between the two of them like a fly in a web.

"We know what happened, Tin-Tin," Scott said. "After you ran out of the kitchen, we went in, me and Virgil. We made Alan tell us what was going on."

"Oh, Scott. You didn't."

"We had to. There was no way we were going to see you so upset and not do anything about it." He paused, and looked out over the sea.

"Scott told Alan he was an idiot," said Virgil, wryly.

"Scott!"

"He didn't like it, that's for sure," Virgil grinned.

"I couldn't help it, it just came out," said Scott. " I just don't know what he's playing at. I think he's making a big mistake."

"He told me he wants his freedom," I said.

"Freedom from what?" asked Virgil.

"From me, I suppose."

"Freedom from being a jackass," Scott grumbled. "I don't know what's gotten into that kid."

"It's all right, boys. Really. I'm fine."

Scott looked at me then, inquisitively. "What about you, Tin-Tin? What do you want? Do you want your freedom?" He kept saying the word 'freedom' as though it were a poisonous thing in his mouth that he had to get out.

I shrugged. "I don't really know."

Suddenly I thought I was going to start crying again. No one was more surprised than me when it was Scott, not Virgil, who drew his chair closer and put his arm around my shoulders. "Hey, Tin-Tin, don't cry, honey. I'm sorry. Guess we went sticking our noses in where they don't belong."

I leant gratefully against him. "It's not you, boys, really. You're being very kind. It's just me being overly sensitive."

"You're not being overly sensitive," said Virgil. "After all, for want of a better word, you just got dumped."

Despite myself, I laughed, although it came out as more like a small choking sound. "Yes, I suppose I did just get 'dumped'."

"Happens to the best of us."

I smiled. "Even you two?"

Scott gave my shoulders a gentle shake. "The stories we could tell."

I nestled closer. "This is surprisingly nice," I said.

"Surprisingly," laughed Virgil.

Scott gave me another squeeze. "Don't listen to him, Tin-Tin. I've been told I give good hug."

"Among other things," Virgil commented, "like lousy advice."

"Ignore him. He's just jealous."

A delighted giggle burst out of me. "You boys are funny," I said.

"Funny like a clown?" Scott said affectionately.

"Funny like people who make me laugh when I want to cry. Although I really think I've cried enough for today."

"Think so, huh? It's going to take time, Tin-Tin. You'll cry plenty more, I guarantee it."

"You'll be okay, though," said Virgil. "Alan's a hothead, he does things on impulse. He'll be back before long, you'll see. Don't worry."

"No, Virgil. I told him he wasn't to do that. I've been thinking long and hard about it- if he wants to go then I think I'm ready to let him."

Scott pulled his head back. I lifted mine and met his gaze. "Are you sure?" he asked, surprised.

Virgil looked equally amazed. "You're actually going to let him have what he wants, just like that? Tin-Tin, sweetheart, think about it."

"I've thought about it, Virgil. Really I have. I spent all afternoon thinking about it- and like Alan said, we've just grown comfortable together. There's no real spark any more. He wants some excitement in his life, and I suppose if I'm honest, I wouldn't mind the chance to have some new experiences either, however long it takes to get over this."

"That's a brave decision, Tin-Tin," said Scott, exchanging a look with his brother.

"I don't feel very brave," I admitted. "But I'm ready for it, I think."

Scott stroked my hair then. A quite unexpectedly warm feeling went from my scalp right down to the base of my spine.

"You know we're all here for you, Tin-Tin," he said.

"I know, Scott," I replied. "and I'm glad you're here, all of you."

He pressed his lips into my hair and kissed the top of my head. "You're a beautiful girl, Tin-Tin," he said. "One day, you'll find someone who wants you and needs you the way that you want them. Someone will snap you up." He grinned then, and rubbed my back fondly. "And whoever it is, will be a very lucky guy."

With Scott and Virgil comforting me like that, I began to feel pretty lucky myself.

Chapter 2

It took a while, months in fact, and it wasn't always easy, but Alan and I eventually drifted back into a friendship that was almost the same as the one we'd had before. As the awkwardness between us wore off, Alan became more like his old self again, tactile and generous and boyishly funny.

At first Scott kept an eye on us- every now and again I'd catch him watching either me or Alan, like some authority figure who would step in if he had to. But It was not in Scott's nature to bear a grudge. I suppose he was just doing his big brother bit, looking out for his family the only way he knew how, by being the man of steel.

Gordon started taking me out for regular trips on his fishing boat Misty, or 'Miss T, for Tin-Tin' as he called her. We went scuba diving among the reefs where we marvelled at brightly coloured fish and watched sea turtles pecking at coral. If you are ever in the throes of despair, spend a day with Gordon. He is a treasure. He doesn't take anything seriously unless he has to, and the way he swims in the water is a joy to behold. He is as supple as a seal, as friendly as a dolphin. I swear that boy has gills!

Virgil began inviting me to a few of his jazz nights at Kaminsky's, the nightclub he played at in Sydney. I revelled in the jocular attentions of the other band members while Virgil looked on fondly. When he started playing, he sat me at the side of the podium and watched out for me while I enjoyed the music and drank in the heady atmosphere of the place.

One weekend, to my absolute and complete surprise, Scott whisked me off for a trip to Paris. Everyone teased us about it being a dirty weekend, but I think it was just because he knew how much I enjoyed Virgil's jazz nights and didn't want to be outdone. For two days, all we did was eat lots of fine (and sometimes not-so-fine) cuisine, act like tourists around the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower, and drive like maniacs on the roundabout at the Champs Elysees. We sat on a wall by the River Seine and shared bottles of wine which we drank from plastic cups. We stuffed ourselves with French bread and cheese, and laughed at the most immaterial things. I saw the laid-back, approachable side of Scott that weekend, and I realised that I really quite liked it.

One day, not long after the Paris trip, I went down to the pool for a swim and Scott was there, reading a book. He was wearing dark aviator shades and I couldn't see his eyes, but he looked up and grinned at my approach.

"Good book?" I asked.

"It's okay," he replied. "Plot's a little thin though, and I don't think the elephant's needed."

"Coming for a swim?" I put my towel on a chair and removed my kimono. I stood in front of him in my red bikini.

"Nah. Not in the mood to get wet."

"Suit yourself." I went down the steps and dived under, then I started doing my laps. Whenever I looked up, Scott had his nose in his book. When I'd completed one hundred laps, I got out of the pool and went over to him. I held my wet hair over him and squeezed water onto his head. He dropped his book and launched himself out of his chair and chased after me as I ran away laughing. He caught me by the hand and swung me around, and without pausing he hurled me back into the pool. Water went up my nose, and I surfaced, coughing and spluttering.

"Serves you right," he laughed.

I got out and towelled off, then I spread my towel on a sun lounger and lay down on my stomach. Instantly I felt the heat of the sun on my back.

"Hey, water baby, sunscreen." Scott picked up a bottle from the table next to him and threw it over to me. It landed next to me on the lounger. I don't know what made me do what I did next, because I was perfectly content to lie there in the sun and ignore him.

I held up the bottle and wagged it in the air.

"You'll have to come and put it on for me," I said cheekily.

"I thought you were bendy, all that yoga and stuff that you do." I still couldn't see his eyes, just the reflection of the sun on his shades.

"Bendy, but not double-jointed. Come on, Scott. It won't hurt."

He came over and sat down by my side. He took the bottle of sun cream and squeezed a blob onto his hand. He put his hand between my shoulder blades and began rubbing in small, circular strokes.

"I'll have to be thorough," he said. "After all, we don't want you burning."

I lay there grinning as he rubbed cream all over my shoulders and arms. When he had finished coating my upper torso he moved his hand further down. When his hand reached the small of my back I squirmed and giggled.

"That feels very nice," I murmured. "No wonder you've got a reputation, Scott Tracy."

"Feels pretty good to me too," he replied. "And who says I've got a reputation? Although if I did, I guess this wouldn't be helping it any."

"I suppose we all have to get our kicks from somewhere," I said teasingly.

This made him laugh, and would you believe it, he smacked me sharply on the bottom. "Can't I just do a lady a simple favour?" he chuckled.

This was Scott's fun side, with its devil-may-care tomfoolery. He was nothing if not mercurial, changing like the tides, pulling at you like an undercurrent. It would have been lovely to have spent the rest of the afternoon with him teasing me like that, but then Gordon and Alan came down to the pool and the moment was gone.

After that, I found I was seeking out Scott when I could. For some reason I was growing to enjoy his company, I suppose it was nice to be the focus of his attention seeing as he was that much older than me. He got used to me turning up everywhere, but I never once felt that he minded. If he had, I would have stayed away- because although I liked him I was still in awe of him. He was, after all, Mr. Tracy's eldest son and second-in-command, and you didn't want to get on his wrong side. He was still someone I looked up to and I didn't want to get on his nerves, but I would have done anything just to get him to start noticing me beyond the simple playful flirting that we shared.

One morning I went out with him on his hover bike to run routine checks on Tracy Island's security systems. Well, I invited myself, really. I turned up at the hover bike shed with a bag of cake, fruit and bottled water. It was a very hot day and I was wearing a crop top and cut-off denim shorts. He looked me up and down with his sea-blue eyes and I'm sure he was appraising me, but then he took one look at my sparkly pink flip flops and his brows came together.

"Where the heck do you think you're going in those things?" he said brusquely.

"What's wrong with them?" I pouted.

"They're stupid and inappropriate." He shook his head. "Okay, I take back the 'stupid', I didn't mean that. But they're a safety hazard. You get one of those caught up in something and you'll break your ankle. Go put real shoes on."

Like a chastened five-year old I skulked back to my room and did as I was told.

When I got back to the hover bike shed I half expected him to be gone, but he was there waiting for me, leaning on the bike with his arms folded.

I sat behind him on the bike, secured the bag of snacks, and held onto his waist as we took off. I hugged his outer thighs with my knees as the bike soared high into the air.

"Hold on," he said presently. He pulled my hands further round his stomach. "Hook your feet into the straps."

I did as he said, and when he was certain I wasn't going to fall off he sent the bike into a series of rolls until it felt like we were on the world's most spectacular rollercoaster. I screamed like a child with excitement, and when it was over I kept my arms tightly locked around him and rested my head on his back as we went on our way.

PART II - THE PRESENT

Chapter 3

Now, as I walk along the beach, I am still thinking of Scott. It has been over a year since I broke up with Alan and we have truly gone our separate ways, although we are dear to each other and I imagine we always will be. He still treats me with affection and calls me his girl. He has started chatting online to a girl called Sindi. She's a model, by all accounts, but I'm not even jealous when he talks about her. In fact sometimes I feel the urge to help him out, as he clearly wants to make a good impression!

I kick at the sand with my toes. Scott is not seeing anyone at the moment, as far as I know. There was a woman in New Zealand, Rachael I think her name was, but I don't know what happened to her. After that, I know he had a quick fling with a girl in Siberia, although what on earth he was doing up there, I don't know. He can be quite the dark horse at times, our Scott.

The sea rushes up the shore and laps at my feet. I am lost in my thoughts. Would it be so wrong to tell Scott how I'm starting to feel? I can't, though. I can't. I am still not sure how he feels about me, or if indeed he has any feelings towards me at all, despite his flirtatious ways. That's just him. He's like that with every woman who finds him attractive, and that's why he gets himself into hot water with them, whether intentionally or not. Would I even have the sheer courage to tell him that I like him?

I think back to when I was fifteen and Scott was twenty three. He was a hotshot fighter pilot and stood resplendent in his smart USAF uniform. In civvies he looked effortlessly sexy, and when he wanted to, he could melt you with his dimples. I remember all the neighbourhood girls would flock round when he was home, waiting outside on the wall for him as though he were a rock star or something. His brothers would tease him relentlessly, but he'd shrug them off with a grin. Even then, he was getting around.

At thirty, he hasn't changed much. Looks-wise, he's stronger, more muscular. There is a leanness to his jaw, a new maturity in his eyes. He is handsome, there's no doubt about it, but he has other fine qualities too. His leadership skills are exceptional. He is confident without being cocky. He is kind, he is funny, he can be surprisingly gentle and intuitive given the right moment. He has a list of achievements as long as the day, but he is not a show-off or a braggart. He has no false pride, no jumped-up sense of self. He will help you with anything if it's within his power to do so.

I sigh with dismay. I am losing my grip. I can feel myself being reeled in.

I walk down the shoreline as the afternoon bids farewell, the sun hanging low in the sky. I watch its lazy descent- sliding through oily clouds like a blob of paint, reminding me of one of Virgil's landscapes. For as long as I live here, I will never get tired of the sunsets. I sit down on the beach and dig my toes into the sand to watch the vivid orange and pink tinged clouds change colour. Eventually, as the blood-red orb starts to sink below the sea, I shiver in the sudden coolness of an early evening breeze and get to my feet. I make my way back to the house.

I climb the stone steps that lead up from the beach to the patio, where the swimming pool glimmers with the borrowed reflections of house-lights. I walk around the edge and dip my toe in, disturbing the water and sending the reflections dancing. It's hard to believe, when everything is so quiet, that underneath this pool is the enormous hangar where a huge silver rocket-plane lurks. Thunderbird 1. Scott calls her his 'baby', but she's the most monstrous baby I've ever seen.

There's another flight of steps leading from the patio to the house, and as I go up I hear piano music drifting out of the glass sliding doors- Virgil is practising his jazz numbers. The sun has gone now, and the night falls fast. I am glad to be going indoors, I don't want to be alone with my thoughts any more.

Alan and Scott are in the kitchen. They are making themselves huge sandwiches even though dinner is only a couple of hours away. Alan is laughing about something. Scott just looks wryly amused.

"I don't know why you don't hook up with her, Scott," Alan is saying. "She's a babe!"

My heart jumps. Who are they talking about? What is Scott up to now?

"Alan, listen to me. I am not going out on a blind date with Drusilla," Scott replies, sucking mayonnaise off his thumb.

"Priscilla, Scotty boy. She's called Priscilla."

"Who's called Priscilla?" I ask nonchalantly, although I feel anything but cool and collected.

"Oh, er, hi Tin-Tin," says Alan, blushing. "One of Sindi's friends asked if I knew any single guys, so I sent her a photo of Scott. Now she really, really wants to meet him, and suddenly he's being a total nerd about it, which I can't understand at all!"

"I don't even know the girl," Scott mutters. "Not only that, she's nineteen, for God's sake."

"And when has that been a problem, Scotty?" Alan waves a slice of cheese at his older brother. "You've seen her. She's hot. For crying out loud, she's a model!"

"I don't care. I am not going out with her." Scott retorts. Even I am surprised by this.

"I bet I can get you to change your mind. I sure wouldn't say no, put it that way." Alan squashes his sandwich down, lifts it up and takes a huge bite. Mayonnaise drips onto the floor. I wince slightly at his tactlessness, but enough time has passed now, and I don't get upset.

"He's got girls on the brain today," Scott remarks, turning to me.

"Hasn't he always?" I respond, watching crumbs spill out of Alan's mouth as he munches.

"Anyway, Al, I'm busy Saturday night. I've got to take Lady Penelope to her Fancy Dress Ball at that socialite friend of hers, what's she called, Annabel Ice-Cream Cone."

"Rice-Wetheringstone," I correct him.

"Yeah, her." He wags his knife. "Virgil was meant to go, but it clashes with Jazz Night At Kaminsky's and you know he doesn't give those nights up for anyone."

My heart sinks, but I manage to inject jollity into my voice. "How exciting. A Fancy Dress Ball! What are you going to go as, Scott?"

"A chicken," says Alan. "Buk buk buk bukaaawk!"

"Quit it, kid." Scott leans against the counter, chewing on his own culinary masterpiece. "I don't know, Tin-Tin. Any suggestions?"

"A pirate?" I offer. He grimaces. "A highwayman?" He pulls an even bigger face. "A bank robber? A court jester? James Bond? Spider-Man?"

"Spider-Man, yeah, right. The only Spider-Man suit round here is Alan's pyjamas."

"How about Batman?"

"Or The Joker," says Alan. " He wouldn't even need to wear makeup for that one."

"Are you finished?" says Scott.

"Not yet," says Alan. "He-Man, Master of the Universe."

"Skeletor."

"Fred Flintstone."

"Barney Rubble."

"Wilma. Or Dino."

"You guys watch way too much kids' TV," Scott snorts. "If you come up with any sensible ideas, I'll be outside." He leaves in disgust, clutching what's left of his sandwich. Alan and I look at each other and start laughing.

Later on, after dinner, which is as raucous and as noisy an affair as usual, a bottle of brandy appears. Mr. Tracy, Virgil and Scott all pour themselves a snifter, while Mrs. Tracy sips a glass of tonic wine. Mrs. Tracy has always insisted that I call her Grandma, just like the boys do, but I have always felt shy about this. She smiles at me now with her twinkling eyes and settles herself down near the piano to hear Virgil play. He serenades her with all the old tunes she remembers from her dance hall days, and she loves it.

Gordon and Alan grab ice cold beers from the fridge and head down to the games room to play pool. Mr. Tracy sifts through paperwork at his desk, and Scott walks out on to the balcony.

If Scott still smoked, this is the moment when he would be lighting up. I've never been a smoker myself, but I used to enjoy watching Scott smoke. He looked like one of those old-time movie stars. He had a silver Zippo lighter- he'd flick it open, cup his hands around it and then snap it shut. He'd take long, manly drags with the cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger and then flick the butt far out of the window when he was done. After he gave up, he would still flick the Zippo as it gave him something to do with his hands. But eventually he gave that up too, although he held on to the Zippo as a memento.

I follow him onto the balcony and smile shyly at him. He raises an eyebrow and smiles back, warmly. I stand beside him at the railing.

"It's a lovely night," I say.

"It sure is," he agrees, swirling his brandy glass.

"So many stars."

"Uh-huh." Behind us in the house, Virgil strikes up a rousing piano rendition of Tuxedo Junction. He really is one of the most accomplished and gifted musicians there is.

"There's a star at the North Pole called Ritovia," Scott says. "Want to know why it's called that?"

"Why is it called that?" I say, anticipating a Scott Special.

"Because when you stand at the Pole and look up, it's Ritovia."

I groan. "Dear me. That was pathetic."

"And that was one of my better ones."

"Yes," I retort, "I can quite believe it."

I want to say more, but I fall silent. After a while I am aware that he's looking at me.

"Is that one of your new tops?" he asks.

I study my pale yellow blouse. "This? No, Scott, I've had this for ages."

"Oh. Well, it's new to me. I like it."

"Thank you," I smile, "but I've worn it before. Lots of times."

"It's the first time I've seen it."

"Maybe it's just the first time you've noticed it." I am suddenly shy.

He raises his eyebrows as though the thought has just occurred to him. "Maybe it is," he agrees.

"I like your top, too." I attempt my best under-the-eyelashes gaze. He is wearing a soft, light-grey cashmere sweater. With his blue jeans, he looks like a mini version of Thunderbird 1.

"Thank you," he says. "The colour matches the bags under my eyes."

I nudge him gently. "There are no bags under your eyes, Scott Tracy."

He turns to face me fully. He pulls on his lower eyelids. "Look," he insists.

I squirm at the pink rims of his eyeballs. "Don't do that, Scott, it's disgusting."

"Wait, I can do this trick. Watch." He starts trying to fold his eyelids over. There was a boy at my junior school who used to do that. His eyelids would stay folded over and he'd chase the girls around the playground with his lids all pink and wet-looking. It was horrible.

"Scott, stop it. You'll have your eye out." And that would be a terrible shame, I add to myself, because your eyes are really quite attractive. "Honestly, you're worse than Gordon."

"Ow," he exclaims. His eye starts watering.

"See what I told you. You've probably got an eyelash in it now."

He rubs at his eye, making it worse.

"Here, let me see." I pull him into the light. He bends his head down and lets me pull gently at his lower lid with my thumb. I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. His face is so close I could easily kiss him. He smells like the spring rain we used to get back home. I spot the offending item, a long black eyelash nestled right into the fold of his eye. "I was right," I tell him. "Come on. We're going to have to go and wash it out."

I lead him, squinting and grumbling, to the bathroom. I sit him on the rim of the bathtub and rummage around in the cabinet for eye drops and cotton buds. I spy him in the mirror, rubbing at his eye, which has gone pink and bloodshot. I tell him off. I find the eye drops and go to him. I put my hand on his forehead- his head is on a level with my shoulder. I stand so close that I'm in danger of prodding him with my breasts. I tilt his head back. Gently, I lower his eyelid while he looks up past me at the ceiling. "You've really pushed it in," I say, squeezing two drops into his eye. The eyelash doesn't budge.

"Is it in deep?" he murmurs.

"Very deep."

"That's not good," he says, his mouth tilting up, "when it goes in too deep."

"Scott," I say sternly. "Don't try and make me laugh, or there will be an accident, and it won't be me being rushed off to Sick Bay."

"Sorry."

I go back to fishing the eyelash out, dabbing at it with the very tip of a cotton bud. Eventually I manage to dislodge it and I hold it up in front of him."There's the culprit."

"Wow. It's long."

"Very long," I reply. I hand him a tissue to wipe the eye drops off his cheek. "Don't rub it."

"Or what? I'll go blind?"

"Honestly, Scott. You really do need a vacation."

I put the eye drops and cotton buds away. I lean against the washbasin cabinet. He is still perched on the edge of the bath, his poor eye red and swollen.

"So, aren't you interested in Alan's friend, then?" I ask breezily.

"The model? Drusilla or whatever her name is? Nah."

"Not even though she's a model?"

"Models are overrated. They're neurotic, and they don't stop talking about themselves."

"You've known a few models, then."

"One or two. Believe me, I'd like to keep the numbers low."

One or two indeed.

"She'll be very disappointed."

"She can hook up with Gordon, He likes models."

"Swimwear ones."

"Wearing scuba diving equipment."

I gaze at him fondly. "This is very unlike you, Scott, to turn down the chance of a date."

He thinks for a moment. "I guess I just don't like being set up."

"You don't need the help, I suppose."

He smiles wryly. "You must think the world of me, Tin-Tin," he chuckles.

"So what do you look for in a girl, Scott? Besides availability. Looks? Looks and brains? What?"

Am I fishing, or am I fishing?

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I just like them."

"Nice girls?" I attempt my best flirtatious smile. "Or naughty, what about naughty?"

"Yeah. Nice and naughty," he grins.

"What about Lady Penelope?"

"What about her?"

"Do you like her?"

"You're being very inquisitive, young lady. Why are you bothered about Lady Penelope?"

"I'm not bothered," I shrug.

"I think she's more into Virgil, anyway."

I giggle like a co-conspirator. "Really?"

"Sure. Haven't you noticed? The last time she was here, she practically draped herself across the piano."

"I thought he was just teaching her to play!"

"Yeah, but not the piano."

I stifle a burst of giggles. "How did that go over my head?"

"Because, Tin-Tin, you're a beautiful, sweet, innocent little girl who is as yet uncorrupted by the ways of the world." He gets up and peers at his eye in the mirror.

"Excuse me, Scott, I am not that sweet or innocent. Or uncorrupted," I protest.

"Don't say that, Tin-Tin. There needs to be somebody left I can believe in."

"And I stopped being a little girl a long time ago."

He looks me up and down, smiles to himself. "Okay, I'll grant you that."

He's so close to me. I want so badly to feel his arms around me. I take a deep breath and try to push my breasts out a little more, but he has already stopped looking. He turns the cold tap on and starts splashing water on his face, soothing and cooling his eye.

"Are you all right now then, Scott?"

"Uh-huh," he says through water.

"I'll leave you to it then," I say.

"Sure, Tin-Tin. Hey, thanks, you know. For getting that eyelash out. You make a great nurse."

"And you make a great patient," I smile.

Chapter 4

After the eyelash incident, I step up my attempts to get Scott to notice me. I apply my makeup in different ways, changing the colour of my lipstick. I experiment with hairstyles. When I wear blouses with buttons, I leave the top ones undone. I don't want to appear obvious, I just want him to find me attractive.

Saturday morning arrives. Scott is cleaning the pool, fishing leaves off the surface with a long-poled net. I sit on the edge of a nearby lounger, watching. I am wearing a snug little strappy top and a ra-ra skirt. On my feet are an adorable little pair of jewelled sandals. So much for not trying to appear obvious!

"It's your fault there are so many leaves in the pool, blasting off in Thunderbird 1 all the time," I flirt.

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it." He taps wet leaves out of the net and onto the deck.

"So, have you decided what you're going to wear to the Fancy Dress Ball tonight?"

He pulls a face. "Dad's got an old trench coat and a hat. I'll say I'm Mickey Spillane or something."

"What about Lady Penelope? What's she going as?"

"No idea." He dips the net back in the pool. "Princess Leia, for all I know."

"Barbarella."

He looks up, grinning. "Don't you go putting those images into my head."

Oh, no. That's the last thing I'd want, Scott imagining Lady Penelope in skimpy leather! Quickly I change the topic. "So, what time are you leaving?"

"Five-ish, I guess. We're having dinner and drinks first."

I picture them laughing together over candlelight and wine. "Oh, that'll be nice," I say. "I haven't been out for dinner in ages!"

"Well, then. Maybe I'll take you one night." He winks at me.

"Really?" My heart does a somersault.

"Sure. We'll go somewhere nice. It'll be like Paris all over again. We had fun there, didn't we?"

"Yes, Scott, we certainly did."

"Remember that waiter who took a shine to you?"

"Oh, yes. Pierre," I giggle.

"Would you like ze house special, mademoiselle." He drawls seductively.

"You could go as Inspector Clouseau," I laugh.

Scott blasts off in Thunderbird 1 at 5pm sharp. Immediately the house feels different without him. I wander around looking for something to do, but I can't seem to settle at all.

Later that night, after I've gone to bed, my mind starts racing with all kinds of unwanted and unbidden thoughts. I imagine him and Lady Penelope drinking cocktails together in her sumptuous drawing room, Lady Penelope laughing daintily at all his awful jokes. But he probably doesn't tell awful jokes to Lady Penelope, he's probably suave and charming and attentive, and she probably flashes her big blue eyes at him a lot and lays her hand on his arm. Then I picture them eating dinner together, drinking fine wine out of crystal goblets, using all the right cutlery, with Lady Penelope's face glowing softly in warm candlelight and Scott transfixed by her beauty. After that, I torture myself with thoughts of them dancing together at the Ball, Scott looking at her with those knowing eyes and that dimpled smile, and she melting like butter into his arms. He will look like a rough diamond in his father's old trench coat and hat, and every woman in the room will be so desperate for his attention that Lady Penelope will have to fight them off with a sword.

That's what I picture, anyway, and I don't even want to start imagining what comes next. Scott told us he wouldn't be home until morning. What on earth will he and she be doing for the rest of the night?

Oh! There are times when I wish I hadn't let Alan break up with me. I never had to deal with these emotions, these feelings, these deep, dark thoughts in the wee small hours. I never had to lie in bed despairing over whether I was good enough for someone. I never felt the cold hands of rejection on my back, pushing me towards some dark and lonely doorway beyond which there lay nothing but endless days and nights of dismal solitude.

I punch the pillow, hard. Stop it, Tin-Tin. Stop it! Stop being so foolish and ridiculous. But still I lie there restlessly conjuring up thoughts that grow more morbid by the minute.

Scott gets home early on Sunday. I am standing bleary-eyed and exhausted at the kitchen window making mint tea when I hear the familiar approach of Thunderbird 1. The very air rumbles and vibrates as the big silver rocket descends majestically beneath the swimming pool to rest gently on her hydraulic trolley. After all this time, it is still a spectacular sight.

Scott's timing is perfect. He arrives just as breakfast is being dished up and plonks himself down at the table. His clothes are slightly rumpled and he appears not to have shaved, and I don't even want to think why. As for Virgil, he won't be home from Sydney for a few hours yet, so his table setting lies empty.

"So, son, how was your night?" Mr. Tracy asks, helping himself to a generous portion of scrambled eggs.

"Pretty good, dad, pretty good. Lady P was on fine form and all her socialite friends were as crazy as ever." Scott dishes up an even bigger helping of eggs than his father. At this rate there'll be nothing left for the rest of us!

"Tell us more, Scotty," prompts Gordon.

"yeah, you look like you're hiding something," grins Alan.

"I bet he got phone numbers."

"I bet he got lucky."

"Guys," Scott warns them, "it's too early. Quit it."

"Late night, huh."

"He probably didn't sleep at all."

"Boys," Mr. Tracy admonishes, "you heard what Scott said."

"I still think he looks like he's hiding something," says Alan.

I don't have to look at Alan to know he's wondering if Scott met any girls. If I'm totally honest, it's what I'm wondering too. I wait expectantly for Scott to speak- he's already beginning to smile. His brothers are irrepressible when they're together, sometimes if you can't beat 'em, you join 'em.

"What's there to hide?" he shrugs, innocently. "Dinner, drinks, party. That's all, folks."

"But you look like you crawled out of a barn."

"Hey, give me a break. I got two hours sleep."

"I knew it," says Gordon. "He scored."

"Yeah, that smile on his face just screams 'morning after'."

"You'll be screaming in a minute when I punch you on the nose, Alan."

"Man! Look at him. Something went on!"

"Nothing went on," Scott retorts. "So quit the interrogation already."

I pick at my food, pushing bacon that's beginning to go rubbery to the edges of my plate. I try hard to stifle a yawn. My eyes are stinging and heavy.

"Talking of late nights," Scott muses, "what's the matter with Tin-Tin?"

"Nothing, Scott," I say distractedly. "I went to bed early, I just couldn't sleep."

"That's too bad." He chews his food thoughtfully. "Stuff on your mind?"

I shake my head. There's no way I'm admitting to anything. "Not really," I say.

He puts down his fork, takes a big gulp of coffee. "Maybe you need a night out too. God knows there's not much to do around here. Go to a club, or whatever. Let your hair down. Make yourself tired for a reason."

I sense a shift in the mood. Alan fidgets, scraping the legs of his chair.

"Well, it's true I haven't been out for a while," I say.

Mr. Tracy nods in agreement. "You haven't even been to one of Virgil's nights recently, have you Tin-Tin?"

"No, Mr. Tracy." I'm starting to feel uncomfortable now, as though they are shining a spotlight on me.

"Well, Tin-Tin, if nobody minds, I'll take you out some time myself," says Scott.

Gordon looks up from his food, exchanging a glance with Alan. Alan is starting to pout.

"Oh, no, Scott! I don't want you to..." but I break off, because of course I want him to!

"Relax, Tin-Tin, keep your hair on. We'll just go see a movie or something. Have pizza. It'll be fun." He winks, and I get a sudden head rush.

Alan looks over at me. "Tin-Tin, why didn't you say you wanted a night out?"

"I didn't, I..."

"I could take you out somewhere. We could go bowling, or skating, or paintballing."

"Funny how you didn't offer before," says Scott.

"Now, boys," Mr. Tracy says gruffly. "I'm sure Tin-Tin can make up her own mind, can't you, Tin-Tin."

I can't eat my food anymore. I don't want to cause any trouble. I put down my fork with a clatter and get up from the table. "I'd like to be excused, please," I mutter, and stumble from the room.

Alan finds me later while I'm tending flower beds in the ornamental gardens of which my father and I are so proud. I prune and trim roses, relaxed and happy in my solitude. That is, until I hear footsteps and look up to see him coming towards me down the narrow flagged path.

"Tin-Tin," he says. He looks flushed. He stands a little too close, getting in my way so that I'm forced to stop what I'm doing.

"Yes, Alan," I sigh.

"I honestly didn't know that you were bored. You can come out with me if you want. You don't have to bother Scott."

"What do you mean, 'bother Scott'? He was the one that offered, you heard him."

"Yeah, but Tin-Tin, he was just being kind."

"And you are just being patronising. Why would I want to go out with you? We broke up with each other, remember? And besides, you've got Sindi now."

"Yeah, but I'm still you're friend, Tin-Tin. Aren't I?"

"And what, am I meant to be grateful? 'Oh, Alan, thank you so much for asking me out'. You only did it because you were worried about Scott."

"Why would I be worried about Scott?" He is blustering. I can see that he's worried about something.

"Because it sounds like he's asking me out on a date."

Alan snorts loudly. The sound shocks me, hurts me right in the heart. " A date?" he says, incredulously. "You think Scott's asking you on a date? He's just being nice to you, Tin-Tin. He felt sorry for you and thought you needed cheering up. Scott wouldn't ask you on a date."

"Why are you being like this?"

"I'm just being truthful, Tin-Tin. Scott's not asking you out, not in the way that you appear to be thinking."

"And how do you know what I'm thinking? Besides, why are you even that bothered, if he's not asking me out in that way?"

Alan's voice softens. He can see that I'm upset. "Because it's not Scott that I'm worried about, Tin-Tin. It's you. We are talking about a man who likes the ladies, you know? And even if he wouldn't harm a hair on your head, which I know he wouldn't, if you think he's asking you on a date, then you're going to get yourself into more trouble than you know."

"Oh, Alan, I've heard quite enough of this!" I retort. I fling down my secateurs and run away down the path so he doesn't see the tears that have sprung into my eyes.

Chapter 5

I don't care whether it's a date or not, Tuesday afternoon arrives and I am getting ready to go out with Scott. True to his word, he's taking me to see a movie, and then we are going for a beer and a pizza. Alan's still sulking, but that's nothing to do with me now. It annoys me that the moment a man looks at me, he gets jealous. Even when it's his own brother!

I try on one outfit after another until my door buzzer goes.

"Tin-Tin," Scott's voice calls from the other side. "If you don't get a move on we'll be late."

I picture him standing there, impatiently checking his watch.

"Coming, Scott," I shout, finally settling on a pretty patterned dress and red sandals, topping the outfit off with my cropped denim jacket.

"Nice," says Scott when I open the door, "and it only took you three hours."

He himself is wearing black denims and his battered leather jacket, under which is a soft cotton shirt in his favourite shade of blue. The top two buttons are undone.

I follow him down to the aircraft hangar where his own jet, Freebird, stands waiting.

"Alan's not happy," he says.

"I don't care about Alan," I snort. "I told him he wasn't to do this, get jealous when I see other men." I realise what I've just said. "Er...not that I'm seeing you, Scott."

He laughs, throws his arm round my shoulders. "I love it when a lady blushes," he grins.

"And I'll bet you've seen your fair share of those," I reply.

The flight to the mainland is uneventful, but it's wonderful being in that small space with him. The last time we flew to the mainland together was Christmas two years ago, but it never felt anything like this. I am full of anticipation for the evening ahead, watching the clouds go by and trying to gaze surreptitiously at his handsome profile. Luckily, he seems oblivious as we chat and make small talk.

In the cinema Scott picks two seats near the back and we settle down with giant tubs of popcorn which he has already begun working his way through. The film is an action thriller, but turns out to be badly acted and predictable. Scott's unhappy with the plot and grumbles through mouthfuls of popcorn. That character would never do this, and this character would never do that.

Midway through the film, he puts down his empty container and starts digging into mine. A character on the screen is trapped underwater by chains.

"He's been down there at least twenty minutes," he gripes. "The guy would be dead by now- he's not Aqua Man, for Pete's sake."

"It's only a movie," I whisper, "that people are trying to watch."

He rubs both hands over his face, then does that theatrical yawning thing and drapes his arm across the back of my chair. I don't hesitate to snuggle against him. He moves his arm to my shoulders and thrills me by giving my arm a little squeeze.

"You okay, Tin-Tin?" he asks. "I know the movie's not up to much, but this is nice, don't you think?"

"Mm, it's lovely," I agree.

"Popcorn's good, too," he says, stuffing a handful from my container into his mouth.

Eventually the man onscreen frees himself from the chains with a plastic toothpick.

"Oh, now, that is unbelievable!" I declare, and shrink down in my seat as I'm shushed.

The pizza Scott buys us is huge. I watch in amazement as he unglues one thick slice dripping with cheese- he has to hold it in both of his hands. Cheesy strings hang from his mouth as he eats, great huge mouthfuls that make his cheeks bulge.

"Get stuck in, Tin-Tin," he mumbles, "or there won't be anything left."

I pick at my bowl of mixed salad, but I must say, the pizza looks tempting. Warm cheesy pepperoni smells waft over, and soon I am helping myself to a slice that's the length of my forearm.

"Mmm!" I mumble through a mouthful of doughy goo. "This slice is a meal in itself!"

"You certainly look like you're enjoying it," he grins through oil-slicked lips. "Better than a bit of old salad any day. It's not as if you need to lose weight, either. You're perfect as you are."

"Thank you," I blush, "but if I ate like this every day, I'd be a small mountain. How on earth do you manage it, Scott?"

He rubs at his mouth, looks at me naughtily. "Invisible calories," he says. "When you eat with a friend, they don't count. When you eat with a special friend, you work it off later."

Oh God. Unbidden thoughts arise, of him and any one of his 'special' friends 'working off' their dinner.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I utter.

"Of course you don't, Tin-Tin," he grins.

After pizza, he takes me for a beer. We sit on a low wall outside a noisy bar and he chugs his drink straight from the bottle. My stomach is bloated with dough and cheese and the glass of Sprite I drank earlier. It's not the most romantic night out in the world, but I'll take any chance I can get.

"So, Tin-Tin, have you had a good night?"

"Oh, I have, Scott. I've enjoyed every minute."

He taps my glass with his bottle. "Here's to many more," he grins.

We sit there in silence for ages. There's a fat, buttery moon hanging low in the sky, its face peering out from between two buildings. Scott sits with his left leg drawn up, his foot on the wall, his left arm resting on his knee. His dark hair shines in the light, his dimples are accentuated by shadow.

"You're very quiet," I tell him. " You're not normally one for contemplation."

"First time for everything, Tin-Tin, and I'll try anything once."

I look up at the sky, the myriad of stars. "John's up there somewhere," I muse.

Scott drains the last of his beer, sets the bottle down on the ground. "If only it were Alan. We'd have peace and quiet for a whole month."

I thump him on the leg. "Scott Tracy, that wasn't very nice."

He laughs again. I love the sound of Scott's laugh. He can be so serious sometimes but when he laughs, when he finds something really funny, he sounds as delighted as a little boy.

"Ouch, Tin-Tin!" he protests. "Anyway, you know he'd say the same thing about me."

"Yes, he would. And it would be true."

He gives me a sideways glance. His eyes are filled with mischief. He nudges me. I'm not expecting it and I almost topple off the wall. I nudge him back, hard. He nudges me back even harder, and soon we are laughing and tussling. I adore playing like this with Scott. It doesn't happen as often as I'd like.

"Where's Alan now, eh? Where's Alan now?" he teases, while I struggle like a trapped cat.

"Help!" I call out. "International Rescue, help!" In the middle of all my contortions, my foot catches Scott's empty bottle and sends it clattering and spinning across the ground and onto a strip of brown grass.

"Whoops," I mutter breathlessly.

He lets me go and I stagger upright, giggling. "Enough," I gasp. My clothes are rumpled and askew and my hair is stuck to my face. "You're a maniac, Scott Tracy."

He gets up. He towers over me. He smoothes down my hair, pats my shoulders.

"Had enough excitement for one day?"

"Is that your idea of excitement? Beating people up?" There are red marks all over my arms. That boy doesn't know his own strength.

"Beating people up! I don't know, Tin-Tin. The things you come out with." He pulls me into a bear hug. "There. Is that better?"

"Much better."

If only he knew how much better.

Chapter 6

Dinner time with the Tracy brothers is always noisy. There's the scraping and banging of cutlery and people talking over each other. Gordon and Alan shout a lot. Scott and John, when John is here, get into the most heated debates over nothing. Mrs. Tracy remembers funny things that happened a long time ago. Poor Brains- when he's not ensconced in his laboratory- will attempt to get a word in, but it's only Mr. Tracy or Virgil who ever notices unless it's important. Tonight it's no different. I spear peas with my fork and chew slowly as the noise level rises around me. I think of poor John eating his dinner alone in Thunderbird 5, but he's a sweet, thoughtful man and he seems to enjoy the solitude.

Mr. Tracy is talking about something he's heard on the news. Bush fires over in Australia.

"These things can get quickly out of hand," he says. "We ought to start monitoring the situation."

"It's when arsonists start lighting them deliberately that they get out of hand," Scott mutters. "Those people are just idiots."

"We let the authorities deal with them, son," Mr. Tracy admonishes. "Our organization is not here to judge."

"Yeah, well." Scott lifts his glass and takes a long drink of water. He's annoyed, but his mood will soon pass.

"I'll contact John after dinner," Mr. Tracy continues. "I'll ask him to keep an eye on things, although I'm sure he's already on the ball."

After dinner there is coffee and Mrs. Tracy's freshly baked Angel Food cake. The Tracy boys love their cake. Scott's the worst- he'd wolf the whole thing if he could. I watch him now as he devours an entire slice in three bites while I'm still picking off my icing. He takes a gulp of his coffee and starts chatting to his father. When he reaches for his second piece of cake, I roll some icing into a ball and throw it across the table. I can't believe my luck- it hits him squarely on the nose, bounces off and lands with a little splash into his coffee.

"Good shot!" Gordon shouts. I squeal nervously at the look Scott gives me.

"I'm sorry." Mr. Tracy says sternly. "I didn't realise I'd been invited to a chimps' tea party."

"Then maybe you should have a word with the chief chimp over there," Scott retorts. He finds a leftover pea and throws it at my head. I duck, and it sails past me and lands on the carpet.

"Oh, you're all as bad as each other," Mrs. Tracy declares, but she looks delighted.

Mr. Tracy sighs and pushes his chair back. "Well, if anyone's interested, I'm going to have a word with John!"

John's face looms large in the centre of his portrait. He stands to attention in his neat blue uniform with the lavender sash.

"I've been listening in to the Australian emergency services," he tells us. "They seem to think they have the situation under control. There's one fire that needs watching though. It's a little too near a cluster of settlements out in the middle of nowhere. From what I can gather it's not heavily populated, maybe seventy people or so. If they have any sense they won't wait for the wind to change, they'll start getting out now." He turns his blue eyes onto me.

"Hey there Tin-Tin," he smiles. "Hope they're looking after you down there."

"I'm quite good at looking after myself, John," I smile back. "I have a yellow belt in Origami. When one of my paper swans hits you, you know about it."

"That's our Tin-Tin," he chuckles.

Scott has come into the room. He stands close to me. "Hey John, how's Alcatraz?"

"Hey Scott, how's Palookaville?"

"Okay boys," says Mr. Tracy, but all four of us are smiling.

"Don't worry about it anyway, dad," John reassures his father. "I've got all the channels open, and the minute anything happens I'll let you know."

"I know you will, son, but I hope we're not needed," says Mr. Tracy. "Well, you take care of yourself John, and we'll talk to you soon."

"Sure thing dad. Oh, and tell Alan, I overfed his hamster, and unfortunately it died."

"You didn't!" I say, shocked.

"No, of course I didn't." He and Scott are both chuckling. "But you can tell him I did, just to see his face." He cuts off the connection, and he is gone for now.

"We'd better run a few checks on our machines in the morning, just in case we're needed," Mr. Tracy mutters. "I'd better go and have a word with Brains." He leaves me and Scott standing in the room together.

"What do you think?" I ask.

He tilts his head quizzically. "What do I think about what?"

"About these fires, silly."

"I just think we should do what dad says and make sure we're ready in case John gets a distress call. And you know what else I think?" There's a glint in his eye. I shake my head nervously. "I think you should apologise for ruining a perfectly good cup of coffee!"

I stick my tongue out at him and run away laughing. I feel lightheaded. As I pass the sofa I pick up a cushion and brandish it at him.

"Don't come any closer," I warn. "This cushion is loaded."

He doesn't get the chance though, as the next minute everyone else starts arriving. He goes over and powers up the large wall-mounted television. There's a spare seat on the sofa next to Alan. He pulls me down to sit next to him.

On the television screen, livid flames shoot up into the sky and our faces become bathed in an orange glow. The news reporter is talking animatedly. He seems almost excited at the sight of so much destructive power. Virgil whistles softly under his breath. "Doesn't look to me like they've got it under control."

"We have to believe what John says," replies Mr. Tracy. "We can't intervene unless we get a call."

"Besides, the news is probably making it look a lot worse than it is," says Mrs. Tracy. "You know what they're like, a bunch of sensationalists."

"Even so Grandma," says Virgil, "that's hardly a bonfire in someone's back garden."

"Australia's a mighty big place," his grandmother persists. "It could burn for hundreds of miles and not touch anybody."

"What about those settlements John mentioned?" I chip in, but as the news continues there's no mention of any immediate danger to human life.

"All right," says Mr. Tracy, "let's consider ourselves on standby. Routine checks on Thunderbirds 1 and 2 first thing tomorrow and we keep all available channels open. Until then there's not much more we can do."

The mood settles. The TV stays on but Scott lowers the sound. Virgil goes back to the piano and starts to play a gentle, soothing melody that is totally at odds with the angry flames raging on the screen. Gordon suggests playing Backgammon and Alan agrees, even though Gordon cheats at Backgammon. I decide to stay and have a few games with them. Scott goes over to the glass doors and stands there for a few minutes looking out at the night. I wonder what he's thinking as he stands there leaning casually against the door frame. I get so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don't realise it when he turns around and catches me looking. It's a few moments before it actually hits me that our eyes are locked together. I am startled back to life, but it's too late. My heart releases inside me like a capsule of warm gel. A blush rises steadily from my chest, creeps up my neck and settles in my cheeks where it radiates like sunburn. It is Scott who finally looks away first.

The next morning at 7.30am I am in the cockpit of Thunderbird 1 with Brains when Scott shows up. Scott is always up at the break of day. He goes for a run, usually along the beach then inland around the lagoon and back through the forest where he is sheltered from the rapidly rising heat of the sun. It's a good five miles all round, but he's fast and he's sure-footed. He comes back to the house, showers, changes, and then goes to the kitchen for coffee. He's holding a mug now, and he grins at us as he steps through the hatch.

"So, how's my baby?" he asks. He's wearing a yellow button-down shirt and jeans. His dark hair is still damp from the shower and he smells soapy and clean. He's very handsome. I feel another blush rising and have to look away.

"Ah..ah..all s-systems appear f-fully f-functional Scott," Brains stutters.

"Great," says Scott. "And how about Thunderbird 1?" He laughs out loud and tickles my head as he passes behind me and climbs up into the pilot's seat.

"Very funny," I smile. Brains just looks confused, and pretends to study his schedule intently.

"N-now, ah. I-is there anything you ah..think you ah..need, Scott?"

"We-ell," says Scott, looking around, "I could use a cup holder."

"We'll be sure to put that right at the top of the list." I pull a face at him. He grimaces back.

"Ah..I d-don't th-think that's a p-priority at the.." Brains falters when he sees both our faces.

"He's joking, Brains."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes. He is."

Poor Brains is bewildered by any human exchange that doesn't involve calculus or logarithms, so he decides to take my word for it. "I-in that case Tin-Tin, we ought to m-move on to Thunderbird 2." Having re-established his schedule and regained some of his confidence, he tucks his clipboard under his arm and climbs out of the cockpit. I move to follow him.

"Hey,Tin-Tin." Scott stops me in my tracks. He's still in the pilot's seat, beckoning me over. "Come over here."

What was that that just lurched in my chest? I take a cautious step towards him. "What is it, Scott?"

"Come here," he motions with his head.

"What do you want?" I'm at the footplate. I can't get any closer. Can I?

"Up here."

I put one foot on the plate and climb halfway up. "What is it, Scott?" Any closer and I'll be sitting in his lap, the thought of which makes my throat go dry. He leans forward until I can almost count every one of his long dark eyelashes and runs his index finger slowly down the side of my nose until I'm cross-eyed. Then he holds his finger up in front of me. There's a grey smudge on it.

"You had some dirt on your nose." He leans back and wipes it off on his jeans.

"Is that it?" I'm indignant. "Is that what you called me over for? To tell me I had a bit of dirt on my nose?"

"Yep," he grins, looking pleased with himself.

I squeeze his leg hard, just behind the knee. I know he's sensitive there. He yelps and spills coffee all down his nice clean shirt.

"Tin-Tin!" he hollers, "get back here!" But I am already half way out the hatch, and I can't stop laughing.

Chapter 7

The call we were dreading comes at half past eleven and we are summoned to the lounge. Mr. Tracy is standing behind his desk looking deadly serious. John is onscreen and in the background we can hear the speakers emitting the distress call, a tinny, crackly voice pleading for help.

"It's that settlement I told you about father," John explains. "They were hoping the wind would slow down or change direction but if anything it's picked up. There's 75 people there and they say no-one's arrived to help them yet. I did contact the authorities and they assured me they're on top of things but they're going to need serious back-up and we can get there faster than they can."

"Okay John," says Mr. Tracy. "Scott, get moving. Gordon, Alan, go with Virgil and take the Firefly. Tin-Tin, clear the boys for takeoff."

The boys are already gone. Scott disappears behind the wall panel into the hangar of Thunderbird 1and Virgil hurtles down the chute that delivers him straight into the pilot's seat of Thunderbird 2. Gordon and Alan sprint to the service elevators. I monitor the radar screen behind Mr. Tracy's desk and check for any aircraft that might be encroaching on our airspace while the Thunderbirds get airborne, then I'm ready to give the boys the all clear.

The house rumbles and the windows rattle as Thunderbird 1 rolls down into position beneath the swimming pool. It feels like an earthquake, but the structure is secure- there is no danger to us. I go to the glass doors and watch the pool roll back, exposing the vast hangar beneath. The hangar glows with a fierce light as the great 'bird's booster engines fire up and the rumbling intensifies. In my head I make the countdown. 5..4..3..2..1..and then whisper "Thunderbirds are go," as the bright red nose cone appears and the huge silver rocket lifts up through the pool opening, screaming skyward at high speed until she's nothing but a small speck in the distance and Scott is gone. As the pool begins to close there is a second wave of rumbling from further around the island. I crane my neck to peer through the glass and watch the fat green beetle body of Thunderbird 2 appear from behind the trees. It always surprises me how that clumsy, strangely loveable machine takes off, but I don't question the technology. I can only marvel at it as Virgil and his two-man crew climb into the air on a much gentler trajectory than their older brother, and wish them all a speedy and safe return.

As the air settles, I go to the kitchen to brew a strong pot of coffee. Mr. Tracy will need it- his boys are out in the field now and he will not relax until they are all home safe and sound. I have the utmost respect and admiration for Jeff Tracy. As well as being like a second father to me, his passion for humanity and his unwavering belief in International Rescue's code of ethics are a constant source of inspiration. He is lucky that all five of his sons share his beliefs and put their all into doing the jobs he set them up to do. Their courage is breathtaking. Whenever I'm annoyed with Alan for complaining about being the youngest, or with jovial Gordon for yet again almost drowning me in the pool, I remember that they put their lives on the line for others, and they would do it every day if they had to. Gentle Virgil, with his solitary pursuits of painting and piano playing, his appreciation of art and beauty, hurls himself down mine-shafts and into collapsed buildings and trudges through toxic waste, and today will no doubt battle through a wall of fire. And Scott. As the man in charge, Scott will be the one to have to order him to do these things, to ultimately bear the responsibility for every decision made, every action taken, knowing that they are not just his colleagues but also his brothers. Sometimes it's best that I don't think about it. Instead I stand impatiently by the gurgling coffee machine, urging it to boil.

An hour later, Mr. Tracy is on his third cup. He paces back and forth behind his desk and visibly jumps when the eyes of Scott's portrait begin to beep and flash. "Come in, Scott." He composes himself in an instant, just as his eldest son's face appears on the screen.

"I'm just arriving now, father," Scott says solemnly. "Even from up here those fires look pretty extensive. I'm going to swing down and take a closer look." I picture Thunderbird 1's wings unfolding, turning her from a sleek rocket into a supersonic jet plane, cruising in a wide arc down towards the earth. I watch Scott's face closely- he is a picture of studious concentration, his eyebrows drawn together, his jaw set tightly. As he pitches the plane lower, his face takes on an orange glow. His lips move. He is uttering oaths under his breath.

"What is it, son?" Mr. Tracy urges.

"I hate to say it, but I don't know if we've made it on time. There are buildings down there but most of them are on fire." Scott narrows his eyes. "Damn. Why the hell didn't they call us sooner?"

"Calm down, Scott. It may not be as bad as it appears. Can you detect any life forms?"

Scott leans forward and switches on the DNA scanner. I don't even know how it works, but it does, and it can even tell the living from the dead. But can it do it through leaping, churning flames? Scott swears again. He is beginning to sweat in the heat. "I have to pull her up. This heat is tremendous. I'll circle again and widen the range." He cuts transmission just as the eyes of Virgil's portrait begin to beep and flash.

"What's the news, Virgil?" I don't know if Mr. Tracy is aware of it, but his tone is always softer when he speaks to Virgil. He motions to me for more coffee-I am ready and waiting to pour him one. Mrs. Tracy comes into the lounge and is standing near Brains. She twists a tea towel in her veiny hands.

Virgil shakes his head. "I don't see how anybody can be alive down there," he says with a frown. "Why the Dickens weren't the emergency services out here hours ago?"

Scott comes back on. "Father, I've picked up signals about five miles from the original settlement. If it's the people we're looking for then they're all grouped together, maybe sheltering somewhere. I can't see any structures or buildings, but there's so much ash and smoke, I...wait a minute." He cranes his neck forward, peering at something on the screen in front of him. "There's a natural structure down there. A rock. A cave! I'm pretty sure it's a cave." He rubs his hand over his face. He is thinking hard. "They live out here, they'll know the land. They'd know the safest place to go, and they wouldn't hide anywhere that would burn if the fire reached them. I reckon it's a cave, but I need to get under this ash cloud to know for sure, maybe find a place to land nearby if I can." He connects to Virgil and passes on the new set of co-ordinates.

"F.A.B Scott," Virgil acknowledges. "We're right behind you."

"And get those authorities on the line. Tell them where we are. They should have done this already. They should have got these people out."

I glance at Mr. Tracy. He looks angry. "I'll wager you anything those people are dirt poor and right at the bottom of everyone's list of priorities. A thousand miles away from the big cities," he growls.

I'm incredulous. "In this day and age, Mr. Tracy?"

"In this day and age, Tin-Tin."

"I thought all human life was precious."

"It is," he says. "Thank goodness that's one thing our organization will never lose sight of."

"Except for people who cross us. They can go to hell!" Mrs. Tracy declares, startling Brains.

"Yes, all right Mother." Mr. Tracy has to turn away to hide a smile.

Scott's connection buzzes with static. "Looking...place to land." His voice starts breaking up.

Virgil's line is still clear. "We'll have to land a lot further away from you, Scott. We'll have to drop Firefly and use her to get closer. We can get the women and kids out first."

"F.A...". That's all we can hear through the static crackling.

"Be careful, Scott." Mr. Tracy raises his voice in case Scott can't hear through the interference. "At the first sign of danger you get yourself out of there. Do you hear me?"

"..A.B, father." The crackle on the line gets worse.

Mr. Tracy rubs his face just like Scott did. His brows are knitted and his jaw is set in the same way as Scott's were. There's a lot of Mr. Tracy in Scott, and that's why he knows he has to trust him. If their positions were reversed, he knows that Scott would do the same.

As I watch Scott's terse face all broken up by static, I almost can't bear to look at the screen as his image fades in and out. "Scott," I blurt out. "Be careful!"

Static crackles and all I hear is my name, "...Tin-Tin," but there's a smile in his voice as he says it. I bite the inside of my lip as the image on screen breaks up further.

"What's causing it, Mr. Tracy?" I ask nervously.

"I guess it's the amount of ash in the air, Tin-Tin," he replies. "It must be pretty darned thick to block out our sensors and equipment."

We can barely see or hear Scott at all, now. We have no idea what he's doing. Seconds, minutes go by. The screen flickers sharply and threatens to go dead. My heart flutters against my ribs like a wild bird in a cage.

Moments later it bursts back to life, and we are all so relieved to see that Scott's image is as clear as a bell. "Scott!" I exclaim. "You're all right!"

"Sure I am, Tin-Tin. I'm through the ash cloud. Brains reminded me to activate the new heat shield reinforcements- I don't know why that slipped my mind."

"Because when Brains was trying to explain all that to you, you were too busy thinking about cup holders!" I am so relieved I want to laugh out loud.

"Hey, after what you did to me this morning, I'm going to make darned sure you install one of those things myself."

Mr. Tracy looks at me, eyebrows raised.

"I made him spill coffee down his shirt," I explain, with my face as straight as I can make it.

"It's the little details that count," Mr. Tracy smiles, "but let's get back to business, shall we?"

"I'm going to touch down now, father," Scott tells him. "I'm as close to that rocky outcrop as I can get. Virgil's about another mile away. It's pretty uneven terrain and there are fires everywhere, but I don't think it's anything we can't handle."

"There's no sign yet of the other emergency services," Mr. Tracy informs us, "but they keep assuring John that they're on their way. My worry is that now they know we're on the scene they'll leave everything to us. I know we can get those people out, but we don't have the capacity to extinguish all those flames. We can protect ourselves, but those people won't have protection of their own. We could really do with that extra manpower."

Virgil comes onscreen. He and Alan are in the cabin of Firefly, dressed from head to foot in silver heat-protection suits. Two pairs of eyes look out through reinforced visors, one pair brown, the other blue. Gordon will have stayed behind in the cockpit of Thunderbird 2. I know he will have been desperate to join in the action, but someone always has to stay behind and man the fort.

Firefly could trundle through the very bowels of Hell and still come out unscathed. I know that Virgil and Alan are safe as they make their way across the rocky ground, but I can tell conditions are bad by the expressions in those two pairs of eyes and the reflected glow of flames flickering on their visors. On the other screen, Scott has landed and climbed down from the pilot's seat and is pulling on a heat-protection suit of his own. He thrusts his arms down into silver padded gloves and pulls the flame resistant zipper up to his neck. He pulls the hood up over his head and fastens it securely to his shoulders. He is now just a pair of eyes himself- eyes full of grim determination. Finally he tells us he's going outside. He switches off Thunderbird 1's intercom and activates his wrist communicator. We hear him open the hatch and his breathless utter of "holy..."

"Is it bad, son?"

"I wouldn't recommend it as a holiday destination," Scott replies. "Not unless your idea of fun is watching your skin melt."

"Do be careful, Scott," I blurt again. I can't help it. He's out there on foot- we can hear his boots crunching over rocks and stones, we can hear when he jumps and when he stumbles. We can hear him breathing hard and fast. We can hear flames crackling. I can't hear his heart, but I'm sure it must be pounding.

"I'm fine, Tin-Tin. This is nothing..." he pauses, then we hear his boots land with a thump, scattering stones and gravel, "...to an old dog like me."

There's a signal coming in from John in Thunderbird 5. "I've spoken to the emergency services," he says. "I don't think they realised how bad things were. Now they're panicking. I guess this is gonna look pretty bad for them, eh dad?"

"Never mind how bad it's going to look for them. The question is, will they be there in time?"

"They estimate half an hour. They've got planes loaded with water. They said they had so many other evacuations they couldn't get to everyone at once. They're thanking us for our efforts."

"Efforts?" Mr. Tracy is indignant. "If only they'd made more of an effort. Okay John, thanks for keeping us informed. I guess you know what's going on?"

"Yes, dad. I can hear everything. Hey, Tin-Tin...don't worry about our big brother. It'd take more than an old bush fire to burn through his thick hide."

Scott tells us he's nearing the cave. "Man, this heat is unbearable," he mutters gruffly. I picture him boiling inside his suit, a sheen of sweat on his face, drips of it trickling into his eyes. "I don't know how they've survived this. If I didn't have this suit on, I'd be dead." Gravel crunches under his feet. He sounds like he's on a slope, skidding down, jumping over rocks, half-falling, regaining his feet.

I don't even want to think about Scott being dead. I bite the inside of my lip and stare at the screen, even though his image isn't on it. He continues to scrape and clatter over rocks. His breathing is hard and heavy. I hope his lungs are all right. I can still hear flames crackling around him. I wonder how close to them he is, whether he could touch one if he reached out his hand.

After several more minutes Scott finally reaches the cave. There are men shouting and women sobbing, and children screaming and crying. "International Rescue!" someone hollers. "Thank goodness you're here!" There are muffled sounds of jostling and I think someone is hugging him.

"Okay people," he says, "we're going to get you out. But first you need to calm down. I need everyone to be calm. It would be helpful if you could get those kids to be quiet."

Virgil comes on to tell us they've arrived. "We need to begin evacuating ASAP. That fire's getting closer and closer. The heat is incredible. To be honest, I'm amazed they're all still alive."

There are shouts of joy as Firefly rumbles up to the mouth of the cave. "Get back!" Scott barks. "I told you to get back. I asked you to calm down. We can't get you out if you keep panicking." His tone is firm, decisive. I wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of it, but there's a tingling sensation in my stomach nonetheless.

"Sorry mate," a man with a thick accent apologises. "We're doing our best, but we've been in this cave for hours and all our water's run out. There's old people and sick people, and the kids are scared to death."

"I understand," says Scott. "Believe me, I understand. But if you want to remain alive, you'll do as I ask. It's essential that I have complete co-operation. The old, the sick, the infirm, the women and the children. They go first. Anyone else attempts to push in and I'll make them stay right to the end. Is that clear?"

"Dead clear, mate," the man replies. Scott's tone has subdued him.

"All right then. Let's get moving. Bring all the little ones forward, and the mothers with babies. Come on, move aside. Let these people through."

"This way, kids," says Alan. "How would you like to go for a ride in the big yellow bulldozer?"

"What about me?" asks an older boy. "I'm sixteen."

"You shave yet?" Scott asks.

"Yeah," the boy proclaims proudly.

"Then you're not a little kid. Stay here."

"But...!" But nothing. He won't get past Scott. Bigger men have tried and failed, believe me.

"That's it, Scott, we can't fit any more in," says Alan. "We'll drop everyone off at Thunderbird 2 and be back as soon as we can."

"Okay Alan. Be quick."

As Firefly rolls out of the mouth of the cave, we hear Scott mutter. "Well, well."

"What's up, Scott?" asks his father.

"I do believe the cavalry has arrived." He switches on the visual channel of his mobile communicator and shows us two helicopters hovering overhead. A moment later there is a deafening roar and a huge aeroplane appears. As we all watch, its bay doors slide open and tons and tons of water pour out. The picture onscreen becomes a frantic jumble of images as though Scott is moving very fast. "What the blazes!" he exclaims. "Did they have to do that right overhead?" He holds the communicator up and shows us the hood of his protective suit. He is soaked. "They got some of the fire, anyway.. Let's just hope they've brought more water."

While Firefly is away, Scott starts organising all the people into separate groups, bringing everyone he deems vulnerable to the front. Some of the old people volunteer to stay to the end. Scott assesses them briefly and judges for himself whether they should stay or not. After a while, people stop questioning him. They begin to trust his judgment and they are wise to do so. Even the teenage boy who was so keen to leave is now saying he will wait until last, to show how brave he is.

By the time Firefly returns, there is no shouting or arguing or pushing in front. In the middle of the second load, an unfamiliar voice appears. "G'day, gentlemen." It's a man's voice, strong, strident and cheerful. "We're Search and Rescue. Sorry we're a bit late. Well, I must say you guys look like you've got everything under control!"

My stomach lurches. This is entirely the wrong thing to say and the wrong way to say it.

"Excuse me?" says Scott. "A bit late? Like, a whole day late?"

"Hey, that's not our fault. We've been working non-stop since the majority of these fires broke out but we didn't get to hear about these people till just a couple of hours ago."

Virgil comes through on his own mobile communicator. "Dad? Did you hear that?"

"I heard it, Virgil," says Mr. Tracy tersely.

"A couple of hours ago?" Scott echoes in disbelief.

"Yeah, mate. That's when we got the call. We've been battling fires in the south for nearly a week, but suddenly this place was a priority. So we got here as fast as we could." He is hesitant now. "Hey, mate. What's up?"

I cringe inwardly. The boys will not be taking kindly to this buddy-buddy attitude in the middle of a rescue operation that could have gone so badly wrong.

"You can call me Scott," Scott says brusquely. "And I'll tell you what's up. We knew about this place- we've been watching this place since yesterday. The only trouble is, we're not allowed to intervene unless we get a direct call for help. We contacted your authorities who assured us they were doing everything they could to get here, and now you're saying you only got to hear about it a couple of hours ago? Do you see that fire out there? Can you feel this heat? These people have been in this cave dying of heat-exhaustion for God only knows how long. Now it turns out they were waiting in vain for a bunch of clowns who only decided to turn up once they knew that we were here!"

This is quite a speech for Scott. I can only imagine how angry he must be feeling.

"Steady on mate...Scott," the Search and Rescue man starts back pedalling. "I'm in the same position as you. We're rescue guys, same as you. We're all just following our orders."

"Well then, follow this order. Go and get your guys, and come and help us get these people out. Now."

"Okay, Scott," Mr. Tracy says quietly. "I know that needed to be said, but we need to work with them, not against them."

"I know that, dad. But if you could have seen that guy's face, bounding in here like he was on some kind of Boy Scout's adventure..." Scott's voice trails off. He's not going to push it.

"It's not his fault, son. He's doing his job. It's the people in charge of him who are to blame."

"I know, I know."

"But, having said that, I probably would have done the same. In fact I thought you were remarkably restrained."

"Thanks, dad." There's an audible smile of relief in Scott's voice.

With the reinforcements that they needed, the boys carry on with their rescue mission. Their voices come through calm and strong amidst the furore. My heart goes out to those people as I listen to them crying with relief, but they're in the safest hands possible now. Scott has reconciled his differences with the Search and Rescue man, and now he's calling him by his first name, Des. Virgil, with his quiet charm, builds up a rapport with the evacuees- he flirts mildly with a woman who comments on his beautiful brown eyes, the only part of him that she can see through his suit. I smile to myself. I have often thought that if any of those boys deserves to be happily married and settled down with children, it's Virgil. I picture him in a lovely big house with a large, well-manicured lawn and fantastic views of coastal cliffs and a rocky shoreline. He will have a beautiful and charming wife and perhaps three gorgeous children who rush up to him with cries of "daddy!" when he comes home. At the top of the house he will have a grand art studio where he will squirrel himself away for days on end, producing fabulous pieces of artwork that sell for thousands of dollars all over the world. He might even start smoking a pipe.

Aware that I'm drifting, I bring myself back to reality. Firefly is making her fifth and final trip. Des's Search and Rescue teams have been able to use helicopter winches to lift some of the less frightened people and the rest have been ferried across to Thunderbird 2 where a convoy of all-purpose vehicles is arriving, Des assures Scott, to ferry them to the nearest medical facility. Water bearing aircraft have made three trips and doused the main body of the fire that posed the biggest threat, and now Scott and Des stand talking as the last of the residents of the now burnt-out settlement climbs up into the cabin of Firefly. "Heads should roll over this," Des says firmly. "We really had no idea these people were here. Which poses the question- is there anybody else out there?"

"Not that we know of," Scott replies.

"That's the trouble with people like these. They lead a pretty cut-off existence. They fend for themselves and they do their own thing. They're pretty much left alone by everyone. I guess that's how they want it, but when things like this happen they get stuck."

"They managed to reach us," Scott says, "so they obviously had means of communication. The point is, they were told help was on its way, which is why they waited. And then they got forgotten about. I'm not saying by you- you didn't even know about them. I'm talking about the people who make the decisions about what's important and what isn't."

"Like five-star luxury hotels and golf courses and people who pay loads of money." We hear them walking to the mouth of the cave. "This is gonna generate a whole lot of bad publicity for the authorities once those folk start talking to the press about how International Rescue had to come and save them instead of their own people."

"Be that as it may, our organization tries not to get involved in politics."

"I wish we didn't have to, either. Well, Scott, I'm bloody glad we got the chance to work together. Bit of a shaky start but we got there in the end. You guys did a great job. That Firefly contraption is something else. I feel honoured to have met you and your team."

"Don't mention it," says Scott. "Thanks for the reinforcements. That water was badly needed." They part company on good terms.

"So, Scott," says Mr. Tracy. "Mission accomplished?"

"Mission accomplished father. I'll stick around if Virgil needs me to, but if not I guess I can return to Base."

Virgil cuts in. "We're okay Scott. We've got all the help we need. I just want to make sure everyone's safely loaded onto those trucks before we leave, but there's no reason why you shouldn't go home now. I don't think we'll be far behind you."

"Okay boys," says Mr. Tracy. "Good work. I'm proud of you."

"Tell them I'll have a big apple pie waiting for them when they get home!" says Mrs. Tracy.

Scott laughs. "I heard that, Grandma."

"Well then, I guess I'd better get in that kitchen and start baking!"

Chapter 8

It's dark by the time Thunderbird 1 arrives home. As I watch through the window she appears like a comet in the distance, the glow from her thrusters streaking a steady trail across the night sky. The swimming pool slides open and in moments she is hovering overhead with her huge engines thrumming. Scott puts her thrusters into reverse and she angles slowly like a graceful ballerina until her nose is pointing at the heavens. I watch as she descends, lighting up the entire patio area before she disappears beneath the pool to land safely on her mechanised platform. The pool immediately begins to close over and in moments all evidence of the great silver rocket plane is gone. If you didn't know better, you would think that you had dreamed the whole thing.

I'm so eager to see Scott. I'm almost jumping with excitement as he appears from behind his secret wall panel. He has taken off his silver heat suit but he is still in his International Rescue uniform with the light blue sash. He looks tired. His face is dirty, streaked with sweat and grime. He smells like a pile of burning tyres. "That was a nightmare," he declares.

"You did well, son. Welcome home."

"Thanks dad. I'm glad to be home. Hey, Tin-Tin. You sure are a sight for sore eyes." He smiles at me warmly, then rubs his face with both hands and rakes his fingers through his hair, standing for a moment with his hands laced together behind his neck, flexing his arms and shoulders. "I feel like the guy who stands at the bottom of an inverted human pyramid."

I laugh. "You're such a drama queen, Scott Tracy."

"Okay son, go and get cleaned up," his father smiles. "Have a well-earned rest. I'll call you when I need you."

"Sure dad, thanks. I'll see you later."

"So, what was it like?" I start following Scott through the house. "Was it really bad?"

"It was the worst barbecue I've ever been invited to."

I whack him on the arm. "No, seriously."

"It was hell, Tin-Tin. It was searingly hot and nasty and the cave was dark and stank like a cesspit. There was ash and soot and smoke and grown men trying to climb over little kids to get out. If we hadn't turned up when we did, there'd be a whole heap of dead bodies in there by now."

I wince. "I'm sorry I asked."

"It's over now, anyway. Thank God we got them all out. I wish them all the best luck in the world, but right now all I want to do is to get out of this dirty uniform and stand under some cool running water."

We reach the door of his room. Suddenly I'm embarrassed. "Well, I suppose I'd better leave you to it then," I say breezily.

He turns to activate his door panel, then stops and looks at me. He looks at me properly. I can feel myself starting to blush under his calm, blue-eyed gaze.. "You know, Tin-Tin," he muses, "I don't know if I should say this in case you think I'm being slushy, but without you, this place would be mighty dull."

"I don't know how you can say it would be dull, the exciting lives you lead."

"I'm not talking about that. I mean, you brighten up the place. Like a rose in the middle of a desert."

"That's very poetic." The blush reaches my ears.

"Aw, well...it's probably just the day I've had. I'm in the mood for some sweet talk."

"Well it's very kind of you to say it. Thank you, Scott. The place would be mighty dull without you, too."

He grins. How I love those dimples. "I guess I'd better go and take that shower, then," he says.

"Yes, I suppose you should," I reply. "You do smell a bit crispy."

Scott laughs out loud. "Thanks, Tin-Tin! That's the last time I pay you a compliment." He opens his door and goes through. I stand there on the threshold, knowing I should leave, but my feet are rooted to the spot. He turns and sees me still standing there. He looks straight at me, a quizzical look on his face. I don't know what comes over me, but as his door starts to slide shut I dart forward and into his room as though I've been pushed by an invisible hand.

"Okay," he says slowly. "Now I am intrigued."

"Do you want me to go?" I ask, nervously.

"Well, I don't know what you're going to do if you stay. I guess you could play on the computer or watch TV or something. The remote's around here somewhere, but..." He searches unsuccessfully for a few moments, then gives up.

I look around his room. He has bookshelves crammed with books. There's a wall-mounted television and a running machine that he seems to be using as a second place to hang his clothes. There's a desk with his computer on it and piles of paperwork and ring binders and other office paraphernalia. There are various plants that he does his best to nurture with John's help, although Scott is not naturally green-fingered. There are framed photos of his Air Force days on the walls, and of course there's a bed. A big king-size bed with rumpled covers, which I try very hard not to look at.

"Your room's a mess." It's all I can think of to say.

"Thanks, Tin-Tin. I prefer to call it the lived-in look."

"I prefer to call it a mess."

He begins unbuckling his blue sash. I try not to look, but I do. He removes the sash and puts it on the bed. All the while he's still looking at me, amusement tilting the corners of his lips.

"Maybe I should go after all," I say. "I mean, if you're going to be taking your clothes off."

He runs his hand over the back of his head. "Isn't that what you do when you take a shower?" He smiles. "Of course, there could be a perfectly innocent reason why you would be standing in my room watching me undress."

Our eyes meet and hold. My heart is hammering. I look down at his dirty boots. He watches me, his blue eyes quizzical. "Is there?" he says.

"Is there what?"

"Is there a perfectly innocent reason why you'd be standing in my room watching me undress?"

"You're not undressing."

"I will be. Any minute. I'm trying to take a shower, remember?"

"Oh, yes. Um..." Still my feet won't move. Am I a complete idiot? "Well, I suppose I'd better go then."

"Whatever, Tin-Tin, stay or go, but I really need to get out of this dirty uniform."

I look up at him. He's standing there with his arms folded across his chest. It's now or never.

"Do you want me to go?" I ask in a tiny voice that sounds like it's coming from far away.

"Tin-Tin," he sighs, " you can stay, you can go, you can stand with one foot in and one foot out. But any second now I'm going to start taking off my clothes. You can watch if you want or you can look in the other direction, but either way, it's happening."

Something propels me forward. His eyes widen as I move close to him, and he actually takes a step backwards. This isn't like any other time we've stood together, and Scott recognises this instantly. I put my hands on his chest and look up into his face. I have never seen him look quite this surprised, as though he is suddenly unsure of himself and his surroundings. Immediately I regret my rash stupidity, but it's too late to back away now.

"I don't want to go," I whisper.

He stares down at me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, but his face is kind.

"Tin-Tin," he says."What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" I press a little closer. "I'm...giving you a hug."

He looks down at my head resting on his chest. I slip my arms around him and hold him as gently as I can.

"Tin-Tin," he says softly. I swear his voice catches.

"You could have died in that fire," I tell him. "I...we were so worried."

"Honey, I was completely safe. We do this all the time, remember? I was in no more danger than Virgil or Alan." It takes me a moment to realise he is stroking my hair.

I lift my head, look straight into his eyes. "Then tell me to go, Scott. Tell me to go."

His eyes soften. He searches my face with a practised gaze. I don't know what he is looking for, but I know what I want him to find, and he finds it. He finds my aching need for him, hidden somewhere behind my eyes where only a man like he would know to look.

He breathes out audibly.

"Oh, Tin-Tin," he says at last, pulling my head to his chest. "I was waiting for something like this to happen. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"How could you hurt me, Scott?" I mumble, my lips against his uniform. "How?"

"Baby, in so many ways. These things...they just happen."

I'm almost beside myself at his closeness, his voice, his arms around me.

"But this is hurting me, Scott." I whisper. "Seeing you every day, and not knowing how to get your attention. Every time you flirt with me, every little teasing comment you make leaves me in agony because I want to get closer but I can't."

"Oh, Tin-Tin, Tin-Tin." He breaks off, exhales a deep breath. "You of all people don't deserve it."

"Deserve what? The Scott Tracy Treatment? I don't believe half of what I hear. You're not like that. I know you're not."

"Honey, whatever you've heard, I'll tell you the truth. Half the time I don't even stick around for breakfast."

I hold him tighter. "You don't need to, Scott. You come home here for breakfast."

I lift my face and put my lips on his neck. His skin is salty and rough with dirt. He smells smoky, charred. I breathe in deep and inhale the scent of him, then blow it out hot against his ear.

"Tin-Tin," he breathes, hoarsely. "Please don't do this to me."

"But you like it," I answer, "I know you do. I wouldn't be in your room if you didn't."

I put my tongue out and taste him, licking him under the jaw. I can feel him beginning to weaken. His fingers dig deep into my shoulder blades. I nuzzle him under his ear, rubbing my lips against the roughness of his skin. In spite of himself, he tilts his head back and lets me kiss his throat. He moans softly. I move my hips against him and run my hands down his thighs. He grips the back of my head and pulls me away. His eyes are fathomless and unfocussed. I put my hands on his chest and clutch at the fabric of his uniform. He stares at me- he still seems unsure, but I know his resolve is crumbling.

He looks at me for what seems like forever. This time I don't look away- I gaze deep into his eyes.

"Tin-Tin," he says softly, "You know I'd never knowingly do anything to hurt you. You're way too special to me for that."

"I know you wouldn't, Scott. I know you wouldn't."

He hesitates for a moment that threatens to stretch into infinity. He puts his face so close to mine that our noses are almost touching. His breath is warm on my lips. His eyes are dark and half-closed. Still, he hesitates. And then at last, at long last, his mouth touches mine and he kisses me.

He sends me into rapture. I wrap myself around him and moan against his lips. A million tiny fireworks go off inside me. I'm sinking, drowning, soaring and flying. I'm no longer a body but a trembling mass of pure sensation. As his mouth moves over mine, softly at first, then harder, I taste salt and sweat and smoke. I grasp at him hungrily, my hands on the back of his neck and in his hair and over his shoulders. He pulls me into a strong embrace, his hands pulling and pushing, tugging at my clothes, doing all manner of wonderful things to me. He pulls me backwards, swings me around, and in moments we are on the bed. He kisses and caresses me and presses me down with his hips, grinding them into me, his mouth still clamped firmly to mine. I wriggle helplessly beneath him, shocked at his ardour, pushing my hips upwards, straining against him, so giddy with desire I could burst. He licks at the skin of my neck, bites me with his teeth, whispers my name in my ear, over and over and over.

Tin-Tin, Tin-Tin, Tin-Tin. His passion is a force to be reckoned with. It is more than even I expected. He is consuming me like a flame. He is burning me up. His hands are all over me, and mine are on him. His mouth is hot, his kiss almost brutal.

And then, like a light going out, he stops dead.

He recoils from me like a magnet repelled, staggering upright, stricken. "Tin-Tin," he utters. "Go."

"What? But, Scott..." I stare at him in despair. Embarrassed, I start tugging my clothes straight, pulling my skirt down my thighs. He looks, and then looks away fast.

"Go, Tin-Tin, now. Before I get us both into trouble."

"But Scott...!" He cuts me dead with a look.

"Tin-Tin, don't argue. I said go."

His tone is authoritative. He means it, and there's no way around it. He wants me to go, so I go. Shaken, I drag myself to my feet and run from his room, filthy from sooty caresses, on legs that feel like two crumbling pillars of sand.

Chapter 9

The next day I try to avoid him. I keep out of the kitchen when he's there, and I won't go for a swim if he's by the pool. It's so much more difficult than I'd thought, as he seems to be everywhere I go. When I type out a letter for Mr. Tracy, he needs to work at the computer. When I'm in the lab with Brains, he needs to ask Brains a question. When I help Mrs. Tracy with the laundry, he comes looking for his favourite blue shirt. Our contact is brief and awkward each time, and he will not meet my eyes. My heart feels crushed, like he took it in his fist and squeezed. He said this would happen. He warned me I'd get hurt. I was so sure I'd be all right, but he felled me with a single blow.

I bustle around the house trying to keep busy with chores, trying not to let anyone see how I'm feeling. Mrs. Tracy looks at me once or twice, but I make it quite plain that I'm fine. I iron the boys' shirts, fold their trousers, put their uniforms out to dry. For once I don't joke about being their housemaid, the chores distract me and keep my thoughts occupied.

Around 3pm, I am carrying an armload of Virgil's shirts to his room, where I will leave them in a neat pile outside his door. I'm halfway down the corridor when I can hear him talking to Scott.

They are both in Virgil's room and the door is half open. I stop. I can hear everything.

"...still don't know what you were thinking, Scott, inviting her into your room like that."

"I didn't, Virg, I swear I didn't, how many times must I tell you? The door was open and she ran in like a jackrabbit bolting down a hole."

"And you didn't ask her to leave?"

"No, I...I kind of joked with her for a bit..."

"Toyed with her, you mean."

"No, Virgil, I just joked with her. We clown around, you know? Since she split with Alan, we've been spending a lot of time together."

"So it seems."

"Virgil, will you stop making light of my problems?"

"Makes a change, Scott. It's usually you making light of mine. So anyway, you're in deep water now, big brother. What are you going to do about this one?"

"It's not 'this one', Virgil. It's Tin-Tin. We're talking about Tin-Tin here, okay. Not some faceless floozy from some cheap gin dive."

"Okay, Scott, cool your heels. Nothing gets solved with anger."

Dear Virgil. If anyone knows how to soothe Scott's savage beast, it's him.

"What am I going to do, Virgil? The look on her face when I made her leave. Not asked her to leave, Virgil, I ordered her to leave. I stood there like some arrogant jock and ordered her to go. After what I did. After promising I wouldn't hurt her. What kind of a man does that make me?"

"Scott, Scott, breathe, fella. Breathe. Calm down. You're getting tense."

"I didn't know it was going to happen, Virgil, but she started kissing me and..."

"You're saying it was Tin-Tin's fault?" I can hear the quiet cynicism in Virgil's mellow tone.

"No, I'm not. Jeez, Virgil, cut me some slack. I didn't think I'd react so...so..."

"So like you normally react?"

"Virgil!"

Virgil laughs. "Relax, Scott, relax. I've never seen you so worked up over a woman."

"It's Tin-Tin, Virg, it's Tin-Tin. I don't think you're even listening to me."

"I'm listening, fella. I am. I've seen you two together. I kind of figured something was cooking."

"Oh, man, Virg, what am I going to do? She smells like vanilla, did you know that? I love vanilla, it's my goddamned favourite flavour."

Virgil bursts out laughing. "You and your food addictions."

"Goddamned vanilla, Virgil. And you know what else? Her hair is like silk, and her those big green liquid eyes..."

Virgil is laughing more, and soon Scott joins in, although his laugh sounds slightly manic.

"I am so dead," he utters. "If Alan doesn't kill me, Kyrano and dad will."

"Not to mention Grandma. That'll be the end of your apple pies."

"Oh, God. Me and my..." he breaks off. Scott is forever leaving sentences unfinished.

"Yep, you and your. That thing will get you into trouble every time."

There is silence for a few moments. When Scott starts speaking again, his voice is low and I have to move nearer the door to hear him.

"She sure knows how to kiss, Virgil. I don't know who taught her, but I'd be very surprised if it was Alan. Her lips are like velvet, her tongue's like a little naked baby squirrel trying to sneak its way in. Five minutes of kissing that mouth and I was climbing the walls."

I feel faint. I stagger and nearly drop Virgil's pile of shirts. I must have made a noise, because in the next minute Virgil is in the doorway, staring at me.

"Tin-Tin!" he exclaims.

Thank you, Virgil.

In the next second, Scott is right behind him. They both stare at me speechlessly for a few moments, then Scott speaks at last.

"What are you doing out here, Tin-Tin?"

"Er, I was coming to give Virgil his shirts."

"Thank you," says Virgil, whipping the shirts out of my arms before I drop them all in a crumpled heap on the floor. He turns and disappears back into his room. "You guys should talk," he shouts from inside. "And I mean talk."

Scott runs his hand through his hair. "How much did you hear?" he asks quietly.

"Pretty much all of it," I confess.

"Oh, boy."

"At least now I know you don't hate me," I say brightly, "like I thought earlier, when you were completely ignoring me."

Virgil appears back in the doorway. "I didn't mean talk right outside my room. Tin-Tin, you're going to have to take him somewhere. You see, this is the part that he doesn't understand- how to humble himself and say sorry. Meaning, you could be with him for some time."

So I take him to my room.

I sit on the edge of the bed, secretly enjoying the sight of Scott pacing up and down, obviously lost for the right words. All he can say is I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Tin-Tin, I'm sorry. Finally I have to tell him to stop saying sorry when he starts to sound like a broken record. So much for not knowing how, Virgil.

He stands there in the middle of the room and stares at me dejectedly.

"I hurt you, Tin-Tin. I did exactly what I said I was going to do."

"Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, Scott? You expect something to happen, so it does."

"I just seem to have a knack for it."

"We had one kiss, and you panicked. It's not the end of the world."

I feel brave now, because of what I heard him say to Virgil. He has no idea I've been on the edge of a nervous breakdown all day. But I should know better than to underestimate Scott Tracy.

"You make it sound like it was nothing," he says. "But you know what it was like, Tin-Tin. You know it was more than just a kiss. It was way, way more than just a kiss."

I crumble at his voice. "You're right, Scott. It was more than that."

I beckon him over at last. He comes over and sits on the bed. He rests his elbows on his knees and looks at the carpet.

"I've got enough girl trouble, Tin-Tin. I don't think I need any more."

"Poor Scott," I say. "You sound sad."

I move closer to him. My skin is tingling all over. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"All I seem to do is get myself into trouble. The only time I'm not is when I'm here, or out on a rescue. Shore leave, vacations, business trips, I'm there, right in the thick of it. I can't seem to control myself sometimes. It's like releasing a pressure cooker. I try not to hurt them but I don't even remember their names half the time. I can't commit. I've never been able to commit. I don't like that aspect of myself, but that's how it is."

"And what's that got to do with what happened between us?"

"Because it's exactly what's going to happen to you. Can't you see it? I don't think I know how to be any different. Other women, maybe. But not you, Tin-Tin, not you. You're Tin-Tin. You're one of us. You're special, you're sweet, and beautiful, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Then you won't," I reassure him, stroking his hair.

He closes his eyes and rubs his head against my hand like a big cat. His hair is thick and curls around my fingers. Nothing he says is going to put me off him. It's taken me a long time to realise it, but he's the most desirable man I've ever met. I lean over and kiss his cheek, right on his dimple.

"Scott, you need to give yourself more credit. You're a fine and honourable man, proud and dignified, and a natural born leader. We'd all trust you with our lives- sometimes I even think that you're the glue that holds this family together. So how could you possibly ever hurt me?"

He stares at me in silence, absorbing my words.

He moves his mouth closer to mine.

"Just let me kiss you again," he murmurs.

And I do.

Chapter 10

After dinner my father and Mrs. Tracy bring apple pie and ice cream and a tray of coffee into the lounge where everyone gathers to watch the news. Alan beckons me over to the sofa but I shake my head daintily. Bold as anything, I go over to the other sofa and park myself down next to Scott.

"Hello," I say shyly.

He looks delighted. "Well, hello."

"Hey, Tin-Tin," Alan protests. "What's he got that I haven't?"

"A bigger piece of apple pie," I retort.

"I'm just bigger all round," Scott deadpans.

"Yeah, your head's definitely bigger," scoffs Gordon.

"Not to mention your ego," says Alan.

"Not to mention my wallet," Scott replies, clicking the spoon against his teeth.

Mr. Tracy calls for quiet as the news report comes on. Virgil turns the sound up with the remote. "Three men have been arrested in connection with the bush fires that have been raging in the outback all week," the news reporter announces excitedly. "Police have long said they suspected arson and tonight they swooped on an address in Clydesdale after receiving a tip-off from a member of the public. The breakthrough comes after 75 people were pulled out of a cave by the world-renowned organization International Rescue in one of the worst-hit areas. Search and Rescue team leader Desmond Arnold was quoted as saying, " 'it's outrageous that those people were left to fend for themselves for so long.' "

A surprisingly handsome blond man of about thirty five comes on the screen. He has the crinkly blue eyes of someone who's spent a lifetime in the sun. He is as dirty and streaked with grime as Scott was when he came home.

"There's Des," Scott says around a mouthful of apple pie.

"He's cute," I whisper. Scott nearly chokes.

"The whole thing stinks!" Des proclaims. "Heads oughta roll over this. If it wasn't for those guys from International Rescue, those people would have been burned alive in that cave. It's high time we got our priorities in order. Who cares about a ruddy golf course?"

"Good for you Des," Scott mutters. "To think I was ready to punch his lights out."

"I wonder who tipped off the police," muses Virgil.

"A hundred bucks says it was a girlfriend," says Scott, finishing his pie and putting his bowl down on the floor. "They always have axes to grind."

"You would know." I say, nudging him.

"Ex-girlfriend now," says Gordon.

We are suddenly interrupted by a loud beeping. Everyone turns around to see the eyes of Lady Penelope's portrait flashing on and off. "Hey, there's Penny," says Mr. Tracy with a broad smile. He gets up and goes over to the wall to activate the screen. "Hello, Penny!"

"Hello, Jeff," Lady Penelope says in her warm, breathy upper-class British accent. "Hello, boys."

"Hey Lady P," they answer almost in unison.

"I've been watching the news reports. Congratulations on another job well done. It must have been quite, quite brutal out there."

"It was touch-and-go at first," says Mr. Tracy, "but we managed to get things under control eventually."

"You are a master of understatement, Jeff Tracy," Lady Penelope smiles a perfect pink-lipped smile. "You must have some British ancestry. Most of you Americans do, after all."

"You'll never make a tea-drinker out of me, Lady P," says Scott. He slings his arm across the back of the couch behind me in order to turn and get a better view of her. I want to snuggle up against him and tell Lady Penelope to stop looking at him that way, even though she looks at all of them that way. I swear she's batting her eyelashes at Scott.

"That won't stop me trying, dear boy," she drawls flirtatiously.

"You let me take you to a baseball game and then I'll think about it," Scott laughs.

"Perhaps I'll take you up on that one day. If only to see you drinking out of a dainty china cup."

She exchanges affectionate banter with the boys for a couple more minutes, wishes Virgil luck with his upcoming jazz gig, which makes him blush, and then she is gone. The boys all start to get up. Gordon yawns and stretches. "Man, I can't wait to get into that pool tomorrow. Work out some of these kinks."

"What kinks?" Alan laughs. "You sat in Thunderbird 2 all day with your feet up!"

"Get outta here! You'd all be lost without me."

Scott is restless by nature. I pray that he won't get up. It's nice sitting here next to him, our thighs almost touching. I swear I can feel the heat from his leg. Or is it the heat from mine? He smiles at me and reaches into the pocket of his jacket. He brings out a portable Brain Teaser game with a small stylus attached. He opens it up and switches it on. "Don't worry, it's not Sudoku," he says. He holds it up to show me. "Hangman," he grins. "I was going to ask you for a game later, but as you're already here, we may as well play it now."

"Goodness, I haven't played that in years!" I exclaim.

He creates twelve words with a question mark at the end.

"Twelve words? That's a bit ambitious."

"Don't worry, it's easy," he smiles.

I start guessing, beginning with the vowels. There are four As and four Es. "I think you're going to get this," he chuckles.

"I." There are seven Is. "N," I giggle, giving him a nudge. There are three Ns. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? " I rest my head on his shoulder. "Scott. How sweet!"

He concedes defeat. "Not bad."

"My turn." I take the game out of his hand, not quite accidentally touching his fingers with mine, setting off butterflies in my stomach. I tap out four spaces then five spaces and put a smiley emoticon at the end. He starts his guessing with the vowels, like I did. One A, two Es and one I. He strokes his lower lip and shoots me a sideways glance.

"Is it 'easy tiger'?" he smiles.

"Oh dear," I sigh. "We're just too good at this." I hand the game back. He taps out six sets of blanks and again puts a question mark at the end.

I go through the vowels again. There are three As but no Es. He uses the stylus to create the hangman's head. "Okay. There's a start!"

"All right. 'I'."

"Nope, no 'I'." He gives the hangman a torso. There are three Os, but I'm still none the wiser. There are no Us, so the hangman gets an arm. "Now he can scratch his head."

"Or untie himself."

"No chance. Boot Hill here we come."

I start on the consonants. There are no Ss so the hangman gets his other arm. I've got two more chances to guess what it is. There are two Ts. The second word is 'to'. "N " I say. An N appears in the first word. " 'Ant to?' I know, 'want to'. Want to what?" I muse aloud. I guess at W. The first and last words start with W. I study all the remaining blanks and then I make a stab at it. "Want to go for a walk?"

"Damn," he taps in all the remaining letters. I was right. I stare quietly at all the words.

"Well?" he says. "Do you?"

We walk down to the gardens. The moon hangs overhead, almost full, lighting the way with a gentle blue glow. There is a sweet scent of jasmine in the air. My father and I are so proud of our gardens. We spend hours pottering around, tending and manicuring, lost in our deepest thoughts.

"It's a nice night," says Scott.

"Yes. It must seem very tranquil after yesterday."

"It sure does," he agrees.

An ornamental water feature bubbles and trickles nearby. We walk in silence for a while.

"It must be hard not to let personal feelings get in the way of the job sometimes," I say at last. "Especially when so many people are in trouble like that."

"I've been trained to put personal feelings aside in any given situation," Scott replies. "But you're right, it's not always easy. I've seen guys go too far and not show any sign of emotion or feelings at all. Most of them crack up in the end."

"I don't think that will ever happen to you, Scott," I smile. "You seem perfectly in control of your feelings. Well, most of the time."

He laughs, takes hold of my hand. I thrill at the feel of his fingers through mine as we walk.

"About yesterday," he smiles. "I really shouldn't have come on to you quite that strong."

"I'm a little embarrassed myself," I admit.

"Having said that," he continues, "I think I was half-expecting something to happen- if it hadn't happened yesterday, I think it would have happened one day." He sighs and squeezes my hand briefly. "There have been times when you look at me, and times when I look at you, and it's not just the way you would look at a friend. And don't try to kid me, Tin-Tin. I know when I'm being looked at."

"I don't doubt it for a second."

"The first time I felt an inkling that something was going to happen was when you asked me to put sun cream on your back. Did you know that's the first time I'd ever touched you anywhere other than just your arm or your shoulder? On your skin, I mean."

"yes, Scott- I suppose that it was."

"And do you remember how it felt?"

"Yes, I remember it well." Remember it well? I tingle at the very thought of it.

"I remember every bump and ridge of your spine, every single little hair follicle on the small of your back. I've got a photographic imprint on my memory that will never, ever fade."

"Gosh." As a matter of fact, so do I.

He bends his head down to mine. "I'll let you in on something else. At the risk of sounding lecherous now, there's a particular swimsuit of yours. I don't even want to tell you what it does to me when you wear it."

I tingle at his proximity. "Which one?" My brain makes a valiant attempt to sift through my extensive swimwear collection. Is it the turquoise one? I know he likes blue. Or the shimmery green one that goes with my eyes? Or maybe it's the bright red one with the gold trim...

"I'm not telling you. You might stop wearing it."

"I might start wearing it all the time."

"Now there's a thought," he chuckles.

"Well, if we're both going to be lecherous," I say, " then I may as well tell you that the sight of you in your uniform makes my knees go weak."

"Really? Now that is kind of naughty, Tin-Tin." He is silent for a few moments, no doubt considering the endless array of opportunities to tease me that my confession has just afforded him. " I was wearing it yesterday." He grins. "Is that what got you so turned on? Or maybe the fact I was all covered in dirt?"

"It might have been both," I admit.

"I'm sorry I'm not wearing it now," he smiles. "I could go and put it on for you, if you want."

"I can use my imagination," I murmur. "Scott, please kiss me again."

He kisses me. He eases me up against a nearby statue of Buddha. His kiss is deep, passionate, and extremely thorough. He runs his hands over my hips. I lean back against Buddha, and he presses closer. His kiss goes on and on, like a lifetime of kisses stored up and released all at once. His tongue pushes deep into my mouth. My neck begins aching from the pressure of it. I kiss him back just as hard. I rake my nails through his hair. I moan softly as his mouth breaks free of mine and he kisses my throat, pressing his lips against the tender spot where my pulse beats hard and fast. Every cell in my body is filled with longing for his touch. If he makes love to me now, up against the stone Buddha in the garden of this Pacific island paradise, then I will die a happy woman.

But he doesn't. The opportunity is robbed from us by voices shouting down from the house, piercing the still night air. It's Gordon and Alan, and they're looking for me. "Tin-Tin! Hey, Tin-Tin. Where are you?"

"Damn," mutters Scott, pushing himself off me almost as quickly as he did yesterday.

Sometimes in times of stress I start laughing. Alan used get quite irritated by it, especially when he thought I was laughing at him. I start to giggle now as I frantically straighten my clothes.

"Oh no," I whisper breathlessly. "My husband's home."

"You have two husbands?"

"Yes. My religion demands it."

Alan calls again. "Tin-Tin! Where are you?"

"Scott, you have to go."

He grabs my head and kisses me hard and quickly. "This is way too much like my college days," he quips, and then sprints off over the grass, making himself scarce.

I find the nearest bench and sit down on it, or rather, my shaky legs give way. I pat my clothes down and smooth my hair, straightening my headband. I am flushed and giddy, my mouth tender and kiss-bruised. I compose myself as Alan and Gordon call again. There are times when I could quite happily throttle them. "For goodness' sakes you two!" I call back, affecting boredom. "There's no need to keep shouting. I'm in the garden."

That night I find it almost impossible to sleep. I turn this way and that. I kick the covers off and then pull them back on again. I stretch my arm across the empty side of the bed, imagining what it would be like to be in bed with Scott. I am envious of the women that have already been that lucky. With his darkly handsome looks and his ready wit he is quite a catch. I wonder if he has been with Lady Penelope. Scott's convinced she likes Virgil, but Scott would only have to look at her a certain way and she'd be putty in his hands. I smile to myself. My thoughts are so outlandish sometimes. I picture him lying next to me with his dark head resting on my pillow. His warm smile and his knowing blue eyes are the last things I see before I finally drift off to sleep.

Chapter 11

In the morning I'm up early. I shower thoroughly, brush my hair until it gleams. I pull on figure hugging jeans and a crisp white cotton blouse. I practically flirt with myself in the mirror. I go to the kitchen. I know Mrs. Tracy will be awake and beginning to get the breakfast things ready. She smiles warmly when she sees me and says I look lovely. There's a spring in my step that's hard to conceal as I move around the kitchen.

At 7am my father turns up. He's been looking a little frail lately so I go over and give him a big hug. He beams with delight, holding me tightly. "You look beautiful today, little one," he says. I ask him about those frightful headaches he gets, where he seems to go off in a trance for hours. Happily, he has not had one for some time.

Mr. Tracy appears at 7.10. After bidding us all good morning, he picks up a cup of coffee and heads for the lounge, saying that he's going to watch the news. At 7.15, just as Mrs. Tracy is removing a tray of freshly baked bread rolls from the oven, Scott comes in. He spies the bread rolls immediately and snatches one off the tray before anyone can stop him. He stands there juggling the hot roll from hand to hand as he waits for it to cool. "I ought to put a padlock on your mouth, young man," says Mrs. Tracy sternly. No, please don't, I think with a smile, recalling what that mouth was doing to me last night.

He tears the bread roll in half and coats the warm interior with butter. I watch him eat. It's gone in seconds. There's butter on his lips and on his fingers. My mind wanders all over the place. "You'll get fat," I say cheekily.

He shrugs. "More of me to love." He wipes the butter off his hands and looks me up and down. "You're up early. And dressed, too. What's the occasion?"

"There's no occasion. I just felt like getting up. Why?" I flutter my eyelashes, hoping I look as sultry as Lady Penelope. "Do you want me to go back to bed?" It's an audacious thing to say with my father and Mrs. Tracy within earshot but it gives me a little thrill. I feel naughty.

He gives me a look that pins me down like a butterfly on a specimen tray. "I guess I'll have to get back to you on that one," he smiles. I melt. I'm no match for this man. What a feeling that gives me!

An hour later, everyone is up. Mr. Tracy is still in the lounge but the boys are all in the dining room. Scott is ploughing through a second helping of bacon and waffles with syrup. His food combinations 'gross me out'- which is a term I've picked up from Gordon, who still talks like a teenager. I've never seen someone shovel so much food down and still stay so fit. In between mouthfuls of food he swallows huge gulps of coffee as though it's going out of style. In contrast to Scott, Virgil is reading today's downloaded newspaper and eating toast with apricot jam. Admittedly there are four slices on his plate and he folds each piece in half before taking a bite, but whereas Scott looks ravenous, Virgil looks quite refined. He reads aloud from an article that says Search and Rescue Team Leader Des Arnold has been recommended for a bravery award.

"Some guys get all the luck," says Alan. He's sitting by the window eating a bacon sandwich and enjoying the morning sun.

"He says he doesn't deserve it," Virgil reads. "He says, quote, 'they ought to give it to those guys from International Rescue'."

"He's sure been singing our praises around town," Scott says with his mouth full.

Virgil continues. " 'Why did International Rescue need to be called out to a situation that could have been kept well under control if the relevant authorities had known about it earlier?' "

"Why, indeed."

"It says that the residents of that settlement are being re-housed in a new purpose-built residential area as soon as construction work is finished."

"Oh, Virgil! That's wonderful news!" I exclaim.

"I guess that's what you'd call a happy ending," says Scott.

"Yeah," agrees Gordon. "It's nice to get a bit of good news for a change." Gordon is playing with the very latest version of the PSP while a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon sits congealing in front of him. He lifts his head as a beeping sound comes from the lounge. "I'll bet that's Lady P," he says.

It is. The boys don't seem all that bothered, so I wander through on my own, if only to see what the good Lady is wearing today. She is wearing a snug, well-tailored cream jacket, probably Chanel. Her hair and makeup are as immaculate as always. Mr. Tracy is sitting on the edge of his desk, listening intently as she speaks. "Tin Tin, go get Scott," he says. I do as he asks, and soon Scott is standing with us, holding a piece of toast that he's brought with him.

"Hello, Scott. Eating as usual, I see," Lady Penelope says sweetly.

"Doctor's orders," he replies. "Three square meals a day, and lots of little rectangular ones in between."

"Tell us what you need, Penny," says Mr. Tracy.

"Well, Jeff. I was wondering awfully if Scott wouldn't mind flying me out in Thunderbird 1 to my Ranch. It appears that a large number of refugees from one of the fire zones have moved themselves into the barn, and I don't like the thought of any of our secrets being discovered in my absence. I plan to stay until the situation is resolved- as politely as possible, of course. Parker shall follow by the normal routes, but I really would like to get there as fast as I can."

"We're not a taxi service," Scott mutters, so low under his breath that only I hear it.

"I understand what you're saying, Penny, but they could just be innocent people looking for shelter," Mr. Tracy muses.

"Jeff," Lady Penelope purrs, "you of all people must know that in our line of work, everyone unknown to us is a potential danger until proven otherwise." She ends with a sultry smile.

"Guess that's me going to Australia then," says Scott, resignedly.

Mr. Tracy and Scott decide to run checks on Thunderbird 1 before he sets off. I fetch my checklist, clipboard and my set of tools and head to the hangar. When I get there, Scott is sitting in the pilot's seat flicking switches on his console.

"Any damage?" I ask.

"Nope. Doesn't look like it."

"We'll run the proper checks anyway." It's a good enough reason for me to spend some time with him before he goes. I pick up my clipboard and start leafing through sheets of paper.

"Nice outfit, by the way."

"What? Oh...thank you."

"I like the jeans. They're a good fit."

I look up at him through my eyelashes. "Thank you."

He smiles down at me, his dimples creasing. He holds his hand out towards me. "Come up here," he says.

"Pardon?"

"Come on." He waggles his fingers.

"Are you going to trick me again?"

"No!" He laughs. "Come on, before I change my mind."

I put down my clipboard and climb up. He pulls me onto his lap. I hook my legs over the pilot's seat armrest. "I'm not going to set anything off, am I?"

"Only me," he murmurs. He strokes the hair back from my face, and then he kisses me, slowly. He tastes of coffee and maple syrup. He caresses my face and neck with the whisper of his fingertips. He undoes the top button of my blouse. He runs his finger lightly along my collarbone.

"Someone might see us," I panic.

He leans over me, presses a switch on the control panel. The door hatch slides shut. "Now they'll have to knock." He kisses my neck. He pulls the tail of my blouse out of my jeans and slips his hand underneath. His fingers trace the indentations between my ribs. I nuzzle his hair, inhaling the scent of soap and something tangy, like citrus groves warmed by the sun. "Why don't you come with me?" he murmurs.

"I can't do that," I protest.

"Why not? Just say you need a break."

"They'll suspect."

He looks me in the eye. His lips curve gently. He is hard to resist. "I want you to come with me, Tin-Tin. I want you to myself for a while."

"What will I say?"

"What I told you to say. You need a break. You'd like to see Lady Penelope. You don't often get the chance to ride in this baby. Tell Virg you've had enough of his crate- you want some speed for a change."

"Scott, I don't know. I..."

He stops me with another kiss, tangling his fingers in my hair. "All right," I stammer when we part. I have made a good show of protesting, but there's actually nothing I want more in this world right now than to be with him, wherever he's going. I clamber down from the pilot's seat, my head spinning. I pick up my clipboard but I can't concentrate. "Perhaps I'd better get Brains after all," I say shakily.

Chapter 12

I stand in front of Mr. Tracy's desk. I'm nervous to say the least. "Mr. Tracy, may I go with Scott?"

Mr. Tracy raises his eyebrows. "What for, Tin-Tin?"

"Well, I just thought it would be nice to get out. I mean, I haven't seen Lady Penelope for a while, and I promised I'd lend her some books, and it would be nice to say hello, and Scott said he doesn't mind."

"What if there's an emergency en-route? Scott would need to divert."

I've thought of this already. "I am a member of International Rescue too, Mr. Tracy. I have my own uniform and everything. If Scott needed to divert I would assume my role as a fully fledged member of the team."

"I see," Mr. Tracy muses thoughtfully. "Well, I certainly can't argue with that. All right Tin-Tin, you can go. With Thunderbird 1's top speed you'll be back before long anyway. Just be mindful of Scott- if anything does happen, you do what he tells you to. Okay?"

Oh, I intend to Mr. Tracy, I intend to. I thank him profusely and run to my room to pack a bag.

I'm waiting in the kitchen with my bag packed when Alan comes in for some freshly squeezed lemonade. "I hear you're going with Scott," he says.

"Yes," I reply. "I thought it would be nice to go along for the ride."

"Scott doesn't normally take passengers."

"Well, today he's going to have two- me and Lady Penelope."

Alan shakes his blond head ruefully. "And it's not even his birthday."

Gordon is close behind Alan. "What's with the bag, Tin-Tin?"

"It's for her trip with Scott," says Alan.

"Scott won't let you take that."

"It's just a few things for Lady Penelope. I promised I'd lend her some books. And there's my uniform, in case an emergency happens en-route and Scott needs to divert."

Gordon doesn't look convinced. "What do you want to go for anyway? You won't see much, he's just going straight there and back. He won't want you tagging along."

"I'm not tagging along. He said I could go!"

Scott comes into the kitchen. "What's all the fuss?"

"I was just asking Tin-Tin why she wanted to go with you. All that way there and back, and you're not even stopping. What's the point?"

Scott goes to the fridge. He roots around inside and pulls out a box of chocolate éclairs. "Why shouldn't she go?" he shrugs, taking out one of the pastries. "She just wants to get out of the house." He puts the box back in the fridge, takes a huge bite of the éclair. Sometimes I wonder if he even tastes half the food he eats.

"But you're just going straight there and back."

"You've said that three times," I say crossly.

"Okay, fine," says Gordon. "I'm sorry."

Scott finishes his éclair and looks at his watch. "Eleven o'clock," he muses. "Come on, Tin-Tin. It's time you and I got moving."

With my cheeks burning I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I'm glad to get out of the kitchen. I hurry after Scott through the lounge to the wall panel with the two light fixtures attached. "Okay, dad. We're ready."

"All right, Scott. I'll tell Penny you're both on your way."

Scott places his back against the wall. He holds out his hand for me to join him. I stand with my back to him, clutching my bag tightly against my chest. He reaches for the light fixtures and activates the wall panel switch. The panel swivels, taking us around to the other side into Thunderbird 1's hangar, where the moving gantry that carries Scott to the cockpit is waiting.

"You okay?" he asks, placing his hand on my shoulder. I nod silently. "Wait here just a moment then. I need to get changed. You know, put my uniform on."

Am I making a big mistake? I'm a bundle of nerves as I stand there waiting. Alan must suspect something.

In moments Scott is at the hatch, calling me over. He has changed into his uniform, minus the hat, which he says he won't wear until he needs to because it makes his head itch. I clamber into the cockpit. "Put your bag in the locker," he instructs. "I don't want stuff flying around." He climbs up into the pilot's seat while I make sure my bag is secure and shut the locker tightly.

The so-called passenger seats in Thunderbird 1 are small and basic. I climb onto one and buckle myself in. Scott leans over and looks down at me. "All set?"

"All set, Scott," I confirm.

He begins flicking switches on his console. The great rocket shudders awake and begins rolling down towards her launch pad beneath the swimming pool. I am scared and excited all at once. There are a million butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I can't go back now.

We come to an eventual stop. Mr. Tracy comes through on the intercom. "You're cleared for takeoff, Scott."

"F.A.B, dad."

For once I am not watching longingly out of the window as Thunderbird 1 launches. Her massive engines roar into life beneath us, her boosters whining. Such is her design that it feels almost as if we are not moving at all, but I can feel the power of her as we lift through the pool and into the sky. When I look up at the screen in front of Scott I can see that Tracy Island is already dwindling fast below us, a small green speck in a vast sparkling sea. In another few moments we begin levelling out, and soon we are on a horizontal trajectory and speeding on our way.

I sit quietly. I daren't move or do a thing until Scott tells me to. He's checking his instruments, adjusting dials, scrutinizing the altometer. I sit and wait for him to make his move. Finally he leans over and looks down.

"Asleep yet?"

"I thought you'd forgotten about me," I say nervously.

"I'm afraid there's not much in the way of in-flight entertainment," he smiles. "Unless you want to come up here and sit with the pilot." He extends his hand towards me.

My fingers are shaking as I unbuckle my safety belt. I climb out of my seat, take hold of his hand and climb up to his. He is breathtakingly handsome sitting there in his uniform- the blue of it brings out the colour of his eyes. He takes me in his arms and settles me facing forward on his lap. He tells me to slide my hands under his on each of the control sticks attached to the armrests. His face is next to mine, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Ready?" he murmurs.

"For what?" I whisper.

He pulls back on the controls and sends Thunderbird 1 screaming skywards. The force of the lift presses me back against him. Dials spin and lights start flashing. I can hear someone screaming in unison with the magnificent machine, and then realise it's me. I watch the Earth dropping away beneath us, and see the dark, forbidding stratosphere looming above. We fly on this trajectory for a few more moments and then Scott eases the controls forward and levels us off. The curvature of the Earth is on the screen in front of us. Sunlight gleams on distant oceans.

"I never get tired of looking at it," he says softly.

"It is beautiful," I agree.

He nuzzles the side of my neck. "We're three miles high," he informs me. "We could join the Three Mile High Club."

I sigh with pleasure. "And this club would consist of you and how many other members?"

He laughs against my skin. "Not as many as you seem to think." He removes one of his hands from mine, strokes my forearm. He instructs me to keep my hands steady on the controls.

"I can't, Scott," I protest. "I don't know how to fly this thing."

"Just keep hold of those," he says. "You're doing fine." He takes his other hand away. I grip the controls for dear life. Thunderbird 1 shudders.

"Scott!"

"Relax. She's tougher than you think."

I bite my lip. I can hardly breathe. I haven't blinked for about five minutes. "Am I really flying this?" My voice is trembling.

"Yes you are."

"Oh my God. Oh! My! God! I'm flying Thunderbird 1!" I let out a whoop of delight. "I'm flying Thunderbird 1! Tin-Tin Kyrano is flying Thunderbird 1!"

"And doing a pretty good job of it, too."

"Oh, Scott, this is wonderful! I'm actually flying Thunderbird 1!"

"Okay, honey..don't get overexcited, just keep her steady. That's it."

I'm concentrating so hard it takes a moment for me to realise what he's doing. He has slipped his hands under my blouse.

"Scott!" I'm scared to take my eyes off the screen in front of me. "What are you...?"

"Sssh, Tin-Tin, it's okay. You're doing fine." His hands are warm on my stomach. I gasp with a mixture of pleasure and sheer fright. He moves my hair aside and pulls the neck of my blouse away from my shoulder. He kisses me there. My hands are shaking on the controls. He brushes the swell of my breast. My pulse is racing. My breath comes out in sharp, shallow gasps. How can I keep this 'bird steady when he's doing what he's doing to me?

He kisses me just below the ear, then takes my earlobe gently between his teeth. He runs his hand along my denim-clad thigh. "Let go," he whispers.

Of what? Thunderbird 1? Or of myself?

He prises my fingers off the controls.

"Scott! Stop! What are you doing? We'll crash!"

"We won't crash," he laughs gently. "I put her on cruise control."

"What?" I'm flabbergasted. "When? You mean, I wasn't really flying us after all?"

"Relax," he smiles. "Up until a few moments ago you really were flying."

I want to hit him. "You had me believing that if I let go, we'd..Oh!" I puff indignantly. I punch him in the chest. "Scott Tracy, you really are the limit!" I glare at him, but it's hard to stay cross when I'm sitting in his lap and he's flashing those gorgeous dimples. To be honest, if we'd plummeted to earth and exploded in the biggest fireball it wouldn't have mattered so long as I was with him.

I relent. It wasn't difficult. I wriggle sideways in his lap, hanging my legs over the armrest. "You're lucky that I'm such a forgiving person," I tell him.

"And you're lucky that I didn't open that hatch and put you outside."

His tone sends a shiver of delight down my spine. "You wouldn't dare," I cajole. I run my fingers through his hair, trace his jaw line, run my fingertip over his chin. I pull him close and kiss him. He laughs deep down in his throat. I swear I start purring like a kitten. "This all feels so unreal," I say when at last our lips part.

"Funny you should say that. I was about to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming."

"I wouldn't have had you down as a dreamer," I tease him gently, although he is looking quite dreamy at the moment.

"Everybody's got at least one secret," he replies, lowering his eyelashes.

"Well, in that case," I press closer, "you must be mine."

He begins nuzzling me, finding places on my face and neck that I never knew existed. Who would have thought there would be a million nerve endings in the tip of my left ear alone! I tilt my head back and sigh as he trails a series of small kisses down my throat. I bury my lips in his hair, breathing in his warm, masculine scent. He bites my neck gently. He strokes my stomach, which contracts at his touch. He whispers my name in my ear. He calls me honey, and sweetheart, and angel. He whispers that I'm beautiful. He murmurs words that I can't make out. He sends me dizzy with longing.

Dear God, there ought to be a law against men like him!

He pulls me close and I curl up against him. I can feel his heart beating in his chest. I hold him and stroke his hair. His hot breath scorches my neck. "So what happens now?" I ask quietly.

His lips brush my cheek. "That's a good question."

I kiss him deeply. His hand moves over my hip and his fingers slip into the back pocket of my jeans.

"I just want to be with you," I murmur.

He looks at me with his steady blue eyes. I am sure he can see straight down into my heart.

"You're with me now, aren't you?"

"I mean..." I look away. "You know what I mean."

He moves the hair out of my eyes, turns my face back towards him. This time his kiss is gentle, soothing. "Don't worry Tin-Tin," he smiles. "We'll work something out. Trust me."

Trust me. They are easy words to say, but they are not easy to mean. Trusting the wrong people can be fatal. Trusting the right ones can be our salvation.

Trusting Scott Tracy could turn out to be a little bit of both.

He holds me tight. I close my eyes and bury my face in his hair. We sit like that for a while in silence in the pilot's seat of Thunderbird 1 as she races through the sky at 15000 mph, holding onto us both.

Chapter 13

We touch down at Lady Penelope's mansion, scattering leaves from the trees as Thunderbird 1 settles on her landing gear. Scott cuts the engines and her powerful roar dwindles to an exhausted sigh. He is down from the pilot's seat before I've even finished unbuckling my safety belt. He opens the locker and hands me my bag. I sling it over my shoulder.

"Thank you, Scott. You're a gentleman."

"I'm doing my best, but it's killing me," he smiles ruefully.

Lady Penelope greets us warmly. She kisses me on both cheeks and gives me a ladylike hug so as not to crease my blouse. Little does she know that Scott has already done a good job of that!

"How lovely to see you, Tin-Tin," she breathes. "We really must see you more often. These boys mustn't keep you all to themselves."

She lifts her head and kisses Scott. I watch as she presses her lips to his dimple. "Scott, darling. You're a knight in shining armour, Or rather, fetching blue armour."

"A Boy Scout always comes prepared," he grins. I wish he wouldn't flirt with her!

She leads us into her enormous mansion. In the huge dining room there is a small assortment of cakes and sandwiches.

"Please, do make yourselves at home. I shall just pop upstairs and powder my nose." She disappears from the room, leaving only the scent of her perfume behind.

Scott picks up a chocolate cupcake and bites it in half. "Damn, this is good," he mumbles. He holds it out towards me. I lean forward and take a small nibble. "I knew I could get you eating out of my hand," he chuckles.

I swat him on the arm. "You are far too confident for your own good, Scott Tracy."

He finishes the cake, picks up another.

"You can't be hungry." I watch, amazed.

"Maybe I've got an eating disorder."

"More like a can't stop eating disorder."

He does that thing with his eyebrow that makes me go weak. "You're getting mighty fresh, young lady." He dips his finger in cream and dabs it on my nose. I wipe it off and pick up a cake. When Lady Penelope reappears I am trying to smear butter icing on his face.

"Oh dear," she says. "I can't leave you two alone for five minutes!"

We notice two large suitcases and several hatboxes piled in the hallway behind her. Scott's face falls.

"Since Parker is already on his way to Australia," Lady Penelope continues, "I'm afraid you shall have to help me carry them out."

Scott goes over and lifts one of the suitcases. It looks heavy. "What have you got in here?" he exclaims.

"Just a few changes of clothes. Oh, and some shoes. Perhaps one or two items of jewellery. Nothing you can't handle, dear boy." She squeezes his bicep playfully. He shakes his head, exasperated.

It takes a while to ferry all of Lady Penelope's belongings out to Thunderbird 1. To think that Gordon gave me such grief over one tiny little bag! Scott struggles to find somewhere to put everything. There are just a few tiny lockers big enough for the hatboxes. He squashes them in. He lashes the suitcases together with a canvas strap and clips them to the base of the pilot's seat. Lady Penelope goes back to the house to lock up. Scott turns to me with an expression of amusement and despair.

"I love her, but she's hard work," he says.

"You love her?" I hope my pout looks pretty. "In what way?"

He hooks his index fingers through the belt loops of my jeans and pulls me towards him. He takes hold of me by the hips. He gives me a lingering kiss, but he doesn't answer my question.

"You'd better strap yourself in," he says suggestively. I gasp out loud and start giggling. We only move apart when we hear Lady Penelope's dainty footsteps outside. I climb into my seat while Scott gallantly helps her into the cockpit.

"Thank you, dear boy. Which way to First Class?"

"You're not on the Orient Express now, lady. Get in."

She shivers theatrically. "Oh, how masterful." She settles into the seat beside me.

Scott closes the hatch and pulls himself up onto his lofty perch. He reaches up and begins flicking switches. Thunderbird 1 awakes from her slumber and growls, trembling like a lioness disturbed. He activates her under jets. With a roar of protest the great silver beast lifts into the air.

"I say," Lady Penelope breathes. "Isn't this exciting."

It only takes moments to get airborne. With her wings outstretched Thunderbird 1 climbs steadily up and up, gaining height and speed in seconds. Scott makes minute adjustments to her controls. Her left wingtip dips gently and she turns smoothly, responding like a kitten to his every command. He is in total control of everything she does. Is it possible to be jealous of a man-made machine?

He retracts Thunderbird 1's wings as she reaches maximum speed, completes her turn and levels off.

"Well," says Lady Penelope huskily, "I do think Scott ought to be making more of an effort to make this journey entertaining. It isn't as though we can look out of the window, is it?"

I nod my agreement. "Yes, Lady Penelope, and where are all the complimentary drinks and snacks?"

"He has probably eaten them all."

"If you two are going to start ganging up on me, I'll put you both outside," Scott warns ominously.

"So charismatic," Lady Penelope purrs.

When we touch down in Australia, there is an International Rescue agent waiting in a taxi. To look at him, you wouldn't suspect that he worked for us- he is paunchy and red-faced and appears very unfit. But appearances can be deceptive! He helps Lady Penelope into the cab and chuckles at the sight of Scott who is hauling her heavy suitcases across the tarmac.

"The good Lady's got you working hard, I see!" he laughs.

"Don't go yet, there's more."

Scott goes back and retrieves the now slightly crumpled hatboxes. He wedges them into the remaining trunk space next to the suitcases. When the trunk is full, he slams it shut.

"Thank you so much, Scott. I don't know what I would have done without you," Lady Penelope smiles through the open window. She holds out her slim and beautifully manicured hand for Scott to take. "Do have a safe journey home, and do look after darling Tin-Tin." She waves daintily to me, like the Queen. "Goodbye Tin-Tin, thank you for coming along to see me. We shall have to arrange a proper get-together soon."

Scott and I wait together on the tarmac until the taxi is gone.

"She's quite something, isn't she," he says appreciatively.

We turn and start walking back to Thunderbird 1. She waits patiently for us, her smooth silver body gleaming in the sunlight. I start to feel like a silly little girl walking beside him, as though I'm fifteen again. Scott is tall and strong and handsome, broad shouldered, lean hipped and long legged. What would a man like him want with a naive, inexperienced young thing like me? Why would he choose me over Lady Penelope? She is blonde and confident, adventurous and effortlessly cool. She dresses in haute couture and her legs go on forever. She is his intellectual equal. She is as bright and as sharp as he is. Maybe I'm just a plaything after all, someone there to amuse him when he gets bored.

But he's not like that. Not the Scott I know. Trust me, he said. So I have to trust him.

He helps me into the cockpit. I put my bag in the locker and buckle myself in. He closes the hatch and climbs up to his seat. We lift off for the third and final leg of our journey. Thunderbird 1 soars gracefully skyward, oblivious to the human condition. She obeys Scott's every command- she will never know feelings of rejection, because he will never leave her. I am envious.

"Hey, beautiful. You've gone very quiet down there."

I look up to see him smiling at me. "I was just thinking," I confess.

"Oh? About what?"

"Nothing much," I shrug.

"Want to come sit with me? No monkey business."

I climb up gratefully, settle down on his lap facing forward. He folds his arms across my stomach and nestles his chin on my shoulder. "I know what you're doing," he says. "You're comparing yourself to her."

"What? No! I'm...well, maybe. A little."

He laughs, not unkindly. "What do you think she's got that you haven't?"

"She's beautiful."

"So are you."

"She's smart and sophisticated."

"So are you, Tin-Tin."

"She's blonde."

"That's just an accident of birth."

"She wears the most gorgeous, expensive clothes."

"Clothes just get in the way."

I start to giggle. "She has about seven hundred pairs of shoes."

"Your feet are lovely just as they are."

I sigh. "Am I being silly, Scott?"

He nods. "Very."

"I suppose there is something else." I nestle closer. His arms take up the slack. "Alan. He must already suspect. What's he going to say when he finds out for sure?"

Scott falls silent. I refuse to believe that he's lost for words. Eventually he speaks. "He's going to think I'm a lousy brother, moving in on his girl."

"Even though I'm not his girl anymore."

"You know," Scott says with a sigh, "I've spent the last few days purposely trying not to think of Alan. That doesn't show me in a very good light, I know, but I can't deny it anymore. It's not just about when you came to my room. I've realised, Tin-Tin, it's about other times, too. I've been thinking. It's about when you're in the pool, swimming like a dolphin with the sun on your back. It's when you put your hair in pigtails to play tennis. It's watching crabs chase you screaming up the beach. It's that time you tried to make strawberry pavlova and the recipe went wrong, and you spent the rest of the night sulking in your room. It's the way you laugh at all those stupid sitcoms and bawl your eyes out at chick-flicks. It's you, Tin-Tin. It's about you. It was about you all along, and I never even knew it."

"Scott," I whisper. "I had no idea."

Poor Scott. I was so busy worrying about my feelings for him that I hardly gave a thought to what he was feeling for me. Some part of me deep down was sure that this would prove to be a fling- that we would have some fun and then he'd break my heart, that he'd walk away from me like all the rest. I had put him on a pedestal, but all along he was just the same as me, one human being in search of another.

I turn around and kiss him, resting my hand on the back of his neck. I am starting to learn what he likes. Our mouths become synchronised, fitting together like two halves of a puzzle. There is no rush, no race to be won. There is just warm, liquid passion.

And this moment that stretches forever.

Chapter 14

When we arrive home, Gordon is waiting for me. He comes over to me as I cross the lounge swinging my bag to and fro.

"Hey Tin-Tin," he says. "I'm sorry I kinda laid into you earlier. You know, about going off with Scott." He stands shifting from foot to foot looking very sheepish.

"That's all right, Gordon," I tell him. "I suppose I can understand why you were confused. But it's not as if I don't go out for trips in Thunderbird 2 with Virgil, or Thunderbird 3 with Alan. No-one ever says anything about that."

"I know," he shrugs. "I don't know what it is. I guess it's just weird to see you hanging out with Scott." His grin is crooked and endearing, his thick auburn hair flops into his eyes. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. He blushes. "Tell you what, Gordon. Let's make a date for you to take me out in Thunderbird 4. Then we'll all be happy."

He blinks his light brown eyes. "It would be my pleasure!" he grins.

It's mid-afternoon and the sun is high and bright. I stand in front of my closet looking at all my swimsuits and bikinis, trying to figure out which one Scott likes. It gives me untold pleasure to think that at any one time, while I was splashing about with Alan or doing my laps up and down, his eyes were watching me with admiration. I try to think of any time that I might have caught him looking, but I can't think of a single one.

It must be the black bikini. I pull it on and check myself out in the mirror. I decide that I'm not in too bad a shape. I am not a tall, ice-cool blonde, but everything is where it should be and I make sure I get enough exercise to stay reasonably toned. The bikini is high on my hips and ties in a fetching halter around my neck. It sets off my creamy cappuccino skin. I pull on my kimono, grab my towel and head for the pool.

Gordon is at the pool making routine checks on some of his scuba equipment.

"Want to try one?" he says, indicating a nearby tank.

I pick it up by the shoulder straps. "It's very light!"

"It's a new design. Brains and I have been working on it."

I pull the tank onto my back. I adjust the straps and clip the belt around my waist.

"What's new, Scooby Doo," Gordon says, handing me a face mask and a pair of fins. "You look awesome, Tin-Tin. You know I've got a fetish for girls in diving gear."

"Oh yes. What was her name? Audrey?"

"Angie. The Babe From 500 Fathoms." He sighs.

With my mask in place I descend the steps into the water and pull on my fins. Oxygen flows smoothly through the valve and into my lungs. I submerge myself and kick along the bottom. It may only be a swimming pool but it feels like another world when you can breathe in it. It makes me think of Scott. He said I swam like a dolphin. I pretend to be one now. I barrel-roll, I twist and turn. I spin in circles and arc over backwards. I stretch my torso until my muscles burn. Thousands of bubbles cascade all around me. I am dancing in a world of my own making.

I look up through the filmy water. Someone is standing with Gordon. I kick up and break through the surface. It's Scott, wearing Oakley swimming shorts and an old Velvet Underground T-Shirt. His arms are folded across his chest. His forearm muscles are well-defined but not bulky. His Tag Heuer watch is waterproof.

"You didn't tell me we had a mermaid, Gordon."

"I found her this morning, Scott. She was washed up on the beach. She said she'd swum thousands of miles to see these creatures called 'men' that she'd heard about, who were highly evolved beings far superior to herself."

"I see. And did she find any?"

"Yeah. She found me."

"In that case, you must have caught her while she was trying to escape."

They start to play-wrestle. Gordon lowers his head and butts Scott in the chest. He tries to push Scott towards the pool. Laughing, Scott grabs the younger man's shoulders and twists him round, pulling his arms behind his back. He struggles with Gordon to the edge of the pool and heaves his brother over the side. Gordon lands with a thunderous splash and rocks me with the force of his wave. Scott yanks his T-Shirt over his head and jumps in after him. The two of them swim underneath me. I put the oxygen valve back in my mouth and dive down. With my mask on I can see clearly. They are like sleek water creatures- Gordon lithe and athletic with a crisscross of faded scars across his back, Scott broad and strong with powerful shoulders. Their legs kick wildly as they head back to the surface for air. I swim under Scott and tickle the sole of his foot. I send a cascade of bubbles up his legs. I swim away fast with my fins, but still he catches up with me, grabbing me by the ankle. He wrestles with me underwater. The bubbles of our muted laughter soar like millions of jellyfish to burst on the surface. He swims away to the edge of the pool and I watch his legs disappear as he climbs up and out. I head for the surface and watch him towel off, his wet hair as shiny as sealskin.

"Had enough already?" I call out.

"Hey, he's old. He gets tired easily," laughs Gordon.

I swim to the steps, remove my mask and fins and climb out. I want Scott to look at me. I want him to see the scuba tank strapped to my back and the belt buckled snugly around my bare waist, my high-cut black bikini, my dark, dripping hair. I want him to think I'm a sexy action-girl, like Lady Penelope. I want him to want me more than he's ever wanted anybody.

He is certainly looking. "Nice tank," he says. "Hey, Gordon- this is a nice tank. What are the specifications?"

Gordon starts rattling off facts and statistics. They pretend to have this nerdy conversation about diving equipment while I stand there dripping wet and trying to look like The Babe from 500 Fathoms.

"I don't know why I bother," I say indignantly, starting to unbuckle my belt.

Scott chuckles. "Here, let me." He moves behind me and helps me off with the tank. I smell the pool water on his skin. He hands me a towel. We watch Gordon gliding underwater. I look up at Scott shyly.

"Is this the one?" I ask.

His blue eyes appraise me slowly. The corners of his mouth tilt up. "I'll never say," he smiles.

That night I don't feel like socialising. I go to my room and sit on the bed. I pick up the framed photo of Alan that sits on my bedside table. It's a picture he gave me on my 22nd birthday. He looks very dashing and grown-up in scarlet and yellow racing gear, standing next to a powerful looking car with wide tyres and tail fins. The sun is trapped in his white blond hair and he is laughing at something off camera. He is dear and sweet, and I suppose I do still love him in a way, but he has never lit me from within the way Scott has done.

I fetch my old photo album from the chest of drawers and sit cross-legged on the bed. It's full of loose photos that I never got around to mounting or framing. I find the one I'm looking for and settle back against the pillows, holding it gently in both hands.

When I was fifteen, and Scott was home on leave, Virgil bought a brand new state of the art camera.

"It takes pictures in 3D!" he said in a tone of awe. He started taking pictures of everything. Trees, cars, trains, hundreds of images that leapt out of the frame at you. The photo of my cat Twister almost seemed alive. He took photos of Alan and Gordon, Alan and me, Gordon and me, and all three of us together, tongues protruding cheekily and arms outstretched.

And this one.

I am sitting on the balcony railing at the back of the house. I'm wearing a white T-Shirt and pink denim shorts. My hair is tangled in my eyes, my face is creased with laughter. Scott stands in front of me wearing a dark blue polo shirt and jeans with a hole in one knee. My left arm is slung over his shoulder, my fingers laced together over his chest. His shirt is open at the neck, exposing the hollow of his collarbone and the top of his smooth, tanned chest. His mouth is open wide and laughing, his eyes such a vivid blue it's as if he is actually there in the photo looking out at you. His dark hair is tousled, a thick lock of it falling over his forehead. I thought he was so grown-up, but he was just twenty three years old, only one year older than I am now.

I remember Virgil taking that picture. I remember him asking me and Scott to pose. As we stood there feeling silly, a wasp flew at Virgil's face and he jumped back, startled, and fell over Mrs. Tracy's rocking chair. Scott and I howled with laughter. Neither of us made any attempt to help Virgil up. Luckily, Virgil saw the funny side and went on to take several shots of us splitting our sides at his misfortune. I don't know what happened to the other photos, but I'm glad that I got to keep this one.

At 2am I am still awake. I have been tossing and turning for hours. I get out of bed and go to the window, pulling the drapes aside. Trees stand silhouetted in the moonlight and the dark ribbon of ocean gently shimmers.

I leave the room quietly. The house is dark and silent. I pad down the hall in my bare feet. My heart quickens in my chest. I hurry along like a fugitive. I don't know what I'm going to say if I get caught. I'm lost? I'm sleepwalking? I've completely taken leave of my senses?

I reach Scott's door. I'm shaking like a leaf. I press my finger against the door chime. I won't ring it again. I'll wait, but I won't ring it again. I'll just stand here for a few moments and then I'll leave. The moments pass slowly, as though weighted down with bricks.

The door opens. Scott is standing there wearing only jogging trousers. I plead with my eyes for him to let me in. He stands aside. I go through. He closes the door behind me. He takes me in his arms.

"Did you read my mind?" he asks softly.

"I couldn't sleep," I whisper back.

He plants small, tender kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose, my chin.

"Ah, Tin-Tin," he murmurs. "What are we going to do with you?"

I kiss him back. His neck, his Adam's apple, his collarbone, the middle of his chest. He makes a low noise deep in his throat. He lifts my chin and kisses me on the mouth. He pulls the sash of my kimono. It opens like petals on a flower. He slips it off my shoulders and it slides in a satiny heap onto the floor. He lifts the hem of my nightdress and slips his fingers underneath.

I have never known anything like it. If every nerve ending in my body was stripped open and set alight, it still would not feel half as hot as this inferno!

He takes me, raw and shaking, to the edge of brief insanity, and then he takes me by the hands and leads me to the bed.

I have likened Scott to a fire, but he is also like the ocean. Not just the blue of his eyes, but his body and mind as well. He can be calm, he can be tempestuous, he can startle you with his clarity and confuse you with his changing currents. He can cloud over one minute and sparkle the next. He will rock you and capsize you and throw you breathless and gasping onto the shore. But he won't drown you. Not completely. Just as you fear your last breath is coming, he will buoy you up and hold your anguished face towards the sun- and if you're lucky, then on a warm and moonlit night like this, he might just lead you down below the surface and reveal to you his secret, hidden depths.

Tonight, he does all this for me.

Tonight, at last, it's my turn.

Chapter 15

At 5.30am, I am roused awake by an insistent beeping. I am trapped in a hot tangle of limbs, Scott's body wrapped around me like an envelope. He grunts sleepily and reaches over me, swatting the alarm clock onto the floor, where it carries on beeping.

"I should go," I mumble.

"Don't say that, Tin-Tin." He buries his face in my hair.

"I ought to," I insist. "Before anyone else gets up."

"I usually get up first." He slides one warm leg between mine.

"Scott, don't be difficult."

"That's not what you said last night."

I have to smile. "I said a lot of things last night."

"Mmm. I seem to remember, 'Scott, don't stop' was one of them."

His warm hand slips over my belly. The infernal alarm carries on beeping. "Oh, Scott! I'm going to have to shut that thing up!"

I struggle free and stumble out of bed. I silence the wretched alarm. Then I realise I'm standing stark naked in the early dawn light coming through the window. Scott settles back on the pillows, gazing at me with approval.

"And a very good morning to you, too," he grins.

My nightdress and kimono are somewhere on the other side of the room, where he discarded them last night. He watches me as I look for them. I pull a face at him. "Aren't you going to get up and go for your run?"

"Well, if you're done with me, Tin-Tin."

I pull the nightdress over my head, push bed hair out of my face. "I'm far from done with you, Scott Tracy," I say in as menacing a tone as I can muster.

Laughing, he rolls onto his elbow and retrieves his wristwatch from the bedside table. I watch the movement of muscle under his skin, recalling how he felt beneath my hands- strong and sure and steady. I notice faint red lines where I left scratch marks down his back. I drift off, and have to shake myself back to reality.

"I wish I could stay, Scott. But I must go, really."

"I know Tin-Tin, I'm kidding. I'm getting up now, anyway."

I pause at the door and look back. He is sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his thighs, running his hands through his hair.

"Scott," I swallow nervously. "Thank you."

He looks up. He gazes at me for a long while. He smiles endearingly.

"Thank you, Tin-Tin," he says.

I hurry back to my room as quickly as I can. Already the house feels as though it's waking up. The sun rises early out here and it is already sending fingers of light through the windows. Scott will get up and go for his run. I will go back to bed and get up later. No-one will ever know what went on in Scott's room last night, except Scott, and me.

I can't look at Alan's photo as I climb into bed. I turn him so that he faces the other way. I stretch my arms and legs to work out the kinks. I ache all over from the force of Scott's passion, every twinge a memory of his ardour, every ragged breath a reminder of the ones he took away.

I'm aware that my room looks different. It looks bigger, there seems to be more space. The colours are brighter, the light outside my window almost blinds me. Nothing seems the same anymore. I am changed, Scott has changed me. I will never change back. Nothing will ever be the same again.

If Scott is the ocean, then I mustn't swim out too far. If he is a raging fire, then I must stand far enough away from his flames so that I am warmed instead of burned. Am I capable of this? I have no choice, and neither does he.

Who rescues the rescuers?

Mrs. Tracy once told me, while I was still hurting from my break-up with Alan, that I was young and had plenty of time.

I think I'm going to need it.

Chapter 16 - Moonlight Becomes Her

I must be getting old.

Why else would I have to get up for a piss in the middle of the night?

Just when I was having the best sleep of my life.

Shit, that was the wall. Don't I even know where my own bathroom door is by now- at least once I'm inside I can turn on the light.

Now that's what I call a jet stream. I don't know where the hell that came from, it's not like I had that much to drink last night.

Too busy doing other things.

Damn, that's much better. I thought my bladder was gonna burst.

Okay, flush, wash, don't look in the mirror- and back to the ol' bed.

Wait, though. Now I'm awake, there's something I want to do.

I want to look at her.

She's facing the other way, towards the window. That's good- there's moonlight coming through. I'm not going to turn on any lights, that'll just wake her up, and I don't want her to know I'm looking.

If I just sit over there on that chair for a few minutes, quiet now...shit, shit, I knew I should've tidied up in here...I'll be able to see her better.

Okay, that's good. She didn't wake. Thank God.

Okay fella- take notes.

She is beautiful. She was always cute, but now she is sublime. Good word. Sublime. Unparalleled. And the great thing is, she doesn't have a clue how beautiful she is.

Her hair, for instance. A thick, silky jet-black cloud that surrounds her little heart shaped face like a frame on a priceless work of art. But she complains she can never do anything with it.

Okay, so that's all girls.

Her skin...well, it's fucking flawless. I can't see a thing wrong with it, from her face to her feet, not a single blemish. But she thinks she's getting wrinkles already, and she's only twenty two.

Go figure.

Her eyes- well, they're closed right now, but they glow like emeralds in candlelight. They dazzle me in daylight. They entice me at twilight, and they seduce me in moonlight.

Her nose? It's as cute as a button.

And her mouth- the taste of her mouth is like manna from heaven, and the things she does with it, those lips and that tongue, pitch me headlong and helpless into the abyss.

She has no idea what she does to me.

She's breathing softly. I can hear the little puffs from her nose. The sheet is bunched at her waist and the creamy curve of her shoulder is just crying out to be kissed. Her arm kind of covers her perfect round breasts, but I can see one of them just peeking out.

She is clutching the pillow with her fingers.

Maybe she's dreaming.

I wonder if she ever dreams about me. I wonder if she's ever dreamed about me.

God knows, I dream about her.

She has a hold over me that she knows nothing about, and I'm sure not ready to tell her yet.

I'm the one in charge, after all.

Okay, that's enough peep show for now, I don't want her thinking I do this kind of thing every night.

I'll just lean down and give her one small kiss, just there on the top of her shoulder.

And maybe have a quick breathe of her skin, that beautiful, warm, sweet scent.

Whoops...that stirred her. Okay, fella, back to your side.

My heavier weight makes her roll back against me. She murmurs softly in her sleep but she doesn't waken.

I'll just fold my arm around her, there, just pull her slightly closer. She likes the comfort of having me behind her in the bed. She says it makes her feel protected.

And if I can make her feel protected -

then maybe I can keep her.
 
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