Summary: Eschewing the theory of the Graham Bleathman book–"FAB Cross-Sections"–that each of the Tracy boys has their own stateroom aboard Thunderbird Five, Avatar1 and I have postulated a different arrangement. Since only one Tracy boy at a time–movie or series-wise–mans TB5, individual staterooms seems a waste of resources, especially since John has the lion's share of duty. Therefore, we have postulated two staterooms, each with two bunks and four lockers. On the premise that preference would be given to Five's pilot, how would the boys settle out Alan's joining the rotations on Five?
Takes place about a month after "Orion Armed."
Rating: T or PG-13. Take your pick
Disclaimer: Nope, they're still not mine. But since no one's looking, I'll play with them, then put them back. No one will notice, right? Right?
Archive: Please ask.
Not My Bed
The thought had nagged Scott for awhile now, ricocheting in his brain, and popping out at odd moments. Alan had been the baby of the family for so long, that he'd not given the matter much thought. After all, Gordon had joined the rotations to Five with little difficulty. Empty bunk, add one brother, right? But with summer vacation coming up for Alan, this had to be settled.
He'd finally found Virgil and Gordon by the pool, engrossed in a magazine. They looked up guiltily as he approached, and Gordon tried to hide the magazine.
But not quick enough. Scott caught sight of the cover–one of those celebrity exposé magazines of Tin-tin's. The fact that his brothers were looking at one of those was enough to distract him from his mission. "What've you got?" he asked, "Isn't that Tin-tin's?"
"Yeah," Gordon admitted, "We were just . . . looking."
"You don't read celebrity rags," Scott said, amusement obvious. He looked at Virgil–the opportunity was too good to pass up. "You either."
They exchanged glances, looking sheepish. "Yeah, well," Virgil said. He nudged Gordon, who displayed the cover.
"'One Hundred Hottest Eligible Bachelors'," Scott read. He eyed his brothers curiously. "Which one of you is looking?"
Virgil rolled eyes at him. "Get your mind out of the gutter," he said.
"We're in it," Gordon informed him. "All of us. Even Alan."
Gordon started flipping through the pages, searching for the article.
"Give me that." Virgil took the magazine from Gordon, opened it to the article, and handed it to Scott. "See?"
Scott accepted it as though he'd been handed a live grenade. Glancing at the open page, he snorted in disgust. Six slightly blurred pictures stared back at him, some outdated–especially John's–and others looking like computer-enhanced, telescopic enlargements. He barely recognized himself, and where they got that one of all five of them, he couldn't remember, unless it was a computer composite. The article was even worse, written for the attention span of pre-teens. And as for that crack about "older men". . . .
He scowled and flipped the magazine back at Virgil, ignoring the snickers from the two of them. "Forget that," said Scott, "We've got something else to settle."
The smirks faded, replaced by mildly apprehensive expressions looking back at him.
"Alan's joining the rotations on Five, right?" he said, "Two staterooms, four bunks. Right?" There was no quarter. "Okay, then, he's got to sleep somewhere."
Virgil and Gordon looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak first. "The locker's in your stateroom," Gordon pointed out, "And shouldn't John be in on this?"
"Noooo," Scott said reluctantly.
"No, what?" Gordon shot back.
"No, it's not John's problem," Virgil said, equally reluctant.
"Because we agreed 'way back," Scott said, "before you started." He paused, and looked emphatically at Gordon. "John's Thunderbird Five's pilot. That's why he got the single, until you came along." He raked his hand through his hair, causing it to stand on end. "Wherever Alan's going, it's between us, not John."
"Or Dad," Virgil added. He reiterated, "This has got to be settled between us."
Gordon snorted and shook his head. "Not my bed," he said empathically.
Silence reigned while they struggled for a solution.
The silence was broken by Virgil. "We can't expect John to share a stateroom with Gordon AND Alan," he pointed out.
Scott glared at his younger brother. Virgil was right, but he was not ready to admit it, not just yet. Despite the fact that only one of them–usually–was on the station at a time, the idea of quiet John and boisterous Gordon sharing a stateroom was an oxymoron itself. Adding Alan to the mix was something he wasn't willing to inflict on his sibling.
But he didn't want to admit that the choice came down to him and Virgil. Preferably Virgil. It wasn't that he didn't like Alan. After all, the kid was his brother. That didn't mean he wanted to share a bed with him, though, in any sense.
"The locker's in your stateroom," Gordon reminded him. That statement rewarded him with identical looks of annoyance from both brothers. "I'm just saying. . . ." he backpedaled.
Scott turned to Virgil. "I hate to admit it, "he said, "But you're both right. Alan's got to go in our stateroom, with the locker and . . . " he eyed Gordon knowingly, "the fact we've already inflicted Gord on John."
"Hey!" Gordon protested.
"We're adults," Scott said, then–with another look at Gordon–"well, most of us. We should be able to settle this like adults."
"Tell you what," said Virgil thoughtfully. " I'll switch with Gordy," he offered, "You can share with him and Alan."
"What?" yelped Gordon, "No way!"
"Hell, no," Scott retorted. Share a room with the "Terrible Two?" No way. He straightened up, employing every inch he possessed to loom over his brothers. "I'll switch. It'd be only right."
"How so?" challenged Virgil.
"I'm not moving!"
"So?" Virgil crossed his arms and scowled at his oldest brother. "What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?"
"So it's only fair." Scott also folded his arms, trying to look forbidding. "Come on, age had its privileges."
"Says you," Virgil muttered.
"Did you hear me?" Gordon demanded, scowling at each of his brothers in turn. "I'm not moving. Besides," he challenged, "Alan was up on Five with John last summer. Where'd he sleep then? Huh?"
Scott and Virgil looked at him, then each other with equal looks of consternation. While they were well aware of their youngest brother's tour of duty on the station, neither of them had considered when he'd actually slept during that turn. And they both knew it hadn't been in the same room with John.
Sensing that his own bunk was safe, both by virtue of sharing the stateroom with John, as well as his comment about Alan's tour–although the "inflicted" comment still stung–Gordon smugly offered, "You could build a trundle for him."
"A trundle," repeated Scott incredulously, "Gord, what have you been sniffing?"
Virgil rolled his eyes, then swung at Gordon, aiming the slap at his head. Gordon ducked, and stepped back, eluding the intended blow. Sighing, Virgil turned back to Scott. "Flip you for it," he offered.
They locked eyes for a moment, challenging, then subsided in mutual agreement. "Okay," Scott said, "Loser shares with Alan." Ignoring Gordon's sigh of relief, he searched his pockets, then–half-embarrassed, half-amused–asked, "Got a coin?"
Virgil searched his own pockets, then looked at Scott, chagrined. "Nope."
Gordon's smirk faded when two sets of eyes turned on him. "Ah," he hedged, quickly searching his own pockets and coming up empty-handed. "No."
"We could always flip Splash," suggested Virgil, gesturing at Gordon.
"Nah." Scott shook his head. "He'll give you a hernia."
Ignoring both Gordon's yelp of indignation and the subtle insult, Virgil suggested, "Paper, rock scissors?"
Scott eyed him suspiciously. "Last time you tried to cheat." he pointed out.
Virgil shrugged. All's fair in love and bad-guy-pounding. "We're not flying," he pointed out, "No company. We could do it properly."
"All right," Scott sighed, lacking an alternative. "Gord, you're referee."
"Yes!" Gordon exulted, relieved that his bunk was safe. He sobered somewhat at the twin looks from his brothers, but couldn't quite hide his grin.
Scott and Virgil faced each other with the determination of gunslingers. Their left hands extended, with clenched fists resting on the upturned palms, they waited. Gordon moved alongside, centering himself on the pair. "One," he counted, "Two. Three."
His brothers' fists moved in time to his count. On "three," Virgil's hand slapped flat into his palm, while Scott's fist stayed clenched. The younger Tracy smiled triumphantly.
Gordon shifted his position behind Virgil. Purposefully not looking at his oldest brother, he announced, "Paper wraps rock."
Dismayed, Scott stared at the result, his thoughts already racing to find a way out. "Two out of three," he proposed.
"Uh-uh." Virgil shook his head. "You lost." Stepping back from Scott–and neatly missing his younger brother–he folded his arms and smiled in satisfaction. "Your bunk."
"He's bringing a sleeping bag," Scott said darkly.
AN: Sorry, but Scott just wouldn't leave this plot bunny alone. Serves him right.