Hey, I'm back! Long time no see, guys, but school was just manic. Still, here I am, with a new one-shot to add to my collection. I guess you could almost call this TV-verse, but view it as you like. Summer holidays have just begun, so expect me to be a bit more active from here on out.

Also, for those of you waiting on 'Bank of London', it's coming, I promise. ;)

Enjoy, and let me know what you think. I had so much fun writing this. Reading it back, I had tears running down my face, and I knew what was coming XD

John had always hated flying, and today was no exception to that rule.

The air whooshing past never appealed to him like it did to his only older brother. The speed, the height...no, that was best left to Scott, and maybe even Virgil. He couldn't love water the way Gordon did, and he was tremendously pleased that Alan seemed to be following him to the stars.

Space was beautiful. For a quiet person like him, it was a haven, set far away from the noise and bustle of the Earth and its seven billion inhabitants. The pinpricks of light gave him something to do when he'd finished all his work and needed a distraction. Sometimes, they reminded him of his mother.

Her cool hands guiding his to the focus dial, or pointing out constellations, was what had given him his love of the stars.

He loved space exploration, too. It was just the concept of flying to space that terrified him.

Or maybe it was just flying generally. It was so high and fast and scary. Why, why would anybody do it for a living, or for pleasure, even? Glancing out of the window, John could see that they were well on their way to landing. Great.

Landing was the absolute pinnacle of terror for him. He could never relax until the wheels had touched down and the craft slowed to a complete stop. Unknown to his brothers, his eyes remained firmly screwed shut until they were back on solid ground.

Thank God Scott wasn't flying.

Said eighteen year old brother now leaned over and gave him a prod. "C'mon, Johnny, we need to get off."

"Meh," John muttered, shaking the last of the nausea from his head and gathering a sleeping Alan, colouring book and all, from his seat next to him.

"No, come back here! Wait - Virgil, just - Gordon!" Jeff Tracy's panicked shout burst above the calm, refined murmurs of all of the other first class passengers as his fourth son ducked past a stewardess and disappeared into the boarding tunnel.

"Dad!" Scott complained loudly, shooing a thirteen year old Virgil in front of him. Alan stirred, nestling his head more comfortably into John's shoulder.

"Shh," a stewardess warned them mildly.

Scott ignored her, instead choosing to start pushing through passengers, dragging Virgil along behind. John, with many apologies and polite smiles, followed.

Jeff's mingled warnings and 'excuse me's faded into the general murmur of the other passengers as the four brothers sprinted out of the tunnel, waving their passports at anyone official-looking.

"Where can he be?" John moaned, taking in the spread of Security and Immigration. As they were pretty much first off, there wasn't a huge queue, but Gordon could still get up to no end of mischief.

"Here, give me Alan," Scott ordered, instantly taking control. "John, you start looking around all these people here. Virge, mind checking the loos?"

As it turned out, Virgil did mind, but scowled and ambled off nonetheless. John took a deep breath and began scouring the steadily growing line for a flash of familiar red hair.

Gordon was nowhere to be found. Murmuring greetings and apologies to the slowly congregating people, John looked high and low. Nothing.

He turned to shrug at Scott, only to see his older brother being beaten and shooed from the woman's bathroom, carrying a giggling Alan.

"What the hell?" John asked as soon as they were close enough.

"Someone," Scott began pointedly. "Gave Alan the idea that it would be a good idea to go into the ladies' room, just on the off-chance that Gordon might be in there. Can't imagine who, though."

"No," John agreed absently. "What an odd thought."

"How the hell did Dad let this happen?" Scott growled suddenly. "He should know that you can't take your eyes off Gordon for a single moment-"

"He hasn't been around," the blond reminded him quietly, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed.

"Damn right he hasn't!"

"He's changed, Scott."

"About time, too. I think Alan and Gordon are beginning to forget who their real parents are. Or is."

"Scott!" John admonished, waving at Virgil as he ambled out of the boys' toilets.

"I don't mind," the eldest added hurriedly. "You know I don't, John."

"Later, bro. Virgil's coming."

The artist shrugged as he joined them. "Nothing."

"Crap," Scott sighed, nodding off-handedly at a scowling security guard who was prowling past, glaring suspiciously. "Dad's gonna kill us."

"Dad?" Virgil repeated incredulously. "Gordon's loose in this entire airport, with any amount of toys and things he could use to cause an international incident, and you're worried about what Dad's gonna think?"

John rolled his eyes at his little brother's sardonic cynicism. The teenage years were clearly having an adverse effect on the artist. "Good point, but I suggest we clear outta here before he finds us, all the same."

"Clear security, quick," Scott agreed, fishing for their passports and handing them out. "Knowing him, he's rigging up booby traps for us in duty free."

Alan giggled.

"What's funny, Sprout?"

"Gordy is!" the seven year old smirked.

"What, you think it's funny that Dad's gonna have his head on a silver platter once we find him?" Scott teased, walking over to the fast-track line. The assistant there waved them through, and the Immigrations officer began his checks.

"Umm…you haven't seen a kid running around loose, have you?" John asked timidly. In answer, the officer shot a pointed look over the brothers' shoulders, indicating the terminal now packed full of screaming children.

"I mean, red hair, quite tan, looks like he could cause a whole heap of trouble?"

"Nope," came the reply. "But if he's as tricky as you say, it wouldn't surprise me if he slipped past us. It's happened before."

"Thanks," Scott said amiably. "And if Jeff Tracy happens to come through here…?"

"The Jeff Tracy?" The officer gave them all a closer look, double-checking the name on their passports. "Oh, you're his kids?"

"Yeah, but if he asks…"

"You were never here. I gotcha."

"You're the best," Alan told the officer solemnly as Scott hoisted him onto his shoulders.

"C'mon, Sprout, let's go find Gordo, shall we?"

"Yeah!"

"Split up?" Virgil asked, and John began debating the possibilities.

"No, not completely. It's a big place, so if I take Alan, Scott, and Virgil goes with you-"

"I can go on my own!"

"Me too!"

"Good idea," Scott agreed, ignoring the interruptions and beginning to pull Alan down from his shoulders. "Here – careful, he's falling asleep again – don't let Dad see us."

"See ya." John waved goodbye before turning down one aisle of shops. Scott and Virgil headed in the opposite direction.

It didn't take too long before he came across a toy store. Heaving a sigh, John adjusted his hold on Alan and ventured inside.

It was bright and loud, Gordon's idea of heaven. John ducked away from a spiraling, apparently doomed, remote control helicopter and started his searching again.

Kids were everywhere, screeching and laughing. The shelves were piled with useless junk that Gordon would absolutely adore, and camp-looking shop assistants tried to get Alan so attached to a certain teddy bear that he wouldn't leave without it. Instead, John swelled with pride when Alan asked if it went into space – which seemed to throw the assistant a little – and then turned the bear down when it transpired that it did not, in fact, travel into space.

Alan whinged and complained until John set him down, and then immediately headed for the stuffed toys.

"Al," John protested mildly. "We don't really have time for…this…"

He trailed off as he fully took in the sight that awaited him.

In the middle of an aisle was one of those enormous metal baskets, packed full of soft toys. In one, the item of choice happened to be a plush Nemo. However, that wasn't all that was in the basket.

Curled up around several identical Nemos was Gordon, fast asleep.

"I found Gordy!" Alan announced brightly, in true seven-year-old fashion, waddling towards his snoring brother.

John shook his head, leaning in and scooping the redhead up from his cuddly bed. Gordon snorted and harrumphed in protest.

"Hey, Squirt," John murmured, cuddling him gently. "How'd you get past security?"

"Stinkbomb," Gordon informed him sagely, like it was no big deal, before yawning. "'M tired, Johnny…"

Oh, right. Okay. Gordon just dropped a stinkbomb near security to get through border control. How did he have it on the plane? No – scratch that. I don't even want to know…

"Okay," the elder blond agreed. "Sprout, can you walk back to Scotty?"

"Yeah!"

Two steps later and he was on his butt, pouting.

"Johnny?"

"Perfect," the space head muttered, slinging Gordon on his back and hoisting his youngest brother up in his arms. Together they stumbled out of the shop.

Gordon began to slide, moaning in protest, and John grabbed at his arms, nearly toppling Alan to the floor. He may have been sixteen, but he wasn't made for this, he told himself. Carrying a seven year old and an eleven year old? That was bang out of order.

"John!"

A familiar voice reached him through the bustling murmur of voices and airport announcements.

"Scott Carpenter Tracy!"

A second, not-so-welcome voice joined the shouting.

"Uh-oh," John warned, setting Alan down to the floor again. "Ready to run, Sprout?"

"Ready!" Alan agreed.

"Uh-oh," Gordon sang happily from his relatively safe perch.

John began to jog through the assembling tourists, upending several family reunions and causing yells of protest. Looking back on it, he would later realise, he probably left a trail of destruction that was all too easy for their raging father to follow.

"John!" someone yelled. "This way!"

Was that Scott or Virgil?

"I said, this way, Spaceman! Get your stupid, air-filled head back down to earth like the rest of us and get your ass over here!"

Ah. Virgil, then.

A slender arm grabbed him and pulled him behind a pair of massage chairs just as Jeff Tracy roared past, ploughing through arrivals and departures alike, bellowing like an enraged bull and simultaneously demanding to speak to the manager about allowing minors through border control without a responsible, and emphasis on the word responsible, adult.

"Wow." Virgil blew out a huge sigh, reclining against Scott. "You got him, then?"

"Right here." Gordon slipped off John's back easily enough, settling into Scott's comforting arms. Alan whined until John picked him up, bouncing him up and down gently on his knee.

"Flying," Scott announced suddenly. "Should not be this chaotic."

"What?" Virgil smirked. "You and your OCD together would want everyone to wait in a perfectly straight line, in height order, and then spend precisely four and seven eighth minutes at the desk?"

"You and your freaking precise timings-"

"Let's just not fly," John suggested, hoping Scott wouldn't rise to the barb from his normally favourite brother. "Much safer."

"With Gordon around, definitely," Scott agreed, thankfully not pandering to Virgil's comment. He didn't have OCD; he just wanted everything in order... "Anyway, let's just give Dad some time to cool down, a moment-"

"Or two," John added.

"Or a year," Virgil muttered.

"Or two," Gordon agreed sagely, wriggling to get more comfortable.

"-and then we'll go and-"

"Ah-hah!"

All five of them jumped a mile. Peeking around the back of the chairs was a fuming, irate, unamused, lobster-red Jeff Tracy.

"Found you."

John shared a quick glance with Virgil, Scott, Alan and Gordon in turn, and you wouldn't have to be a genius or a psychic to catch the silent message that was passed between each brother.

Oh, we are so massively screwed…

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it, because I certainly enjoyed writing it :D

~*CST*~