Hello again, folks!

Yes, as the wait goes on for these new episodes, my bunnies have gotten a bit bored. And evil. Really evil, towards a certain Tracy. No prizes either, for guessing which one!

I must also thank one of my regular reviewers, ChampionTheWonderSnail, for giving them this irresistible carrot.

Of course, for us Scooter-fans, those adorable dimples are one of Scott's most lethal weapons. But, as he's about to reveal, they've also had their drawbacks.

With thanks again to Champion, here's a little sort-of-a-sequel to Delta Fifteen, but still a story in its own right. A much lighter one, too, as Scott reveals another legacy from his time in the Air Force that he'd much rather forget!

Enjoy!

Chisel

"Hey, Scott? How did you get such a weird call sign?"

Halfway through buttering his latest bagel, Scott froze. Hand still in mid air, he threw an all too familiar look towards the Devil incarnate - cunningly disguised this morning as his youngest brother.

"Wha-? Um... what?!"

The study of innocence, Alan beamed back at him. If not for the little horns that sprouted out of his forehead, and almost seventeen years' of 'Alaaaaaaaan!' experience, Scott might have fallen for it.

"Your call sign. You know, what Mike and all your other buddies called you in the Air Force."

Six foot four inches of fearless pilot now sagged into an internally wibbling heap. So, his littlest brother had been chatting again with one of his oldest friends.

Not just any friend, either, but the one who still held all sorts of secrets about him. Funny, serious, just downright embarrassing, and -

"...yeah, you'd think it'd be something like 'Maverick' or 'Ace' or something real cool like that, but... Chisel? I mean, what's up with that?!"

- oh, hell!

Yeah, see what you get when you introduce your highly impressionable kid brother to one of your oldest friends.

Back then, of course, it had been part of his recovery from the horrors of Delta Fifteen. A vital part of it, too. But with that nightmare behind him... well, now it posed a completely different kind of challenge. How to explain his old Air Force call sign, and keep the inevitable loss of his dignity to its lowest possible level.

And the chances of that? Ye-ah. In all the world's languages - a big fat zero.

Glancing back to the staircase behind him, Scott figured he had exactly two point four seconds to get off his stool, and leg it to safety.

Unfortunately, the psychic link with his middle brother was several steps ahead of him. Any plans he'd had for escaping this latest round of big brother bashing were well and truly scuppered by the humanised bear who now settled on his lap.

"Ooooommmmf!"

'Ooooommmmf' indeed. However much he wriggled and heaved - nope, two hundred pounds of built-like-a-barn Virgil wasn't going anywhere. And neither was he.

No, he was well and truly trapped now. Surrounded by three, evilly grinning faces, the fearless leader of International Rescue was in serious trouble.

"You know, Scooter, I've often wondered that myself."

Make that four evilly grinning faces. Two at each shoulder, the third smirking right in front of him, and this fourth through the wonders of holography.

Wonderful.

Closing his eyes didn't do him any good either. When he opened them again, they were all still there. And having a lapful of Virgil was starting to bring its own problems.

"Jeez, Virg, you've gotta cut back on these waffles!"

"...yeah, breathing becoming an issue here..."

And since these subtle hints weren't working -

"Gerroff, you great lump!"

Yeah, that would do it. Yeah, right.

"Aww, when I'm so lovely and comfy? No, Scooter, I could happily stay here... aaaaaaaall day."

A pause, then, before the grin on Virgil's face grew to truly diabolical proportions.

"Or, at the very least, until you answer Alan's question. Your call."

Another pause, as exquisitely timed as the first. Then a single word that made him groan in utter despair.

"Chisel."

Yup, no doubt about it. When he next saw Mike Davis, his old cadet school room-mate was down for some serious payback.

For now, though? Well, a feeling that Scott Carpenter Tracy knew only too well. Complete and utter embarrassment.

"Okay, okay! Jeez, just give me a break here, okay, and... damn it, Sasquatch, get your butt offa me!"

Blinking back at him, the Sasquatch in question grudgingly obliged - the glare that Scott now shot towards him having about as much effect as a paper napkin would at stopping the real thing in its tracks.

Ye-ah. Nice to see his big brother authority was as strong and effective as ever.

Still savouring the return of oxygen into his lungs, Scott took several more breaths of it. A couple more, until a rueful sigh resigned him to his fate.

"Well, it all started the day I met Mike at cadet school..."

Turning instinctively at the sound of an opening door, Mike Davis stared at the figure who stood framed within it. Felt his eyes widen, as two of impossible blue registered the same, first-meeting uncertainty.

From his name alone, the son of one of the most famous pilots in history, now also one of the richest... well, yeah, Scott Tracy wasn't at all what he'd expected.

Strikingly tall, already with the air of command to match, he didn't look anything like the spoilt rich kid he'd expected. Instead he looked so... well, normal. Awkward, almost, as if that part of his family's worldwide reputation just really embarrassed him.

A shy smile only served to reinforce that thought. So did the voice that eventually followed.

"You're Mike, right? Scott Tracy, I'm... uh, really looking forward to flying with you."

Stepping forward into a firm but friendly handshake, Mike smiled back. Rightly or otherwise, his Texan upbringing had taught him to assess people from this gesture, and... yes, from its strength and sincerity, he and his new room-mate were going to get along just fine.

"Yeah, same here... though with Jeff Tracy as your dad, you're going to have a fair bit of ground on me already."

A genuine compliment - answered by an equally genuine grin as Scott pointed through the window, to where two scouting jets started to scream down the runway outside.

"Oh, I'm not sure about that... those jets out there are a world away from what I'm used to."

Hmm, modest too. Another surprising discovery. But with enough brightness in those impossibly blue eyes for Mike to build on the gleam of mischievous humour beyond it.

"Well, in that case, we can terrify our tutors together."

A moment for the penny to drop. Then splutters of laughter that brought two complete strangers onto the foundations of lifelong friendship.

Still grinning, Mike then nodded to where Scott's kitbag still sat unopened by his feet.

"And you... uh, travel pretty light."

Studying the stack of bags on his room-mate's bed, Scott just shrugged - offering him another of those strangely shy smiles as he lifted his own onto his bed and started to unpack its contents.

"Yeah, I guess, but... well, the most important things don't take up that much space."

Again, Mike could only stare back at him. In terms of travelling light... yeah, this pretty much qualified, with room to spare.

None of the junk that already adorned his half of their room. Instead, the heir to one of the biggest fortunes in America had packed the barest essentials. A washkit, several books, a small but astonishingly good sketch of a tree-fringed beach, a holo-pad, and... photographs.

Yes, photographs. Several of different sizes, all identically framed, but two largest ones that had already caught his eye.

The first of a man that he instantly recognized. Jefferson Tracy himself, happily laughing with who could only be his wife. His late wife. Yes, he thought more soberly, he remembered reading all about that. The tragic accident that had claimed her life, and devastated all those she'd left behind.

All of which brought his eyes onto the second, placed just as lovingly beside the first. Five boys, all so strikingly different, but sharing the same joyous laughter as they posed for the camera. Arms around each other's shoulders, with his new room-mate taking pride of place in their centre. And, from the way his fingers slowly traced over their faces, already painfully missed.

Suddenly aware of the company beside him, Scott pulled a rueful smile onto his own. He'd hoped this pang of home-sickness hadn't been noticed, but... well, something told him very little passed by the eyes of Air Cadet Davis.

"My brothers," he explained, naming those other four faces with all the love and pride that Mike had expected. "That's John, next youngest to me... he's fifteen... then Virgil., he's twelve, did this sketch here... yeah, really talented... then Gordon, he's nine, and this... yeah, this little devil's Alan, he's the baby... just turned seven..."

"Yeah, they look quite the handful," Mike agreed, smiling too as he imagined the chaos that lay beyond those beaming grins. If ever there was a family full of love and laughter, this had to be it.

An only child, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy - along with his innate sense of saying the right thing when he recognized its need.

"And it's only six weeks, Scott, 'til the first weekend break... no pun intended, but they're gonna fly by."

That won him a wry grin. What he'd take as flattering comparison to another, fun loving redhead.

"Fly by?! Yeah, that's... uh, just what Gordon would say. And he's already asking me what my call sign's gonna be."

Ah, yes. Another pilot's tradition that, in Scott Tracy's case, was already written all over his face - and calling irresistibly to his new room-mate's sense of humour.

"Chisel."

Met with a puzzled frown, Mike grinned even more as he steered his room-mate towards a nearby mirror.

"Aww, come on, Scott! Just look at that face of yours! Those killer dimples! Like your own Mount Rushmores, my friend, and... yeah, tell me it could possibly be anything else."

Still studying the evidence in front of him... yeah, Scott had to admit he had a point. As if chiselled into his cheeks, and as mom had always told him, they were his most adorable asset.

All through school, they'd left a trail of smitten girls in their wake, and... well, yes, they'd already made the same impact here. Evelyn, the cute young clerk who'd checked out his uniforms, had held onto it, and his hands, for just a tad longer than necessary. And it didn't need any kind of modesty to know who her whispered "Wow!" had been directed at.

Speaking of which... hmm, it seemed his new friend had a whole different use for those assets in mind.

"C'mon, Chisel... let's go check out the local night life... see if those lethal dimples can't find us some lovely young ladies to help settle us in!"

Stumbling slightly, Scott allowed himself to be bundled through the door, and along the hall outside it. Okay, so hitting San Diego like this hadn't been part of his plans. He'd just been planning on a quiet night in, maybe just call home again, but... well, yes, maybe he needed this kind of 'get-on-out-there' company more. Because if he was to make his mark here, get through cadet school to full tours of duty in the Air Force... well, being away from his family for this first stint of training would just be the start of it.

So yes, he was going to need the likes of Mike Davis to help him get through it, and... damn, if those famous dimples weren't the size of canyons now. Sealing his fate through a career that held everything he could ever hope for.

Not just service to his country, either, but a useful life... a normal life, for the son of one of the richest men in America. A life where he'd step out of his father's shadow, and carve out his own identity.

First, though, there'd be another, equally precious rite of passage. Five gruelling weeks of basic training, with six of the craziest damn pilots he'd ever met.

"Hey, Chisel... wanna go for that barrel roll?"

"Yeah, what d'ya say, Chis? Give those girls down there somethin' to really cheer about?!"

"Yo, Chisel? See if I suck on my cheeks real hard, I get dimples too!"

"Yeah, Joey-boy, but our Chisel's still got you beat... damn if those ladykillers weren't just carved clear outta his cheeks!"

"So, Chis... you and that cute little Evie girl gettin' serious now, or what?!"

"Chisel? Hey, Chis, you still out there? Chis? Scott? Hey, Scott... you okay?!"

"Scott? Hey, Scott... you okay?!"

Blinking out of his memories, Scott stared around at four faces who weren't grinning quite so much as they'd been before. When he'd last seen them, they'd been gleefully prodding him into revealing how he'd come by his old call sign, and... aaah, yes. With so many ties to link him back to them, those memories were still kinda hard for him to leave.

"Yes, Virg, I'm fine," he said at last, holding up his hand to stop the fussing that this little lapse into his past life still invoked.

"Really, I'm fine... just all the better for having my lap to myself again."

Ye-ah. Not exactly the most convincing response he could have given them. Still, at least Alan was a comfier fit in his arms than his older brother had been. And the smiles were starting to return now, replacing awkward glances, and worried frowns. All widening in relief, as wry laughter fully ended the cause for their concern.

"So then, there you have it... why I went through my whole time in the Air Force as the only pilot named after a..."

"...chisel..." Alan finished for him, peering into his face with just a bit too mischievous interest for his eldest brother's liking.

"Yeah, y'know? It kinda suits you."

"Yeah, all long and lanky, with a will of steel to match," Virgil agreed, deciding this was a perfect time for a bit of payback himself.

'Sasquatch, huh? Yeah, buddy, just wait 'til our next game of Twister... I'll Sasquatch you right into the floorboards.'

Thankfully unaware of this less than brotherly love, Scott just rolled his eyes at the tiny terror who'd set this all off in the first place.

"Well, thanks for that, Shortstop... real kind of you to say so."

Yes, that was better. Snorts of laughter now - and a chance to bug his younger brother that Gordon Tracy just lived to exploit.

"Yeah, you know, Shortstop? If you want your own call sign, that'd really suit you!"

Aaaaaaand - that did it. A once peaceful breakfast now erupted into the Tracy version of Tag. Just between Gordon and Alan, of course, but... damn, they could make more noise alone than the rest of their brothers put together.

"Gordon Cooper Tracy, you get back here!"

Yeah, like that was going to happen. Instead, Gordon shot towards the door that led out to the pool, his younger brother right tight on his heels.

Watching them hurdle over the closest line of loungers, Virgil then smiled and shook his head - not at all surprised to see Scott doing the same.

It was a greater relief, though, when he heard something even more precious. Quiet laughter, dispelling the more painful aspects of his brother's memories. And even when he knew what his next question was going to be - well, the same sense of duty still compelled him to ask it.

"You sure you're okay?"

Settling back into the arms that had folded around his shoulders, Scott smiled up at him, and nodded.

"Yeah, Virg, I'm fine... just good memories now, and much less of the bad."

As if to prove his point, Scott grinned. Savoured and returned the hug that followed, then watched his personal counsellor stride into the breach of brotherly warfare outside.

Gladly leaving them to it, he poured himself a fresh mug of coffee, and finished off his bagel while connecting a call through the holo-pad beside him. Yes, leave the kids to their play time. Right now, he had far more serious matters to sort out.

"Hey, Scott! Good to see you, buddy, how's it going?"

Watching three howling brothers barrel past him towards the stairs, Scott returned Mike Davis' grin with one of 'you-really-need-me-to-answer-that?' patience.

"Yeah, fine, Mike... still, you know, trying to keep these crazy kids in line."

"And doing a real fine job of it too."

Still distracted by this unexpected entertainment, Mike hadn't noticed how the smile on Scott's face had changed. How deep those famous dimples had become, or the glint in those equally lethal blue eyes. By the time he did, it was kinda too late to do much about it.

"So then, HammerHead," Scott said at last, leaning back in his stool, and crossing his hands behind his head, while treating his best friend to his deadliest, dimpliest grin. "The Chisel here needs to have a quiet word..."