A/N: Because you all asked so nicely, here is the promised story of how John acquired the scar on his leg (which I referenced in chapter 6 of my multi-chapter Splash if you didn't know) but I think this can stand quite well on it's own. Had I not had to suddenly cover at work at short notice, I would have probably finished this sooner, but never mind that, it's finally done. It was quite a fun little diversion, but then I think I enjoy John injuring himself waaaay too much. You would almost think he wasn't my favourite!

Standard Disclaimer: Gerry and Sylvia Anderson own the Thunderbirds, I've just swiped them for a bit!

"Right. That should be the last of them." Virgil said as he placed the plastic crate down on the small table and opened it up. "Few more ration packs, a supply of Grandma's brownies, and, of course..." He pulled out a paper bag containing a number of magazines. "...a few quality publications to keep you, let's say, occupied during those long, lonely nights." He grinned knowingly in the direction of the older of his two blond brothers standing opposite him.

On the other side of the galley, Alan's head shot up, and his eyes went wide. "What? Let me see, Letmesee!" He dropped his handful of stuff and scrambled over the crates littering the ground.

"Give me those." John growled, snatching the bag out of Virgil's hand as he waved it around. "Sorry Al, no blackmail today. These are nothing more than a few back issues of Space Science, nothing exciting, I'm afraid. Virgil here is just being an idiot, as usual."

"Aw."

"Although, knowing John," Virgil said with a wry smile. "I reckon he finds that sort of stuff very stimulating, if you know what I mean." He winked at Alan and then ducked back just in time as John playfully swiped out at him.

"Oh, shuddup you." John muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly. "You know I'm not into that sort of stuff."

"Oh yeah, I know. The wifi up here is excellent, so there's no need of magazines to satisfy your primal urges!"

John went bright red and shot around the table, fire in his eyes. Virgil jumped out of the way and laughing, ran towards the automated doorway that led into the rest of the space station. But instead of the doorway sliding backwards and allowing him clear access as expected, he found himself lying flat on his back, having rebounded off the cold metal.

"Ow." He said simply, rubbing his sore nose.

"You deserved that." John noted, smiling as he looked down at his fallen sibling by his feet.

"Thanks for the sympathy." Virgil grumbled as he dusted himself off. "Why didn't it open?"

"Yeah, the sensor picked you up." Alan said, crossing to the control panel and prodding a few buttons. "It lit up, I saw it."

"Ah, it's been doing that recently. I think there's a fried circuit." John pointed out, giving the door a boot. "I asked Brains to send up some new bits. I'll have a prod around later, see what I can do."

"OK. But how do we get out of now?" Virgil asked. He couldn't help but notice they were currently trapped in a room that had only one door.

"Oh! I know! The manual override right?" Alan exclaimed, looking towards John, determined to prove that he was knowledgeable about the interior workings of TB5. "The one in the crawlspace above the door."

"Right." John nodded, clearly impressed. He spun slowly on the spot, his eyes roaming around the ceiling. "Should be an access panel around here somewhere..."

"That one, perchance?" Virgil said, pointing directly above him at the pretty unmissable hatch.

"Ah, that's the one." John moved to stand in front of his middle sibling and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. "Give us a bunk up would ya?"

"Oh fine." Virgil muttered. He linked his hands together, and John placed his foot into the makeshift stirrup. With the extra height, the Space Monitor was able to reach the handle inset in the hatch and soon had it open, letting it swing free. Placing his hands each side of the gap, John hauled himself into the dark and cramped crawlspace.

"Watch yourself on that hatch, John." Virgil warned, his eyes on the bare edge of the panel which was swinging dangerously close to his brother's legs.

"Oh, I'm fine." John assured as he rolled himself in, causing a cloud of dust to erupt and tickle his nose. "Achoo!"

"How's it looking up there?"

"Dark and dusty. Any chance of a torch?"

Alan glanced into the crate on the table, knowing already that the one he had been unloading didn't contain anything useful at this very moment in time. "Nothing here."

"No, afraid not." Virgil shrugged. "Unless we set fire to one of your magazines, and even then we don't have a lighter..."

"Ah well. There's some light coming through, I should be ok." John squinted at the dark shapes barely visible around him. "I think I know where I'm going. I just hope there's no weird alien creatures living up here. Let's see." He started to shuffle along on his belly and almost immediately caught his arm in a mess of cables. "Gah, lighting." He untangled himself and continued on. "That should be heating, which means..." He felt around in front of him and found the shape of the crank lever he was looking for. "Ah, got it!"

"Ok. Standing by."

Turning the stiff crank as well as he could in the tight space, John kept spinning it until a shout below indicated that the door had retracted. With a swift gesture, he locked the door in place. May as well keep the door open until the circuit was repaired, it would be embarrassing if he got stuck in the galley when a rescue came in.

Having finished, he started to shuffle backwards the way he came, careful this time to avoid the lighting cables. At the hatchway, he slid out until he was dangling free, holding on only by his fingers. "Coming down!" He called out, letting go and dropping to the floor below. Landing with surprising dexterity, he stood and looked down at himself with disdain. His uniform was filthy, his front arms and legs caked in grime, the blue fabric barely visible underneath.

"Lovely..." Glancing at his reflection in one of the curved metal walls, he wrinkled his nose at the dirty figure looking back at him. He ruffled his hair, sending out a cloud of grey dust around him.

"Hmm, I'm liking the new look John." Alan grinned, raising an eyebrow at the state his normally pristine older sibling was in. "Very fetching."

"You think?" John asked dryly, before sneezing again. "Wonderful..."

"We'll leave you to it then." Virgil said. "We should probably get back before Scott does."

"Oh, where's he gone?" John asked, wiping his hands on his trousers, not that it helped much.

"Melbourne. Home of the Australian branch of Tracy Enterprises, and also home to an budget meeting that Dad decided Scott should attend in his place."

"Mmm, bet he's loving that." John draped an arm over each of his brother's shoulders, hiding a smile when they didn't realise what he had just done.

"You know it." Virgil agreed. They all knew that Scott was more a man of action than one to sit through long tedious meetings. And with him being the son of the famous Jeff Tracy, he would have an army of people waiting on hand and foot all day too, something with he found extremely annoying. "Hey! Get off!" Both he and Alan suddenly remembered at the same time that John had just been crawling around in the ceiling.

John laughed as they pushed him off. "Fine. Go. Leave me to my work." He slapped a hand on each of their backs before they could react.

"Hey!" Alan exclaimed, craning his neck around so he could see the distinct print left on his jumper. "This was clean on this morning!"

"Well, now it's not." John smiled. "Go on, get out of here, you two! I've got a door to fix." He shooed his two younger brothers out of the galley and down the docking tube.

When they reached the air lock, Alan punched in the code to open it, and it soon hissed open, much to Virgil's relief. At least this door worked. He turned to his grey brother. "Just so you know, I put a few new bottles of shower gel in your bathroom. You may need them."

"Thanks." John ruffled his hair again, sending out another cloud of dust.

"See you later." Alan said, scooting away as the cloud seemed to make a beeline straight for him.

"Yeah, safe trip."

The two of them walked into the docking tube and the door hissed shut behind them. Staying put, John watched out of the viewing window as Thunderbird 3's engines fired up and the docking clamps released. A few seconds later, the rocket started to move and soon was clear. As she turned on her axis and her boosters sped her away, John dropped his head to look at himself once again, debating whether or not to change. No, no point in dirtying any more of his limited supply of clothes. Instead, he decided, he would go search through the spare parts that had been brought up for him, and maybe also have a look for a torch at the same time. Sniffing as another tickle formed in his nose, he walked back down the corridor, on the hunt for the equipment he would need to fix the door, and more importantly, a tissue before he sneezed yet again.

Half an hour later, after a lot of rummaging, John was back under the still open hatchway, a bag containing spare parts, a torch and various tools hoisted on his shoulder. Looking upwards, he took a few steps back, then took a running leap. He grabbed the edge of the gap and pulled himself upwards into the crawlspace for the second time that day.

Pulling out the torch and switching it on, he cast the light around the cramped interior. It was incredibly dusty up here, as he had already found out, and snaking to and fro across the small space were numerous systems and cables, the hidden workings of the space station.

He shuffled along on his hands and knees, following the trail he had left through the fine debris earlier, until he reached the part of the spaghetti junction that he knew contained the systems controlling the door below. Now that he had light, he could clearly see there was a corroded wire linking the sensor to the motor. An easy enough fix, he would be done and in that much-needed shower before he knew it.

"Let's see here then." He traced the damaged wire back to the door sensor. Unscrewing the connectors that linked the two together, he pulled on the cable, frowning as it didn't budge. Inspecting it closely, he sighed when he saw that the cable was completely corroded on. Holding the torch between his teeth, he grabbed the cable with both hands, he pulled as much as he could in the slightly awkward position he was forced into. With a sudden pop, the rust gave way and his hands shot back, knocking the torch out of his mouth and almost hitting himself in his face. The light went out as the torch rolled away from him, leaving him in a dim twilight, the only source of illumination coming in through the open hatchway.

"Oh great." He grumbled, squinting around, searching for the torch. "Where did you go? Ah!" He spotted the vague shape through the dusty gloom, sitting near where the light was coming in. He shifted around with difficulty and shuffled along, muttering fluent curses as he struggled along. So focused on wrapping his tongue around the wide range of languages in his vocabulary, he completely forgot about the lighting circuits trailing across his path.

He jerked back in surprise as he found his arm suddenly tightly tangled up, and pulled the wires loose. With a sudden bright flash and a loud bang which made him jerk even more, the whole space station plunged into darkness, the circuit breakers having been thrown.

"CRAP!"

Blind and completely disorientated, he didn't realise he had been dangerously close to the hatchway. He overbalanced and found himself tipping forwards through the invisible hole. He threw an arm out, just managing to grab on to the edge, but not well enough as he found himself falling again a split second later, a loud rip of fabric sounding in the air as the sharp edge of the panel caught his trouser leg as he went down.

He landed on his back with a clang and a groan. He lay there, getting his bearing, just as the emergency lighting kicked in and bathed the space station in a dim red glow. "Oh, now you kick in." He muttered, gingerly sitting up and rubbing his thigh as a dull throb went through it. He must have bruised it on his way down.

"Idiot." He scolded himself. He had known that those cables were there, he had already caught himself in them once. But worse than that, he should have been more careful, he could have been seriously injured in that fall, which in itself was completely avoidable in the first place.

Having given himself a mental telling off, and having come to the conclusion that nothing hurt too much, he slowly picked himself up off the cold floor, dusting himself down and looking about him at the emergency lighting. "Must have thrown the breaker. Not surprising, that was one hell of a bang."

Wiping his hands on his top, he made his way out of the galley, glad that he had taken the precaution to lock the door open, otherwise he really would be stuck in there, and made his way, leg still throbbing slightly, to the bank of panels in the control centre. An colourful array of lights and screens lit up the room, the station systems were on a different circuit to the lighting and so they were still working. Sitting in his chair, he input the override to bring the all the lights, except the galley ones, back online. A few seconds later, the illumination panels above him flickered back into life and he sat back in his seat, rubbing at a sore spot on the back of his head.

Looking out of the observation window, he spotted a streak of red out of the corner of his eye as he lowered his hand. Looking around, he couldn't see anything in the control room that it could have been, so brought his hands up to his face. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the blood smeared across his right hand. Where had that come from?

Immediately thinking it was his head, his brushed his other hand against the sore spot, his brow furrowing when it came back clean. So where...?

His heart skipped a beat as he finally looked down at his leg. "Shit!" Under the better lighting, he could now see that it wasn't just his trouser leg that had got caught. Under the tear, a long jagged gash went nearly the full length of his thigh and it was oozing blood, a lot of blood. The edge had been so sharp that he had barely felt the cut, and even now it was still only throbbing, although it was starting to intensify.

"Bugger. Bugger. Bugger." He scrabbled around, grabbing the first-aid kit from under the console and prying it open. He grabbed a large pad and ripped it open with his teeth, immediately applying it to his wound and applying pressure. With his other hand he grabbed a pair of scissors and hurriedly cut off the rest of his pant leg.

Dropping the scissors to the floor, he took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down enough so he could remember his first-aid training. Virgil was the fully trained field medic, but he had insisted everybody had an advanced first-aid certificate, as, he said, you never knew when it would come in handy. Like now, for instance.

"Come on John, think! Ok, what was it? Remove clothing, then pressure. And what else? What else!" He tapped the side of his head, trying to kick his brain into life. "Ah! Elevation. Elevation!" He looked around for anything he could use, his eyes locking onto a stack of empty crates nearby which were just the perfect height. "Aha!" Stretching out his arm, he just about managed to hook his fingers around the lip of one. He pulled them noisily towards him, thankful that they stayed together and flipped them over so he could rest his leg on top of it.

Having elevated his leg, he sunk down in his seat. He knew that he had to keep the wound above the level of his heart. There were many major blood vessels that ran through his thigh, and if he had managed to cut one of them, he could potentially bleed out if he didn't manage to stem the bleeding. Raising his leg would reduce the blood flow in it and give him a bit more time.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. He had to calm himself down, panicking would only make the situation worse.

"Oh John. What on earth are Dad and Virge going to say? Hell, what's Scott going to say?" He asked himself, trying to take his off his morbid thoughts. He was alone, in a space station hundreds of miles from anywhere, with a badly bleeding leg, and that was something he didn't want to concentrate on right at this very moment. "I already know what what Gords and Al are going to make of this..."

As his pounding heart began to slow slightly, he opened his eyes again. Maybe the gash wasn't as bad as it had first looked. Maybe he wouldn't need to let anyone know in the end. He tentatively lifted the dressing, immediately slamming it back down as it instantly started to bleed again. Or maybe not. He sighed. It looked like a trip to the emergency department was in order. The only problem was, there weren't any in low earth orbit...

"You idiot. You imbecile. You complete and utter moron. Fancy slicing yourself on a access panel. Virge even told you to watch out for it. Did you listen? No!"

He sighed again and flicked a switch, activating the comm-link to the Island below him. "Thunderbird 5 to Tracy Island. Thunderbird 5 to Tracy Island. Come in please." As he spoke, his mind was racing. How exactly was he going to break the news to his father?

"Go ahead John." The image of Jeff Tracy sitting behind his desk filled the screen. "What's up?" He asked, looking up from his paperwork, concerned with the fact that John was calling in so soon after a supply run. That usually only ever happened if a rescue came in. But this didn't have the feel of a job and, looking closer, John was looking decidedly paler than usual, not to mention the strange position he was sitting in, side on to the camera with his legs raised off camera.

"Um, Dad, who's home?" The Space Monitor asked, keeping his voice level, not wanting to cause a panic by dropping the bomb straight away.

Jeff frowned. An unusual question to say the least. "Er, Virgil and Alan got back about 10 minutes. Alan's in the pool with Gordon and Virgil's having a spot of lunch. Why?"

John relaxed slightly. At least Scott wasn't home yet. At least he wouldn't freak out. God, that guy could flap. "Oh, ok. And, erm, how long exactly would it take for Three to be refuelled?"

Jeff's frown deepened. John was asking some very weird questions. What was going on? "From now, about another 30 minutes fully, but it is able to go short distances on a half tank. Why? Have we got a rescue?"

John shifted uncomfortably, he really didn't want to say this. "Well, no, not in that sense. But I need Virgil and Alan to come back up, preferably sooner rather than later..."

"What?" Now Jeff really was confused. "But they've just got back. What's happened?"

"Well, um. I've, um..." The blond man stammered, feeling his cheeks starting to burn.

"John. What's happened?"

"Well, um, you know the door to the galley has been playing up? Well, turns out there was a corroded wire so I decided to have a go at fixing it and went up into the crawlspace."

"Yes. Ok. Continue." The Tracy patriarch was now focusing all his attention on his second son, the papers in his hand forgotten.

"Um, well, while I was up there I, erm, managed to get tangled in some wires and knocked out the lights and ended up falling through the hatch. I'm ok but I've, erm, I've..."

"John."

"I've managed to slice my leg open..." The blond admitted in a small voice, looking away from the screen, his face red with embarrassment.

He braced himself for the expected onslaught, but only silence greeted him. Curious, he looked back towards the screen, where the image of his father still was, seemingly frozen. Oh no, he hadn't damaged the comms at the same time as he knocked out the lights, did he?

"Er, Dad? Dad! You still there?" He asked, starting to think he really had been cut off when the figure didn't react. "Dad, hello!"

"...Yes. Sorry John. Could you, could you repeat that?" Jeff couldn't believe his ears. He had to imagining things, he couldn't have heard what he thought he had. Surely not.

"I've sliced my leg open." John said matter-of-factly, no longer caring about being embarrassed. "See." He moved the screen so his father could see his bare leg and lifted the pad, revealing the huge oozing gash underneath.

Jeff had seen many things in his life, but still his jaw dropped at the sheer scale of the wound he was looking at, not quite believing that his son could possibly injure himself so badly in the space station. His other boys out in the field on the front line he could understand, but Thunderbird 5 was quite possibly the safest place in the entire organisation. He just couldn't fathom it.

"Er, Dad. I'm still bleeding out up here." John pointed out. His leg was really throbbing now, and the constant pressure he was forced to keep on it wasn't helping matters. "If you could send a brother or two to give me a lift to get stitches, I would be most grateful..."

"Huh? Oh sorry! Hang on." Jeff shook himself out of his reverie. Now was not the time to answer such mysteries, one of his sons was in trouble after all. He turned in his chair so he could shout into the kitchen that connected to the control room. "VIRGIL! You in there?"

"Yeah?" The medic's head popped around the doorway, his cheeks bulging as he chewed on a sandwich.

"Could you come in here? John needs your help." Jeff said, deciding it was best for John to tell his brother himself, instead of finding out second-hand.

Virgil rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, not yet knowing the full severity of the situation. He swallowed and stuff his hands in the pockets of his jeans, having changed his clothes when he landed. "What does he want? He hasn't called to say sorry for messing up my uni-" He cut off mid-sentence as he came to a halt in front of the portrait and saw the blood-soaked dressing clamped to the side of his brother's leg. "Jesus Christ, John! What have you done?"

John cleared his throat. "You know that edge you warned me about?"

"Oh no. You didn't?"

"I did." John admitted, a sheepish smile on his face. "It was an accident though. I knocked out the lights and subsequently fell out of the hatchway. Must have caught my leg as I went down."

Virgil buried his head in his hands. How on earth had John managed that? He took a deep breath and composed himself. "Ok. Ok. Let's have a quick look." He indicated to his brother to lift the dressing quickly, letting out a low whistle at the scale of the injury. "Blimey..." His mind started to race through his training. He had to get John to a hospital, and quickly. "Ok, keep pressure on that wound. And keep your leg raised. Understood?"

"Yes, ok. Would it be a good idea to use a new dressing?" John asked, nodding towards the pad in his hand.

"Yes, but do it quickly. Try to stem the bleeding. I'll be up as quickly as possible." John nodded and cut the link. Virgil turned to his father. "How much fuel does Three have?"

Jeff brought up the rocket's readout on his screen. "About half. Should be enough surely?"

"Yes, should be. I'll take him to ER in Auckland. That should be the quickest to get to from Five. Could you give us clearance now? I'll go via the silo once I've fished Al out."

"Yes, certainly Virgil." Jeff nodded as his middle son ran full-pelt out of the room. A few seconds later he heard a shout below him as Virgil yelled for Alan to get out of the pool, NOW! He turned back to the now-static portrait. "Hang in there John. Help is on its way. Please, just hang in there."

"You are one lucky, lucky bastard."

"Yeah?" John gasped as Alan once again applied hard pressure on his now extremely sore leg.

"Oh yeah." Virgil said, rummaging through his medi-kit. "Somehow, God knows how, you've managed to miss all the major blood vessels. Although, considering you're not dead already, I'm guessing you already knew that. You still need stitching up though."

"Thought so..." John mumbled as he tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He may not have bled out completely whilst waiting for his brothers, but he was still feeling a bit light-headed.

A poke in his side made him crack open an eyelid to glare at his younger brother who was holding the dressing to his leg. "Hey."

"No naps." Alan pointed out. "You know the rules."

"You feeling ok John?" Virgil asked with concern, placing the bandage in his hand down on the console and moving to place a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Mmm, just a bit light-headed." John replied.

"Well, as long as it's just a bit." Virgil patted the shoulder and picked up the bandage, ripping open it's packaging and unrolling it. "Give us a yell if it gets worse, but it shouldn't. Alan's done an excellent job and has almost got the bleeding under control at last. Well done Sprout." He ruffled his younger brother's hair, who tried to, unsuccessfully, duck out of the way without dislodging the dressing in his hands. "Al, keep holding that in place, and I'll secure it with this."

Working quickly, they had soon secured the pad on the wound in place with the bandage. "There, that should hold up until we get you to the hospital. How does it feel?" Virgil asked as he undid the laces on John's right boot and gently pulled it and his sock off his foot.

"A bit tight."

"Good. That was the plan." Virgil smiled, pinching down on his brother's big toenail to check the circulation in his foot. While the dressing needed to be tight, it still had to be loose enough to allow the blood to flow in the rest of the leg. Satisfied with the result, Virgil pulled off his rubber gloves and started to pack his kit away. "Alan. You alright covering up here?" He asked, a slight smile on his face when he saw the dusty hand-print still on his younger brother's uniform. He had jumped straight in the pool when he had got home, and so had not had chance to grab a clean set before he had been called out again.

"Yeah. I'll be fine." The astronaut replied, pulling off his gloves as well. "Where are you going to go?"

"Auckland. It's the easiest to get to considering our position, and with the fuel we've got left, I don't think we have many other options."

Alan nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you'll have enough to get home from there. Any further and you might be scraping the barrel a bit. Do you want a hand getting into Three?"

"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

"Sure."

"Good. Right John, you ready to move?"

"...And raring."

Together the two of them slowly got their older sibling onto his feet, and supported him as he slowly hopped from the control room, down the docking tube and through the airlock into the rocket.

When they reached the cockpit, Alan rushed ahead, leaving Virgil to support all of John's weight. He grabbed two seats next to each other and spun them around so they were facing each other, one of which John gratefully flopped into.

As the older blond caught his breath, Virgil gently lifted up his leg and propped it up on the other chair. Alan busied himself preparing the rocket to fly. Usually he would be upset having to hand over his Bird to one of his brothers, but these were unusual circumstances, so he was willing to let Virgil take control this once and for him to stay and look after Five.

"Right Virge. That should be you about ready." He said, flicking the last switch and finished the pre-flight checks.

"I am fully trained you know, I could have done that." Virgil said, checking over the dressing tied around John's leg one last time.

"Yeeaahh, but..."

"You'd rather make sure yourself?" John finished for him, wincing as Virgil lifted his leg slightly and placed the medi-kit under his foot, elevating it up a bit further.

"Yeah." Alan scratched the side of his neck sheepishly. "I suppose."

Both older siblings shared a small smile. They could understand, every single one of them always find it difficult to share their individual Birds with each other.

"Well, I'll see you later then. Don't worry John, I'll look after Five for you." He patted John on the shoulder and with one last glance around to make sure everything was as it should be, he walked out of his Thunderbird and back into the space station.

As the hiss of the airlock confirmed that Alan had left, Virgil sat in the pilots seat and disengaged the docking clamps and prepared to fly.

"Right, let's go."

"Yeah, about time." His brother's voice came from behind him. "Re-entry may prove a bit fun though..."

"Grin and bear it, John. I'm sure you can do that."

"Thank you for your sympathy. You do know I have sliced my leg open if you haven't already noticed..."

"Oh, I've noticed." Virgil said, spinning around to grin at John. "But I did warn you about that hatch, so you can only blame yourself."

"I know, I know. Can we go already?" John huffed, folding his arms, trying to ignore the incandescent throbbing through his leg.

"Oh all right, you moron. Quit complaining." Virgil spun back round and pressed the last button on the console in front of him. "Hi Ho, Hi Ho. It's off to A&E we go!"

"Oh good lord... Please tell me you're not going to be like this the whole trip. If so, kill me now."

"Well then, if that's what you wanted, you should have made a better job of trying to slice your artery then, shouldn't you?"

"Just shut up and drive."

Outside, the red rocket peeled away from the space station and slowly spun around on its axis. With a jolt as the main engines fired up, it headed off at full speed back towards the planet below, next stop Auckland City Hospital Emergency Department.

11 miles outside of Auckland, an unexpected flight landed on the runway, having surprisingly managed to instantly get clearance from the Air Traffic Control tower. One minute there had been no trace of it anywhere on the systems, but yet the next it was top of the list of aircraft cleared to land. No-one who worked there could quite work out how it had been done, except one man. As he watched the small plane taxi quickly to a private hanger on the edge of the airfield, he smiled and spoke softly into his microphone, assuring whoever it was on the other end of the line that it had landed safely. Cutting the call, he shut down the override window on his computer and went back to work. While usually he would usually never think of abusing his position of controller of the tower, there was one person he would however always do that for. One very powerful friend who he knew was hiding a very large secret, and also for whom, he was working undercover for as a secret agent, one of many pairs of trusted eyes all around the world.

In a clearing near the edge of the city, a internationally recognisable spacecraft touched down, singeing the grass underneath its three engines. Inside, the two occupants got themselves ready to leave the craft, their final destination still a few miles away.

"This doesn't look much like a hospital to me." John said, craning his neck to look out of the windscreen at the view outside.

"Trust me, I don't think the staff would have been too happy had I landed this thing in the car park." Virgil shrugged, running through the post-flight checks. "Anyway, Al would kill me if I so much as scratched his Bird, so I reckon it's safer to leave it here, don't you?"

"But how are we going to get there?"

"I reckon that's where I come in."

A familiar voice behind him made John snap his neck around in surprise, He was sure he hadn't heard the door open, but yet, the newest smartly dressed arrival standing in the cockpit said otherwise.

"Scott? What are you doing here?" He said, still shocked by the fact that his only older brother was standing right next to him. "I thought you were in Melbourne."

"I was. In a very important meeting in fact." Scott answered, smoothing out the front of his suit. "Well, until I got a call from Dad, telling me that one of my blond brothers had had an accident whilst on Five and was on his way to the Emergency Department in Auckland, and could I fly over there stat." John looked away sheepishly as Scott raised an eyebrow. "I may have taken Alan by surprise though, He wasn't expecting to get a call from me..."

"You thought it was Alan?" Virgil asked, helping his injured sibling onto his feet and gesturing to Scott to come and help.

"Yeah." Scott admitted, slipping John's arm around his shoulder and helping him hop out of the cockpit. "Well, what did you expect me to think? Dad wouldn't tell me who it was, and it is usually one of the Terrible Two getting themselves into mischief..."

"Oh, I don't know about that..." Virgil chuckled as they got into the elevator that would take them to ground level. "You've certainly had your moments Scott."

"Guys!" John cut in. "This banter is all and well, and it's good to see you too Scott, but we still have a problem of how we're going to get to the hospital. There's no way I can walk that far and we don't have a car..."

"Actually, we do." Scott said. "There was one sitting in our hanger at the airport, and which is now waiting outside. How else do you think I got here?"

"Oh." Was all that John could say. Of course, he should have remembered that there was usually a car ready for them in each of their private hangers all over the globe, but he reckoned he could be forgiven for that slip of the mind, the pain emanating from his thigh was somewhat taking up most of his attention.

The elevator doors opened onto the green field outside, in the middle of which an incongruous sleek car was waiting, not that it looked too out of place compared to the large red rocket it was parked next to. Opening the door, Scott and Virgil got John into the back seat and then sat in the front themselves. Starting the engine, Scott drove off at high speed, leaving behind Thunderbird Three and a crowd of confused onlookers trying to work out what exactly they had just seen.

In fact, it wasn't just the onlookers that were confused. The hospital staff too were confounded when two figures, one in a smart business suit and the other in jeans and t-shirt burst in through the emergency department doors, carrying between them another person, dressed in a filthy unrecognisable uniform, with only one leg to his trousers and a blood-soaked dressing tied around his leg. In fact, they became even more confused when they inspected the wound and asked for the story behind how it had happened. The tale they got told, of how the blond man was a warehouse worker and had caught himself with a box cutter, seemed a bit fishy, but they didn't press the matter, instead just deciding to clean up the gash, which elicited a barrage of fluent curses in many a language, which confirmed their suspicions that this guy may be more than a simple unskilled worker, and stitch the flesh back together once they were happy that no damage had been done to either muscle or blood vessels. A large (and unfortunately pink, as they had run out of other colours) bandage, strict instructions on how to care for the wound and a 'come back if there is any sign of infection' later and the three mystery men were out of the hospital and on their way back to their secret life on an unknown island in the South Pacific.

A sudden clang from the vicinity of the docking tube woke Alan with a start. He rolled out of the spare bed, having not bothered to change over the bedding on the main bed as he knew his brother would be back on duty soon, and walked out of the into the control room. Out of the observation window he could clearly see the distinctive red shape of his Thunderbird alongside the space station. Strange, it had only been five hours since it had left to take John to hospital. Yawning, he padded down the docking tube and waited by the airlock as the pressure equalised, curious as to who would come out.

The door hissed open and his eyes went wide as he saw the last two people he had expected to see.

"John? Gordon? What are you doing up here. I didn't expect anyone until morning."

The red-head grinned as he stepped aside to let John limp out. "John was getting twitchy, said he wanted to come back up here, probably something to with Grandma, Dad, Scott and Virgil fussing over him."

"Seriously, you would think I'd actually chopped off my leg or something." John said dryly. "Although when they started to clean it out I started to wish I had."

"Oh yeah, according to Virge he screamed like a little girl!" Gordon grinned, nudging his younger brother in the side.

"I did not!" John exclaimed, playfully cuffing the Aquanaut around the head. "Anyway, I know of somebody that did scream like a little girl a few months back..."

Gordon quickly went as red as his hair. "Shutupshutupshutup!"

"What!" Alan asked, eager to find out what had happened on his last rotation. Gordon hadn't told him about this. "What happened?"

"Nothing..." Gordon mumbled, clearly wanting the conversation to be going elsewhere.

"He trapped his hand in the pod door." John supplied, earning himself a deathly glare. " I heard him scream from Three's silo. Thought he had fallen off the top of Two or something with the racket he made."

Alan burst out laughing, ducking the punch that came in his direction. "Nice going Gords."

"Oh shut it."

"C'mon then John." He turned back to his older blond brother. "Show us your stitches."

John thought for a second, embarrassed slightly about the fact that he had a bright pink bandage, but soon decided he didn't care anymore. It had been a long and exhausting day. Rolling up his trouser leg, having grabbed a new pair on his brief return to the island, he started to unwrap his dressing."

"Hang on." Gordon said. "Pink?"

"Yes, I know, it's pink. They had run out of other colours, otherwise I would have had orange instead." He pulled off the dressing, revealing the impressive length of stitches running down his thigh, to which his two younger brothers whistled appreciatively.

"How many?" Alan asked, fascinated by the sheer number. He had known there would be a few, but not quite this number.

"Fifty-nine." John answered. "Including a few internal ones, it was pretty deep. Well, fifty-nine is what I got up to, I sort of lost count after a while."

"Fifty-nine huh?" Gordon muttered, impressed. "Still, doesn't quite beat my record."

"Yeah Gords, but you broke your back. You had to be almost filleted and put back together. I don't think anyone is too keen to even try to beat that."

"I wouldn't be so sure. We do have some of the most dangerous jobs in the world. You never know what might happen next. There could be an explosion, an avalanche..."

"An access panel..." Alan pointed out with a grin.

"Yes, or an access panel. Never mind John. Chicks dig scars no matter what the story behind them. Although, maybe tweak it just slightly, perhaps say you got it saving a little girl from certain death or something, that should make them lust for you..."

John rolled his eyes. "Gords, where exactly am I going to find a girl up here? There's none for miles."

"Well, you may have a point. But I know what you get up to when you're Earth-side and you offer to go to the mainland to pick up some stuff for Dad. From what I've heard, you're a right Casanova!"

"Gordon! You know that's not true!"

At the look of indignation on John's face, both of the younger men started laughing. John sighed. He was too tired to deal with this. Why was it younger brothers seemed to suddenly gain energy late at night? "Oh, go on. Get out of here." He made waving motions with his hands. "Go on. Shoo. Shoo!"

"Can't I at least get changed first?" Alan asked as he was herded into the airlock, aware he was in his pyjamas. "My uniform's in the spare room."

"Oh fine. I'm going to bed." John said, stifling a yawn. "Let yourselves out." Turning around, he limped towards his bedroom. Shutting his door, he struggled out of his pants and changed into his pyjamas. As his brothers shuffled around outside his door, he eased himself into his bed and wrapped himself in his duvet. A few minutes later another loud clang reverberated around the station as the rocket disengaged, but John didn't react, having already fallen into a deep sleep, and as he slept, through his dreams, he relived the drama of the day, a very unusual day that he knew he would never, ever forget. And he also knew that if, somehow, he did, he also knew he had four brothers who would be much obliged to remind him about it, such is the joy of having many siblings, but siblings he would never give up for the world or anything beyond.