Title: Immovable

Author: freeflow

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to have invented the recognisable characters or settings used in this work; they are the property of Gerry Anderson and his estate. This is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only; no financial gain is being made. Any original characters are of my own design for the purposes of this story.

A/N: This ficlet is the result of a discussion between Pen and I, wherein she commented on the summary for my last Thunderbirds fic, Unquestionable. And as I can't ignore the words of a fanfic legend, here we have number two in that universe.

It bears little resemblance to the first story, so can be considered a standalone, but does stem from its original premise, for those who like to keep an orderly rein on their reading habits. Now, on with the show!

Immovable

She had been outside for a good, solid hour, and Jeff Tracy had had just about enough of it. Now, she may well be his mother, and for all of his achievements and accolades, could still reduce him to the demeanour of a chastised boy if she so wished, but still, he would just have to face her wrath and be done with it. After all, it had become rapidly apparent that none of his progeny were willing to test their courage this night.

'Mother, come on now, it is far too cold an evening to stay outside simply to prove a point. I know that you're unhappy, and I understand why, but if you would just sit down and be reasonable about this-'

Gordon winced as the words left his father's mouth. Shaking his head and shooting wide eyed glances at his brother, he motioned a rope being tightened around his neck, tongue lolling out at a dramatic angle and pantomimed dangling, just as the scathing retort fired back through the balcony doorway.

'Reasonable! Jefferson Tracy, if I hadn't known you since the moment you first drew breath in this world I would swear that you had all of the intelligence of a goldfish. You stand there in your slippers, huffing on a pipe and wearing that same look that your father used to paste on when he thought I was acting up, veritably one step away from rolling your eyes in bewilderment at my 'strange female ways', and then expect me to drop my head and follow you meekly into that house as soon as you snap your fingers?'

Gordon's charade moved on to twitching and choking as Virgil screwed up his face, bracing himself for the further sting of his grandmother's verbal lash, even directed, as it was, at his father's indomitable figure.

'Mother –'

'Don't you 'mother' me, Jefferson! This may be your house, and those may be your boys in there, but don't you for one second think that I'll be cowed the same as them. I'll stand up to you, multi-billionaire or no, and I'll not think twice about it!'

Virgil took a breath as he saw in his father every intention to carry on blundering through this argument.

'They have never been cowed, Mother, they simply know their responsibilities, that's all. If the boys say that they are fit enough to go on a rescue, then I believe them. I have to trust –'

A smack of a hand on the balcony railing summed up the crack of Mrs Tracy's whip-like speech.

'You do not, Jefferson! You do not have to trust; you have to talk to them and listen, and not just to the things they say or the way they act, but to how they talk and whether they meet your eye before you send them off on another harebrained mission across the world! This is not a business, and it is not a quest, or at least, it shouldn't be. These are your sons, my grandsons and I've spent too many years loving them and raising them to see you force them into a duty they cannot always live up to.'

Virgil's face had gone from braced with anticipatory anxiety to outright devastation as he heard the hint of tears in his grandmother's tone. As Gordon threw himself down on to the sofa beside him, playful games long since forgotten, the middle Tracy brother rose fluidly to his feet, and stalked out, past his father and on to the balcony.

He knew that behind him, Gordon's eyes would be rounded at the impulsiveness of such an action – placing himself between the two oldest Tracy's in the midst of an old fashioned family row was never a good idea at the best of times – but Virgil decided as he moved that he could blame the residual adrenaline still trickling through him after their close call, and if there was anything of him left to rescue after this, he was in the most well-equipped place for it.

Yet, he had to suck in a hard breath and pause just beyond the doorway, seeing the lady there silhouetted against the setting of a tropical sun. Red streaks that seemed to tear from Mrs Tracy's deceptively fragile form set her grey hair alight, and he took an unplanned step forward as he watched what seemed to be a pink drop roll down one wrinkled cheek.

'Grandma?'

Virgil had seen many things in his life that were indelibly seared upon his memory: his mother dancing over Christmas snow; his father slamming bloodied fists into unforgiving plywood; Scotty, crying in the darkest of nights and John, humming as he watched the stars. His youngest brothers tussling over some unfortunate toy and laughing as it ripped in two; each claiming half and then giggling helplessly as they realised they were both still perfectly happy.

He had wept and smiled and sung and played his way through countless situations, and each had shaped him by some indefinable measure - yet this, this he could not fathom. If this was to have an effect on him, if this moment was to change him, for better or worse, then he could not see how it could be for anything but bad.

In all his years as a Tracy, he had never once seen his grandmother cry.

And due to those years, and all the situations and events that had made him who he had become, he could not help what happened next. This was not the adrenaline, but rather a cold surge that ran through his veins, and forced him into action.

Wheeling around, face flushed and furious, the most placid of his sons turned to Jeff Tracy and jabbed a powerful finger into his chest, demanding with all the authority of a man mortally wronged; 'You apologise, father, this instant!'

Jeff did not move an inch, and even when the loud crack of Gordon hitting his own forehead in disbelief played out between them, the silence stretched. The noise of feet leaving the family room and the door at the far end closing sharply went unrecognised, and Virgil could see nothing but the flat, unappreciative eyes of the one man in the world for whom he would do anything to please.

A shift from behind him preceded the touch of a gentle hand to his arm, and he let his grandmother pull his finger away from his father's chest without resisting. He knew the rules, the basic tenets which had governed Tracy life since he had been born into his place all those years ago.

Love mother, make father proud, look after your brothers, and above all else, respect grandma.

'I'm all right, Virgil dear, you can go back inside now. Come on, we'll go into the kitchen and I'll make us a nice –'

'Oh no, mother, if Virgil has something he wants to say, then he had best say it now, whilst I'm still in the mood to debrief. After all, you were just saying how I should listen to my boys, weren't you? Then here's your chance, son, go ahead.'

It was not a sarcastic voice - Jeff knew better than to take that tone and had been reprimanded enough throughout his own childhood to ensure he avoided that particular vice - but it bordered on scornful, and Mrs Tracy was dismayed to hear it appear, especially directed towards one of his own children.

'Jefferson! You will not talk to your son in that manner; you and I both know that I taught you better than that! Now we'll all just go inside and sit down, and you two can calm down,' this said with a pointed glare at her son and a firm palm pressed to her grandson's arm, 'so we can talk this out like reasonable adults.'

Smiling at the repetition, Jeff could not tear his eyes away from those of his middle child, the living, breathing, picture of his wife, and he found himself mumbling the word again. 'Reasonable. It was my asking you to be reasonable that began this, mother, and now you're agreeing to it?'

Huffing her irritation at stubborn men, she tugged again at the strong arm she held and met her son's question with the candour she was renowned for.

'That was on your terms, Jefferson. This is on my own.'

Still, neither Tracy man moved, and just as the woman was about to reach her limit, they were joined by another of her grandsons, and, she suspected, the only other person who could truly claim to hold sway over these particular combatants.

'Virg, how about we come inside and talk this out, huh, buddy?'

Scott's soft tones had the air of a wary lion-tamer; he knew the power his younger but heftier brother carried coiled in his artist's body, and that those same hands which could create music to soar upon could similarly cause serious damage to those he viewed as a threat. Of course, it was not the first time that he had played referee to one his brothers' arguments, yet it was exceedingly rare for it to be this brother and even more so for his opponent to be their father.

Sliding in surreptitiously, he manoeuvred himself between the two, and placing his gaze directly in front of his brother's, tapped his cheek lightly. 'Hey, Virgil, are you listening to me? It's late, and we're all tired. You're still amped up from the rescue; now just let it go - whatever it is - until the morning, and then we'll fix it –'

The reasoning staggered to halt with the weighted words;

'He made Grandma cry.'

Now this was falling back into more familiar territory for those gathered; Virgil appealed to Scott with the naked belief that his big brother would avenge the wrongdoing, just as he had so many times before. And the hope that had risen in Mrs Tracy of getting them back inside the house anytime before daybreak faltered once more, just as it had flared to life.

Sighing loudly, she squeezed Virgil's arm and met Scott's worried look, nodding her head in reassurance. 'I'm fine, boys, now could we –'

She was left facing the back of one more head of brown locks as her eldest grandson spun away from her.

And whereas Jeff had felt quite competent in staring down one of his sons, even if it had set a grinding ache in his stomach to have to do so, facing two was a different matter. Especially these two, who, when banded together under one cause, rarely backed down.

'Why would you make Grandma cry?'

As blue eyes raked across it, his face faltered slightly, and he tapped his pipe on the doorframe.

'It wasn't intentional, Scott, I was simply trying to get her to be reasonable, and come in from the –'

'Grandma is always reasonable. She's the most steady, constant, formidable, understanding person I know, and whilst she may be stubborn, she is always, always reasonable. However she acts, it is for a purpose that she believes to be true, and we both know that if any of us are troubled, it's invariably to her that we turn.'

The softly-spoken, measured voice had the lady in question burning with a fierce pride that her grandsons judged her thus, but also terribly embarrassed that she was being forced to hear this in person.

'Scott, your father knows –'

'No, Grandma, he made you cry, and that breaks all of the rules. He's the one being unreasonable, and he should apologise.'

'Now, Virgil –'

'I agree.'

The voice from behind their father was not a great surprise to Scott, who had known that Gordon had followed him back to the living room after retrieving him with a breathless, 'Scott, you've gotta come now, quick; Virgil is going to swing for father!'

What he had not realised, however, was that the other earthbound Tracy was also in attendance, and was standing, rather precariously, balanced against their red-headed sibling.

'Grandma isn't crying because of me, is she?'

The shaky question had the lady of the house rushing past the group in the doorway to her injured grandson, and in seconds had him lowered into a sitting position on the sofa behind him, covered with a loose throw and his face turned gently towards her own.

'No, no, John, it's not because of you. You must never think that. I would cry only for my boys, not because of one of them. I know you all too well to think that any of you would hurt me enough to make me turn into a weeping Wendy.'

The pang those words invoked in the Tracy patriarch was wholly deserved, and he knew it. So, following a solemn blink and slow lowering of the blond head, Jeff was already moving forward without his immediately realising it. Dropping his pipe on to a small table, and placing a soft hand on the creased brow, he knelt with little difficulty beside his ailing son, and pushed back the soft hair that had crept forward over his face.

'No, son, your Grandmother is right. You are all too well mannered to speak to her as I did, and I ought to be ashamed of my own actions this night. Instead of listening, I ordered, and like the fool I am, forgot that my dear mother is not of my agents, nor one of our operatives.'

A snort from Gordon showed just what images that idea was putting in his head.

This was just as quickly stifled as a sharp glance from the woman in question struck her most mischievous grandchild, and he could only mutter a stilted 'yes, ma'am, sorry, ma'am' as she reminded him with just a look as to who exactly had scaled a tree to rescue him when he was six, and who, just that morning, had applied burn ointment to a hand which had strayed too close to a hot cookie tray.

Still, although the return to usual behaviour by Gordon lifted some of the tension in the room, Jeff could still feel the anger of his other sons, those who had stepped up to meet him for their grandmother's sake, to defend what should never have had to be defended.

Straightening with a muffled grunt, and taking the hand offered to him to lever him from his crouched position, Jeff held on to his eldest even once he was fully vertical. The eldest male Tracy was proud, deep in his heart, as this small gesture spoke as to the depths of his children. Although still annoyed, Scott would reach out to help those he could, no matter what they had done to anger him.

'Boys, I know that I spoke out of turn here tonight. And I know that if it had been anybody else speaking to your grandmother that way, I, myself, would have done exactly as you did. So, for that, I am grateful to you. Both of you.'

Clasping the hand he still held between both of his, Jeff met the eyes of both of his dark haired children, seeking their acceptance of his apology. Feeling the tight hold that Scott proceeded to reciprocate, he knew that he had mended bridges with his eldest, but Virgil was another matter.

Blessed not only with his mother's colouring but also with her artistic flair, Jeff had discovered quite early on that his middle child had quite the temperament, and once roused, was not easily dissuaded from his ire. It took a lot to anger his Virgil, but once it was done...

Patting Scott on the upper arm and stepping around to his brother, he fumbled for words, only to find that his son beat him to it.

'Grandma was being reasonable, and you knew it. You had no call to treat her like that, and no sudden apology should cover it up. You should listen to us, father, but you should listen to Grandma too, because she knows us better than we know ourselves most of the time, and for people as involved in other people's lives as we are, it takes someone as reasonable and responsible as her to keep us safe and sane.'

Nodding gently, but not yet finding a dignified response, Jeff only listened as his son continued.

'Grandma told you John was sick - she told John he was sick - and no one listened to her. Now, we went out and we saved lives, but Johnny took a hit because of it, and is worse off now than he was before he left. I know that we needed his extra pair of hands, and that it all could have been much worse, father, but it isn't fair to expect Grandma to sit back and watch us do these things, and then be told she's unreasonable when she gets mad at us. We're the unreasonable ones, for putting her through this night and day, and then coming back and wanting her to pick up the pieces afterwards.'

The brown eyes were slightly glazed, but whether it was with exhaustion or tears, Jeff could not tell. So, rather than waiting any longer to find out, he simply pulled the unresisting form of his middle child into his arms and whispered a melancholy, 'I know, son' into his ear; a simple acknowledgement which would hold all the reassurances this child needed.

Virgil had always wanted the understanding of his father in all his pursuits – as had all of his sons - having had no mother to share them with, and due to Jeff's dwindling family time being swallowed up by business deals and overseas acquisitions, work often took priority over recitals and science fairs.

Nevertheless, bolstered by a grandmother who set no boundaries for her boys but good, solid morals, each Tracy had flourished at whatever they had set their mind to. Yet, being the son of a pilot turned astronaut, and a self-made billionaire to boot, the aspirations of a child talented in the arts seemed a poor comparison. Jeff had never agreed, seeing in this boy all that had made his wife his truest love, but unlike the sports and sciences which thrilled his other sons, music and drawing did not come with an in-built confidence clause. And Jeff had never been one for outward shows of emotion.

Engineering became a new goal, and Virgil excelled as well as any of his brothers had, yet his ingrained feelings of difference when compared to his siblings often showed themselves at stressful times, and having his father reduce the one constant, the only truly and unerringly supportive person in his life to tears, had shaken his boy.

Stepping back and gripping the solid arms with both of his hands, Jeff met the downcast gaze before him, and broke into a slow smile. 'Am I forgiven?'

As expected, however, he was not yet released.

'You should ask Grandma that, sir.'

A sigh and a grin, and Jeff chucked the bottom of his son's chin, both at the term of respect, but also at the cheeky semi-denial of his apology, at least until the boy's grandmother received hers, anyway.

Turning back to the woman on the sofa, he returned to place a gentle hand on his now sleeping son's head and whispered, 'I am truly sorry, mother. Can you forgive me?'

Grasping her own child's hand with a deft flick of the wrist, she squeezed, and smiled too; yet Virgil had not inherited his immovable spirit from only his mother's side. Jeff knew that this apology would cost him more than his pride, and so stroked the blond hair beneath his palm as he waited out the stipulations.

'I'll not have this happen again, Jeff. These boys are working hard to keep other people safe and well, and I mean to do the same for them. I can only do that if you'll listen to me. If I say that one of your sons is too sick to go on a rescue, then you have to promise me that he'll not go. You know that I am prouder than any mother could be of both you and all of the wonderful things that you have given us – given the world. But these boys are the best things that you'll ever do, and I can't have them risking themselves as though they matter less than one of your pet projects. I won't have it.'

The quiet in the room was broken only by John's snuffling breathing, and Jeff could not help but smile down; first at his second-born wrapped in a crocheted, worn blanket and resting his overly warm head against the shoulder that had supported him and various members of their family for over fifty years now; and then into the sparking eyes of the woman who had kept his children safe and their world steady whilst he was building his empire.

There could be no arguments from him – if his sons should complain, then it would be their own affair; adult they may be now, but should their grandmother be dead set against something, then he would not bet against her getting her way – he knew how much he owed his mother, and how little he had repaid her over the years. Money was one thing, but the woman had dedicated the time which should have been her retirement to raising five boys, and as much as they were his sons, they were every bit his mother's boys too.

Bowing his head, he shifted his hand so that his fingers looped gently over her slim arm; never breaking her hold, but moving to support her as she had done for him for so long.

'You don't need to worry, mother. In future, if they so much as sniffle, I'll have them sent straight to you.' He heard an amused shuffling and coughing behind him and could imagine the grimace Gordon was pulling, not to mention the suppressed expressions on his other sons' faces. It was just as well that Alan was up on Five, otherwise he could not have kept his own face straight. He knew as well as anyone that his youngest had always been a summer cold, winter flu type of child, and if anyone was going to suffer for his mother's newest edict, it would be his most impetuous son. Which, of course, would mean they would all suffer; at least from Alan's complaints. Yet, it was a price gladly paid, and happily ignored, for now.

Glancing outside at the sky, Jeff let out a low whistle and retrieved his pipe from the nearby coffee table.

'Well, as we've almost chatted the night away, it is most certainly time to get this one into his bed, else his Grandma will never let him see another rescue.'

Winking at his mother, he was pleased to see the answering twinkle in her eye as she gathered the throw further around John's shoulders, and stroked an aged hand down his pale cheek.

'Not until he's well enough, at least. John, honey, wake up now, let's get you back to your room. Why on earth you'd come out here when I told you to stay in bed is beyond me, I'm sure you boys do these things just to cause me more trouble...'

Comforted by their grandmother's familiar bluster, the Tracy boys moved forward to help lever their groggy sibling to his feet, wrapping one of his arms first around one of Virgil's and then Scott's shoulders, and began an achingly slow walk towards the bedrooms.

'One foot in front of the other, little brother, that's it... You know, Virg, you'd think with so much time to spare up there on that floating tin can, Johnny here could do a little exercise. He's getting too heavy to lug up and down stairs like this!'

'Hey! It's no tin can... Best station around. An' can outlast your toy rocket ship by decades, too...'

The soft voice floated back to the watching eyes still sitting on the sofa. As the brothers made their way back into the sleeping quarters of their home, mother and son turned to each other once more and smiled. Cocking his head to one side and offering an outstretched palm, Jeff rose to his feet, and waited as the slight lady before him tidied the rumpled sofa cushions, then took her son's hand, together following the four siblings from the room.

Turning in at John's door, Jeff noted the discreet disappearance of Gordon somewhere between the lounge and his brother's living space. Not surprisingly, the youngest Tracy present was taking full advantage of his older brothers' handling of the situation, and had taken the first opportunity to hit the showers.

This was not an uncommon occurrence on the island; as often as the red-head was spotted in the pool, he was just as frequent in his ablutions. Yet whilst Jeff would like to give his son the benefit of the doubt and claim that he was simply a fastidious young man, he feared that the real reason was, in fact, the malfunctioning heating system which Brains had not yet gotten quite right. Which meant that it was generally a first come, first served basis when it came to washing, and more often than not, his mornings were framed by a grinning, thoroughly-warmed Gordon, and three irritable, revenge-seeking brothers, each plotting assorted misadventures for both their early-to-rise sibling, and the forgetful scientist who seemed not to notice the chill in his own bathroom sessions.

Making a note to once again remind their tech-in-residence of the mischief possibilities the ice-cold showers provided, Jeff turned into his second-eldest's room, just in time to watch as Scott pulled the covers up over an already dozing John.

Seeing Virgil settle into a nearby chair, and knowing that his eldest would soon do the same, Jeff felt more than comfortable leaving his boys to their self-imposed assignment. Leaning over, he felt John's forehead one last time and then, pushing the blond hair back, moved aside to let his mother take his place. Glancing up at Scott, he received an answer before asking the question.

'The medicine Brains gave him is doing its job, father, but its knocking him for a loop, too. That's why he can't keep his eyes open,' shrugging his shoulders, he leaned against the wall on the far side of the bed, 'well, that and the knock he took earlier. No, don't worry,' seeing the look his father and grandmother shot him at that comment, 'Brains said it was just bruising. No concussion or anything that would make it dangerous for him to sleep.'

Nodding, Jeff let out a breath and placed a hand on his mother's bowed back. Mrs Tracy brushed one soft hand over bright blond hair, and placed a gentle kiss on her grandson's brow, before straightening up and turning to her son.

'Now, I think it's time for everyone to get some sleep.'

Offering his mother his arm, Jeff smiled as one slim hand threaded through his.

'Get some rest boys, your brother will be all right. I'll be back to check on him in a few hours.'

Settling further into his seat, Virgil shot his father a tired grin and nodded his head.

'Yes, father. But Scott and I can sleep well enough here.'

'Very well. Goodnight boys.'

''Night father, Grandma.'

'Goodnight, Virgil. Goodnight Scott. You boys make sure you don't stay up all night, now. One sick grandson is quite enough for me.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Both brothers watched as the two eldest Tracy's turned and left the room, a hush descending over the house once more. Still, it did not last for very long.

'Now that that's behind us, just let me tell you, young man. If I want to stand outside in the dead of night, then that's what I'll do, and no son of mine will tell me any different.'

'Yes, mother.'

'And don't think me frail just because I'm older than you. All that nonsense about it growing cold. I may be getting on in years, Jefferson, but I'm no fool. This is a tropical island, and the day or night that it grows too cold to walk outside is the day these old bones fly straight back to Kansas for the winter!'

'I know, mother.'

'And I've told you those pipes are no good for your lungs. They might have been a favourite of your father's, but I'll tell you the same thing I told him – if men were meant to smoke, the good Lord would've given them firecrackers between their ears.'

'Now, mother...'

Shaking his head, Scott stood, listening to his father and grandmother make their way back to their bedrooms, by way of the liquor cabinet. One good scotch each, and they would retire, same as ever, after a hard day.

John's deep breathing epitomised the exhaustion of the last few hours, and Scott sagged as it seeped into him. The quiet was heavy but full, and he was content at last.

'You know what we've just witnessed, Scotty?'

Glancing down, he met his brother's shining, brown eyes and smiled softly, seeing the contentment written there at the sudden return to normality.

'The clash of the titans, take two?'

Cocking his head in the direction his father and grandmother had just taken, Virgil's white teeth seemed to glint in the low light of the bedside lamp.

'Pretty much. That there, was the irresistible force being battered back by the immovable object.'

Chuckling lightly, Scott patted his brother on the shoulder and moved to pull up John's quilt once more, then settled down in the remaining seat and leaned back, getting comfortable.

'Mm-hmm. Steady as ever, thank goodness. Keeps each one of us in line, and the Lord knows we need that from time to time.'

Nodding his head as he sank lower in his chair, Virgil grinned, then let his gaze and mind wander.

'Lucky for us, I guess.'

'What's lucky, Virg?'

'That she is who she is. And immovable is the only way she knows how to be.'

'You've got that right, brother. You've certainly got that right.'