Thunderbird 2 brings back more than a Mole when it returns from a Midwest rescue.

WARNING: On a silliness scale of 1 to 10 this is definitely a 12.5. No rescues, just weirdness.

Based (loosely) on a few real life experiences.

The battlefield was absolute chaos.

Scott Tracy surveyed the scene with dismay and little hope. Papers were everywhere, and walking from point A to point B was a hazardous venture. Evidence of the conflict was all around him, and filled him with a sense of dread that International Rescue's commander rarely felt.

Even his Air Force days couldn't have prepared him for this. The complete and utter destruction ... in his own living room.

How could this happen? And where were his brothers? It was a crafty adversary they fought. He had split them up quickly and left them little time to regroup. The communication that was so vital to a quick resolution had been the first casualty of war.

Scott ran his hands back through his thick dark hair. What started all this? If he remembered correctly, it was Virgil's fault. After all, the demon currently torturing them had come home on Thunderbird 2 after their last mission.

Reaching down, he picked up the chair behind his father's desk, righted and sat down in it heavily. After taking a second to calm his nerves, he reached for the telecomm on his left wrist. "This is Scott calling Virgil Tracy. Where the hell are you?"

"SHHHH!" Virgil hissed with such intensity that Scott jumped back. "John and I have got the little bastard cornered."

Foul language was a rarity from his gentlemanly brother. Virgil only used it in times of extreme duress. If Scott's stress level was any indication of Virgil's, there would be much more swearing to follow.

"Do you need help?"

"No, I think we've got it."

"All right, Virg." Scott returned. "Call me back when you... apprehend him?"

There was a chuckle that Scott knew to be John

Virgil gave their blonde brother a glaring look and then cut the connection.

Four bright manila envelopes slapped down on the desk beside Scott's arm and he looked over to find the dark head of Tin-Tin Kyrano as she knelt on the floor to collect the sensitive documents that were strewn about.

"That's a lost cause." Scott informed her. "Dad and Gordon are due back here any minute. This mess is the least of my concerns."

"I don't think we should leave papers lying around." She continued to pick them up. "Not with our friend in the house."

"I guess." Scott said impatiently. He hated waiting, leaving his brothers to do the hard work. "I don't understand it. Dad made his living developing technology. What's he got against computers?"

"It would eliminate the need for all these files." Tin-Tin agreed. She gathered a stack of papers and pressed them to her chest. "Where do you suppose they are?"

A loud crash of metal on tile floor made them both look up. "The kitchen would be my guess." Scott was up and moving in an instant, dashing across the lounge and nearly killing himself on a highlighter that had made it from his father's desk to the floor. As he entered the hallway, he jumped instinctively as a small shadow darted beneath his feet.

The creature sprinted into the lounge, and Scott heard a shriek of surprise.

"Tin-Tin!" He ran back, aware that John and Virgil were right behind him.

He found her, still kneeling by Jeff's desk, staring up at a small, black furry mammal with a long bushy tail and tufts of fine black hair sticking up from delicately pointed ears. "Boys," Tin-Tin said, shakily. "The squirrel is staring at me."

"I am not entirely convinced it is a squirrel." Virgil said entering the room, holding a butterfly net dredged up from who knows where.

"What else could it be?" Scott asked. "It's built like a squirrel."

"Guys ..." Tin-Tin tried to attract their attention again.

"Squirrels are gray." Virgil replied. "That one is black."

"Squirrels can be different colors." John spoke up.

"Scott, please..." Tin-Tin was growing increasingly uncomfortable under the squirrel's watchful gaze

John's revelation only served to exacerbate Virgil's bad mood. "Are you a squirrel expert all the sudden?"

"Are you? We grew up in Kansas, where the deer and the antelope play. There are no trees there. What do any of us know about squirrels?"

"He has a point." Scott spoke up.

"He can take his point and go stand over there."

John laughed again before flopping on the couch, apparently settling in to watch the show.

There was a loud yell and a smacking sound. Tin-Tin, deducing that the men were going to be absolutely no use to her, had taken matters into her own hands. With file folders she held, she had swatted the little creature off Jeff's desk. The squirrel hit the floor with a screech and a solid thunk, before skittering under John's couch.

The blonde astronaut leaned up on an elbow. "Nice shot, Tin-Tin."

Scott closed his eyes and shook his head. At least John was having fun. When Jeff got home and saw the disaster, John would be able to literally die laughing. He supposed he should count his blessings that Alan was doing his spell of duty aboard Thunderbird 5. Where John was merely an annoying bystander, Alan would have compounded the situation exponentially.

"What are we going to do?" Virgil asked, turning to Scott.

"Why are you asking me?"

"You're the fearless leader." Virgil told him, pointing at his chest emphatically. "Figure something out."

"The International Rescue handbook doesn't cover squirrels." Scott sat back down. "He came home with you, you figure something out."

"Oh, no, no," Virgil strode over to the desk. "You were the one that left the pod door open. He probably got in then."

"Well, I don't know Virgil. Okay? I admit it. A situation in which I have no clue what to do." Scott leaned on his hand, elbow on the desk. "Talk to John, he and Gordon were the boy scouts."

John was almost helpless with laughter. "Sorry guys," he wiped tears from his eyes. "We never got to the 'What to do if Your Secret Base is Overrun by Angry Squirrels' merit badge."

"I am so glad you're having a good time, John." Virgil collapsed in an armchair.

"This is Tracy 1 calling Tracy Island." Jeff's voice had never been so ominous over the radio. And to top it off, it didn't sound like he was in a good mood. "Requesting clearance to land."

"Stall him!" Tin-Tin squealed as she made a mad grab for the papers on the floor.

"Oh right," Scott answered sharply. "What am I supposed to do? Tell him no?"

Scott could feel the heat from the Tin-Tin's glare. He ignored her as he reached for the radio. "This is Tracy Island. How was the trip, Dad?" he asked calmly as he frantically motioned for Virgil and John to help Tin- Tin.

"It was fine," Jeff snapped. "Clearance, Scott."

Oh, boy. He looked up at the map of Tracy Island behind Alan's portrait. "You're all clear. Come on in."

"See you in a minute." Jeff signed off.

"You don't have to be so chipper." Virgil told Scott as he shoved an armload of paper into the file cabinet. "We're all about to die."

"Don't be so dramatic."

The next few minutes were a confused mess of flying papers and the righting of furniture. John gathered together the pens and markers as Tin-Tin and Virgil tried to retrieve the rest of the documents from the floor. Scott put the lounge furniture back in place, but found something still didn't look quite right about the room.

"Hey, guys!" Gordon's upbeat greeting was grating on the nerves. "San Francisco was great. Grandma sends her love and... "

The tall auburn haired man stopped in the doorway, dressed in khaki shorts, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His jaw dropped, giving Scott the impression of a landed catfish. It wasn't long before the shocked expression slipped into a wicked grin. "I am so glad I have nothing to do with this."

"Gordon, get in here and give us a hand." Scott whispered fiercely.

"Too late bro, here comes Dad." Scott didn't think it was possible but the smile became more evil. "He is NOT in a good mood. The California office was a mess, turbulence on the way there, turbulence on the way back, a touch of indigestion from the sushi bar his Japanese partners insisted on. ..."

"Gordon!" Everyone in the room hissed.

"What the hell happened in here?!" Gordon stepped out of the way to reveal a hard-faced Jeff Tracy.

Movement ceased and the only sound to be heard was a sheet of paper that floated from the stack Virgil clutched. No one dared move, hoping that if they stood stock still, Jeff wouldn't see them.

It didn't work. "I'm waiting." He announced in a dangerously even keel.

"Dad," Scott began. "We have a bit of a rodent problem."

"All of this because of a mouse?"

"No, it's really big."

"Virg," Gordon snickered. "Have you been running around in your mouse ears again?"

Virgil lunged at his brother, but Gordon sidestepped, putting John and Tin- Tin between them. He couldn't help but sing out. "M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E."

"It's not a mouse." Scott insisted. "We think it's a squirrel."

"You think?"

"It doesn't look like a normal squirrel."

"Is it pink?" Gordon asked from the safety of John's shoulder. "Dad, Kyrano's been cooking with those mushrooms again."

That was it. John collapsed into fits again and Gordon followed suit.

"I see no humor in this." Scott announced.

"Neither do I." Jeff agreed. "Now what happened to the lounge?"

"We were chasing the squirrel."

"The alleged squirrel?" Jeff asked. "Where is this thing now?"

"Under that couch." Scott pointed to the squirrel's last known position.

"Gordon, go check it out." Jeff ordered.

"Why me?"

"You have experience with... critters."

"Dad, the critters I deal with have gills, not legs."

"Gordon." Jeff pointed at the couch.

"All right," Grumbling good-naturedly, he moved to the couch, got on his knees and looked underneath. After a few seconds of scuffling to get comfortable, he pressed a cheek to the floor and cooed. "Aww, hey little guy! Come here, boy." He snaked a hand under the sofa.

John suddenly got serious. "Gord, I don't think that's a good... ."

He was cut off by Gordon's shriek of pain which was followed by Tin-Tin shrieking again. Gordon appeared to be yanked violently by the arm from under the couch.

"He's got me! Razor sharp teeth! Oh my god! He's taken my arm." Gordon began to sob theatrically on the carpet. "I'm gonna get rabies. You'll have to chain me up on one of the palm trees near the runway when I start slobbering and trying to bite my own nose."

Scott stood over him and folded his arms. "Are you through?"

"Yeah, I'm done." Gordon answered mildly and sat up again, unharmed. "There's nothing under there."

"There is a squirrel in this house somewhere."

"Uh-huh, sure, Scott."

As if in direct defiance of Gordon's sarcasm, the animal darted from beneath an arm chair and jumped aboard the coffee table.

Every pair of eyes turned on Gordon.

"Okay," he said. "I concede. There is a tribble in the villa."

"Tribbles don't have legs." John retorted.

"Reminds me of one." Gordon brightened. "Mutant tribble."

The animal sat on the table, munching an open container of macadamia nuts that sat on the corner. Jeff's blue eyes went wide. "I'll be damned."

The animal sat on its haunches, tail twitching as it held its prize in its tiny front paws.

"So how did it get here?" Gordon inquired.

Scott immediately pointed at Virgil who returned a shocked look. "It wasn't my fault!"

Scott dropped his hand. "We had a call from a small community, just south of Cleveland. A few twisters ripped through there and a lot of people were trapped."

"And SOMEBODY," Virgil said pointedly. "Left the door to the pod open when they went to get the Mole. Didn't they Scott?"

"Why would he run in the pod?"

"No clue," John replied. "But he is a brazen little sucker. It's like he has no fear of people."

Gordon watched the creature turn his meal round and round, nibbling as he went. "That happens to animals when people hand feed them. They lose their natural fear of humans."

"That's right, uh Gordon," Brains appeared in the doorway.

"Where have you been?" Tin-Tin asked as the scientist entered the room.

"In my, uh, laboratory."

"Hiding?" Scott added, with a slight little smile.

"I have to confess," Brains blue eyes flashed behind his coke bottle lenses. "I, uh, did wait for the noise to die down."

"So what are we going to do?" Gordon asked. "I've got a BB gun."

"No!" Tin-Tin shouted, suddenly protective of the annoying little tree rat. "We can't shoot him!"

"Why not?" Gordon, Virgil, and Jeff asked simultaneously.

The squirrel, as though it could understand their intentions, hissed and scolded, running about on the table and knocking over the tin of nuts. Gordon raised a cautious eyebrow, but Virgil refused to give up ground.

"I, uh, have a more humane answer." Brains interrupted. "I s-set up a little trap in the hallway. All we have to do is..."

"Brains, stop," Scott held up his hands. "Don't explain it, just do it."

The scientist gave him a confused look. "Y-you don't want to know."

"Do you remember Scooby-Doo?" Scott asked. "Whenever Fred explained the trap they used to catch the ghost or monster, it never worked. When they didn't explain it, it worked fine."

"Scott's lost his grip on reality," Gordon muttered to Virgil, who nodded in agreement.

"I don't care what you do," Jeff announced. "I'm going to my room to unpack. It should take me a half an hour. By then I want this thing on its way back to hell or wherever it came from." With that he turned and left the room, leaving the rest to deal with the situation.

Brains took this as the signal that his operation was go. "A-all right, if everyone would just leave the lounge then." He set about cleaning up the macadamias from the floor, keeping an eye on the now-angry squirrel.

The rest filed wordlessly from the room to find a medium sized cardboard box that they had brought supplies to the island in the week before.

"Brains is going to catch Captain Morgan with a box?" Gordon inquired

"Captain Morgan?" Scott turned on him. "You named the thing?"

"Well yeah," Gordon replied as John shook his head. "I just feel that any creature that can lay siege to Tracy Island for at least an hour..."

"Three, actually." John corrected him.

"Three?" Gordon gave him an amused and shocked expression. "A creature like that deserves a fine name."

"Gordon, that's the name of rum."

"I know," he grinned. "I really thought you all had been drinking when I walked in there. I deemed it appropriate."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Kyrano pushed through the group, carrying a bowl full of shelled walnuts. He moved away from John who made a grab for the treats. "I am sorry, Mr. John, but Mr. Brains needs these."

"Ah, bait." Virgil nodded.

Kyrano entered the room quietly, speaking soothingly. No sooner had he disappeared then Brains backed from the room and moved quickly up the hall, snagging the box as he went. Quietly, he shooed the interested group back into the passage leading to the bedrooms.

Scott stood behind Brains, who had positioned himself a few feet along the wall and began to feel like a complete idiot, pressed against the semi- gloss as if he were being stalked by the Hood. Virgil and Tin-Tin were directly behind him, but John and Gordon stood further down, near John's bedroom door, relaxing against the wall. Even they were silent, though apparently highly entertained.

Here they were, eight intelligent individuals who had, for most of the day, been outsmarted by a squirrel. It was extremely embarrassing. Still, Scott found that he had no inclination to leave before he watched Brains' plan unfold.

He became aware that Kyrano was speaking in low gentle tones and shuffling up the hall towards them.

"What are you going to do?" Tin-Tin's breath was hot in Scott's ear as she spoke to Brains around him.

He didn't answer. Instead, he slid off his glasses and handed them to her. Stealthily, he lifted the box in front of him and waited.

Kyrano's blue robes became visible around the corner and Scott held his breath as the older man spoke. "They are quite tasty, are they not? The finest from the market in the United States." His gentle footsteps did not mask the sound of scurrying little feet that followed him.

As he passed by, Kyrano kept his eyes on the squirrel, not even glancing up at Brains. There was no reason to, he knew where everyone was.

Like a hawk diving on its prey, Brains swooped in on the animal, falling on the box as it fell over the squirrel. Surprised, the animal jumped around in the confines.

"At ease, citizens," John said in his best super-hero voice. "Crisis averted." The brothers and Tin-Tin whooped in triumph as Brains smiled and took back his glasses.

"When you said plan, Brains, I was expecting a steel cage hanging from the ceiling." Scott said. "Not a cardboard box."

"Simplicity is key." He replied as he picked up a small piece of plywood and slid it under the box so that it could be moved.

"What are we going to do with it?" Virgil asked.

"Take it straight back to Ohio, where it came from." Tin-Tin told them. From the look on her face, there would be no arguing with her.

"She's right." Scott looked at his watch. "It's dark there now. I can take him back with Thunderbird 1 and be home in no time."

"Unleash him on the poor, unsuspecting populace of the Midwest?" Virgil sighed. "We're supposed to help humanity, you know."

With Brains in tow, Scott made his way to the lounge and headed for the entrance of his ship. Holding the wall open, he allowed Brains to pass and they both started across the gantry, with Gordon behind them.

"So long Captain Morgan," he called. "We shall not forget you!"

"Ain't that the truth," Virgil spoke up from behind him.

Scott was nearly to Thunderbird 1 when he heard it. A slight, rasping metallic sound beneath him. And he got that feeling. He didn't want to look, but he knew he was going to anyway.

Steeling himself, he looked off the side. Maybe Virgil didn't have to know about this.

"Brains," He whispered. The other man turned around, still holding his prize. "Do you have anymore boxes?"

Brains' eyes went wide at the implication.

"Hey guys," Virgil called, suspiciously, "What's up?"

Then they started the chasing and racket. Two little squirrels playing on the scaffolding near Thunderbird 1's rocket booster.

Scott didn't even look up. He simply cringed and braced himself.

"Damn it, Scott!"

(Author's Notes: Dedicated to the small one-eyed tree rat that eluded campus security on several occasions, bolstering the morale of the students of Findlay, Ohio for the better part of semester. Captain Morgan, we salute you!

FYI: I do not own Mickey Mouse or Captain Morgan (the liquor) and I am making no money off their use in this story.)

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