Yawning and scratching his stomach through an old-worn T-shirt, John Tracy took a look at his ever-present wrist watch and grumbled.  Just after 4 a.m.  Cursing his fate as a finicky sleeper, he continued on, feeling like a damned cat, doomed to stalk the halls of his family's island home until he finally wore himself out.

Was it something he ate?  No, stomach seemed fine and all he'd had was chicken and vegetables at dinner.  His room was pitch black, the only way he found he could sleep.  He couldn't blame it on the fact that he'd just returned from a stint on Thunderbird 5.  Usually after a spell aboard International Rescue's satellite, sleep was long in coming for a few days.  Whether it was the change in pressure or the lack of an air purifier whirring in his ears, he couldn't say, but it really didn't matter. He had been home for weeks now and was due to replace his youngest brother, Alan in a couple of days.

He gave up.  Listing the possible reasons for his insomnia would only start his brain functioning and that was the last thing he needed.  What he did need was something to put his lights out.  He hated warm milk so that was out and even if there were any sleeping pills to be found in the house he would be loathe to taking them.

And so here he was, at an ungodly hour, wide awake while the normal inhabitants of the island slept soundly. He stopped for a second.  Scott was already awake for the day and Virgil had just gone to bed a half an hour ago after fooling around on the piano all afternoon.  He chuckled and continued down the passage as he realized that did little to help his case.  His brothers weren't exactly normal.

John found himself in the lowest level of the house, walking along the hall that would deposit him on the beach if he followed it all the way to the end.  The idea of an early morning walk along the sand seemed appealing, given that sleep was not forthcoming.  Maybe the exercise would tire him out and he'd finally get a few hours of shut-eye.

He was nearly to the door when he noticed low light spilling into the hall from an open door on the left.  The familiar smell of chlorine filled his nose and any haze that fogged his brain lifted as he heard water moving from within.  Only one person would be in that room and for him to be up so late, or early depending on perspective, was unheard of.

John moved forward slowly creeping through the entrance cautiously so as not to disturb his brother.  Like the hangars that housed the Thunderbirds, this room was carved from the natural caves found beneath the island.  The ceiling was high and light danced from the water of the Olympic-sized swimming pool, creating liquid patterns on the rock-solid walls.

This was Gordon's room.  The only thing he'd asked of his father when he vowed to become a member of IR.  A place to practice, to get away.

Moving down the middle of the pool, Gordon slipped easily through the water.  The butterfly was one of the more difficult and ungainly strokes, but his brother did it effortlessly. The grace and rhythm came easily for him.  He went quickly, turning before the wall, pushing off, and dolphin kicking for a good quarter of the pool before surfacing and starting to stroke again.

John looked to the short end of the cave where the automatic timer stood.  It wasn't on, but that didn't surprise him.  Gordon had used the device once or twice, but had jokingly announced he found it depressing that his times were gradually getting slower.

He frowned when Gordon covered the length of the pool in seconds and turned once more, showing no signs of stopping.  It was very rare these days to see him swim that hard.  Gordon seemed to favor the company of the rest of the family in the outdoor pool, swimming and relaxing in the sunshine.  He only resorted to the indoor pool when the rarely-foul weather forced him to do so.  Even then, he loafed around rather than really swim.

Gordon only exhausted himself in the water for one reason alone: to work off frustration.

Feeling warm concrete under his bare feet, John moved further into the room and sat down on one of the benches that lined the wall closest to the door.  He would wait until Gordon was done to find out why he had chosen such a strange hour for a workout.

He didn't have to wait much longer.  Gordon stopped suddenly, mid-lap, treading water and panting with his efforts.  After a few breaths, he disappeared beneath the surface, staying down for what John considered a long time.

John took the opportunity to move closer to the side, staring down at the distorted image of Gordon's bright yellow swim cap about eight feet down.  He sat down cross-legged on the very edge of the pool and waited.

Gordon finally surfaced, facing away from him, completely unaware that he had company.

"You looked pretty good."

John contained the self-satisfied smirk that threatened to erupt when Gordon jumped a mile and turned in the water.  His only regret was that the mirrored goggles he wore masked part of his surprised expression.  "Geez, John.  You took ten years off my life."

"Yeah, well. You've got nine lives.  You can spare a couple."  John kidded as Gordon swam to the side of the pool and crossed his arms on the edge.  "Couldn't sleep?"

"No," Gordon replied as he pushed up his goggles and pulled them off with his swim cap all in one motion. It sent his reddish-gold hair sticking up in all directions. "I suppose you're suffering from another bout of insomnia."

"Obviously."  John rubbed his eyes.  "What can I say?  I'm sensitive.  What's up with you?"

"Ah, nothing," Gordon replied in his off-handed way.  "I just needed the exercise."

"Couldn't it wait until after breakfast?"

Gordon didn't answer and instead vaulted out of the pool.  He turned to sit beside John, taking a sharp breath as his moist skin met the cool air of the cavern.

"Oh, thanks Gord," John scowled, shaking his hand.  "I was planning on a shower a little later this morning, but now I can skip it."

"No problem."

John picked up a large towel beside him and wiped off his arm before handing it to Gordon.  "Here.  The last thing I need to see at this hour is your pasty white flesh."

Gordon grinned and wrapped himself up.  "I know.  It's shocking."

"You ever miss it?"  He gestured to the water.

"What swimming?"  Gordon shook his head.  "The stress and tension, getting up at all hours, being bone-tired half the time."  He laughed and picked up his cap again.  "Stupid hats."

"Not missing anything?"

"Nothing I can't get right here at home."

John chuckled before ultimately broaching the subject.  "So if it isn't a love of swimming that has brought you down here, it must be something else."  He paused taking a hard look at his brother.  "Having a little trouble sleeping after yesterday?"

If Gordon was taken aback by the abruptness, he didn't let on.  "I don't know.  Maybe."

"It would have rattled me.  That was pretty close for you and Scott."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Gordon's eyes were no longer meeting John's and his face had lost all expression.  Instead, he stared across the pool, seemingly lost in his own world.  "No, actually."

Gordon had had close calls before, but never had any trouble discussing them.  He would perhaps play down his part in a rescue or leave out small details, like exactly how much life and limb he had risked, but a description of Gordon Tracy did not include "tight-lipped".  "What else happened up there?"

"C'mon, we've been through this."  Gordon rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "I told you all what happened at the debriefing.  I entered the maintenance bay; saw the wires had been cut on the CPU.  Someone took a shot at me, and I tried to talk him into surrendering.  He fired again and I shot back.  He fell out of the plane, end of story."

"Fell?"  John raised an eyebrow.  "I thought you said he jumped."

Standing up in agitation, Gordon crossed the room, picked up a pair of sweatpants that were lying on the bench, and pulled them on.  "Fell, jumped.  Either way, he's dead.  What's the difference?"

Disturbed by the underlying anger in his brother's voice, John followed him.  "Did he jump intentionally or did he fall?"

"I'm going to bed."  John blocked the door and Gordon gave him a pleading look.  "Damn it, John."  His finally drooped and he scrubbed his face.

"Something about this is eating you alive.  Why don't you just tell me what it is?"

Slowly, large amber eyes turned on him, pain behind them.  There was no joking, no evasion now.  Gordon's emotions were clear as he seemed to stare off into the distance.

"Gord?"  John took his shoulder and shook him slightly.  "Gordon?"

"I killed him, Johnny."

The words seemed to echo softly around them, reverberating in John's ears though, he had by this time already guessed Gordon's secret.  To hear him actually utter the words still caught him off guard.

With an effort, he found his voice.  "He didn't jump."

Gordon shook his head, shutting his eyes. His voice was a hoarse whisper.  "No. He fell.  He shot at me one last time.  I returned fire and caught him in the chest."

"Are you sure you hit him?  Maybe he just jumped when you fired."

"I'm sure.  I saw it hit him.  The way he fell, the blood..." Gordon swallowed hard as he sank to the bench.  "And I keep seeing it.  Over and over, every time I close my eyes."

John wanted to kick himself.  All the signs that something more had happened on this mission were there.  During the debriefing, Gordon had been stiff, giving just the bare bones account of his actions.  Throughout the evening, he had been quiet; smiling quickly and stiffly replying that he never felt better if someone inquired about his silence.

When he did start clowning around, he had been over the top.  For the past twenty-four hours, Gordon had been putting up a front.  Joking around with Grandma when she told him he was the expert electrician and trying to act like himself.

Trying, and not quite making it, now that John thought about it.

John heard himself sputter out the only defense his mind could develop.  "He didn't give you a lot of choice."

"I know, but that doesn't make me feel any better."  Gordon leaned his head against the wall and looked up at the high ceiling.  "That man killed 600 people because a bunch of greedy bastards in suits paid him to sabotage that Fireflash so their own airlines would pick up business again.  He was the lowest scum on the earth, a killer for hire."

"Most people would say that he got better than he deserved."  John put in.

"Then why do I feel so damned guilty?"  Gordon's head lulled to the side to look at him.

"Because that's not who you are."  There was no hesitation on John's part. "You have never intentionally taken a life.  Even when you were with WASP, you were a member of the Rescue Squad."

"Yeah, but they trained us to fight, to kill if necessary."

"You never used it."  He leaned forward, elbows on knees.  "And in WASP training, you never had to look your enemy in the eye right before you shot him."

"That's true.  Any operation was always done with intelligence information and a couple of well-placed missiles."  Gordon paused.  "But that doesn't make it any easier to understand.  I didn't even think about what I was doing.  I saw him aim and just . . . just killed him."

John chose his next words carefully.  "I don't think so, Gord.  I think you knew exactly what you were doing up there."

Gordon's face hardened.  "Do you think I wanted to kill him?"

"That's not what I said."  John responded quickly. "You weren't thinking about your own survival."

"You mean Scott?"

"Exactly."  There was no doubt in John's mind that Gordon would lay down his life for any of his brothers and would do anything to protect Scott.

"I don't know.  It all happened so fast."

"You had two minutes to impact and Scott and Hansen were sitting in the cockpit, depending on you.  Whether you realized it or not, that was in the back of your mind the whole time."

"I guess it was."  Gordon replied.  "But I still go over it in my head, trying to see if it could have turned out any differently."

"I'm sure a lot of people who are forced to take another life do that.  Soldiers, police officers.  Care for a piece of advice from a person who's never been there?"

A faint glimmer of a smile ghosted Gordon's face.  "Why not?"

"Don't think about it in terms that you killed someone.  Think about all the people who are alive today because you did what you did: Hansen, Scott, and the millions of people who climb aboard a plane everyday."

Gordon considered the point of view for a moment before the smile solidified itself.  "Ever the philosopher, huh?"

"I guess it's just my lot in life."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but that was something they told us in WASP training as well. Don't think about killing a person. Focus on letting others live.'"

"It's the best I've got."

"That's okay, Johnny."  Gordon stood up.  "It still makes me feel better, hearing it from you."

"Better is a start."  John rose as well.

As the two brothers left the pool, they heard someone call their names.  Scott strode up the hall, coming back from an early-morning run.  "You two are up early."

"We never went to sleep."  John informed him.

Gordon slipped back into his former manner with ease.  "Yeah, but you're slipping, bro.  Nearly six hours last night.  You're getting old, needing all that sleep."

Grinning viciously, Scott motioned to the end of the hall.  "Care to put your money where your mouth is?  How about a race to the point and back?"

Grabbing John's wrist, Gordon gave the watch a shocked look.  "Wow, would you look at the time?"

Scott turned to John.  "What about you?"

"I'll pass thanks."

"You two better go try and get some sleep.  You both look worn out."  Scott headed towards the elevator that would take him to the upper floors of the house.  He turned back towards them as he waited for the car. "Hey Gord, I never got a chance to thank you for what you did on the Fireflash.  You saved my neck."

"All in a day's work."  Gordon answered.

"I owe you one."  The doors to the car opened and he stepped aboard.  "See you guys later." And with that he was gone.

"You were right, John."  Gordon had sobered again, staring after their brother.  "I just got this flash of life and IR without him.  I didn't like what I saw."

John put a comforting hand on his shoulder.  "Are you going to tell everyone else what really happened?"

"Later," he answered as they began to walk down the hall.  "I think I'm going to take Scott's advice right now though and go to bed."

The muscles of Gordon's face weren't as tense now, and while a sense of sadness hung about him, he seemed peaceful, but extremely tired as though he had just been relieved of a heavy burden.

As he studied his brother, John felt the dam break and a wave of exhaustion came over him.  All of the sudden, he doubted he had the energy to make it back to his rooms.  He could sleep for a week.  "That sounds like a good idea."