LET IT GO by ALTERNATE REALITY1 RATED FRT

This story was written in response to the Tracy Island Writers Forum's 2006 fic-swap challenge.

Fic Swap Request: Because I'm in a slightly darker mood, I think I'd like to see a story where one of the brothers is or has been driven to get revenge on someone, and the story can either be leading up to the revenge, or dealing with the aftermath. All I want to know is what kind of terrible event could possibly lead them to that kind of emotion. And it could even be playful, I don't mind, it could be toothless or the most painful 1,000 words in the world!

One steely-blue eye cracked open, intrigued by the light tapping of rain on his window. A storm had hit the island again, restless and bursting with excess energy. The rain was awake with life, just as he was feeling now, as his eye closed again. He didn't really care what was happening outside – hell; he wished he was out in the rain, being drenched, maybe come down with a case of hypothermia or something. Anything was better than the emotions he was feeling right now.

Flipping onto his back, John sighed in heavy defeat. He wasn't about to fall asleep now, so he might as well give up trying. How many nights now had it been – ten, maybe eleven – since he returned to Earth, from Five? The insomnia wasn't about to leave him alone any time soon. A trip to the lounge, and a talk with his newfound friend the whiskey bottle, were in order.

Running a hand through his hair to smooth his golden curls, John pressed the keypad to open his bedroom door. His pale blue T-shirt creased, and one leg of his pants halfway up his lower leg, John looked as rough as the weather outside. He felt even worse.

The short walk down the corridor took him past his brothers' rooms – most of them occupied with the rest of the Tracy clan. He was tempted to look in on his brothers, but feared they wouldn't appreciate it, preferring to be left alone. The past few weeks had affected them all, locking them in their own private worlds. Virgil especially – he wasn't really up to talking just yet.

John didn't blame him.

The lounge was empty, just as he had hoped. Sometimes he would come here only to find his father sat behind the desk, a glass in one hand and a picture in the other. Jeff Tracy wasn't the type to reveal his emotions so readily, though he did have his moments when he would wear his heart on his sleeve. Usually it was when one of his sons needed to hear words of comfort, of safety and reassurance; when Jeff didn't want to see any of his sons upset or hurt. But this time was different. If he had worn his heart it would have shown a large crack down the centre. That wasn't what he wanted his sons to see.

His heart wrenched at the thought of his father's pain, making John screw his face up. The heavy chains of guilt had been hanging around his neck ever since the incident had happened that he could have done something to prevent.

He gripped the whiskey bottle hard, a white-knuckled fist wanting to break it into pieces. Wanting to take hold of a particular man's neck and snap it in two. Never before had John felt such anger and hate for another soul. Never had he wanted to take revenge out on another human being so badly.

The liquid glinted as it caught the moonlight, like a sparkling jewel in his hand. John felt physically sick that he could turn to the drink and give in to such demons.

Backing over to the sofa, he flopped onto the comfy cushions and rested the glass on his knee. The peace was all he sought, so he could try to find some peace inside his head.

He closed his eyes to block out the world around him, hoping to find a comforting peace.

"John?"

A gentle nudge on his arm – the contact of the warm soft touch waking his senses.

Slowly cracking an eye open, he catches sight of the smooth, dark hair and his brother's chiselled features, standing over him.

"Scott?" John's voice is rough. His mind takes a little time to become fully alert. Scott's always an early riser, usually waking just after John. Gordon was probably already outside starting his morning swim then, it meant, since he was always up first.

Scott notices the glass in John's hand, looking none too happy with the impression it gives. "How many have you had?"

John shrugs his shoulders, as though the matter isn't any more important than knowing what time it is. "Not many. I think this is my first. I've not even touched it."

Only by looking down at the glass does John notice how dark the liquid is – a stream of silver light highlighting the pattern cut into the sides of the glass. He looks up towards the balcony window, and sees the gentle glow of the moon stream into the room. "What time is it?" he asks with a croaky voice, surprised to see it is still dark. He had expected it to be morning.

"It's time you gave this a rest," Scott answers, pointing to the glass and its guilty contents, as he takes a seat beside his younger brother. "It isn't good for you, you know."

"If it's good enough for Dad, then it's good enough for me," John offers, but Scott doesn't accept it.

"That's no excuse."

"You seemed to think it was a good one."

The older brother shakes his head, knowing he didn't have a suitable comeback. "Doesn't mean it helps. All it does is give you a headache."

John tips back his head, resting it on the back of the sofa. One of his arms stretches out along the back behind Scott, while the other keeps the glass upright, resting on his knee. The silence between them both is comfortable, each happy simply to be in the other's company. Scott waits patiently for John to begin talking, but knows John would rather sit in the silence than open up about his feelings.

"You should talk to someone," Scott chooses to begin, never one to approach a subject in a subtle way. His younger blonde brother chooses not to respond with words, but instead sighs as he glares up at the ceiling. His foot begins to tap out an anxious rhythm as he thinks over Scott's words.

"John, you need to let it out. You can't keep on blaming yourself forever."

John's head snaps back up. "Why not? It is my fault after all. It is the reason why that son of a bitch got to you."

Scott is momentarily taken aback by such bitter-tasting words – not John's usual way of expressing his thoughts. He quickly snaps back. "So, what? You're saying that you could've stopped him, is that it?" Now it is Scott's turn to sigh. "There was nothing you could've done."

"But I saw it coming," John retorts, determined not to let Scott have his way. "I could have given a warning to you sooner, to tell you to get out of there. I should've at least had a suspicion that the call was a fake, when it first came in."

Scott pulls a face of impatience, not listening to a word of what John has to say. He raises an eyebrow and gives John the look that silently tells him, ‘sure, I believe you'. "I still wouldn't have been able to pull out in time."

"But you might have!" John suddenly blurts out, annoyed that his older sibling has given in to such an outcome, while he still has trouble accepting the facts. "That extra second might've been enough for you to dodge those missiles by millimetres!"

Scott is trying hard not to show his annoyance, but he is forced to throw his hands up to cover his face and groan. "Johnny..."

"I could've at least warned you sooner that The Hood had fired!"

"You couldn't have though! By the time those missiles had registered on your screen they'd already locked onto Thunderbird One! Even One's computers couldn't pick them up any quicker!" Scott holds his hands out, challenging John to counteract his argument. "I was just too close to even have a chance to get out of there before being hit."

Scott looks into the bright, blue eyes of the man beside him – the same shade as his own. Within them he sees the deep remorse his brother hides, but more disturbingly he witnesses the flash of anger and the wish for revenge. "John, don't."

"Don't what?" John asks, but he knows just what his brother has seen. He has seen it countless times in Scott's eyes, whenever one of the brothers was hurt. Whenever Scott's protective nature rose to the surface, that look would be present.

"Don't even think about trying to find The Hood."

John frowns, feeling patronised by the very brother who found it hard to keep his own anger in check at times. "After what he did to you..."

"Let it go," Scott cuts in, not wanting to even hear what it is his brother has planned. Scott's disturbance that John holds such evil thoughts clearly writes itself across his face.

John shrugs his shoulders dismissively. "Too late. I've already found him."

John waits a moment before daring to look at his older brother's face. When he does, he isn't surprised to find a look of anxiousness. Scott knows he's already too late to prevent John from seeking his answers. Instead he turns his focus to preventing John from actively carrying out whatever plans he had in mind.

"I don't want you to do this –"

"An eye for an eye..." John trails off, interrupting Scott mid-sentence.

"But not a life for a life," Scott finishes, an angry bite in his tone. "Don't you think you're only lowering yourself to his level?" Scott stares at his brother, straight into his eyes with a look of pure disgust. "This isn't you, John," his hand waves to gesture to John. "This isn't who you are. Alan, yeah, I'd expect him to blow his top, the hotheaded Tracy that he is. Gordon would simmer quietly for a while but talk it out eventually. As for Virg..." Scott looks away, not wanting to complete the sentence, or even the thought, but then looks back up at John with a renewed sense of determination. "You don't want to risk hurting the rest of this family, do you?"

John stares straight ahead, not wanting to meet Scott's eyes and see the irritation in them. "I'm doing this for all of us, Scott. I'm doing this because I want to see The Hood pay for hurting this family." He looks down, swallows, then whispers gently, "I'm doing this for you."

The blonde astronaut doesn't need to look up at Scott's face – the audible sigh lets him know that the pilot is angry with his reasoning, and feels exacerbated by John's relentless attitude. There is a short pause before Scott even attempts to formulate a response to John's statement. "This isn't you, John." He shakes his head. "You're not the kind who storms in with force and demands things to happen. No, you're the one who uses words to reason. You're the brother who uses logic and brains, not so much brawn. Please, for all our sakes, don't do this."

John finally looks up and catches Scott's plea-filled blue pools staring straight at him. He feels a tingle of guilt for making his older brother resort to begging, but his mind is set. Or, at least, he feels it is.

Slowly leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, John rubs a hand over his eyes to try and alleviate the stress that is building. The weariness of the past couple of weeks or so is beginning to show, forming heavy bags under his eyes. He feels the tension as his jaw clenches hard; his hand, with a heavy force, runs through his hair, wanting to grab hold and rip out the locks. John has never felt this way before; he has never felt such compulsiveness to accomplish something so... final, so drastic. He wants The Hood to look into his eyes and see the red, raw pain in them. He wants The Hood to know the damage he caused when he fired those missiles at Thunderbird One.

"John..." A gentle hand rests easily on John's back. Scott begins to slowly rub it, hoping the action brings some much-needed comfort.

John refuses to look up, as his emotions begin to seep to the surface. He can feel the sharp pangs begin to grow in his heart; feel the water in his eyes build until a silent tear slowly trickles down his cheek. He crushes his eyes closed, willing the tears to stay back. Scott's touch intensifies such feelings, until his brother abruptly stops rubbing his back.

With a soft sigh, Scott stands and leans forward to remove the glass from John's hand. He carefully places the object on his father's desk, the soft clink of ice loud in the quiet atmosphere around them. They are the only souls awake in the Villa; the silence their only audience, watching as the drama unfolds.

The older brother kneels before the younger, and tenderly takes hold of a hand. The touch is reassuring to both; the warmth of their close bond radiating strongly. Scott has to crouch low to see John's face, but John only bows his head closer to his chest, out of view. He doesn't want Scott to see him cry.

"John..." The soft, mellow tone calls to John again, but he still does not acknowledge it. Placing a finger under John's chin, Scott lifts his brother's face until he sees the reflection of the moonlight in his brother's tears. It is a sad sight for Scott to see, breaking his heart that John places such blame on himself.

"Hey..." Scott whispers, as he watches John's eyes continue to focus downwards. "You don't have to be ashamed for feeling like this. I know if our roles were reversed, I'd be feeling exactly the same way."

"Yeah, I know," John answers, a light smirk plays on his features. "Only you would've already found The Hood, tied him to Thunderbird One's rockets and launched with him in tow, by the time we got to this conversation."

Scott snorts softly, the words bringing the faintest smile to John's lips. "You bet." Placing a hand on John's shoulder, Scott adds, "And you would've been the one trying to hold me back."

At long last John finally raises his eyes to meet Scott's, and between them passes a silent stream of thoughts and emotions. The angry flame of revenge is still lit in John's eyes, but the flame is slowly dying as the emotion fades. What John wants now – what he needs – Scott knows he cannot give. His words of apology are the only things he can offer in solace.

"I'm sorry," Scott's admission comes as a whisper. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

John's lips tremble, pushing him to hold his brother's hand harder for comfort. "It's not your fault."

"I know, I know. But..." Scott turns away, unsure as to whether his composure can remain intact. His eyes scan the ceiling, the walls, the floor – anything to avoid John's eyes, where his hurt lies. Reluctantly Scott looks back down just as John begins to lower his head again, hiding his grief.

A move of improvisation, and Scott bows his own head until their foreheads touch; his hand still grasped by that of the younger man. Between them circulates an air of silence, but in that silence passes such comfort and love, from which neither wants to move. Eyes closed, Scott hopes his brother will eventually begin to heal his broken heart. That one day he may feel his hatred of The Hood diminish, though in the back of his mind Scott knows they all feel the same revengeful hate as John.

"Scott?" John's whispered word is almost inaudible.

Not moving from his position, Scott replies, "Yeah?" An audible swallow follows, from John. Scott is sure he can feel his brother tremble. "What is it?" he softly encourages.

Again John swallows, until the word escapes. "Thanks."

Though it is only one word, it is a word expressed with such adoration and respect. It is a word that expresses such deep gratitude on multiple levels. John knows he is saying more than just a thank you to Scott for providing some much-needed comfort. It expresses gratitude to a brother for always being there; for being a source of strength and courage that John could draw upon; for being a source of inspiration; for bringing comfort when times were low, and for sharing the times when John had succeeded.

Most importantly, it is a thank you, to Scott, for simply being a brother.

Pulling away, John lifts his head and wipes away the moisture from his cheeks. The brothers' eyes lock for a few seconds more, before Scott moves to stand back up.

Looking straight ahead, John leans back into the soft cushions behind him, and exhales a long sigh. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Scott steps away, leaving him alone once more with his thoughts.

His eyelids heavy, he succumbs to the overpowering exhaustion and closes them. Once again, his world plunges into darkness.

He felt the tug on his consciousness, dragging him back to reality.

John was forced to squint his eyes against the flood of morning light, seeping through the windows. For a moment he lifted a hand over his eyes to block out the intruding light, until his blurry vision of the room sharpened into some coherent clarity.

The sound of approaching footsteps snagged his attention. The slim, toned figure of the copper-haired aquanaut stepped into the corner of his visual field - a small smile flashing across Gordon's face for only a fleeting moment, then dying away again, as though he had no energy.

John had to admit he felt surprised to awaken so late in the morning. He honestly felt as though he hadn't slept for even a minute, almost instead remaining in a silent stupor for the entire night.

Eyes wide open, he watched the expression on his younger brother take the appearance of sympathy. Gordon stood before him, taking in John's bedraggled appearance and rough attire. He didn't need to know why he had found John out here instead of in his room.

"How long have you been here?" Gordon's question was missing the tint of intrigue in its tone, as though the answer was already known. Instead it acted as merely a starting point for conversation.

John lifted his hands to his face, a heavily exhaled breath hitting his palms. A shake of his head was his attempt to clear his mind. "Most of the night, I guess." The reply was muffled but audible beneath his hands.

Gordon shook his head, expecting to hear as much. He crossed his arms, pausing a while to give John a chance to become alert. The silence wasn't awkward between them, but wasn't the kind either one of the brothers wanted to last for very long.

John gave another sigh, and threw down his hands onto his knees. The action itself sparked a memory of just what he had been doing during the night, reminding him of the glass he had poured to drink.

His hand, where the drink had been, was now empty.

He quickly jumped up straighter in his seat and looked down to the floor, fearing he had dropped the item in question when he had finally succumbed to sleep. Feeling the carpet, there wasn't even the smallest sign there had been a spillage of liquid. He frowned, not knowing the drink's fate.

"I see you've been drinking again." Gordon pointed over at something. The comment grabbed John's attention, as he snatched his head up towards where Gordon was currently stood, facing the desk.

Over on Jeff's desk stood the cut glass. The frown on John's face grew even deeper as a memory resurfaced. The glass was exactly where Scott had left it.

"You know these late nights aren't going to help any," said Gordon, misreading the shocked look on John's face for one of anxiousness. The redhead walked over and took occupancy of the vacant seat beside his older brother. John didn't finch.

Gordon was the first to admit he wasn't the type who could give words of wisdom like John could. Talking was his gift, but not at such a deep and philosophical level. He took a moment to decide where to begin, and then plunged headfirst into the deep end of his pool of thoughts. "John... I know it's hard for you to accept all of this, but... Well, if you need to talk, I'm here."

"Save it for someone who's listening, Gords," came John's rather sarcastic and bitter reply.

The reply made Gordon's blood boil. "Don't start with me. You know this is hurting all of us, not just you. You're not the only one to lose a brother, John. Or had you forgotten about us, being cooped up in your own world feeling damn sorry for yourself?"

John was feeling his anger boiling, his brother's words stinging. Gordon had hit a sore spot. "Maybe that's because I know all this mess is my fault!" John finally snapped, the volume of his voice rising two-fold.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gordon shouted back. John's response hadn't exactly been the one Gordon had expected.

"I could've prevented it all from ever happening. I could've stopped it." The blonde shook his head, leaning forward until he was perched on the edge of the sofa. "We're only here because of me – because I panicked instead of doing something!"

Gordon was, for the first time in his life, stunned into silence. He had never seen John this upset. So consumed by a feeling of...what, exactly? Did John feel guilty?

"John..." Gordon pressed his brother softly, hoping it would push John to explain just exactly what he meant.

There came a short, snapped sigh from the older blonde, before he dared say his next words. "I froze. I... I panicked when the warning signal came up on the computer screen. The missiles were only seconds from impact with their target. Impact... Impact with Thunderbird One..."

The words echoed in Gordon's mind. This was all truly a revelation to him. None of the brothers had talked properly to each other since the incident. John's admission of guilt was news to Gordon, and had certainly revealed a new perspective to him.

Almost straight away Gordon shook his head, not believing what John was saying was accurate. "John, this isn't your fault. I mean, you were up on Five for God's sake! You radioed straight away. Apart from that, there was nothing else you could've done."

At first there was no indication on John's face that the words of reassurance had been accepted. His blank stare was the only thing Gordon had to read, and all it revealed to him was the despair John was feeling. Eventually John turned away, too ashamed to even look at his brother.

"John..." Gordon tried to grab John's attention - to turn his head so that he could look straight into John's eyes. Gordon placed a hand on John's shoulder to turn the blonde to face him, but John quickly shrugged it off, muttering for Gordon to leave him alone.

Gordon was fast losing his patience. Under his breath he muttered, "God damn it. John, listen to me!" He grabbed John's shoulder again, only this time the hold couldn't be broken so easily. He turned John's body towards him, but John refused to look up.

Gordon wasn't deterred. With as much conviction as he could muster, Gordon began. "You weren't the one with the finger on the trigger when those missiles were launched. You weren't the one who planned to bring TB1 crashing to the ground. You are not responsible for what happened, you hear me?"

John looked away, hoping that Gordon would leave him alone. Silently, John knew that wasn't about to happen. He refused to acknowledge what his brother was saying.

Gordon sighed; annoyed he wasn't getting through to his brother. John was as stubborn as the rest of them when he wanted to be. "You did what you could in the circumstances. Hell, if anything, those of us riding in Thunderbird Two are as much to blame for not getting there in time."

At this statement John finally looked up, his pain-filled eyes a heart-wrenching sight. He sent a silent plea to Gordon to stop this conversation, but Gordon ignored it. "He died on impact," he stated flatly; the words empty of emotion. "You couldn't have saved him."

"That's my point. There wasn't anything any of us could do." Silently the younger Tracy placed a firm hand on the older Tracy's shoulder, rubbing it gently to give reassurance. Eventually Gordon swallowed, nervously. "No one blames you for Scott's death, John. No one."

Leaving Gordon's lips, the words felt sour, disgusting to even be expressed. They were the words cursed with the power of truth.

The silence returned between them, waiting for one of them to interrupt. John pulled back, turning away from his brother again to hide the bitterness of his expression. Gordon himself pulled back, unsure as to how his composure was holding. He didn't want to break down – not here, not now, at least. Not in front of John, who needed his strength more than ever.

Eventually John broke the silence. "I want to kill him," his words were dripping with hatred. "I want to hurt The Hood for what he's done."

By this time Gordon had half expected such words to arise. "You and the rest of the Tracy army," he nodded. "Believe me, I'd love to tie him to Thunderbird Three and blast him up into space, but even that'd be too good for him." There was a pause, in which Gordon took a steadying breath. His anger at the thought of The Hood had slowly started to rise, and he was fighting to retain control. "But if we did kill him, what would it achieve?" Gordon's voice was lowered; the words painful to say. "It wouldn't bring Scott back."

Something in the last sentence touched John, as though a switch had been flicked. A point of argument he hadn't considered, possibly. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, thinking of what to reply with but the words failing to come.

"We're not the type who kill people. That's not our style. We care about people. That's what we live by."

"This isn't just about I.R. anymore, Gordon." John's tone still held an acidic temper, but it had been neutralised somewhat.

"I'm not talking about I.R. – I'm talking about us, as a family. We're not the type to find vengeance by spilling blood." Gordon held his hands out, expressing his point.

A soft snort came from John, sensing the irony in that last statement. "I'm not so sure about that. I think Scott would've seen things differently."

"Perhaps," Gordon agreed partly, shrugging his shoulders. "But then again, Scott did always have an overactive protective streak in him." Once again Gordon shuffled forward, closing the gap between himself and his brother. Placing a hand on John's shoulder once again, to be sure he had John's attention, Gordon stared deep into John's cobalt eyes. They reminded him so much of Scott's – filled with an intense compassion and strong determination. "You know what Scott would say to you – to us. He'd tell us to move on – to push on and keep the family strong. He'd tell us to let it go."

At those words, as if on cue, John raised his head. It almost felt as though it was night again, and that he was sitting with Scott as he said those very same words. In his mind, the words played out again.

"Let it go..."

"I... I can't..." The whisper was so soft; the voice cracking at the seams.

"Yeah, you can. We have to, some day. And we will do," the redhead tried to reassure in his own whisper; uncertain as to how John would react to the words. "We'll do it together."

Finally his wall of strength began to crumble, and John could hold back his emotions no more. The first tear fell, which was enough to bring the rest of his hurt gushing to the surface. His cries were muffled as Gordon reached over and took him into a comforting embrace. Away from the eyes of the world, the two brothers consoled each other.

Gordon allowed his thoughts to wander, and in doing so resurrected the thoughts of pure hatred and desire of revenge. Such thoughts belonged to the dark, lonely place, where the innocent soul falls beyond all salvation. Where evil men fear to step, wisely choosing to avoid it. A place any sane man knew not to even venture, except when that sanity had been lost.

A place not unlike Hell.

An angry flame ignited in Gordon's eyes. Seeing his brother crumble had at first softened his resolve, but then his silent thoughts had hardened it once more. His thoughts of revenge were strong, just as John's were, but he had kept his close to his heart. Gordon knew he was risking stepping into the very dark depths of immorality, knowing full well there was a possibility he could not return to the life he knew.

Deep in his heart Gordon knew he was wrong to want to take revenge on The Hood, but in so many ways he felt justified to.

Looking over to the wall at the portrait of Scott, he knew his oldest brother wouldn't like such thoughts. His death had ripped the family apart, and now Gordon was planning to deepen that wound.

One day, Gordon vowed, The Hood would pay. One day he would face his retribution.

One day, Scott's death would be avenged...