I haven't been keeping up with TAG, so I'll just say that this is set sometime in season 1 or 2 in case there are any plot conflicts with the current TAG season.

It's been one of those days, and I'm more than ready to put Thunderbird Five into night mode and try to shut my tired brain down, but I can't shake this nagging feeling that something is wrong on the island. Knowing that I won't be able to sleep until I check, I pull up the video feed from the lounge.

The first thing I observe is that Virgil is playing the piano – odd, since he had broken his arm today. Without the left-hand harmonization, the tune sounds hollow and lifeless, making a shiver run up and down my spine as the fading notes echo through the rounded passageways of Thunderbird Five.

Virgil somehow hasn't noticed the blue glow of my holographic image hovering over the coffee table; with a couple swiping motions, I toggle my view to a different camera so that I can see him more clearly.

I frown as I study him – he's slumped on the piano bench, his broad shoulders hunched forward and his eyes focused on the fingers of his right hand, which are resting on the keyboard. There's a deep furrow between his eyebrows. His left arm, ensconced in a cast, is nestled close to his chest in a sling.

He takes a deep breath and pushes it back out in a long sigh, then quirks an eyebrow at the camera. "I know you're there," he says quietly. His right-hand fingers trail down the keyboard in a series of desolate, minor-key arpeggios.

So much for him not noticing me. I nudge a button that makes my hologram pop up in front of him. Feeling a little silly at having been caught spying, I ask lamely, "How's the arm?"

He shrugs. "Fine."

"Crazy rescue today, huh?"

Virgil's shoulders tighten. "Sure was."

It's unsettling to see his expressive brown eyes dark and closed off. My mind is racing as I think back over the rescue and try to figure out what's made him build a wall around himself like this. It was a hard day for all of us, so it could be any number of things. In any case, it's going to take creativity to get through the wall – with Virgil's stubborn streak, there's no way I can just break through. I have to go over, under or around.

I decide to try "around" first. "What do you think our lives would be like right now if we'd never joined International Rescue?" I ask.

His eyebrows lift a little at the randomness of the question, but I can see the wheels start to turn. With his creative mind, he can't help himself – imagining is his forte.

"I don't know," he says slowly. "Weird. Different." He sighs. "Peaceful."

Now we're getting somewhere.

"I'm guessing we wouldn't all still be living at home," he says dryly. "Scott would probably be in the GDF. So maybe not so peaceful for him. You'd probably be heading up some deep space expedition or something. Gordon – I don't know. Something in marine biology, probably. Alan would still be in school, of course."

"And you?" I prompt.

His face darkens. "I'd be someplace where I wouldn't be making stupid mistakes that almost cost me two brothers," he growls, smashing his fist into the piano keys in an uncharacteristic outburst of temper.

I wince at the discordant clash of ebony and ivory. "What? Virgil, that wasn't your fault–"

"No, it was totally my fault. I didn't even check to see if that floor was safe. You can't tell me that that wasn't stupid and irresponsible! I put people in danger, John – including my own family members. That building could have collapsed at any second. And then those people ended up having to wait an extra ten minutes while Scott and Gordon got me out. I caused that delay! What if those people had died because of me?" He pushes himself roughly up from the piano bench and begins pacing.

"Virgil, you know you can't let the what-ifs get you down–"

He shoots me a look that stops me short. With an effort, I tamp down all the words waiting to spill out of my mouth, except for the four that Virgil apparently needs to hear. "Okay, Virgil…I'm listening."

He sighs and shoves his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking this out on you. It's just…we've already been through so much. I'm…I'm trying so hard to just hold things together and keep everyone safe – and today I really blew it." He drops heavily back onto the piano bench. "I know that's stupid," he says, "and I know I probably only feel this way because I'm tired and on pain meds, but still…"

He trails off, and we sit in silence for a long minute. I'm not sure if he's done talking, so I keep my mouth shut, even though my mind is helpfully enumerating a list of the reasons why Virgil shouldn't feel bad about what had happened during the rescue today.

Just when I'm about to speak up again, Virgil's lips lift in a little half smile and he glances up to catch my eye.

"You're a good listener," he tells me. "Scott would've been listing off reasons I shouldn't feel bad about what happened today."

I smile and shrug.

"I guess maybe I should just go to bed," Virgil continues. "Like Grandma's always saying, things always look better in the morning." He frowns and gingerly rubs his left arm. "Just wish I could play some piano for a few minutes first. I was trying a few minutes ago, but, well, you heard how that was going."

"Yeah, it sounded a little spooky, actually," I say. I consider the discouraged slump of Virgil's shoulders for another moment before adding, "Hey, I have an idea." I turn and swipe through various programs in Thunderbird Five's database for a minute, searching for one that I know is in there, but I've never had occasion to use before. A full, holographic keyboard pops up in front of me. "How about if I play the left hand and you play the right?"

Virgil's eyebrows shoot up. "Well, I'm not sure how that'll work, since you don't play the piano…"

"Hey, you're not the only one Mom tried to teach – you're just the one that actually inherited her musical genes. I'd guess it's been at least ten years since I've touched a keyboard, though, so pick something easy, okay?"

Virgil looks skeptical at first, but then a thoughtful expression steals over his face. "Okay," he says. "We're going to improvise. Use these notes." He twists around to demonstrate with his right hand where I should be holding my left hand. "Find a pattern, or play around a bit, but stick with those notes. Once you've got the start of something, I'll fill in." He sits back, his right hand resting in his lap as he waits.

I press each one of my prescribed notes down in sequence, listening. Their deep tones are pleasant but rather aimless; remembering those years-ago piano lessons, I hear Mom's voice in my head, methodically counting to help me keep in time – "One and two and three and four and…" I let the rhythm settle into my mind and then into my fingers, etching out a distinct, repetitious series of notes and chords that actually sounds almost like music.

Virgil's head is bobbing ever so slightly in time with my count, his eyes on the keyboard and a small smile curving his lips. After a minute, his hand gracefully lifts and settles over the keys, and he edges his way neatly into my pattern.

He just fills in with a few little arpeggios and echoing notes at first, but then all of a sudden, my simple little chords and Virgil's trills are a full-blown song, and he's got a huge grin on his face. Somehow, even though I'm always playing the same few notes, Virgil is able to shape the music into something with purpose and direction.

Virgil guides us through two distinct verses, then smirks and exclaims, "Okay, concentrate – keep doing what you're doing, but I'm going to switch things up!"

I laugh as Virgil starts tossing in a bunch of syncopated notes; for one glorious minute, we're playing a bouncy, jazzy little tune that has my toes involuntarily tapping.

It's too much, though. The syncopation throws me off from my counting, and we crash to a halt. By the time we give up in a tangled, undignified ending, though, Virgil is laughing so hard he's nearly falling off the piano bench.

"That was awesome!" he says. "John, you're amazing!"

"Me? I hardly did anything – you're the one who turned it into music!"

He sits back and stretches his legs out under the piano bench. He's still grinning. "You've got a phenomenal sense of timing, though. I think we could actually turn you into a decent musician if you were willing to put in some practice." He yawns.

That makes me yawn too.

Virgil laughs again. "Guess I'll get to bed now." He stands up and starts to turn away, then hesitates and looks back over his shoulder, meeting my gaze. "Thanks, John," he says simply.

"Any time," I reply wholeheartedly. "Night, Virg!"

"Good night!"