I own nothing, all rights belong to their respective owners.

It's amazing what one sentence in a story turns into when you start discussing it! Angel-Sue, this is for you.

Happy New Year!

Virgil yawned, trailing one hand along the wall as he headed towards his room. It was early evening, but the nights had drawn in and the house was in darkness. He could put a light on…but that involved effort and he couldn't be bothered.

It had been a long day. The rescue had been gruelling and he had spent hours on repairs and maintenance after getting home. His back ached, his eyes itched and if Alan had stolen all the hot water (again), Virgil was going to kill him.

A light distracted him. Then he realised there were voices coming from Gordon's room and he headed towards the glow. Normally, hearing things from Gordon's room meant running in the opposite direction, but Alan was in the lounge with Tin-Tin (and a mistrusting Kyrano) and his intrigue was piqued.

He knocked and pushed open the door. But he couldn't – it hit something solid before it had gone more than an inch and there was a sudden hush.

"Who is it?" If Gordon was attempting to sound normal, he failed dramatically.

"Santa," Virgil said. He heard Scott snort from behind the door and pushed on it again. This time, it opened and he slipped in.

Gordon crossed the room and slammed it shut, only narrowly missing him. Scott was standing by the wall but was rubbing his foot when Virgil looked at him. Virgil winced; no doubt said foot had been the reason he couldn't open the door.

They weren't alone. Gordon's laptop was propped open and Virgil waved a hand lazily when John smiled in greeting.

"What am I missing?"

Gordon moved back across the room, folding his arms and scowling.

"I don't know what to get Al for Christmas," he admitted. Virgil laughed – then realised his brother was serious.

"You always know and we -," he gestured to himself, Scott and John – "always regret it."

Gordon didn't rise to it. He was staring in a thoughtful way that made Virgil worried.

"What?"

"You could-,"

"No."

"But-,"

"Not happening." Every year, at least one of his brother's propositioned him to create something for one of the others because they were stuck for ideas. He would only gift creations when they came from him.

"Told you he'd say no," John said, unhelpfully.

Gordon huffed. "Scott's taking Grandma on a supply run this weekend. I'm out of time if I haven't decided by then."

Virgil grimaced sympathetically. There were drawbacks with living on an island. He moved to the bed, picking up a sweater Gordon had left out and moved it carefully out of the way before slumping down. He didn't care about Gordon's possessions, apart from a select few things.

Gordon's gaze followed his movements and his eyes widened.

"There's always one fall-back," he muttered, eyes on the sweater.

"No." Virgil and John spoke simultaneously.

"You can't just give it," Scott said, "you have to give it."

"Insightful." John's deadpan tone made Virgil grin as he made himself comfortable.

"It has to mean something," Scott continued. "Think of how you got it."

Gordon looked over and Virgil returned his smile fondly, both of them remembering a day not that long ago. But, unable to stop himself, Virgil then looked at the screen and caught John's eye, who nodded before looking at Scott. Scott was staring at the sweater as if he had never seen it before, despite it being the most worn piece of clothing in the entire house.

"I guess I could get one the same," Gordon said, "he'll love it if it's the same as Scott's."

They all knew Alan still idolised everything Scott did or said – even though it annoyed their eldest brother.

Scott scowled but Gordon turned to him.

"Where'd you get it?"

Scott shook his head. "I didn't."

"I'll ask Grandma; she knows where we get everything."

But Scott shook his head again. "It's not mine."

"Then…who?"

Virgil wasn't the only one staring at Scott. He looked back, nonplussed.

"You don't know?"

"Do we look like we know?" While John answered verbally, Virgil settled for chucking a pillow. Scott caught it, threw it back and it hit Virgil in the chest with such force he almost toppled backwards. He rubbed his ribs, staring accusingly at his brother, who merely smirked, that all knowing big-brother-smirk that always made them squirm. Virgil swore Scott had mastered it by the time John was a day old.

"Tell us!" Gordon demanded, sounding like the seven-year-old who had once followed Virgil around demanding answers his ten-year-old brother didn't have a hope of answering. His tone did what Virgil's missile couldn't though, and Scott shrugged. He too stared at the sweater, a fond smile emerging.

"Same as you guys," he said, his voice soft. His expression gained a far-away look and he lent against the wall, making himself comfortable.

"But…how?" It wasn't often John sounded confused.

Virgil, however, sucked in a sharp breath of realisation. As usual, he knew what Scott wasn't saying.

"Dad?"

Scott nodded. Gordon gave a soft "oh" and Virgil exchanged curious looks with both of his brothers. Gordon also sat on the bed, shoving Virgil over until there was space for both of them.

"Now you have to tell us," he said.

Scott was already smiling and Virgil knew they wouldn't need to persuade their brother to tell them. Scott folded his arms, gaze locked on the sweater.

"It was after the first rescue. You remember it, Virg?"

"Upside down in an elevator car – like I'm going to forget that."

"It was when we got home," Scott said, his voice mirroring his expression: fond, far-away and wistful. "You and Gords were in the lounge. I went down to the silos. Dad followed."

Jeff lent against the lounge door, a coffee in his hand and a smile on his face. He hoped International Rescue would be a success, but it was only now, with the first rescue behind them, he could truly believe it. It would have been better if it had all run smoothly, but Virgil had insisted he was fine and Brains couldn't find any sign of concussion. The true injury had been to Virgil's pride.

His son seemed to have recovered though. Although the boys had arrived home hours ago, Virgil was still buzzing on adrenaline. Gordon had stopped teasing him about the accident and settled for grilling him about every little detail. Alan was hanging onto every word and Jeff's eyebrows rose when he heard what Virgil was saying. It had been embellished somewhat since the debriefing Jeff had insisted on when they arrived home. Then again, if his brothers were still asking, hours later, Jeff couldn't fault his son for putting a spin on it.

What did surprise him, however, was that Scott was nowhere to be seen. John's portrait was active, but he had turned away, sick of hearing the same thing yet again. Jeff thought this would be the time that the boys would want to be together.

Taking a sip of his drink, he checked the lounge again but his eldest wasn't there. John looked around, realised what he was doing and mouthed a single word, not interrupting Virgil's flow. His father raised his mug in thanks and disappeared.

Picking up another coffee, he followed John's hint and entered the silos. It was cold down here – crucial to stop engines from overheating – and Jeff shivered. While John had given him a clue of where to go, he needed no further guidance now he was here. He moved quickly, heading towards the platform overlooking Thunderbird One. Sure enough, he could make out a figure sitting up there, legs through the railings, staring at the 'bird.

"Scott?" Jeff climbed the steps and handed his son one of the coffees before awkwardly navigating himself so he too could sit down. Scott took the drink but didn't look around and his father attempted to make himself comfortable.

"Why aren't you with the others?"

Scott shrugged instead of answering. Jeff put his drink down beside him and put a hand on his boy's shoulder.

"You're shaking!"

Scott finally looked around and his father's concerns vanished. Scott's eyes were shining and there was a look of pure joy on his face. Jeff knew that – just like Virgil – the adrenaline hadn't worn off for Scott either, but he was masking it better, at least able to sit still unlike his brother.

"You should have felt it, Dad," he said, his voice low but quivering with excitement. "She was a dream, unlike anything I've ever flown before."

Jeff smiled. Scott had always been drawn to the sky, just as John had looked to the stars and Gordon to the sea. The rescue itself was a big deal, but for his son, flying the fastest machine on the planet would be a thrill in its own right, something that couldn't be compared.

"Tell me," Jeff said softly, smiling. Scott needed to gush in a way that had been trained out of him since he signed up for the Air Force. But, unlike his brothers, Jeff could appreciate exactly what his son was going through; how it felt and what was going through his mind. He had been the same at Scott's age.

He hadn't heard Scott speak with such joy in a long time, even though he had been as excited about the business starting up as the rest of them. Jeff couldn't remember when he had spent time with his eldest, listening to Scott talk about his own dreams – it had never been about the Air Force, always been about the flight – rather than helping make his father's come true.

He listened, he prompted and he took pleasure in being the one his son needed. When Scott finally ran out of words, his gaze returning to his new Thunderbird, Jeff put a hand on his shoulder again.

"You're freezing! Come on, come back to the house."

He climbed to his feet, forced to use the railing to steady himself as the blood started flowing again. Scott didn't stand though; he wasn't ready. Jeff knew that nothing he said would persuade his son to come upstairs. He couldn't leave him down here though, not in this temperature. He doubted Scott had even noticed.

They had both drunk their coffees – there was nothing else he could use. Thinking, he sighed before pulling off his own sweater, handing it to Scott.

"Put this on if you're staying down here," he ordered. Scott looked at him, taking it with a grin. No doubt he believed his father would have insisted that he came up to the house. Jeff knew what this meant though; this was their life now and if Scott needed this time to accept their new reality, then his father wouldn't take that away from him.

"Put it on," he repeated when Scott made no movement to do so. Scott pulled the sweater on and Jeff automatically reached out to adjust it slightly. It fitted his boy well and warmth exploded in his chest as Scott once again looked back to his craft.

He watched Scott for a long moment. He knew he was placing a heavy burden on his shoulders – on all of their shoulders – and they were still so young. But his son looked at peace, content and relaxed in a manner so rarely seen with Scott that Jeff knew it had all been worth it, even if just for this one moment.

Finally though, he turned to leave, starting to feel the cold. His son would come up when he was ready and Jeff couldn't ask for anything more.

Hearing a yell, Scott squinted through the pouring rain. His hair was plastered to his face and he couldn't see more than two paces in front of him. Thunderbird Two hovered ahead, buffeted by the raging winds as the platform swung wildly beneath, attempting to draw the survivors up to safety.

He touched his comms, knowing what the scream meant.

"Gordon, we've got a man overboard, port side!"

"F.A.B!"

The ship lurched as Scott stumbled, slipping on the rolling deck as the rain lashed around him. He grabbed onto the railing, peering into the churning water. Scott was glad he had insisted on everyone putting on safety gear as soon as he had arrived – the man's luminous jacket was the only thing Scott could see, but he could tell the man was unconscious.

He touched his comms again, intending to guide Gordon in. But someone ran past him and scrambled over the railings before Scott realised what he had seen.

"John -no!" He lunged for his brother but missed as John dove head first into the black water.

"Gordon! John's in the water!"

He was already moving, scrambling across the desk, heart pounding, until he grabbed a length of rope. He wrapped one end around his waist, sprinting back to the railings.

"John!"

His brother had reached the survivor, holding him securely while fighting to keep his head above the water. Scott threw the rope and John wrapped it around the victim. Scott barely noticed Alan join him but the two of them heaved the man out of the sea.

As soon as he touched the deck, Scott ripped the rope free and tossed it back over, leaving Alan to deal with the victim.

"Grab hold!" He had no idea how John heard him, but a tug on the rope indicated his brother was secure. Scott gave a yell as he pulled his brother back to safety, only remembering to breathe once John's feet touched the deck.

"You idiot!"

He grabbed a blanket from the supply, forcing it around John's shoulders. His brother was shivering, but grinning.

"Gords wouldn't get there in time."

Scott didn't want to admit he had thought the same. If it wasn't for John, the man would have been lost before Thunderbird Four could safely make it around the ship.

That didn't mean his big brother was happy about it.

-x-

Opening his bedroom door, Scott knew instantly someone was on his balcony. He put his coffee down and headed to the open doors.

"John?" He knew he would find and, sure enough, John was staring at the skies, clearly waiting for him.

Scott frowned. "You're supposed to be keeping warm," he scolded, taking in the bare feet and the short-sleeves. He grabbed John's arm, pulling him back into his room and pushing him down on the bed. There was an old sweater draped over his chair and he momentarily smiled before tossing it as his brother.

"Put that on."

"I'm fine." John refused to meet his eye, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'll tell Brains."

John shrugged. "I'll just-,"

"Dad won't let you back on Five if you get sick."

He didn't need to say anything else. John scrambled into the sweater as quickly as he could and Scott hid his grin when he realised it was baggy on his brother. It was too easy to play John at times: he won't risk being grounded for anything.

"I did it, didn't I?" John said softly, "I saved him."

"Yes." Scott held his brother's gaze. "But you were an idiot for putting yourself in danger."

"He needed help." John sat back, combing his fingers through his hair. "I've co-ordinated rescues and I've been out in the field with you guys. But this is the first time it was me – not our equipment – that actually made a difference."

Scott understood what that meant to his brother. John's strengths rested behind a computer screen. Physically saving someone left you with a feeling Scott couldn't describe – a mixture of pride, adrenaline and a feeling like you could take on the world and maybe, just maybe, win. It was no surprise John had forgotten to put a warmer top on before coming out: he was still on a high and hadn't felt the cold.

John suddenly grinned, his entire face lighting up. "I saved him!"

"You dork," Scott said, laughing. His brother sounded like the child who just figured he could do his homework on his own. "Just, next time, wait for back-up? You scared me out there."

"Sorry." John didn't sound contrite and Scott rolled his eyes. His brother wouldn't do anything different. None of them would. When it came to saving a life, they forgot about the consequences to themselves and just reacted. It was what made them an efficient team.

"I'm proud of you," Scott said quietly, leaning over and grabbing his coffee. When he looked back, John's smile had turned shy and he blushed in the dim light. Scott shook his head fondly; he knew precisely what those words, coming from him, did to his brothers.

A companionable silence fell over them for a few moments before John stood up.

"I should probably face Dad."

"You're in my room just to hide from Dad?"

"He's mad," John said, grimacing. Scott chuckled. He had let rip once he knew John was safe back on the boat. Their father had had their entire journey home to brew up a lecture. No wonder John had taken refuge.

Realising his brother was about to take the sweater off, Scott waved a hand dismissively.

"Keep it on," he said. "Dad won't yell as loudly if he thinks you're warm."

John smiled his gratitude and hurried out. Scott smirked. It wasn't just knowing his son was warming up that would stop his dad from yelling. He would recognise the sweater, even if no one else did, and wouldn't be able to stay annoyed once he saw John wearing it.

John slipped out of the kitchen, snacks in his arms. Glancing around, he checked it was clear before heading back to his room. It was the one day his grandmother would allow him to raid the pantry – would probably even help him to do it – but old habits die hard. She was nowhere to be seen though and John wondered if she was dealing with his father and had already hidden the whisky bottle.

He moved through the house. It was strange being so quiet but Alan was on Five and Gordon was uncharacteristically silent. John assumed Scott and Virgil were holed up together somewhere.

Nudging open his door, John kicked it shut behind him before crossing to his balcony. It wasn't enough tonight though and he twisted, stretching up until he could slide the armful of snacks onto the flat part of the roof above his window.

Reaching up, he grabbed hold and hauled himself onto it. It was the perfect size for him to sprawl comfortably and he stretched out, resting back on his palms and staring at the heavens.

It was the first year he had been at home on the anniversary of his mother's death. When they had first moved, he had still been with NASA. Every other year, he had been up on Five. It was easier than it used to be, although his dad still barricaded himself in his office as the evening drew on. John missed her every day – one day wasn't more painful than another.

That didn't mean he didn't acknowledge it though. It was his chance to seek solitude, to do the one thing that truly brought him peace. It gave him the chance to reflect, to decide if he had become the man she would want him to be. He had made many vows on this day over the years.

It was a clear night but cool. John didn't notice – he was used to the regulated temperature of Thunderbird Five and sometimes found the island too hot. His brothers, even after all of this time, still struggled to adjust to the difference in temperatures.

He hadn't been out for long when he heard his window open. He hadn't told anyone where he was going but he hadn't needed to – they knew him well enough to guess. It was still a surprise when Virgil suddenly appeared next to him, pulling himself up and gesturing for John to budge over so there was room for them both. John complied, grabbing his brother by the arm and hauling him on more securely. Virgil might be instrumental in saving the world on a regular basis, but that didn't mean John could turn off the instinct to ensure his brother's safety.

"Thought you were with Scott?"

"He's with Gordon," Virgil said. John winced. His first time on the island meant it was Alan's first time on Five. Their father had been talking to him all afternoon, making sure he was alright. John hadn't considered it was the first time being here that Gordon hadn't had Alan there to distract him.

Virgil looked at him. "I also wanted to be with you," he continued. "First time on the island – I didn't want you to be alone."

John smiled. He had been on his own on this day for many years and knew Virgil realised that. He nudged his brother lightly.

"Thanks."

For a while, they stared at the sky in silence. Virgil lay back, one arm curled under his head and John hid a smirk when he saw his brother's eyes struggling to stay open. But there was a selfish part of him enjoying having the company and he started speaking. Inconsequential things that meant nothing other than to him; shared memories of the past; how he felt about International Rescue.

Virgil sat up. John knew he was the one the others turned to when they needed to let things out – it was an unspoken decision he was the best listener, it was why it worked so well with him on Five. But it meant he often forgot to speak, forgot to say what was on his mind, too used to dealing with things by himself.

He also couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to Virgil like this. His brother sought out Scott and that was how it had always been. But sitting on the roof, staring at the stars and talking about nothing important meant John felt closer to his brother than he had done for a while. When he glanced at Virgil and saw a soft smile on his face, he realised Virgil was feeling the same.

They had been out for about an hour when John suddenly realised Virgil was shivering.

"I'm fine," his brother protested when John said something. He recognised the set to Virgil's jaw: his brother wanted to stay out here and nothing was going to persuade him otherwise. John also had to admit he didn't want Virgil to go in.

Looking down at himself, he smiled before pulling his sweater off and holding it out to Virgil.

"Here."

"You'll get cold!" Virgil made no move to take it but John insisted.

"I'm fine. Put it on."

"I'm okay…" Virgil didn't sound convinced and John rolled his eyes.

"Put it on before I get Scott to drag you back inside."

Scott was the only one who could physical move Virgil and they both knew it. Virgil huffed – a dramatic sigh that made John laugh – but took the offered sweater. He pulled it on with a small frown. John knew he recognised it but didn't say anything.

"Now can I stay out?" Virgil whined, grinning as he did so.

"If you're a good boy," John teased and Virgil shoved him.

But then they went back to their conversation. They spoke late into the night and when John looked up to the stars – knowing Thunderbird Five was amongst them – they suddenly didn't feel as far away.

Virgil woke up.

Which, in itself, was something of a miracle considering it was pitch black. The entire family knew nothing disturbed him once he had gone to bed. But he stared at the ceiling, coming to the unfavourable conclusion that, yes, he was awake and no, he didn't think he was about to drop back off to sleep.

Slipping out of bed, he yawned, scrubbed a hand through his hair and crossed to the balcony. There was a cool breeze coming in but as Virgil rested his hand on the door, ready to shut it, something caught his eye. Movement from down below drew his attention and he winced when he realised the automatic lighting around the pool was on. There was a dark figure in the water and Virgil didn't need to ask who.

He pulled on a sweater, paused for a moment before grabbing a second and slipping from his room. The rest of the villa was quiet, another sign that it was an ungodly hour and, if he hadn't known what was bothering Gordon, he would have killed his brother for waking him up.

He moved silently, pausing only when he heard Scott roll over just as he passed his door. He would only have to breathe too loudly and Scott would join him, but this was something Virgil needed to take care of himself.

He went down the stairs, across the lounge and flicked the catch on the doors, slipping outside and immediately shivering, hugging his arms around himself as he moved towards the pool. Nothing could get through to Gordon when he was moving and Virgil perched on the edge of a lounger, knowing he could be sitting there for a while. He looked around and saw the portable clock Gordon had balanced on the edge of the pool. Virgil sighed, watching his brother sadly, knowing exactly what this was about.

He never tired of watching Gordon in the water, even if it was the middle of the night with only the harsh spotlights for illumination. But as the clock ticked, Virgil found himself yawning, wondering if his brother would even be prepared to listen to him when he came up for air.

He lost count of how many lengths Gordon did before he paused and looked at the clock. He slammed his hand on the top, stopping the counter, his entire body tense. Virgil shifted, forcing his brother to look at him.

"What are you doing up?" Despite his clear agitation, Gordon kept his voice quiet, clearly not wanting anyone else to be disturbed.

"Someone was swimming at a stupid time," Virgil said. He stood up, beckoning his brother. "Get out."

"I just want-,"

"Now." It wasn't often he pulled the big brother card on Gordon – they both agreed Scott and John were overbearing enough. But that didn't mean he didn't have the power to do so and Gordon obediently got out of the water. Virgil chucked the towel Gordon had brought out and waited until his brother had dried off and was perched on the edge of another lounger.

"Why is doing this at midnight any different compared to doing it during the day?"

"I couldn't sleep," Gordon admitted, running his fingers through his wet hair.

"The race?"

His brother shrugged, hugging his arms around himself. Virgil smiled before tossing him the second sweater. Gordon frowned at it and Virgil had to gesture for him to put it on.

Last time the Olympics were being held, Gordon was competing – winning medals and fulfilling dreams. This time, the journalists were querying where he was and what he was doing. Virgil knew what the clock meant – Gordon was trying to beat his own personal best, just to prove to himself he still had what it took. None of them would give up their new life, but there were occasions where the lure of their old was too strong to ignore.

"It shouldn't even matter," Gordon said. He drew his knees to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. The sweater was long on him and Virgil smiled, glancing away so his brother didn't see.

"It was your dream."

"This, our life now, this is what I want. If someone gave me the choice, I wouldn't hesitate."

Virgil heard the frustration in his brother's voice and knew Gordon himself didn't understand where this desire to prove himself came from. Virgil looked at the clock, knowing it wasn't anywhere close to Gordon's best time. He was frustrated, and it was the middle of the night. It was hardly surprising he couldn't beat it.

"Go back to bed, Gords," Virgil said. "You can't do it now."

"I can't sleep," Gordon repeated. Virgil stood, moved across to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You've already beaten it."

"What?"

"The rescue the other day? When you ended up in the river after that kid? I timed you. Three seconds quicker, in rough water."

"You timed me?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

Virgil shrugged. "I know what you're like. The distance looked right, so figured why not."

"And you remember my time?"

"Gords… your dream came true that day. I remember everything about it."

"I…" It wasn't often Gordon was lost for words. He just gaped, staring at Virgil as if they had never met.

Virgil smiled at him. "Reckon you can get some sleep now?"

Gordon looked at the water, then looked away and nodded. Virgil hauled him to his feet, laughing when the sweater reached mid-thigh on his brother. Gordon had never been the tallest Tracy. His brother glared at him, which only caused Virgil to ruffle his hair.

"C'mon," he said, "before Scott realises we're out of bed."

"You got downstairs without him hearing?"

Virgil nodded, and Gordon looked impressed. It worried him how his brother had slipped out though, if that was the reaction.

Then he decided it really didn't matter. Slinging an arm around Gordon's shoulders, he steered him back inside. They made it back to their rooms in silence but Gordon called him softly, hovering outside of his door.

"Thanks."

"Anytime." Virgil thought for a moment. "But preferably daylight hours if it's all the same to you."

Gordon snorted, disappearing through his door. Virgil watched for a moment, satisfied with a job well done. Then he yawned, his jaw cracking, as his body protested being up and he stumbled towards his own bed, content he had set Gordon's mind at ease.

"You're right," Gordon said, "I can't give it to Al."

"Save it for an occasion," John advised. Gordon nodded.

"Maybe if Tin-Tin breaks up with him."

"If?" Virgil snorted, sitting up. He didn't know when he had laid down. "You mean when."

"You can only give it once," Scott said. "They break up every other week."

"Alright," Gordon held up his hands, laughing, "I get the point."

Virgil watched his brother snatch up the sweater and put it on, staking his claim for a while longer. Virgil glanced around, chuckling when he realised Scott and John had the same fond expression on their faces as he did. Gordon noticed a second later and scowled even as he blushed.

"Stop looking at me like that!"

Virgil knew they weren't just thinking about Gordon wearing it though, but recalling the fond memories that had resulted in it being passed down in the first place.

"It fit Virg better than you," John said apologetically. Scott laughed.

"It fits Gordon better than it fitted you," he said. John scowled.

"You guys are the brawn," he said, "everyone knows I'm the brains out of all of us."

"You mean scrawny?"

Virgil was glad – for Gordon's sake – that John was on Thunderbird Five, if the look on his brother's face was anything to go by.

"Okay," Scott said, stepping away from the wall as if preparing to physically separate them. "This isn't helping Gordon think of something for Alan."

"Get him a new game," Virgil said lazily, "it's what the rest of us have done."

"I haven't," John said, "I got him a book."

"On game theory." Scott smirked, shaking his head when John tried to think of a comeback and failed. But before they could say anything else, someone knocked on the door.

Scott quickly took his place by the door again, wincing as he put his foot in front of it. Virgil shot him an apologetic look. But no one tried opening the door – giving away who was standing the other side.

"Gordon, dear, if you want your laundry done, you have to let me in."

Virgil snorted and Scott moved his foot, letting Gordon open the door. The old lady shuffled in, her smile broadening when she saw four of her grandsons in the room.

"What are you boys up to?"

"Scheming," Gordon said, giving her his biggest smile. She patted him lightly on the cheek, moving further in and perching on the bed next to Virgil. He scooted over to give her more room.

"That's nice," she said mildly. "The kitchen is off-limits."

Virgil laughed. Only their grandmother would be completely unphased by the idea that they were up to something. She was more than used to it.

"Gords doesn't know what to get Alan for Christmas," John said. Their grandmother reached up, patting Gordon's hand.

"The best present you can give is spending some time with him."

Gordon pulled a face. "I think he'd rather something to unwrap."

"In my day-,"

Virgil looked at Scott, his eyes going wide in an unspoken plea for his brother to do something to stop her before they were here all afternoon, listening to stories of her younger days. Scott shut his eyes in resignation, and Virgil realised his brothers were giving him the exact same look.

"Um, Grandma?" Scott sounded tentative about interrupting, but he couldn't ignore three younger brothers looking at him that way.

She looked up and, even from the angle he was at, Virgil could see the twinkle in her eye. She knew exactly what they were thinking. She patted Virgil's leg and stood up, her hands on her hips as she stared at Gordon.

"I do wish you'd let me darn that top, dear," she said. Gordon stepped back, shaking his head.

"It's fine," he said, defensively.

"I remember making that sweater," she continued, "must have been forty years ago."

"You made it?" Virgil looked at his brothers: they hadn't known that either.

"You can't get wool of that quality these days."

"For Dad?" Scott asked. She shook her head though.

"Heavens no. Your father wouldn't wear anything I made when he was your age. It was your grandfather's."

"It was Grandad's?" John's astonishment captured Virgil's emotions perfectly. He looked at Scott, but even his eldest brother looked stunned. He hadn't known that either.

"How did Dad get it?" Gordon asked. The old lady smiled, looking at Scott.

"The night you were born," she said. "Your father was in such a state, rushing around. Your mother was as cool as you like but your dad ran out of the house without even a jacket to get her to the hospital in time. Of course, the silly man was shivering within an hour."

"So Grandad gave him his sweater?" John said, smiling. Virgil matched his grin. The tradition had begun even before they were born.

Their grandmother nodded. "He was wearing it when we left the hospital, but he was holding you, Scott. Your grandfather was hardly going to ask him to put his new-born son down in order to give him a sweater back. It got put in the back of the closet. I never realised he brought it to the island until I first saw Scott wearing it."

She smiled at them, an all-knowing smile that revealed she knew precisely why Gordon was now the one wearing it. Then she bustled towards the door.

"Bring your laundry down when you've finished scheming," she said, shutting the door behind her as she left.

"I've got an idea for you," Virgil said, grinning, "you could knit Al his own."

He flinched back as Gordon turned towards him. Scott stepped forward at the same time, clearly intending to hold Gordon back. But as he reached out, he caught himself in time, his arm jerking as he aborted the original plan of grabbing the back of the sweater.

It was only rolling off the bed that saved Virgil from finding out exactly what Gordon thought of that idea.