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Scott's hands shook.
It was a secret that he kept closely guarded from his family. To them he was – and had always been – the very embodiment of cool and courage. Even before he had joined the ranks of International Rescue, he had been decorated for valour during his service with the US Air Force. Indeed, in many ways, he was the perfect leader and pilot. He was strong, decisive, daring...everything that Jeff Tracy had ever hoped that his eldest son would be.
But then, when Scott took to the air in Thunderbird 1, the shaking would begin. An involuntary tremor would run down his arm, a by-now familiar knot of fear gathering in his stomach. Never mind the actual mission itself - it took all of the young man's resolve simply to quell the tide of nausea that rose at the back of his throat.
The truth was that, beneath his mask of steely determination, Scott was terrified.
...Terrified of failing his brothers.
...Terrified of losing them.
Because that was the risk that they all took. Every time that they donned the famous blue-capped uniform, there was always a chance that one of them would be hurt...or worse...and as the official field leader of the Thunderbirds team, Scott understood only too well the massive responsibility that had been placed upon his shoulders. All it would take would be one tiny mistake on his part...just one single miscalculation...and the consequences would be dire for them all. It was that terrible thought drove his every waking moment, and haunted his deepest nightmares when he was asleep...the thought that his brother's lives were – quite literally – in his hands.
...It was perhaps no wonder then, in that case, that Scott Tracy's hands shook.
Night-time at Tracy Island, and Virgil stood in the open doorway to the lab, nursing a mug of steaming-hot coffee in his hand.
The laboratory was quiet, but it had its own soft pulse, the white-noise murmur of machinery constant in the background. The room was cool and smelt vaguely damp, the air thick with the metallic tang of motor-oil. Various technical drawings of Thunderbird 1 were pinned to the walls, a single desk- light glowed weakly against the surrounding darkness.
Part office, part mechanics lab: this was Scott Tracy's private work place.
Scott sat alone at his desk, a stack of blue-prints scattered before him. Resting his forehead in his palm, he poured over the papers with an almost feverish intensity, lips moving in wordless motion as he ran through endless mental calculations. Virgil sighed inwardly as he watched his brother work. It was almost half-past three in the morning...what was he doing?
With his still, solemn eyes and unshakably calm demeanour, Virgil Tracy held himself with an air of quiet resolve. Bare feet padding quietly on the concrete floor, he approached Scott's desk and wordlessly set the cup of coffee down upon it. Scott hesitated in his work, a ghost of a frown still playing on his brow. Slowly, he looked up. The two brother's eyes met and held, a glimmer of unspoken understanding passing intangibly between them.
Neither said anything for a long moment.
Then, silently, Scott lowered his eyes to the steaming cup of coffee placed before him. The tired lines on his face seemed to ease somewhat, a look of heartfelt gratitude briefly relaxing his features. For the first time that evening, he pushed the heap of blue-prints to one side.
"Thanks Virgil," he murmured quietly, accepting the cup with hands that no longer trembled.
Virgil smiled – small and serene – and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"It's no trouble."