The Teapot

This is a work of fan-fiction, deriving from the 1960s television series "Thunderbirds". Characters and situations are used without permission and not for profit.

This ficlet is set some time before the first episode ('Trapped in the Sky') and was inspired by a three-word prompt challenge from my former writer's group: incorporate 'teapot', 'screwdriver' and 'verisimilitude' in a story of less than three thousand words.

I'm afraid I'm badly out of practice at writing Thunderbirds. Comments and criticisms are always welcome!

"No"

Rosebud lips pursed and then set in a hard line. Cornflower-blue eyes, hitherto bright and doll-like against the lady's porcelain complexion, clouded and took on the cool lustre of grey steel.

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward tilted her head a little to one side, her cigarette holder poised as she contemplated the object Brains had just set in front of her.

"No," she repeated, voice calm but firm. "This really won't do at all."

Brains blinked, his expression flabbergasted, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment as much as insult.

He hadn't exactly expected this trip to be easy. The lady-spy's discreet but impressive reputation would have warned him otherwise, even if Mr Tracy hadn't taken the time to do the same. Even so, after almost two years working with his employer's strong-willed and sharp-minded sons, Brains hadn't expected a noble-born Englishwoman to present a challenge, or to confront him in such direct terms, and he'd seen nothing since his arrival to change his mind.

She had been charmingly collected, but almost as delighted as her man Parker, when Brains arrived with her family's vintage Rolls Royce that afternoon. She had contented herself with a swift, thorough study of the vehicle, even as Parker ran his hands over its curves, satisfied that the redesign and rebuild for its new role hadn't marred the classic lines. Following the lady inside, relieved to pass that first hurdle, Brains had let Lady Penelope's practised small-talk ease him. His awe and discomfort at setting foot in so large a house subsided under the soothing flow of words. He'd relaxed, not suspecting that the second offering of his trip would meet with flat rejection.

"Ah…" Adjusting his glasses, Brains considered the teapot he'd just drawn from his travel bag, inspecting it for cracks or chips. It was hard to imagine what else might warrant so rapid and total a disapproval from Lady Penelope. The sturdy blue-glazed stoneware looked flawless to him, at least to casual impression. It sat on her ladyship's Louis Quatorze table with a reassuring solidity, a sense of Britishness that had comforted him as he worked on it. The young scientist might have been American-born, but the thick-walled pot summoned memories of his happy years in Oxford; of afternoon tea by the fire in his mentor's rooms, discussing concepts in theoretical physics that eluded most of the college's senior members, let alone Brains' teenage peers.

"Oh, my dear young man." A slender hand reached out, touching his arm, expressing gentile sympathy. "I do hope I have not disappointed you, and on our first meeting too."

Brains blinked again, first at the hand on his arm and then in confusion. "I'm, ah, sorry, Lady Penelope. Mr Tracy suggested a household appliance might be appropriate to, ah, conceal your communications unit."

"Did he, indeed?" The lady's lips pursed again, her face unreadable for a few seconds before her polite smile returned. "I do wonder what he could have been thinking."

Brains' brow creased in thought. "Well, I believe he, actually, ah, said 'something you'd find in an English house'." Embarrassed, the young man tore his eyes from the attractive young woman in front of him, and peered over the thick rim of his spectacles at the rich scarlet-and-gold wallpaper and ornate furniture that filled the room. "I, ah, suppose I might have misunderstood."

Penelope's laughter rang like bells: the trained product of years of finishing school. It took everything Brains had not to flinch. He remembered the sound well. The Oxford college he'd called home during his formative years had boasted its compliment of well-educated, intriguing and thoroughly mystifying creatures like the one in front of him now. He'd been as much a curiosity to them as they were to him. His youth, several years their junior in age and a lifetime in experience, had just added to his apparent lure. The young genius been thankful to escape to the laboratory, where men and women were physicists alike, and polite, trained laughter was seldom heard.

The same, of course, could be said for Tracy Island.

"Gordon suggested a coffee pot."

Lady Penelope shuddered and Brains shuddered right alongside her, their thoughts, for once, in perfect harmony.

"I am grateful to learn you resisted that suggestion, at the very least."

"So I, ah, thought maybe a teapot? The thermal gradients of regular use will power the internal energy converter, eliminating the need for an external power source, you see, and the lid will act as a speaker." He paused, a familiar hesitation creeping back into his voice, as his mind wandered back to Oxford days. "I, ah, suppose I could have made an, ah, modern glass-and-steel one, like they have in the new combination room back at hall." He looked at the device he'd fashioned instead: a near twin to the chipped pot that had served his guardian faithfully for decades. Frowning, expression doubtful, he adjusted his glasses once more before chancing another glance at the lady. "I, ah, thought you would prefer a more traditional format."

Lady Penelope studied the young scientist sitting in her parlour. The lady raised her cigarette holder to her lips, before holding it aside, the gesture graceful and precise. Her eyes never left his.

"And, in that, you show impeccable judgement."

Brains straightened in his seat, his relief showing before he could hide it. "Then you'll use the communicator?"

"Oh, no. That would be simply impossible." She reached out again to pat his arm, and this time Brains was quite sure that she knew her body language unsettled him. If just half of what he'd heard around the Tracy Island dinner table was true, she was too skilled a student of human nature not to know. The amusement shone bright and clear in her eyes even as she let a slight frown crease her perfect brow. "It quite lacks verisimilitude. We shall have to come to some other arrangement."

It was the laughter – silent as it was – that did it. Brains bridled, memories of the bewildering and sometimes cruel young women of his teenage years coming to the foreground. He'd shown them. He'd proven himself in an ocean of studies that would leave them floundering within reach of dry land. He didn't have to take this.

What was it Scott was constantly telling him?

That he ought to exert himself more: learn when to say no.

Tracy Island, with its over-abundance of strong personalities, wasn't the best place to develop that knack, but he could stand his ground against the Tracy men when need be – on technical matters if nothing else. Here, he might be off his familiar territory but he was still on solid ground, talking about a device he'd built and had total confidence in. Besides, he refused to back down over something as trivial as a teapot.

"I'm, ah, afraid the pot really is the best housing for the communications device, Lady Penelope. Modifying it at this stage is quite, ah, impossible. There may be time to revise it later, when we are, ah, operational." Brains stood, hands smoothing down his trousers in place of the lab coat he habitually wore. "Now Mister Tracy wanted me to, ah, return promptly. I have to finish wiring Mobile Control and…"

"My dear Mr, ah, Brains!" The steely glint was back in the lady's eyes, her gaze unflinching. "I couldn't hear of you leaving so soon. Not after so long a journey. Parker!" She didn't raise her voice, the imperative tone doing all the work of a less genteel call.

"M'Lady?"

And how in the world did the servant get there so fast? Brains blinked, adjusting his glasses and swallowing compulsively. His instinctive, half-step backwards was forestalled by the overstuffed armchair that struck the back of his knees and forced him to sit again in a hurry.

"Our guest will be staying with us tonight. I believe he would find a tour of the house and grounds most… instructive."

"But, ah, Lady Pene…"

"Now, now, Brains dear. If we are to work together, we simply must get to know one another." She met his eyes, and now all the laughter was gone, and the steel was plain to see. "I quite insist."

The front panel of International Rescue's Mobile Control unit was a mass of lights and controls, arranged ergonomically around the displays that would keep Scott informed of any emergency confronting him.

The back of the unit appeared something of a disaster zone itself.

Wires and connectors hung in bunches, some plaited to hold them together, others clipped or bound in groups. Head buried deep in the device's innards, Brains sorted through them, his short, chestnut-brown hair almost as ruffled and chaotic as the wires sprouting all around it.

"You've dropped your screwdriver."

Brains startled before he could help himself, the back of his skull coming into painful contact with the top of the metal console. He backed out without comment, his irritation and vehement curses internalised rather than voiced aloud.

"Hey! You all right there, Brains?"

Scott Tracy squatted beside the console, a hand extended to steady the slighter scientist as Brains emerged. Sharp blue eyes scanned him anxiously, taking care to catch his gaze and evaluate his alertness. International Rescue's field commander was yet to go out on his first official rescue, but a career in the Air Force and a lifetime with four active younger brothers made him a veteran already. Brains might be the team's doctor, but felt himself assessed and pronounced fit in the passing moment before Scott's expression relaxed.

The broad shouldered young man reached down, one hand scooping up a slender metal tool and extending it sheepishly.

"Sorry?" he offered.

Brains' sighed. He shook his head and adjusted his glasses, dismissing the apology. "Can I help you, Scott?"

"Kyrano wants to know if you'll be joining us for dinner."

Brains' second sigh escaped before he could suppress it. He could almost feel the half-wired console lurking behind him in mute accusation.

"Please, ah, thank Kyrano, Scott. I believe two days at the mercy of Lady Penelope's cook has, ah, fortified me to work through the evening."

There was a thoughtful expression in Scott's eyes as he agreed. The pilot watched as Brains' attention drifted back to the console and his work.

"Of course, if you hadn't decided to stay the weekend at Penny's, you wouldn't be so behind with Mobile Control." The young man reached out to take back the screwdriver he'd retrieved, rolling it between the fingers of one hand, the other combing back through his dark hair. "This is new. From Parker's micro-forge?"

Brains blinked, his attention refocusing sharply on his upright, respectable and utterly honest friend. "You know Parker makes his own… tools?"

Scott's blue eyes met his, colour bright and unmuted despite Brains' thick glass lenses. There was no doubt in the young scientist's mind that Scott knew as well as he that they weren't talking of rakes or other household paraphernalia. A weekend in Lady Penelope's household, drawn almost against his will into dangers, thrills and excitements he'd never dreamed of, had opened Brains' eyes. Perhaps Scott had experienced a similar awakening.

"Never a dull moment around Creighton Manor." Scott chuckled, the deep laughter inclusive rather than exclusive. "I learn something new every time I visit."

Brains tilted his head, and then adjusted his glasses as they threatened to slip down the bridge of his nose.

"Parker was kind enough to show me how to work silver." Amongst other things.

Scott nodded, his expression bemused but resisting the urge to ask questions. He jerked his head to one side, nodding at the counter.

"Say, isn't that the old teapot you wanted to give Penny?"

Brains followed his gaze, a small smile playing across the scientist's usual neutral expression. "It lacked verisimilitude."

Scott grinned, recognising the phrasing as Penelope's, even if the context escaped him. A grumble from the pilot's stomach interrupted the moment and put another chuckle on Scott's lips. "Kyrano's kitchen is calling." He nodded at Mobile Control. "I'll be down later to help you out with that."

"Thank you, ah, Scott."

The young man was gone before Brains could finish speaking, his decisive manner and restless energy almost as comfortably familiar as the lab itself. Of course Scott knew. Mr Tracy himself certainly must. And it all explained a lot about just how they'd selected their London Agent. Even so, Brains chuckled to himself, relieved to find he wasn't alone in sharing the secret of Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.

Mobile Control was waiting. The rewiring would take the rest of the day, and the night too – perhaps a few hours less with Scott there to help. Brains really ought to get back to it.

First though, he turned back to the front of the unit and the indicator lights lined up along the lower right hand panel. Replacing one of them was the work of a few minutes, even taking into account the time Brains spent sketching in the silhouette of a gracefully curved, hand-chased silver, Regency teapot. He didn't need a model. The memory of working on the original alongside Parker, of Penelope's small smile of satisfaction on seeing the reformatted device, was enough.

Nodding to himself, Brains stepped back. Twirling the new screwdriver between his fingers, he inspected his handiwork.

No doubt Scott would be surprised to find the Bowler hat icon replaced. Those who saw it in the field would be bemused. That was all to the good - just another layer of mystery to add to those Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward wrapped around her.

Brains would never again look at Penelope's comm-button without recalling that the lady was a force to be reckoned with, and that nothing was impossible given sufficient incentive and force of will.

It was a lesson worth remembering.

The End.