I do not own Thunderbirds, or any of the characters. I do, however, own her. You'll see what I mean.

Chapter 1— Invisible Protector

Sometimes she sat beside Virgil Tracey on his piano bench, listening as he played for no one but himself. Sometimes she lay on her back in the pool beside Gordon Tracey, watching as he searched the night skies for signs of his brother John. Sometimes she slept at Scott Tracey's side as he tinkered with the insides of Thunderbird 1. Sometimes she watched the stars with John Tracey, learning the constellations as he whispered them to himself. And sometimes her hands ghosted through the tears Alan Tracey shed as his loneliness became too much for him to bear.

Sometimes she led Tin-tin through the jungle, and other times Tin-tin led her. There was something in the way Tin-tin moved that made her sure the girl knew she was there, but Tin-tin could not see her.

Sometimes she talked to Hiram Hackenbacker as if he could hear her—he never could.

Sometimes she sat with Jefferson Tracey in his office after a long rescue, watching as one by one, his boys called on him.

Did you really exist if none could perceive you? Her mother had once told her that she would have a greater calling in life, but this half-life she lived was definitely not what her mother had in mind. Still, she was privy to an amazing family, and she wouldn't change her position for the world. Because someday, she knew, someone would see her. Someone would believe in her. She knew it had to be true.

It had happened before.

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She was beside Virgil now, her hands ghosting over his streaked brown hair as he played the piece that had once been his mother's favourite. She enjoyed these moments, in between rescues, before the Traceys became the Thunderbirds.

And they were the Thunderbirds, through and through. It was that she had to stay close to one of the family, and she accompanied them on rescues more often than not.

The only thing that convinced her that she was still human was the fact that she still had the most basic of human needs—she ate, she slept, and she relieved herself just as she had when she was still corporeal. It was harder now, though, and she was sure that at least one person in the family knew of her existence.

Virgil's fingers stilled on the keys, cutting off the music mid-note as a new sound emanated from his wrist. Without a word he packed up the piano and made his way to his father's office, which doubled as Command and Control. She followed, sidestepping Scott as he opened his bedroom door. Gordon joined his brothers, jogging a little to catch up.

She followed. This was what she liked about her life—getting to see the five brothers interacting together. It was not often that she saw them all together. With John up in space more often than not and Alan away at school, the family dynamic was stunted, if not lost completely. Jeff Tracey was a good man and an excellent father, but he sometimes forgot he had five sons, not just the three who lived on the island year-round.

There was a promise on the horizon, however. Brains was due to head up to Thunderbird 5 in a few days to relieve John, and Alan was returning from boarding school for spring break. The entire Tracey family would be together for the first time in almost a year, and she wouldn't feel as if she was being drawn in five different directions.

Speaking of…the inescapable pull that was unique to John drew her out of her thoughts and up, thousands of miles above the surface of the earth into Thunderbird 5. She was pulled to whichever Tracey needed her most. Not her specifically, but the presence she provided, even if they didn't know it. The last little while, she had spent much of her time with Alan. The fifteen-year-old was feeling neglected, but at least he had his best friend, Fermat Hackenbacker with him day and night.

But right now, it was John. Rescues were hard on John, because he did not take a physical part in the event themselves. He was the voice—he talked to the victims, reassured them. Unfortunately, he was sometimes the last voice they heard before they died, and that was a job he did not take lightly.

She looked over John's shoulder after she materialized, reading the screen. A fire at an oil rig in Russia, then. Nothing her boys couldn't handle.

John was listening to his father rattle off orders, "Scott, keep pace with Thunderbird 2. Racing on ahead will not help in this situation. Arm the fire-suppressant rockets. Virgil, Gordon, we'll take Thunderbird 2. Virgil, I'll need you on the rescue platform, so you'll have to consent the controls to your brother and I. John, keep an eye on the situation. What is our ETA?"

"Under two hours. I answered the distress call."

"Excellent, John," she could imagine what her boys were doing, stepping into the lifts behind their portraits, "Thunderbirds are go."

She watched the rescue with John, watched as Thunderbird 1 was nearly engulfed in flames, watched as Virgil nearly fell from the rescue platform. Nearly. It seemed that their lives were a series of near misses.

But then they were out, and flying their victims to a hospital in San Francisco, with Virgil patching them up en route. They would be fine, and so would her boys.

"Dad, radar indicates FAB 1 is an hour out from Tracey Island. You can overtake her if you leave now," John said. He no longer needed her, and she was pulled towards Alan. She soon found out why.

Alan was scared. He was terrified that his family would go out on a rescue, and one or more of them would not come back. She longed to comfort him, to tell him right away that his brothers were alright.

When Gordon had had his hydrofoil accident, she had been drawn in so many different directions that she was surprised she hadn't split into six. It was only after Alan had joined his family that she had been able to regain her bearings. Alan was terrified of that happening again, and quite frankly, so was she.

She hadn't been of any use to them then, when they had needed her the most. The event only fueled her belief that the Traceys were meant to stay together—so that they would not split her.

She settled onto the floor of FAB 1, at the feet of Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. Lady Penelope was one of the only members of the family that she was not bound to, because Lady Penelope did not hold a permanent residence on Tracey Island. She and her manservant, Parker, visited regularly, but Penny had duties in England.

Alan wasn't speaking, not even to Fermat. She read the discarded portions of Lady Penelope's newspaper as she waited for something to happen. She hated that she could not physically influence the brooding teenager. If she could, she would have slapped him upside the head.

He didn't realize how good he had it. He had a family, for one thing, and so many friends. He was a physical being, for goodness sake! He could plead his case, and people would listen to him. He didn't have to wait for no one to need him to sneak off into the jungle in order to relieve himself. He didn't have to go days without eating because Gordon was lamenting his inability to swim, stuck up on Thunderbird 5.

Those days didn't happen very often. Normally she spent a few hours with each brother, and the rest of the hours were hers to wander the island.

"Approaching Tracey Island, my Lady," Parker said, "And radar indicates we have some company."

Lady Penelope looked up, and she followed her line of sight. Thunderbird 1 and Thunderbird 2 filled the view outside both windows.

Alan flashed a huge smile and a thumbs-up at his brother. Scott returned the gesture with a wave of his gloved hand, smiling as well. In Thunderbird 2, Virgil and Gordon were barely visible behind their father. Raising his own gloved hand, Jeff saluted his youngest son.

A little bit of the Alan Tracey that she knew was just under his skin surfaced in Alan's next comment, "I wish that was me."

She wished she could talk to him, wished she could talk to all of them. She'd remind Jeff of all his sons, tell Scott that he could stand to act a little bit more like a kid. She could remind John that although he was very much like his mother, he wasn't her, and he could relax a little. She could talk to Virgil about the anger he sometimes put into his music and paintings, and about how he treated his brothers. She could rein in Gordon when he became too much for Scott to handle, and lift his spirits when he was down. She could tell Alan not to be in such a hurry to grow up, because once he did, he was never getting his childhood back.

Scott, being the flyboy that he was, performed a neat little trick where he looped both FAB 1 and Thunderbird 2, and then both Thunderbird vehicles started their final approach to the island.

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It wasn't that much later that she was tucking Virgil into bed. The two-toned Tracey was already asleep, but she was rearranging the covers around him. Virgil was not a morning person. If he kept going at the rate he was, he would get a migraine. Thankfully, he had realized that sleep was his best friend at the moment and retired to his bed shortly after eating. Gordon and Scott were still in the kitchen, and Alan was off with Fermat.

She was worried about Alan. She knew he had to be hungry—he hadn't eaten in a handful of hours, and that was a long time for a Tracey. While all of the Traceys could eat enough to feed two grown men, it was only Alan and Scott that could eat their body weight in one sitting. Alan never missed meals, unless something was really bothering him.

These days, it seemed, every little thing could set him off, however. Every little thing could 'really' bother him. It was driving his brothers and father up the wall. More often than not, one could find one of the Traceys speaking to the heavens, imploring their deceased wife/mother to help them deal with Alan.

A face peered around the doorframe. It was Doctor Lucas Palmer, a longtime friend of Jeff's from his astronaut days. Dr. Palmer was the Tracey's primary physician, as Virgil had yet to be fully qualified.

She stilled her hands, lest Luke realized the thin, cobalt blue sheets were moving of their own accord. Luke smiled and left the doorframe, and she continued until she was pulled away by Alan.

She loved Alan, as she loved all the rest of the Traceys. That was undeniable. But he was difficult, more so than his brothers had been. The only reason she could put her finger on was the saddest.

Alan couldn't remember his mother. He had been too young when she had died, barely four years old. Memories from that age were shaky at best—she didn't remember being four at all, but that had been almost seventy years ago. The other boys did not talk about their mother very much, and that angered Alan. His brothers and father kept what they knew locked up tight, afraid of losing it. They didn't realize that by doing that, they were doing exactly what they had not wanted to do. She had thought that at least John would know better, but he was not much better than his brothers.

She was pulled right into the middle of an argument between Jeff and Alan. There was not much she could do but sit and watch. They couldn't hear her, and she couldn't physically interact with living flesh.

"You're damn right you shouldn't have been in there!"

"But, Dad—"

"Do you not recognize the importance of secrecy in our organization? Alan, you fired up a Thunderbird without activating the anti-detection shield. You put everyone in danger when you act selfishly."

"But, Dad!"

"No buts. You're grounded for the rest of Spring Break. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand. I understand that you don't want me to be a Thunderbird. You won't even listen to me when I'm trying to tell you something important!"

"Bottom line, Alan. You need to grow up."

"Then let me!" Alan shot at his father. He turned away, "Please," he mumbled under his breath.

She was torn. Alan was pulling her, but so was Jeff, and even John. In the end, it was Jeff himself who made her decision for her. The small smile he gave when he looked at the picture of his wife and five boys in their snow gear was enough to tell her that he needed to feel a presence right now—Alan just needed to be alone for a while.

"I wish you could see them, Lucy," he muttered, "I wish you were here to help me." The last part was no more than a whisper.

A monitor dinged. John was calling from Thunderbird 5. Jeff called up the image of his second eldest son just as the platinum-blond was rolling into the viewscreen.

"John. Just about to turn in. What can I do for you?"

John held up an energy bar, "I could really use a pizza right now. Know a place that delivers?"

Jeff grinned, "Thirty minutes or it's free, right? What's on your mind, son?"

"Well, we've got a forest fire on Vladivostok, and a typhoon bearing down on Singapore. What's happening on planet Tracey?"

"Alan's home for Spring Break," Jeff said it as if it explained everything, which for the Traceys, it did.

"I thought I saw a storm brewing in your area."

"Teenagers," it was as if the word was a curse.

"Well Dad, we've all been there," gesturing with the energy bar for effect, John continued, "And you've done a great job with us since Mom died."

Jeff's face showed that he didn't really believe John, "Thanks, John. Keep an eye on that typhoon, and I'll call Vladivostok and see if they need help."

"FAB. Thunderbird 5 out."

None of the Traceys needed her badly at the moment, and she urgently needed to relieve herself. Slipping out of the office and down the spiraling staircase, she made her way out into the jungle.

Thankfully, she had never been pulled in the middle of relieving herself. She had, however, been pulled in the middle of bathing. Nakedness meant absolutely nothing when no one could see one in the first place. She had seen the Traceys naked more times than she could count, because when they needed her, a little thing like having clothes on didn't matter.

That tore at her heartstrings. She missed human contact, so much so that it was like a physical ache that permeated her entire being. But she could not touch living flesh—human or animal—until she was granted release from her invisibility.

With one blink, she was on Tracey Island. The next, she was in the familiar console room of John's 'bird, Thunderbird 5. It was not immediately apparent why John had needed her at that very moment, until she heard the computerized voice.

"Impact imminent," it said, and she and John watched the numbers climb from a seventy percent chance of the projectile hitting Thunderbird 5 to a one hundred percent chance.

"Thunderbird 5 to Tracey Island, mayday! May—"John was cut off as he was blasted off his feet. The projectile hit the bird head on, leaving a trail of debris in its wake.

She raced to John's side when the station stopped shaking. John was in a bad way. Activating the emergency switch, she stopped to survey the damage. John had landed just right of the hallway that lead to the living quarters. He'd hit his head and dislocated his shoulder. Added to that was a nifty third-degree burn the size of a tea plate in between his shoulder blades and a large bump on the back of his head, leaking blood into his bleached hair. There may have been more injuries. He would live, of this she was sure, but he needed medical attention.

He was out cold for the moment, but she was stuck on Thunderbird 5, unable to know what was going on down below on the island. She sat next to him, unable to do anything more than just be there for him.

It was times like these that she had failed to anticipate when she had agreed to watch the Traceys. Times like these when she was absolutely useless. She didn't even know what was happening. What had they been hit by? A meteor? No, it had come from the surface of the earth. Something man-made, then. Had the Thunderbirds been the target of a terrorist attack?

It was just under an hour later when John finally stirred. He was barely awake, but he still pushed himself back up the console and attempted to flip the comms switch. His gloved fingers were clumsy, and he missed. She flipped the switch for him, knowing that he would not remember later. He coughed.

"I'm losing all power. Repeat, I'm losing all power."

"Hold on John," Jeff's voice, calm and collected, came over the link, "We're coming in."

John obviously didn't have the strength, so it was her that granted Thunderbird 3 permission to dock. Maybe she wasn't so useless, after all.

After a few minutes, the airlock opened.

"John!" Jeff cried. He raced to his son's side, "Scott, tackle that fire." It was the only fire that she had yet to put out.

Jeff helped John lever himself into a sitting position. John starred up at his father through glassy eyes, "Boy, am I glad to see you."

"Easy, you're hurt. Virgil, take care of your brother. Gordon, get me a damage assessment." Virgil caught John before he collapsed again as Jeff caught up another fire extinguisher and went to help Scott.

Jeff returned to John and Virgil when the fires were out. Virgil had reset John's dislocated shoulder, a process that had drawn a strangled yelp from his older brother, and put the arm into a sling.

"We've got a constant warning light on our EPS systems!" Scott cried.

"Attempt manual override!"

"No, that's a negative!" Scott's voice was nothing short of panic.

"Back to Thunderbird 3," Jeff ordered. He bent down and lifted John, "Sorry John, got to move."

Gordon was already standing by the airlock. He turned back to his father and brothers, "The locking mechanism jammed."

Something that none of them had anticipated happened right then. An overhanging screen flickered to life, displaying a middle-aged, bald Malaysian man in an elaborately embroidered red kimono, "Attention Thunderbird 5. As you can see, I have taken over your facilities. You no longer control your operational systems."

The man in the kimono proceeded to introduce himself as 'the Hood' and lay out his plans in great detail.

Huh. He may have found Tracey Island and the Thunderbirds, but this man was a great fool. She needed to get down to the island.

She spotted her chance when Kyrano and Onaha were brought in by the goons. Their need of her, combined with Brains and the children's, was just enough to bring her down from space.

She materialized just as it was revealed that the Hood was Kyrano's brother.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tracey," Kyrano said as he was shoved into the camera's viewscreen, "I thought he was dead."

The Hood grinned, and his pupils narrowed into slits like that of a cat. Kyrano collapsed, clutching his head.

"Get out of his head!" She cried, forgetting that no one could hear her. Finally, something she could help with!

The Hood pulled out of his brother's head and looked around, "There is someone else here," he stated, "Someone that we cannot see. Come out, come out, wherever you are, little shadow-walker."

She didn't move. Neither did the rest of the room, nor the men on Thunderbird 5.

"I see," the Hood continued, "You are one of them. Well, let's free you from your prison, at the very least. It would be wonderful if we could see every player in the game."

And then he was in her head, lifting what was now her curse. She closed her eyes.

And when she opened them, people who had previously overlooked her stared right at her. There was shock on Brain's face, and the expression was mirrored on Kyrano and Onaha's.

The Hood spoke, "Well, well, shadow walker. How long have you been bound to the Traceys?"

She stared at him, "Why would I tell you that?" her voice was rough from disuse, "You come into my home and attack my family. By what right did you think you could do that?"

"I asked you first."

"You are trespassing in my house; I think you should answer first."

The Hood smirked, "Shall we see how corporeal you really are, Shadow-walker?"

It was her turn to grin, "I have a name. Not that I'll give it to the likes of you. And I am not a Shadow-walker. Would I be protecting this family if I was? Brains, Kyrano, Onaha, I'll be back for you."

The pull of John her boys became too much to bear and she let herself dematerialize. She reformed in front of five shocked Tracey men.