“OH MY FUCKING GOD, LOOK!” The shriek echoed through the corridor from the day room of Allegheny General, causing Doctors and Patients alike to see what the rumpus was about. Amongst the mass was 16 year old Justin Taylor, admitted due to a broken arm which, at present, was taped across his chest to keep it from being moved unnecessarily. His blond hair fell over his blue eyes as he skidded to a stop in front of the TV, just beside Daphne, his best friend who’d been visiting at that precise moment when the scream had echoed. Everyone crowed around the small, square black and white television set, watching with anticipation as the building started to collapse in the news. A building in which Justin’s dad was working. “Daddy…” he breathed, as he listened to the reporter who, after a moment, gasped loudly. Justin slunk back, not wanting to know what had caused the gasp, his lithe body allowing him to slink between people unnoticed. Or it did, until he heard the one phrase that he found himself silently praying to hear. “Oh, my god, is that? Clive, can you see that? It’s the THUNDERBIRDS!” she squealed as the cameraman panned up to where the cobalt and grey ship was hovering. Justin reappeared beside Daphne and looked over at her. “Thunderbird 1”, they mumbled in unison, matching grins on their two teens faces. Silence fell across the mass as, with wide eyes, they watched the screen, eyes flicking back and forth as the camera moved. “I don’t believe it, the Thunderbirds have saved the day again!” Cheers erupted around them as the blond punched the air, “YES!” he laughed triumphantly, wrapping his good arm round his friend’s shoulder and hugging her to him as they turned to return to Justin’s room, only to be stopped by his Doctor. “Justin Taylor!?” he asked, somewhat coldly. Yes, well, ever since Justin had refused to blow him, he’d been giving him the cold shoulder. Not that Justin cared what this balding, aged man did; he was more worried about being slipped Tylenol in his pain medication. “What?” the smaller boy asked, a slender eyebrow raised as he leant on one hip. “There’s someone here to see you and your… friend”, he growled, stalking out the room, allowing Justin and Daphne to enter. That’s when he saw her. The woman he’d caught watching him for the past few months. She always seemed to pop up. If he was in trouble, she’d be there to get him out. A few times, after he’d ended up in a holding cell, she’d come to bail him out. Her blonde hair framed her face as she flashed him a dazzling smile. “Hello, Justin”, she said, her English accent calming him from the initial alarm of seeing her. “Miss Creighton-Ward”, he greeted, amazing himself at how English he sounded when he said her surname. “How are you darling?” This caused Justin to blush, something Justin never did. “I’m alright, you?” “Wonderful Justin, shall we go?” Daphne blinked, her head moving from the male to the woman, in a way that resembled the opens at Wimbledon, before her head snapped back to Justin. “GO!? But…but, Justin! You have a broken arm and bruised ribs, you can’t just GO!” she shrieked, eyes wide as she stared. The blond tried to bite back a smile as Justin squeezed his friends shoulder. “Don’t worry, Daphne, I’m sure Penelope will let you come”, he grinned towards the older woman, receiving a nod in return before she threw some clothes at Justin. Once he was dressed in cargos and a pale blue shirt, she turned for the door. “Let’s go then.”