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agentnatesewell · 9 months

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tremendous tasks, dear friends

the wayhaven chronicles | barbara robertson (f!detective) / nate sewell / mason + family (lucas daniels) | 5k words | rated G

happy holidays to @delucadarling on this twelfth night and epiphany eve! i have simply fallen in love with barbie and had such a wonderful time writing for her for the @wayhavensecretsanta

.🎄.

Within the forested woods surrounding a deceptively inconspicuous town, one brimming with holiday cheer and festive wishes, bustling with last-minute preparations of a yuletide celebration for humans and supernaturals alike, sits a dilapidated building. A relic of a time ago, thought abandoned and unbothered, hiding a veiled mansion beyond its crumbling facade.

In this warehouse, now as familiar as home, Barbara Robertson - detective or agent depending on when and who one asks - sits in the center of the living room elegantly dressed for the season. One last task, a final check-in, for the next day’s Wayhaven Christmas Fete remains, and her trusted Filofax is set securely nearby, traded for a cup of steaming, glasses-fogging drinking chocolate. Hands warming against the gold rimmed and whimsically painted precious porcelain, she shifts her attention from event planning to listening, intently, of past traditions once forgone and now renewed.

In this living room, now his home, Nathaniel Sewell - agent and acting commanding agent, a temporary promotion until their team leader returns from a self assigned important mission - sits adjacent, on the floor with long legs tucked beneath him; sweeping his hand over carefully laid materials, collected from the nature surrounding them, on the ivory lace-embroidered cloth covered coffee table. He picks out a hard confection from a glass jar in the middle of the table, passes it to her then reminisces, “My earlier days, when I was with my family, during the Advent period before Christmas Day, my brother and I would spend the morning hours collecting what we could on our grounds. Not dissimilar to what we’ve found on our strolls in town and the community garden this autumn.”

Long branches of holly from the gardens, deepest green leaves with sharp, curved edges, clusters of bright, reddest berries; vines of ivy growing along on the outer stone of their home, long stems dense with lined green and white leaves; hardy sprigs of rosemary from their kitchen window garden, fragrant and robust; precious bundles of mistletoe, from the town’s nursery, with pretty pearlescent white berries; and perhaps his most prized possession of the season, from a bespoke shoppe, a singular pear sitting on a bed of gold foil.

“Are you making a wreath,” she inquires, leaning closer to the greenery. Fingers already occupied with proffered candy instinctively seek her pencil, and blindly slide behind her ear, in case there is need to write any pertinent information of this tradition. As she inspects, Barbie notices there isn’t any sort of evergreen present that she’d become accustomed to with modern wreaths, though perhaps Nate had used all he could find to festoon along the fireplace mantle, perhaps all the evergreen in Wayhaven and the surrounding forest.

“A Christmas Bough.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, voice trailing and he falls into a fog of nostalgia, happy memories returning to overshadow those which usually haunt him. As his thoughts fade, Nate chances a glance at Barbie, and he is pulled back into the present. For behind a curling strand of her blond hair, fallen away from her gilded claw clip, peeks a twist of red and white, and the scent of peppermint. The pencil which is usually there in her hand, in peril of becoming her drink stirrer.

“Barbie?”

“Nate?” The abrupt change in his tone, now alarmed, draws Barbie away from her study. She looks up towards him, green eyes peering over her red plaid-rimmed glasses, taking note at how amusement highlights the honeyed hues of his brown eyes, and how he’s closing the already narrow gap between them, brows raised questioningly and silently awaiting permission to come closer.

And it is easy for her to grant him such permission, as Nate is always so careful, comforting, safe, even in this spontaneity, and Barbie is quite curious what it is that has attracted his attention.

The brush of his thumb across her cheek, his fingers curling at her temple and over the shell of her ear prove far more exhilarating than any spice and sugar rush incurred during the holiday season. Nate chuckles, deep and resonating, just as silver bells sing, and he pulls away, his palm open. “You might find that peppermint candy complements the dark chocolate of your beverage far more than your pencil might.”

“What,” Barbie looks at her cup, pencil between the rim and its high handle, and groans. “Oh my god.” Shaking her head, she drops the utensil with a sharp laugh. “Guess I needed this break. Helping Tina organize the Fete at the station this year is keeping me busier than I imagined. Especially with all of,” she waves her hand, “this.”

Nate knows she is referencing her continued training with the Agency and on-call, standby assistance for the Wayhaven Police Department’s local cases - taking a holiday encouraged, always, during their sporadic diners at the local bistro - but does hope she has been enjoying the past week spent transforming their, in his opinion, humble home into a Christmas wonderland so expertly designed, it would rival the most elegant department store displays. And though Adam and, by order, Unit Bravo, had been convinced by Nate’s suggestion of team building exercises, Barbie has been enjoying herself. Excitement casting her in gold and silver radiance, she is even more breathtaking, indulging herself in the season. Dressed in themed ensembles, time made and spent introducing Farah to popcorn tins and Christmas themed movies, baking and icing so many cookies, decorating while singing tunes so delightful, he has been humming them both in tandem and alone.

Regardless, Barbie deserves empathy and understanding, and a second candy cane. “May I say that the Fete has been coming along quite nicely, and will surely be memorable for years to come.”

“You may,” she accepts his compliment, allowing her fingers, nails painted to resemble ribbon tied gift wrap, to just barely glide along his as she accepts the candy. To avoid a repeat of a near miss, Barbie stirs her drinking chocolate with the straight side of the candied stick, inhaling the melding scents as the steam rises and evaporates into the air. “Thank you, Nate.”

Pleasant moment aside, and desperately needing the embarrassing moment aside, Barbie points the candy cane, melting end, at the table. “Tell me about your Christmas Bough. I thought it was called a Kissing Bough?”

Nate nods. “You’re correct. Formally, these were called Christmas Boughs, and traditionally, Kissing Boughs. Every year, from when we could carry in ash wood or willow wood branches, our bough would adorn the doorway to our drawing room, welcoming our guests for the many parties held during the twelve days post Christmas. Usually family, many cousins, family friends.”

Barbie places her cup on the table, resting her elbow on the edge, listening intently once more. The cadence of his voice again melodic, a nostalgic recitation in celebration of a life passed instead of a sorrow of a life lost.

“One modern convenience this year.” Nate points to a neat stack of green craft wire, set opposite of the shining pear. “Bending curved tree branches into circles is much easier these days, but I would like to focus more on this particular foliage”

“Do they hold any meaning?” She asks, knowing too well that rarely does Nate take on a task casually.

“Holly,” Nate works as he speaks, nimble hands still familiar with the process from centuries ago, tying the branches together with the wire, a blur of green and red repeating until creating a circle. “Everlasting life.”

The irony is not lost on Barbie. By how Nate blinks his eyes, an attempt to keep them clear, she knows it’s not lost on him, either. But then he clears his throat, shapes his mouth back into a smile, and transfers the rest of the holly branches and half of the wire to the space in front of her. An offer to join him, and she obliges; observing and enamored by his hands, mirroring his motions to create a second circle.

“Ivy,” Nate continues, “dependence and endurance. Rosemary, remembrance.” Running the tip of a finger along the leaves, breathing in the released fragrance, he takes a deep breath. Another breath.

As silence grows, the bough making process is acknowledged as a memorial by them both. When her half is complete and returned to him, Barbie lays a hand on Nate’s shoulder. Immediately, she feels him relax, and this time the deep breath is an exhalation. When he turns to her, his smile is genuine, grateful for her grace. “Thank you. My apologies, for my sentimentality.”

“What about the mistletoe?” She squeezes his shoulder, and hopes the question cheers him up.

“Ah, mistletoe.” Nate lifts a bundle for himself, a second one for Barbie. She keeps it for herself. “A good luck charm. One could, during the celebratory period, greet their guests or each other for a kiss. A suitor could kiss the one they wished to court, on the cheek, and we did make sure all parties were in accordance. All would hope to be kissed, lest they endure the bad luck of being left out. There was a limit, as with every kiss, a berry would be picked. When all was gone, the kissing ceased.” He chuckles, picking a single spray which had fallen out of place. “Milton’s pockets would be full by night’s end, as he was rather outgoing and effortlessly charming.”

Barbie plucks a gem-like berry to roll between her fingers, twisting her lips as her gaze shifts towards Nate, finding he has done the same. It comes as a surprise to them both, a happy and quite welcome surprise, when Barbie closes the space between, kissing Nate’s cheek. Drawing away, she puts the berry in his palm. “There, now you have one, too.”

Behind a second, cordial-ish, exchange, through the doorway of this living room which has yet to bear the meaningful ornament of greeting, shaking bruising snowflakes off the jacket he’s worn during his overnight patrol of the town - stubborn to accept the order to dress weather-appropriately from their temporary leader, until an approving hum from Barbie, he will keep to himself that he did not mind the shearling-lined leather moto jacket that kept him from freezing - Mason grimaces at the warm welcome of glittering ornaments, the droning and inescapable music repeating too many damn times, and the strong and tangled scents of cassis, eucalyptus, white musk, and pine.

Thick blankets of snow keep him from his reprieve on the rooftop, and if it was any other season besides one that compels humans to decorate their homes with garish and gaudy blinking lights, corral them into the streets to sing in groups, he would volunteer to take the next patrol. But it isn’t wholly terrible, though. In the living room he can wait for Barbie to tie up any loose-ends, as she’d called them, with her next-day festival preparation; maybe Nate will help her, and Mason can retreat to the quietest and dimmest corner of the room to look out the window and watch the hidden parts of the forest, untouched by merry well-wishers.

Her voice cuts through his annoyance, happier he knows but unsure how to tell. She sounds like she did the other day as he watched her hang monogrammed stockings over the fireplace, Nate explaining some change, some rise and fall in her sound, more cheerful. When he hears Barbie laugh, the tension in his body fades, and the abrasive reminders of the season taunting his senses fall into the background. Mason sheds his coat, rubbing his hands over his arms to avoid losing too much heat too fast, and follows a conversation to the middle of the room, in front of the couch and on the floor.

Too far to perch on the arm of the velvet armchair, where he’s most comfortable when Barbie is around, he instead sits on the edge of the coffee table, angling away from the herbs and plants invading his senses. Any other time the seemingly innocuous rosemary would have him retreating, but she turns to him. And Barbie is fucking - glowing. Mason blinks, wondering if his retinas are taking longer to heal from the morning’s snow glare than usual. Still glowing with a pink tint to her cheeks, and damnit if that halo around her doesn’t make him think of that angel on top of their second Christmas tree, and damnit that he’s lost the cool edge to his entrance.

“Elf got your tongue, sunshine?” Barbie asks, smoothest he’s ever seen her, at least with a candy cane between her teeth.

In his periphery, Mason spots a small bundle of leaves and the plant is easily identifiable. Cheap, plastic replicas in abundance at the previous night’s party in some sort of garden dome when he’d walked through the park on his route. He swipes a sprig and twirls it, answering, “Wouldn’t mind you catching my ton-”

“Hello, Mason,” Nate sighs, tying what is left of the mistletoe together. “How was your patrol?”

Giggling teenagers and metal scraping at the ice rink and the entire town smells of vanilla, chocolate and sugar, that flashing robotic Santa waving in the air are all enough to keep anything interesting from happening; too chaotic to focus any magic, too much of a headache to get up to any trouble. Mason shrugs, “Same old.”

Settled, finally giving notice to whatever Nate and Barbie are actually doing, Mason juts his chin in the direction of the circles of holly. “You aren’t done decorating this place yet?”

“It’s a Kissing bough,” Barbie explains, rising to her knees to meet Mason. Nate subtly coughs the alternative ‘Christmas bough’, likely as a means to keep the atmosphere light and less hot, less heavy - wholesome! “When you’re under, you give a kiss, and get a reward.” She leans in, one hand on his thigh and he grins, arm slinking around her waist, ready for a knock-her-tights-off kind of kiss. But instead of her mouth, his is met with a waxy, tasteless and not sticky clump of berries. “It’s not up yet, Mason.” Smiling, having amused herself, she sits at the coffee table once more, awaiting Nate’s next instruction.

“You’re welcome to join us, if you would like to thread this wire through the pear.” Nate knows he is pushing Mason’s good will and willingness to participate in any more decorating, yet persists with his inclusion. “This should be our final project.”

“Wait! One more!”

From a flash of purple and a cloud of glitzing gingerbread scents and mirth, attention is captured towards the fir and cedar garlanded mantle in this living room, and standing between a cozy, crackling fire and the main Christmas tree, eight feet all and so elegantly adorned, skirt at the base holding exquisitely wrapped gifts, is Farah Hauville - home from one last visit to the Christmas Tree Lot at the edge of town for the season before taking over agent patrol for the rest of the day - standing atilt, resting an elbow on the top branch of a small, a quite small pine tree.

Amber eyes sparkling with triumph, Farah sweeps her hand out in an arc, resting it on her hip. “Ta da! What do you all think? Natey, Barbie? Mason.”

Not just quite small, the tree is rather sparse. Uneven weight distribution, inconsistent branch thickness and needle distribution - some thick with vibrant needles while others rather pale and almost white, some with just tufts at the end. A lone pinecone sits towards the base, and there may have been a debate if the bird’s nest fell or broke apart.

Nate stands, stepping slowly and surely to the tree, mind whirling as he thinks of how to express his thoughts; keep Farah from being crestfallen, express his gratitude for her enthusiasm, how to hide the tree in plain sight and preferably outside. “Certainly a unique tree,” he manages, “though, I do wonder if it would be better suited in the hallway. Could be set in an urn outside of your bedroom door and we can bedeck after your shift - wrap a strand of fairy lights, drape tinsel, use the rest of the ribbon.”

“Knew you’d say that,” Farah replies, bouncing, “This tree has been in that lot since it opened, and no one has given it a chance! A second look! I know it’s not pretty, it doesn’t match the other trees we brought home. It’s not perfect,” Farah flails her arms, pointing to the three other trees in the room that could have been portraits in a magazine. “But it deserves love, doesn’t it? Like the great philosopher, Linus, said.”

“Linus? I’m not familiar with their work.” Nate pokes at a dull needle with this index finger. “Unless you mean Linus of Thrace, the musician.”

Barbie soon joins, shadowed by Mason, and circles the tree to study it. “‘Charlie Brown Christmas’. Farah and I watched while you read ‘The Gift of the Magi’.”

“You were even playing the song the next day,” Farah remarks, miming him at the piano. He nods in response, fingertips brushing along the edge of a healthier branch. She continues her plea, turning to throw her arms out, wide and dramatic, and quotes, “‘I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It’s not bad at all. Maybe it just needs a little love.’”

“Farah,” Nate rubs the back of his neck, knowing she’d likely practiced her speech during her last few patrols about town. The tree truly does not fit in with the well planned out, specific aesthetic of the room but he is moved by her effort, her passion. “I can promise to find space for it. In here.”

To the great shock of everyone, Mason grabs a smooth, circular red ornament from the main tree, fixes it to a sagging branch on the new addition. He comments before Nate can protest, “I like it. It’s irregular, obviously intended by nature to be so. Has character. Leave it where it is, at least it’ll be something interesting to look at.”

Barbie stops pacing, following Mason’s lead, with a green ornament she hangs on an opposite, slightly lighter branch. Just a little trimming, tinsel and lights and ribbon, and this tree could truly be special. One of a kind. Its own new tradition.

It gives her an idea.

Leaving the others to discuss re-arrangement, Barbie walks back to sit on an empty space of the coffee table to consult the ‘CF’ section of her Filofax. A layout of the main room of the Christmas Fete is centered by a hallway length runner rug with tables at either side for Haley’s hot cocoa and treats station, beginning at an entry arch and a dais at its end. On the side of the page, the cast. Elves - Len’s kid and Douglas, Mrs. Claus - Tina, Santa Claus - Lucas, making his debut.

Lucas, her beloved brother and subject of her final, most important task - confirming his, and Adam’s, flight details and estimated arrival. Barbie checks the time, and tapping her phone screen she notes alerts from his airline. Five minute delay, ten minute delay, confirmation of arrival, a text from him.

Another hour or two from the city, and Barbie and Lucas will be reunited after far too long apart - and she can hardly wait! Smiling to herself, singing to herself that song from their childhood Christmas pageant, Barbie pencils in a small tree in the space between Mrs. and Santa Claus. She calls to the group, asking Farah, “Could you bring this Charlie Brown Tree to the Fete tomorrow? It’s just the right size, wouldn’t be in Lucas and Tina’s way. Added bonus, the people in town seeing what they missed out on, how a little love goes a long way.”

Nate places a hand to his chest, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Barbie. Farah claps hers in excitement. “It would be an honor! I’m going to get Nate’s decoration box and get this little guy ready for the show! I’ll drop it off at the station.” Taking a hold of the tree at its base, Farah lifts it like a piece of paper and runs off and out of the room. And it is a testament to Nate’s reflexes and agility that he catches the two ornaments shaken off, and returns them to their home.

A ring of Barbie’s phone interrupts the calm in Farah’s wake.

Video call, her mirror image on the screen and Barbie gives her glasses a quick adjustment before swiping her finger across the glass to answer.

“Ho, ho, ho!” A voice bellows, and there is a grinning Lucas, dark brown hair expertly mussed under the brim of his vintage, thrift-shop treasure, red flannel and white wool Santa Hat. “Merry Christmas!”

Barbie waves, laughing, widening the camera view to show off the living room, then back to her. Nate greets Lucas, unsure where to stand and if he can even see him, moves to lean over Barbie’s shoulder where the pocket of his brown leather jacket fills the display. His own cellular phone rings and he excuses himself to answer. Mason shakes his head, and, arms folded, walks to settle on the edge of the couch.

Back to Lucas, and now Barbie spots a twinkling flash against the red of his hat, one more, behind him white snow flurrying and thickening with each passing second. His voice muffled, harsh streaks of wind silencing him, though she can pick up the unmistakable and clear, deep accent of Adam Du Mortain, calm and authoritative.

There is a leaden, sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Snow squall,” she finally hears, and when did Lucas move? Blurred behind the camera lens, he has found shelter inside the doors of the airport. Fellow travelers behind him converge into small groups, collective voices rising in confusion and frustration relaying the news to their loved ones. Airplanes had been taking off and landing, no imminent threat of weather. “Barbie, roads are closed, don’t know when they’ll open. Promise I’ll be home as soon as I can, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make the Fete tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay,” she answers, nodding, glancing around the room to find Nate speaking animatedly and Mason watching snow swirling outside. “Just stay safe, Luke, alright? Keep me updated. Is Adam with you?”

“Ordering the weather to behave,” he chuckles, attempting to keep her spirits from crashing. “Look, Barbie, I’m sorry.”

Trying to formulate a plan, alternatives and logistics, how to inform Tina, Barbie doesn’t respond until she hears her name again. She shakes her head, “It’s alright. Take your time. We will figure this out. Don’t do anything hasty or dangerous, you need to come home in one piece.” Barbie looks at the screen again, zoom tighter on Lucas, notices the same plush red and fluffy white at his shoulders. “Are you wearing your Santa costume?”

“If you’re going to travel for the holidays, you’ve got to travel in style and make a big entrance. Besides, someone has to spread holiday cheer amongst the masses.”

“Keep them distracted and don’t have too much fun. Again, stay safe. I’ll talk to you soon.”

As she ends the call, Barbie consults her Filofax, searching for an answer. Surely, she wrote up a back-up plan for Santa, Mrs. Claus, and the Elves, and she did but Sung committed to the community Christmas Feast. She turns to a blank page, scribbles thoughts - Surely, Adam will take care of Lucas. Surely, Mrs. Claus could take the place of her husband, saying he needs a head start on his journey, the children could video-chat with him.

“Barbie,” Nate’s voice is as understanding and gentle as his gait, taking a seat next to her, patting her back with a touch so light it does not register. He finds Mason, raising his brows and tilting his head and in seconds, Mason stands before them. “I spoke with Adam. Unexpected change of weather a few miles northwest of the city, might be due to magic gone awry, and does not appear to be malicious. Unit Golf has been dispatched to secure the situation, and Adam will be working with them. Bravo is on standby, but he feels this should be contained without our intervention.”

Mason shrugs, Barbie is still writing in her organizer.

Turning towards her, Nate’s smile is encouraging, “Now, you are in need of a Saint Nicholas for your Christmas Fete tomorrow. Do you have Lucas’ costume? He and I are of similar build and height, and I would be glad to stand in for him.”

Barbie, facial muscles finally moving and her mouth falling into an unintentionally pretty pout, unlocks her phone, finds her text messages, and brings up a picture to show him, then Mason. Lucas, mid-laugh, Santa hat flopping to the side, Santa jacket open with a white shirt underneath, Santa trousers on underneath, standing with a not so stiff shouldered, slightly amused Adam in the midst of white and colored glistering lights. “Spreading so much cheer that he performed a holiday miracle, making Adam smile.”

Mason, concerned with the pallor of her skin and the dullness in her eyes, crouches down and pats his pockets, where his now banished cigarettes were once stored - to prevent a fire hazard in this room of shimmering, glimmering potential kindling - pulls out a package, a monstrosity, a little cake shaped like an evergreen tree, an emergency treat purchased at the convenience store. Smushed, and he decides there is no way he will let her raise her blood sugar with something that tastes like plastic. “Eat something if you’re going into figuring-out mode. Maybe not this, I’ll get you something that doesn’t look like reindeer vomit.”

Nate, rubbing his bottom lip with this thumb, remembers the prior year’s Christmas celebrations. A truly magical time in this already magical town, every year healing from the tragedies at the start of their permanent tenure. He recalls a certain gentleman, an embodiment of the legend and a hero to each child, reading their name from a scroll and making them believe to be the most special. “Mr. Rockwell. He was treasured, and enjoyed the role.”

“Retired. Out of town to visit his new grandchild.” Barbie taps her pencil against the cover of her Filofax. Nate’s mention of the Santa Claus of the past decade, of his generosity and love, his joy infectious, reminds her of a conversation - between Mr. Rockwell and his wife, Lucas and Tina, and her. A transition of tradition.

“Wait.” Her eyes open wide, sparkling once more with another idea. “We are brilliant! Mr. Rockwell left us his suit, even though it was too short for Lucas, something about keeping the Christmas spirit. It should still be at the station, I’ll call Tina to confirm.”

Once more in the middle of this living room, Mason returns to see two faces look at him expectantly, and though there is some he does not understand, he understands the faces of two schemers. Especially one who has talked him into decorating more than he ever thought he would in eternity, and one he would do just about any damn thing for. He shoves the cookie, on a napkin to avoid another lecture by Nate, towards Barbie. “Eat this. And what do you both want?”

“Tina said the Santa costume is at the station, and she’s running a lint roller over it to get rid of any dust. You’re about Mr. Rockwell’s height -”

“No.”

Nate makes a second attempt, honeyed words pleading, “for no more than two hours. It would mean so much to this town that has become our home. It would mean -”

“I’m not dealing with any little brat screaming in my ears about some presents.”

“It would mean a lot to me,” Barbie finishes for Nate, flatly. “We will keep the kids calm, Nate and Farah will entertain them. Tina will talk to them, and you can just check their names against a roster and repeat their wish. Then take a picture with them.”

“Nope. Besides, we’re supposed to be in the shadows.”

Nate nods, acknowledging that Mason is correct. The accessories, such as the full, white beard, may be uncomfortable for him, as well as the inevitable sounds which come with the excitement of children. It may not be such a fair ask, and there may be some other possibilities. “Babs, there may be some adjustments I can have made to the suit, to accompany the length of my arms and legs. The tailor in town, I am sure, is quite busy. I can, however, make a request with ours at the Agency.”

An attempt to speak comes out as a squeak, and Barbie throws her arms around Nate’s shoulders in a hug. “Thank you, Nate. Really. We should go now, and get to your tailor as soon as possible.”

Mason, silver eyes sharp and observant, regards Barbie and he guesses she’s relieved, with the sharp exhale of breath, taking a bite of the cookie and writing down some last notes. There is an errant thump in his chest, and he rubs his palm against it. Then regards Nate, also exhaling a breath, longer, and his hands slide into his pockets, their refuge.

And damnit, her smile is making his jaw tingle, and he stretches it to alleviate that sensation. Damnit, she is so fucking beautiful like this, merry and jovial. And, groaning, Mason drags his hand down his face, wrapping his fingers behind his neck.

He thinks he might regret this for eternity, but then figures that being able to do what Nate is doing, make her glow like that again, so ecstatic? Maybe that’ll make an afternoon of misery worth everything.

“Wait,” he reaches, finding Barbie’s hand, and pulls them both up. “You just have to promise to stay near me, alright, sweetheart?”

Barbie’s mouth falls open, and she truly is stunned, frozen in place as she processes his answer. She then grins, thanking him with a kiss to his cheek. “You got it, Santa.”

In the midst of hazing lights, luminous trees and the rising dawn of the Eve, there is a stir. In this living room, under a bough and honoring the custom of the mistletoe, a couple hushes each other between deep kisses and berry extraction. His senses are heightened once more, and he grumbles an announcement of visitors. She spies past the door and wishes, one small wish, that he will appear.

And to her delight, they are not just any visitors.

The commanding agent will claim this a completed, successful mission, but with a hearty and robust, “Merry Christmal to all!”, Lucas will say that with a little magic, he fulfilled his Christmas promise.

fin.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #wayhavensecretsanta #nate sewell #twc mason #mar writes twc

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myouthouse · 1 year

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astrangetorpedo · 1 month

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Mick Management Doesn’t Just Represent Artists — It’s in the ‘World-Building’ Business

"We don't like to refer to ourselves as a management company anymore. We're a music company," says partner Jonathan Eshak.

BY FRANK DIGIACOMO 7/22/2024

Jonathan Eshak (left) and Michael McDonald photographed on June 3, 2024 in Los Angeles. Michael Buckner

Given the multitude of distribution, streaming, promotion and marketing options and expectations, the business of becoming an established artist has turned into a seriously heavy lift for music acts and their managers. It’s one reason that Mick Management partner Jonathan Eshak says, “We don’t like to refer to ourselves as a management company anymore. We’re a music company. What we do more than anything else is brand development, artist development — world-building … We’re not just trying to keep the train on the tracks.”

Eshak and his partner, Michael McDonald, the company’s founder, got into management after immersing themselves in other sectors of the business. McDonald served as Dave Matthews Band’s tour manager before co-founding ATO Records in 2000 with Matthews; his manager, Red Light founder Coran Capshaw; and Chris Tetzeli, who went on to start 7S Management. He opened Mick the following year with John Mayer as one of his first clients and, in 2004, brought on data savant Eshak, who worked at Universal Music Publishing Group (and is the twin brother of Island Records co-CEO Justin Eshak). Jonathan became a partner in 2015.

With a staff of approximately 20 in New York, Los Angeles and Nashville, the duo has built a boutique firm — with its own record label, Mick Music, distributed by Believe — that represents Maggie Rogers, who released the critically praised Don’t Forget Me in April; Leon Bridges and Ray LaMontagne, who will both release albums later this year; The Walkmen and the solo career of their frontman, Hamilton Leithauser; Sharon Van Etten; Brett Dennen; Mandy Moore; My Morning Jacket; and The Marias.

In a fragmented culture where “it’s very hard to find water-cooler moments,” according to Eshak, Mick’s team excels in building committed fan bases for a roster of individualistic artists who punch above their weight. “Artists all define success differently, and we understand that,” he adds. “We understand that there’s no one way of doing it anymore.” Their bespoke approach has resulted in some notable recent successes. In August, Rogers will embark on an international arena tour — including two shows at Madison Square Garden — though she has yet to achieve platinum sales with an album. In 2018, Leithauser began a five-night residency at the swank, 100-capacity Café Carlyle in New York, playing to “a few die-hard Walkmen fans and some fairly confused business travelers,” as Eshak puts it. This year, Leithauser sold out 12 nights, and the concept will be expanded with potential notable guests in 2025. And in June, The Marias celebrated the release of their new album, Submarine, with a secret pop-up show in downtown Los Angeles for approximately 5,000 fans. Eshak says 38,000 RSVP’d.

“What each of those things speak to is us finding interesting ways that the artists appreciate and superserve fan bases,” McDonald says.

What are the challenges of running an artist management company today versus 25 years ago?

Jonathan Eshak: When I first started with Michael, the sky had started to fall on the recorded-music business. This was the dawn of file-sharing companies like Napster and Kazaa. It was attractive to join Michael for that very reason. He was coming from building a world that was unique, not just to the ebbs and flows of the success of recorded music but also, how do you do things well in touring, merchandising, etc. He understood the creation of cultures, having worked with Dave Matthews and Coran.

Like the Grateful Dead, Matthews built a culture around his music.

Eshak: The Dead were the godfathers of that, and Mick’s ethos effectively starts there. While the challenges of the industry have evolved, the code of building an artist’s career remains the same. Which is, how do you focus on building a meaningful, long-lasting relationship with your fan base? We always say, “How do we make the artist the hit and not just the songs?” Music is just part of the cocktail. It’s also, how are we creating a dynamic of connectivity between the artist and the fan? How are we merchandising with them? How are we creating live shows that are meaningful, that evolve? There’s been a lot of lip service about artist development throughout the history of recorded music.

Michael McDonald: There were fewer breakthrough moments then, whereas today, because of the way technology and culture has evolved, it’s been democratized. The upside is that more people can succeed. The downside is there are fewer channels that create that star-turn moment.

Maggie Rogers seems to be a prime example of someone who has grown through connectivity with her fans.

Eshak: Maggie has understood the importance of connectivity from the start. She had this moment of Pharrell-ity, for lack of a better word, and instead of sitting back and working that, she understood the importance of going around the world and connecting with her fans face-to-face. To your point, she’s doing two nights in Madison Square Garden without a platinum record. Now, she obviously wants that and we want that for her, but people who are in are in. Even as she’s grown, the No. 1 thing on the checklist is, what are we doing for that audience?

What’s an example of that?

Eshak: When we were announcing the fall arena tour, we created pop-up shops in all the markets where people could line up to buy exclusive merchandise and, most importantly, reduced-price tickets. She was hearing from unsettled fans about ticket prices, so we tried to create solves. Fans could walk [into the pop-ups], point at a seat map and get a ticket that was going to cost less than if they paid for it online. Because of that, her fans understand that she sees them.

What questions do you ask before signing an artist?

McDonald: Most importantly, “Do we love the music? Do we feel like we can really grow this career?” And then, “Do they, will they, work hard?” We can’t want it more than they do. Some of this is research you can do before you meet the artist. Much of it we do through conversations, but there’s also data that’s crucial. We’ve had great success following our passion and guts, but to not use the tools at our disposal to help make those decisions would be foolish. Data is a great strength of Jonathan’s and why we’ve evolved in using it to inform decisions but never to unequivocally make decisions. If we did, we never would have signed some of the artists we have.

Why did you partner with Firebird?

McDonald: Firebird brings us resources that a company our size doesn’t have. There’s a data department and an analytics department of 10 to 15 people. There’s a finance department. There are all sorts of things that allow us to double down on the data and free us up to stay focused on our artists.

What’s your pitch to artists you want to sign?

Eshak: It really comes down to having a shared code, so it’s important that we take the time to sit down with artists and say, “What are your life goals in addition to success in recorded music?” This is such a deep relationship that we talk all the time. We talk on weekends. We’re there with them for very big life stages, and it’s really important for us to have at least a common set of goals because it takes a lot out of everybody. Where we do a good job is acting almost as coaches now. It’s our job to be highly informed about how people are having success, distilling that and applying it to the artists that we represent, who are all quite different. In other words, how can we do this with you so that you remain true to yourself? We can’t do that for a thousand artists. It’s not the business model that Michael and I have elected to build.

You have a label.

Eshak: We have a label, and we’re working with some of our artists whose repertoires are returning to them and they need a mechanism to put music out. Some of it is also identifying artists that we like and helping them put music into the world.

Do you encourage your artists to own their masters?

McDonald: One hundred percent, whenever possible. Today, we would be hard pressed to pursue a deal that started with perpetuity music being somewhere else. There’s always a chance that it’s going to happen, and ultimately, it’s an artist’s decision. If they feel like this is their shot and they’re willing to give that up — absolutely. But one of the reasons we created the label was to say, “All right, let’s have an easy mechanism where we can control the deal terms. Let’s put music out and try to build on that. Then, if a great licensing option is not available today, let’s take a year and try to build something.” Ray LaMontagne’s album Trouble reverted to him in May after 20 years. So it’s not always a three-year or five-year reversion. But 20 years ago, we were able to take a long view and say, “Let’s take whatever percentage less today so at least there’s the option to sell those recordings X number of years later.”

Are your agreements with artists traditional percentage deals or partnerships?

McDonald: It varies. We have a lot of traditional deals, but any time we’re in true partnership, where we’re sharing [intellectual property] with an artist, it’s fully above board and clear with everyone’s legal teams. There is an evolving way that artists are going to get into business with different companies. We welcome that as things evolve.

(x)

#this is an interview w julien’s new manager for those who are interested #non-paywalled link at the end #it seems like they take a more hands on approach w their artists which is great #i like how fan oriented they seem to be #jb #julien baker #jonathan eshak #michael mcdonald #mick management #2024 #july 2024 #interview #archival

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tagsecretsanta · 9 months

Text

From @janetm74

From @janetm74 to @thedryswan

Scott Tracy/Jane Carter and Virgil Tracy/Zoey Kwark

Prompt chosen: Disastrous Double Date

Note: There is no canon name for Professor Kwark so I have chosen to use the name that is most often used fanon, thanks to The Dry Swan - Zoey

Getting time off as the Commander of iR and the CEO of TI was difficult at the best of times. Getting time off with his brother, Virgil, as the second most used operative on rescues, was even more difficult.

Throw in two girlfriends, one of which was a pilot and the other the owner of her own successful aeronautics company, who also had very busy and demanding schedules, and getting such time off together was almost impossible.

Thank goodness John was such a great multitasker. Somehow he had managed to not only arrange for Scott and Virgil to have time off but to ensure it coincided with Jane and Zoey too.

John had gone one step further. He’d arranged a double date for them. There had been much good-natured ribbing over this, but it was water off a duck’s back. And when the two brothers saw where John had booked they soon were thanking John and cuffing their younger brothers for the ribbing.

Borgo Santandrea was stunning, both in location and in looks. The hotel was built into a cliff face, a beautiful white building atop supports dug directly out of the cliff and surrounded by scrubland and trees with the cliff continuing to tower over it while also having a private beach and a direct path down into the crystal blue waters.

John had booked them a suite for the night, with some spa treatments if they wanted to partake of them and dinner in the Marinella Restaurant, on the balcony with views over the Tyrrhenian Sea and the gulf of Salerno.

It also helped that this was one area that International Rescue had not attended for any rescues, despite it being near quite an active earthquake zone and near several inactive volcanos and one semi-active one.

They flew out in Tracy One, timing their arrival to coincide with breakfast, which started with them mixing with the chefs while they cooked whatever the guests desired. There were crepes, French toast, pastries, omelettes, charcuterie and cheeses as well as salads, oils and tiny piles of salts.

They chose a wide selection of miniature pastries and the local Roman Breakfast Cakes, and took them to the beach bar along with small cups of cappuccino. The sweet cakes were delicious.

Afterwards they strolled along the white sands and kicked up the surf for quite a while before returning to the hotel for spa treatments and rest. While Jane and Zoey relaxed with full-body massages Scott and Virgil propped at the bar, helping themselves to the complimentary Biscotteria with freshly made lemonade that used the locally grown Amalfi lemons.

It didn’t take Virgil long to migrate to the piano and soon Scott was drifting to the soft sounds of gentle jazz. Jane slipping into the seat beside him barely woke him, but he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. It smelt so good. Zoey sat on the other side of Scott, and a waiter brought over more lemonade and a selection from the Biscotteria.

The afternoon passed so pleasantly that none of them wanted to move upstairs and get ready for dinner, but eventually the four made their way up to the suite John had booked for them.

The suite was luxurious even by their standards, with its own private garden and infinity pool with views over the sea, and Scott made a mental note to recommend this place to Gordon. He was sure Penny would love it here too.

Scott and Virgil’s suits were Liverano & Liverano, an Italian bespoke tailor that had been going for 500 years. Their suits were designed with them in mind, Scott’s being the darkest blue fabric and Virgil’s a green a few shades lighter than Scott’s. While Virgil favoured the traditional white shirt and a matching bow tie and waistcoat, Scott had decided to eschew tradition for a pale blue silk polo neck.

They elicited gasps of admiration from Jane and Zoey. Those gasps were reciprocated when Scott and Virgil saw the outfits that the girls were wearing.

Jane had dressed in blue to complement Scott. She wore an ankle-length pale blue georgette dress with a slight cowl neckline, fitted throughout and with a side slit that reached almost to the top of her thigh. It was sleeveless and whispered slightly as she moved, and the skirt swished over a pair of dangerously high gold strappy sandals. A fine gold lace shawl covered her bare arms.

Zoey had gone with a yukata. The traditional dress was a dark green close to Virgil’s suit, with the typical white and pale green hydrangea and minute sprays of pale pink cherry blossoms. The outfit was completed with a sash of the palest green and wooden sandals. Her short, bobbed hair was held back with a green band to match the base layer.

It was one of the few times Scott and Virgil didn’t mind wearing suits. They held out their elbows and their girlfriends took the proffered support and they made their way downstairs to the restaurant.

They were shown to their balcony seats. The sun was low on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of gold and pinks, reflecting off their drinks. The food was superb. There was some light music playing.

Scott leaned over and kissed Jane soundly. So soundly it felt like the Earth moved. And then he snorted. What a cheesy thing to think. He turned to say that to Jane when the Earth moved again.

Literally.

‘Scott! Virgil!’

‘John?’

‘We’re picking up tremors in your area. Are you guys alright?’

‘We’re…’

But Scott couldn’t finish what he was saying as this time the Earth moved so violently that people were screaming and he was scrabbling to stay on his feet. Scott took one look at Virgil and they hurried both girls and the other diners into the hotel for safety.

And then, with a roar of noise so loud they couldn’t hear John screaming from their watches, the cliff behind the hotel came rushing down on them.

John kept trying Scott and Virgil while sounding the emergency alarm. Gordon and Alan raced into the lounge closely followed by Kayo and Penny, who was visiting while iR were two operatives down.

‘John? What it is?’

‘It’s Scott and Virgil. There’s been an earthquake and a landslide over the hotel and I can’t raise them!’

They didn’t waste any time getting into Two and flying out. As they flew Gordon asked John if there was any news, but there wasn’t, there hadn’t been any contact.

From base to Italy was around 11,600 miles. Even at Two’s top airspeed it would still take them an hour and half to get there. It was the longest journey of their lives. Gordon was hard put not to push Two harder. Virgil might have been able to coax more out of his ‘bird, but Gordon didn’t have the confidence to do so and guarantee Two would stay safe.

They were twenty minutes out when they finally got some good news.

Getting people off the balcony didn’t prove to be too difficult once the floor buckled, and everyone rushed into the main restaurant. As people milled around Scott realised that the majority didn’t have a clue and he knew there was very little time. So, supported by Virgil, he climbed onto a table and bellowed.

‘STOP!’

Miraculously everyone stopped and looked at him.

‘Under the tables, NOW! You – get your staff out of the kitchen, it’s going to be too dangerous in there.’

Scott had one of those voices that people just listened to, and everyone hurried to do as they had been told. It wasn’t a moment too soon as seconds later the hotel was hit by rocks, and the four of them, hugging around the base of a large round table, watched as boulders of all sizes decimated the balcony they had been on less than a minute earlier.

It wasn’t long before the rocks and the earth quaking tore the place apart, and pretty soon the restaurant was buried.

Virgil wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious but he was the first to wake up. He could barely move, but at least there was an air bubble that they could breathe in, even if there was lots of dust in the air.

He blinked dust out of his eyes while he took stock. The large tabletop had saved their lives, there was no doubt about that, the lump he could feel on the back of his head was testimony to that.

Zoey groaned in his arms and he looked her over as best as he could in the limited space. There was a small trickle of blood down the side of her head but that was all he could see. Beside her was Jane, still unconscious and with her head on Zoey’s shoulder.

Of Scott there was no sign. Virgil attempted to twist so he could find his brother, but they were packed in tight, with rubble all around them. Of course, Scott would have been on the outside, making sure everyone was safe. Virgil took a closer look at Jane and could see Scott’s hand on her shoulder.

Virgil set to wriggling his arm free in the hope that he could still contact John. It took some time, but eventually he pulled it out with a minimum of skin loss. His shirt and suit were ruined anyway but his watch was theoretically earthquake proof. But there was nothing. He gave it a shake and suddenly there was a grainy picture of John.

Even though John’s holo wasn’t as clear as usual Virgil could see the relief on his brother’s face. As he smiled Zoey decided to wake up, blinking in confusion before laying her head back on Virgil’s shoulder.

‘Virgil! Are you all ok?’

‘Stuck but I’m ok. Zoey’s just waking up, Jane’s still out of it. I don’t know about Scott, I can only see his hand on Jane’s shoulder. I can’t move enough to check further than that.’

‘The guys are on their way, Virgil. They’ll be there in around 20 minutes. Sit tight.’

‘FAB, John.’

Virgil chuckled quietly at John’s parting words. That was a Gordon-worthy pun if ever he’d heard one.

‘Hey, Virgil?’

‘Zoey! How are you feeling?’

‘Like I just got trampled all over.’

‘You took a knock to the head, hun. Probably got a bit of concussion.’

‘Oh. Well, that explains a lot. Jane? Scott?’

‘Jane’s leaning on your other shoulder. I’m not sure about Scott.’

‘Rescue on its way?’

‘Yeah. The boys will be here soon.’

‘Oh good. Coz this date started so well but now it’s a disaster.’

‘Literally!’

They both laughed, grimacing when the dust caught their throats and they ended up coughing. The movements jostled Jane awake, much to their relief.

‘Can you girls stay awake?’

‘Uh huh.’

‘I – I think so. Virgil? Where’s Scott?’

‘I haven’t been able to rouse him. Jane, his hand is still on your shoulder. Can you feel him around you?’

Jane felt for the hand and slid her fingers up to the wrist. She sighed when she found a pulse before moving her hand to be holding Scott’s loosely. She gave his fingers a light squeeze but got no response.

‘I got a pulse but no reaction. He’s still out of it.’

‘That’s great. Keep squeezing his hand periodically. Judging from the amount of debris around us that whole cliff must have collapsed on top of the hotel. John?’

‘I’m here, Virgil.’

‘We’re pretty packed in here. I’m gonna see if there’s anyone else conscious and if we can start clearing a way out. Let us know if there are any more aftershocks.’

‘FAB, Virgil. Be careful and please keep the comm open.’

‘Of course.’

John relayed the news that he’d been in contact with Virgil and immediately everyone relaxed a fraction. Only a fraction though. Earthquakes were the worst of the disasters International Rescue attended. None of them liked earthquakes due to the unpredictable nature, but up until now they had never had any of their own caught in one.

By the time Two arrived there was no sign there had ever been a hotel in the cliff face. All there was was a wide path of rubble stretching down into the sea. The previously 300-foot-tall cliff was around half that, with a gap where the hotel was that was almost as wide.

The earthquake had its epicentre at nearby Tovere. Reports had placed it at a 5.7 on the Richter scale, almost double the strength that the area’s previous earthquakes had been, but with the centre in the sparsely populated area above the Amalfi coast the hotel had taken the brunt of the land movement.

Nearby Naples had also felt the quake, but the damage there was far less, and local services along with the local branches of the GDF declaring that they could deal with that damage and those areas around Tovere so International Rescue was free to concentrate on the hotel and the surrounding areas along the coast.

Alan gasped at the devastation, but Gordon was made of sterner stuff and kept his thoughts to himself. He felt Penny’s hand tighten on his shoulder and he smiled grimly at her.

‘John? We’re here. Directions? Is there anywhere safe to land Two?’

‘I have a landing site in mind a little further down the coast at Conca dei Marini. You should land on route SS163. It’s not ideal but there’s little around that is big enough that hasn’t been damaged by the quake.’

‘It’s great, John. Wouldn’t want Virgil to have cause to complain about me scratching his ‘bird.’

‘Alan, Penny, I suggest you take the mole pods. I know that there are usually only two chassis in Module 2 but Brains has packed a spare one for this mission so Kayo you can take the dozer and Gordon, someone needs to stay with Two and keep the infirmary ready.’

‘FAB, John. Alan, Penny, you want to go get your pods configured while I land.’

‘FAB, Gordon.’

As soon as Gordon had landed John showed a map of the surrounding coastline. Borgo Santandrea wasn’t the only place hit by the landslide although it was by far the worst. They were thankful that there was only a couple of places around the hotel that had buildings, the majority of the area was trees all the way down to the coast.

There were a couple of beach coves to the left of the hotel that had buildings, but the landslide seemed to have missed them. But there was the beach club house directly below the hotel and a large restaurant to the right of the hotel.

‘John? Any life signs in the club house and restaurant on the beach below the hotel?’

‘The beach house was closed; I’m reading no life signs there. The restaurant had not long opened but they had only a few customers and it appears they managed to make it to safety as there is radio chatter from the local ambulance saying they have picked them up.’

‘That’s great, John! So we can concentrate on the hotel?’

‘Yeah. Hotel registration and restaurant lists state there were 45 people in the building plus about 80 staff.’

‘Do – do the life signs agree with that number?’

‘Negative. EOS is currently reading 96 life signs, mostly registering around where the restaurant was.’

‘Well, that sucks but at least we have a point to start. Tell Virgil we’re on our way.’

‘FAB, Gordon. I have the local ambulance service on their way They’re sending three ambulances. Good luck.’

Meanwhile, Virgil was making inroads into moving the debris around them. He’d shouted for anyone else awake and received some groans in reply. He’d needed to twist awkwardly but the debris was thankfully not very compacted and with a little effort Virgil managed to get some space to move. It wasn’t easy, and judging from the grunts and swearing from other parts of the restaurant other people were also trying to dig themselves free.

As soon as there was space for Virgil to back out enough Zoey followed suit, and between them they shifted dirt and rocks so that they could get to Scott. As Virgil had feared Scott had placed himself on the outside of their group and a larger boulder had landed on Scott’s upper back and head, pushing him off of Virgil and Zoey. The angle of his shoulder and other arm told Virgil that at least that shoulder had been dislocated. But his pulse was strong, and they dug out an area that would be big enough to lay Scott down carefully.

By the time they had achieved that Jane had become more conscious, and she sat beside her boyfriend while Virgil and Zoey began to make their way to the next nearest table. They had barely reached it when the welcome sounds of a mole pod began to be heard.

Alan took the most direct route down to the restaurant while Penny and Kayo made sure that there were no life signs higher up. By the time Alan had cleared through enough to exit the mole Virgil had reached the other table and Penny and Kayo were just breaking through.

The first thing that Alan did was to give Virgil a quick hug before his older brother directed him to look after Scott while the rest of them set to rescuing everyone else.

Before attempting to move him Alan ran the Medscanner over Scott. As expected there were several yellow alerts for severe bruising and cuts and red alerts for concussion and a skull fracture as well as a fractured shoulder and two breaks in that arm. But his back and neck were in the clear and Alan sighed in relief. He and Jane carefully rolled him onto a hover stretcher and, using the hole the mole had made, the pair took Scott to the surface.

Jane took over Scott’s stretcher, giving the ambulance that had arrived a rundown of his injuries, and they were both whisked away despite Jane’s protests. But then the paramedic wiped blood from her face and Jane realised that she was also hurt.

‘Gordon, Scott and Jane are on their way to the hospital. Virgil’s sending the injured out and they’ll need Two’s infirmary. The three buses are not going to be enough, almost everyone is injured in some way.’

‘FAB, John. I’m ready.’

‘Penny’s heading back to you to help. She’ll bring Zoey with her.’

‘Is Zoey hurt?’

‘Yeah, slight concussion but she’ll be okay.’

‘FAB, John.’

Then began a steady stream of rescuees. It took Gordon, Penny and Zoey to keep up with treating everyone. No one was surprised to see Virgil as the last person in. By that time Virgil stumbled into Two there was standing room only, so Gordon ushered his brother into the cockpit. It took a firm hand to push him into the co-pilot seat but Virgil understood he was in no fit state to fly.

Gordon saw to his head wound while Kayo flew them to the nearby hospital De Luca and Rossano as it was the closest unaffected one. They were inundated with patients and those with lesser injuries were transferred further up the coast to San Leonardo in Naples.

Deciding that keeping Scott, Jane, Zoey and Virgil together would be the best bet, the three lesser injured had already been treated and they were moved into one small Visitor’s Room and they began the wait for news of Scott and how the rescue was going.

John kept one eye on the rescue as the elevator dropped him close to the hospital. They’d worked through the night and in the early dawn light the rescue was wrapping up. Gordon would drop home and pick up Grandma. The GDF and local services were also finishing up the surrounding towns.

Joining Virgil, Zoey and Jane, John kept himself busy with making sure everyone injured was being treated, setting up a fund that made sure of that. He only stopped doing that when the rest of their family joined them.

There were careful hugs all round and they had only just begun to settle down into the chairs when the door opened again and a doctor appeared. Those able to immediately jumped up, and Grandma took the lead.

‘Good morning. I’m Doctor Marino and I’ve been treating Scott.’

‘Good morning, Dr. I’m Dr Tracy, Scott’s Grandmother. How is he?’

‘Well, he has a linear skull fracture, a broken shoulder blade and his humerus is broken in two places – a simple proximal fracture and shaft fracture around the middle part of the bone. None of his injuries require surgery, but we kept him under close observation for a couple of hours just to make sure there was no build-up of intracranial pressure or any blood clots forming. He’s being wheeled into a room and we will continue to monitor both these potential issues for another six hours.’

The doctor beamed as everyone sighed in relief before continuing.

‘The skull fracture will not need further treatment. Scott’s arm has been put into a light-weight plaster cast and tightly strapped to facilitate healing of both arm and shoulder, but with no further complications he’ll be free to go home once the monitoring is done.’

‘Prognosis?’

‘Six to eight weeks for the fractures to heal as is common. Only once they are healed will we know what kind of physio he’ll need.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’

Sally shook hands with the doctor and a few minutes after they had left a nurse came to show them all to Scott’s room. The man himself was asleep, but despite how quiet everyone was trying to be he woke up, groggy and confused. Wisely they all retreated, leaving Virgil, Zoey and Jane to explain what had happened.

Once Scott understood he was going to be out of action for a minimum of six weeks Scott groaned loudly and began to try to get out of bed, but Jane’s hand on his good shoulder stopped him quicker than words could.

‘Love, this double date may have disastrous, but you’re good, I’m good. Virgil and Zoey are good. And we are all injured and not going anywhere. Maybe, once you’re given the all-clear to fly, we can go home and crash and have a normal double date with a takeaway and crappy movies and rest.’

Scott looked at his lover and his family and sat back in the bed.

‘Takeaway and crappy movie double date? I’m up for that. Virgil? Zoey? You up for that too?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Sounds good.’

Scott kissed Jane’s hand, his eyes twinkling.

‘Only if we can have a Top Gun marathon.’

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tag team secret santa #tag team secret santa 2023

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