#FABFiveFeb2020

[such-a-random-rambler]

Fab Five Feb - John - Soft Caress

I intentionally left John til last, so I got all the others done, and of course I reverted to type with this one lol.

And I did it! I completed Fab Five Feb 2020 before Feb 2021 (by 2 days)

John storms furiously to the space elevator, not even sparing a glance for his morning coffee and bagel, sitting uneaten and at least eighteen hours cold in the kitchen.

“What the actual hell did you think you were doing?” he is yelling as soon as Scott is in sight, relaxing on the couches. The nerve of him to be so laid back about this!

“I was rescuing people.” Scott puts down his book with a roll of his eyes.  

“By almost getting yourself killed, and giving me a heart attack.” John could feel his blood pressure rising, the grip of a gravity headache squeezing either side of his temples.

“It was fine.”

“Its. Not. Fine. Do you know how much that girder missed you by? Seven inches.”

“Then I timed it just right.”  

“Gah Scott! Why can’t you understand that functionally - mathematically -  seven inches in that environment is nothing. It’s a god damn rounding error and just because you got away with it this time doesn’t mean that -” he pauses for a second, a wave of dizziness hitting him from nowhere. He swallows thickly. “It doesn’t mean that you can pull stupid stunts like that. I can’t -”

He’s hot all over, suddenly sweating. “I can’t -” Has someone turned up the heat? He blinks heavily and the whole room recedes. He’s looking down the wrong end of a telescope with cotton wool stuffed in his ears because he’s sure Scott is saying something but can’t make it out. Can’t even see him properly all the way over there, dark walls narrowing his vision to that far point. “I can’t - I can’t - ”

-

John’s rage may be white hot, and scalding when you’re the only one in it’s path but Scott isn’t quite ready to concede yet, more than willing to defend his actions that saved lives. He raises one eyebrow questionly as John stops, wavering, and his concern increases when John starts to slur, blood draining from his face.  

“John? Are you ok?” He reaches out, but isn’t quite quick enough – or close enough  - to catch him as John’s eyes roll up and he crashes to the floor in a heap, narrowly missing hitting his head on the step.

“John?” Scott leans over, taps his cheeks for a reaction. “John? Can you hear me? Damn it.”

Scott grabs a medical kit and hooks the portable scanner into John’s suit. What he sees makes him sigh deeply, but relax. Not a stroke or a heart attack, but a massive rise then drop in blood pressure, – rentry no doubt -  and shockingly low blood sugar levels.  

He rolls John into the recovery position, just to be safe,  and crawls round to stuff a cushion under his head.  

“Hope you’re not going to be too bruised after that, but serves you right for yelling at me.” Scott runs a gentle hand through John’s hair, pushing it back from his brother's forehead, making sure it still lies neatly. John always likes his hair just so, as he would hate to make a bad first impression on someone calling for help.  

Colour slowly seeps back into John’s cheeks, his brow creases in a frown and his eyes crack open. Unsurprisingly, John picks up his rant where he left off, muttering “I can’t do this without you.”

“When did you last eat? Breakfast I’m guessing?” Scott asks, as John pushes himself slowly upright, understanding a few minutes behind consciousness.  

“I.... errr I started breakfast. Then we had a call and - ”

“I get it, come on” Scott hauls John to his feet, steading him under the arm when he sways, just slightly. “I’ll make you bacon and eggs so you have enough energy to tell me how much of an idiot I am.”

[gumnut-logic]

Suits

I woke up with this scene in my head this morning and this fic is the result. It appears to be little more than a mood piece and it rambles, not really going anywhere, but it is an answer to Scott’s FabFiveFeb challenge with the prompt “What do you mean?”

As with most of my fics at the moment - SPOILERS FOR 3.25 & 3.26.

Thank you to @scribbles97​ for the cheering on and the readthrough. And apologies to @onereyofstarlight​ I kinda built on your turf :D Hope I got all my references right :D

Don’t expect too much and I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Scott straightened his tie. The soft blue silk had a calm sheen to it. Virgil, ever the colour coordinator, had given it to him last birthday and basically demanded he wear it with this suit.

Who was Scott to disagree with a practising artist? A tie was a tie, but he had to admit the blue did something to highlight his eyes. He understood that much.

Shoulders straight, he found himself brushing non-existent lint off his lapels.

Pulling his hand away, he had to admit he was nervous and the soft grey fabric was little more than a shield between him and the world.

He was standing in his room in their house in Parnell, Auckland. Through the window of his bedroom the volcanic island of Rangitoto sat in a still and grey early morning sea.

A cruise ship was entering Waitemata Harbour, the floating hotel, a slow-moving behemoth.

It echoed how he felt stuck here.

But he was a Tracy and there were necessary things that had to be done. He turned toward the door and grabbed his wallet and keys. He had left Commander Tracy in the hands of Virgil for a couple of days. His younger brother’s thoughts on that were, as always, dutiful but reluctant. One of these days Virgil would realise just how good a commander he actually was and stop fretting every time Scott left the Island for a few days.

Gordon’s eyes had sparkled.

Scott snorted to himself. The aquanaut was as much Virgil’s second as Virgil was Scott’s. Gordon would have his brother’s back.

Even while hoisting Virgil’s underwear up the flagpole.

The smile that crept onto his face at the thought of his brothers did a lot to straighten out his thoughts.

Today was necessary, but there was always tomorrow to look forward to.

He sighed and strode into the corridor and down the stairs. “Dad, you ready?”

He found his father in the living room. The man’s back was ramrod straight, his dark grey suit sharp and professional.

The pink tie was an…interesting accent.

Grey eyes caught his staring at the silk wrapped around his collar. “Alan gave it to me.”

Scott frowned and took a step closer. “Are those…flamingos?”

“Yes, they were your mother’s favourite.” The tie was a solid candy pink, but embossed in stitches in the material were small flamingos. Elegant rather than gaudy.

His dad was still tense as bowstring, which was understandable considering what they were doing today. “You look great, Dad.”

The shift in his father’s stance was subtle, but the release of tension was enough. “Thank you.” His eyes appraised Scott. “You’ve made a good choice yourself.”

Scott shrugged. “Virgil knows how to bully.”

His dad snorted. “You, too, huh?”

“Yeah.” It was said with fondness. But onto business. “Ready?”

“Lead the way.”

The car was out the front waiting as the two men strode out the front door, Scott grabbing his briefcase as they left.

It was a short drive into the CBD and one of the reasons why they had purchased the house in Parnell many years ago. Some would say it was indulgent. Scott considered it necessary for appearances.

After all, if he was going to make the board travel all the way out here, he had to have the presence to make it happen.

A couple of years after his father’s disappearance Scott had moved Tracy Industries HQ to Auckland. His reasoning was clear. Aotearoa was International Rescue’s closest neighbour. The economic landscape worked to their business advantage and IR had an arrangement with the government that allowed fast deployment of the Thunderbirds if necessary.

And it was a simple power move. Making the rest of the world come to them spoke of confidence and strength.

His father had stared at him when he told him of the financial situation Tracy Industries was currently in. Those grey eyes had widened.

“We’re worth how much?”

Scott shifted where he stood. “It was a family effort, Dad.”

And it truly had been. While Scott acted as President, John had flexed his genius and played the stockmarket in his spare time. Both Brains and Virgil patented some core new technologies, Gordon expanded their ecological interests and Alan, still in high school, had helped to launch their high-tech simulator experiences.

Scott didn’t mention the merchandise. He avoided the merchandise.

But it all came together and where Tracy Industries was worth billions when his father disappeared, after an initial stumble and drop, it had recovered once the world realised that Scott Tracy was no pushover and was now greater than it had ever been. More diverse, more powerful, just more.

Scott had sat his father down and gone through the portfolio.

“We’re in aquaculture?”

“Gordon’s coup. He funded a small time ecologically safe project enough to get it off the ground. Now we are the major supplier of several marine crops for both food and medicinal purposes.”

His Dad frowned.

“It’s strength in diversity, Dad. The sum of all supports the all.”

Those eyes pinned him. “I taught you that line.”

Scott’s lips curled. “I know.”

And now the day had come where the current President had to re-introduce the former President to the board.

The buildings slipped by as the car darted through the city. The day was grey without being cold, but it was far from the tropics he was used to. People walked the streets, traffic lights passed them by. An ambulance tore through going in the opposite direction and Scott found himself stretching to peer out the back window to see where it was going, automatically running locations through his head, his hand halfway to his lapel to call Thunderbird Five before he stopped himself.

But nothing was said in the back of the car. His father was quiet and gazed out the opposite window. Scott knew this must be hard for him, but it had to be done.

“Are you sure, Dad?” They had discussed it late one evening out on the balcony.

“I’m sure, son. It is time.”

“You don’t have to do it now, you can wait longer if you need it.”

“Do you have reservations?” His voice was quiet.

“No! I’m just worried you’re hurrying it, that’s all.”

Still quiet. “No.” His father looked out towards the horizon. “It’s time.”

But still as the car pulled up in front of the tower of glass that served as their headquarters, Scott had to admit to himself, he had his reservations.

His father had had so many challenges to face on his return. His health was the worst. The long-term damage from years in space was unavoidable. The lack of a healthy diet was almost as bad. There were months of painful rehabilitation with sorely needed respite on Five. John had been his father’s constant companion. Gordon had stepped in as his coach.

The day Scott found Gordon in tears in his bedroom would always be engraved in his memory. His little brother had just simply overflowed. The skin and bone of their father, his pain, the scars, it had all managed to chip away even Gordon’s strength. Scott ended up holding the man as he cried on his shoulder.

Scott’s eyes were far from dry.

Virgil found them there sometime later and from that point on things had changed.

International Rescue took second place for a while after that.

They still went out, but sometimes they just had to defer. Dad needed them.

Of course, their father knew nothing of the sort. The brothers fed him the information they needed to. Scott didn’t keep him in the dark, but he didn’t need to know what he didn’t need to know. The brothers had been managing IR for a long time. They did what they had to do.

Scott kept Tracy Industries and IR moving, John stayed with their father while Eos acted in his place, Virgil, Gordon and Alan divided their time between Dad and International Rescue.

Grandma moved to Auckland to look after her son.

It was a challenging year.

But Dad was back on Earth and despite the pain, they still rejoiced.

The driver opened his door and Scott was forced by propriety to climb out of the car.

His father followed.

Scott watched him look up and up.

And up.

The building was truly an architectural triumph. The tallest structure in Auckland, it was an elegant sculpture spun from ribbons of glass and greenery. It said success and it shouted it to all who saw it. Iconic and a tourist attraction it was known the world over as Tracy Tower.

“Spared no expense.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Impressive.”

“That’s the idea.” But eyes were staring in their direction. His father’s presence today had been kept quiet, but with the media in everyone’s back pocket, it wouldn’t take long for the world to realise that Jeff Tracy was making his inaugural visit to Tracy Tower. “C’mon, Dad. They’ll be waiting for us.”

“For you.”

“Yeah, well, the moment they see you, I’ll just be part of the furniture.” He shot a small smile at his father.

The smile was reflected in those grey eyes. “Then lead on.”

The doors opened for them and they strode through into the grand foyer. Scott surreptitiously watched his father as he encountered the sheer opulence of the massive entrance. When Scott had first seen the plans for the building, his eyes had nearly fallen out of his head. It was over-the-top and just screamed ‘rich and we want to show it’ that he had stormed into the architects and given them a piece of his mind.

Fortunately, Virgil and Gordon had been with him at the time and reined him in because the lead architect had looked at him calmly before pulling up a hologram of the plans and going through each key point Scott had neglected to read.

The three rescues the day and night before might have had something to do with it.

The building was an ecological masterpiece. All the art served a purpose. It had no carbon footprint. Under the glass were solar cells that generated enough electricity to power the building itself, plus half the CBD beside it. Woven into the structure were gardens that served as havens for the workers in the building and for the wildlife around it. Aotearoa was the land of birds and the Tower supported as many as was practical.

Gordon had literally been bouncing at the time.

But the foyer was what Virgil had fallen in love with. At its centre stood a holographic sculpture generating image and music from the movement around it. Where people bustled past, the artwork collected the movement and interpreted it as light and sound.

A play of colours and piano notes danced around the room. Strategically placed glass reflected and bounced it further.

“Virgil?”

Scott snorted. “You could say that. Once he saw the designs, I couldn’t keep him away from them. They are considerably different from what was originally conceived.” He shrugged. “I like to think he improved it.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his usually calm brother gesticulating enthusiastically while outlining concepts and possibilities.

Scott waved at the sculpture and, even a dozen or so metres away, it waved back and sung a soft chime.

“You boys have definitely made your mark.”

A slight frown and he turned to his father. “We only built on your work, Dad. None of this was possible without you.”

His father straightened. “It is quite an achievement.”

A shrug. “It’s useful. It does what it needs to do.” He turned to reception and showed his ID. The young man smiled and ducked his head slightly. “Welcome, Mr Tracy.” Scott grinned at the security officer.

His father held out his ID, newly minted and shiny.

Scott hid a smile as the young security guard’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. “Mister Tracy?!” There weren’t enough capital letters in the English language to appropriately punctuate those two words.

“Yes, son, that’s my name. And yours is?”

“Uh, Cameron, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Cameron. Have you worked here long?

“Uh, just over eighteen months, sir.”

“Are you enjoying the work?”

“Yes, sir. Scott, er, Mr Tracy has been very kind.”

Scott couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, well, you’ve done an excellent job, Cameron.”

“Thank you, sir. The board are waiting in the Observatory.”

“FAB.”

Cameron’s grin was worth the small breach in protocol.

His father raised an eyebrow at Scott as they walked towards the elevator. “There’s a story there, isn’t there?”

“Yep. Had to pull Cameron out of Shackleton Nuclear Facility.”

His father stopped him in his tracks. “You went in there? That place is quarantined.”

Scott shrugged. “We do what we have to do. Cameron survived because of us. It is a success story, Dad.”

Those eyes held his a moment longer. “I’d be interested in seeing the reports.”

“They are available whenever you want to see them, Dad. I’ve told you that.” In fact, it had worried Scott that his father hadn’t jumped into the mission reports almost immediately. It as if he was reluctant to look into what he had missed.

It was understandable, but it was a concern nonetheless.

The elevator arrived as they approached and another security guard waved them in.

It didn’t take very long to get to the top of the building and the doors opened into the light an airy space that was the Observatory.

This was Virgil’s ode to John.

The engineer and artist had seen the plans for the rooftop space and immediately made suggestions. Scott wasn’t sure if you could stargaze in the middle of the city, but Virgil and the architects certainly did their best to make it appear as if you could.

The massive function area consisted of a glass enclosure that was the apex or the building. At night, lights shone on the glass in perfect constellations for the southern hemisphere. Even Scott was impressed.

During the day, the glass mosaicked shadows on the floor tiles that created those same constellations in lines.

Virgil hadn’t been the designer, but he had poked the team until they came up with this. To be honest, it was Scott’s favourite place for a board meeting.

It kept him close to the sky.

Gardens wove around the centre of the structure and when the meetings broke, there was plenty of fresh air and greenery to breathe in.

Today it was as grey as the ocean in the distance. Rangitoto Island defied the grey with its green volcanic cone.

The cruise ship had made dock.

Scott straightened his shoulders and stepped out of the elevator.

Immediately, every eye in the room turned and targeted him.

A moment later, every single eye slipped off him and landed on his father as he stepped out behind him.

“Mister Tracy!”

The name fell from the lips of Janine, Scott’s secretary who was there ready to take minutes.

“Well, are you just going to stand there or come in and take a seat?”

Scott couldn’t help but smile. “Captain Taylor.” A nod of greeting. “How was your trip from Mars?”

“Oh, Albert was excellent as always.”

Scott snorted as behind the astronaut, Alan, dressed neatly in a suit, rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Virgil, dressed in a grey almost as dark as his hair, emerged from the crowd, his eyes bright. “Hey, Dad, Scott.” He held out his hand to his father. “Welcome to Tracy Industries, Mister Tracy.” And yes, there was an amused smirk on his brother’s face.

Their Dad took Virgil’s hand, puzzlement on his face. “Virgil, what are you doing here? I thought you had command?”

The engineer tilted his head a little. “Well, sir, this is a full board meeting. Two is not far away, we can move fast enough. I can guarantee it.” There it was, the leader that was his younger brother even if the man didn’t see it himself.

“But at the moment, all of us are required to be here.” A flash of red hair and John stepped up from behind them. His suit a deep blue grey paired with his signature turquoise tie.

“What do you mean?”

Gordon appeared beside John, his smart pinstripe suit looking almost alien on the aquanaut…until you looked closer and realised there were purple octopuses on his tie and he was wearing sandals.

Scott rolled his eyes. He gave up. Gordon was never going to conform. It made him want to throttle him for it and yet love him even more.

“Jeff, dear.” A slim hand slipped around Gordon’s arm and Lady Penelope, all blonde and pink perfection, smiled up at his father. “You have to realise that your sons are all on the Tracy Industries board. Along with myself and Captain Taylor, of course.

His father spun to stare at Scott.

He just shrugged. “It’s a family business, Dad.”

Alan stepped forward. “Aunt Val sends her apologies. She is caught up in the States.”

His Dad was still staring at him. “But what about all those board member portfolios you shared with me?”

Scott tilted his head just a little. “They are board members, Dad. But so are we. We don’t have the luxury of be available for all meetings, but we do what we can. The quorum manage and keep us apprised.”

Lips thinned. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

Scott let out a breath. “Dad, if you knew we were all on the board, would it have affected your decision?”

Those eyes held his, but Scott could see the concern behind the grey. He knew this had been a very hard decision for his father and had wanted to support him in any way possible. It had been John who suggested they keep the family out of the equation, to hopefully put less stress on their father.

Mister Tracy frowned. “I guess we will never know.”

Scott didn’t smile, but he let a little hope flare at that statement. “Shall we call the meeting to order?”

A single nod from his father. Scott waved his brothers to their seats at the broad conference table to one side of the room. The non-family members of the board only had eyes for the elder Tracy.

Virgil slipped in next to Scott. Whispered. “FAB?” How’s Dad?

Equally quiet. “FAB.” Okay, but the same. They had both been worried that this was too soon, but Their father was as stubborn as the rest of them and wanted to do it now.

Virgil sat to his right as he always did, John to his left. Gordon slid over one with Alan and their father sat next to Virgil.

Scott didn’t sit down, but stood standing at the head of the table, a good twenty people staring at him…when they weren’t darting glances at his father.

A bird landed on the glass far above, its feet clattering against the surface.

“Thank you all for your attendance today for this special meeting of the Tracy Industries International Board.” He drew in a breath. “As the first item of business, I would like to announce my resignation as President.”

Several members gasped out loud. Janine let out a high-pitched squeak. A ‘no’ was whispered from the back of the room. Scott held up a hand and a respectful silence fell. “I don’t do this lightly and it is not for personal reasons, but for the betterment of Tracy Industries.” He straightened his shoulders. “I move to nominate my father, Jeff Tracy, to return to his rightful position as President of this company. Do I have a second?”

Six hands shot into the air.

The rest of the room sat in stunned silence.

“It will be noted that the motion was passed and that the board will vote, pending any additional nominations as per the constitution.”

The silence was profound.

The bird on the roof chattered to itself.

Scott caught his father’s eye and smiled.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[eirabach]

For @gumnut-logic 's FabFiveFeb Challenge

Prompt Two - Gordon

[Can't / No clothes]

Also inspired by Nutty's TAG ages meta, because it gave me *emotions*. I'm super sorry. Added Vance Joy because it’s Gordon.

---

Under the surface you don't know what you'll find,

Until it's your time.

---

The night that Jeff Tracy took humanity's first step on the surface of Mars, he had three little boys watching at home. Gordon, he liked to say, was born of the fall out. A child created in a whirlwind of press tours and ticker tape and eventually brought home to that quiet little homestead that would never be truly quiet or homely again. 

By the time Gordon became a Tracy being a Tracy mattered. And sure money's great and influence is better, but Gordon's sixteen years old with sunlight in his hair and his eyes and his soul, and for him, for him the best part of being a Tracy is that no one ever tells you you can't.

Not that Gordon would listen if they did.

Because the other important thing to know about being a Tracy, is that Gordon isn't very good at it.

He's uninterested in physics or engineering or math. He has minimal desire to blow things up or shoot people or study space dust. He likes a party and he loves people, but he's miserable in a cummerbund and he kinda never understood capitalism.

When you're fourth, you gotta find your own way to be first. And all right Scott's a fighter pilot and John's a genius and Virgil's some sort of goddamn savant, but at least Alan can't even tie his shoelaces yet so Gordon's got one up on him. Gordon doesn't even wear shoes. Doesn't wear much of anything at all except teeny weeny trunks splattered red, white and blue.

Gordon won't be a hero, won't have a theory named after him, but what Gordon will have will be his.

Gordon's going for gold.

His muscles burn and his hair turns green and he sweats chlorine into his sheets every night, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the next millisecond, the turn, the cleanness of his touch. He can't care about anything but his coach's thumb hovering over the stopwatch and the crest of his fly because it's coming. Gold. It's coming, and it's everything.

Everything.

---

Dad calls on Wednesdays at three. Alan calls at midnight just to hear him swear. He gets weekly updates on daring-do from Scott and a monthly serving of sarcasm and space babble from John.

Virgil calls because they tend to forget.

"You gonna come home, you think? Before?"

Virgil looks different, his floppy black hair cropped short, band shirts exchanged for some weird quasi military uniform. He's still watching Gordon shovel food down his throat with an expression of disgusted awe, though, so some things never change.

"Dunno." Gordon shrugs, mouth full. "Gotta keep training. Four months to go, can't lose form now."

"You should come, there's -- there's a lot changed around here," says Virgil, like that's a reason. Then, when Gordon just chews at him in reply, "Dad built you a pool."

And maybe that's a reason, after all.

Cause sure, his dad's never told him he can't, but Gordon's been gone a long time, and he's not sure he remembers the last time his dad told him he could.

---

Home's not the farm anymore, or the ranch, or the townhouse in Manhattan. Home is some island a billion miles from anywhere, where huge portraits of his older brothers stare expressionlessly down at him and his shoes squeak on the super shiny floor, humidity making his tracksuit stick to his back. 

Gordon has only really spent a few weeks here, his training all taking place under the eagle eye of Uncle Sam and sponsored entirely by Old Glory, but he doesn't remember it like this. 

The decor is still retro spy movie meets crazy billionaire with paranoia problems, and his bedroom is pretty much as he left it, but nothing else seems familiar at all. He'd left Tracy Two in a great cavernous hanger that would have been overkill even for one of dad's crazy projects, Kyrano had rushed him past huge shadowy behemoths that suggested, pretty damn strongly, that Jeff Tracy is in the midst of another too easily financed midlife crisis.

"Please tell me he isn't planning world domination," Gordon had only half joked as they’d emerged into the brightness of the villa proper. "He'd look awful in lycra."

Kyrano had glared at him, swirled back into the bowels of the island, and left him with Scott.

Scott is wearing lycra.

He's sitting behind their dad's desk, two high points of colour in his cheeks and his eyes bright with something Gordon can't name as he pours over datasets. All he's missing to complete the look is a fluffy white cat and a maniacal laugh.

"Hey. Hey." Nothing. Scott mutters to himself as he sweeps his fingers through warning signs. "Scotty, hey!"

Scott looks up.  Blinks. Blinks again.

"Gordon?"

"The one and only."

Scott stands, still grossly tall, and moves to ruffle Gordon's hair. It's not as easy as it used to be, there's an actual lift of his hand, and Gordon can't help but feel satisfaction creep into his bones. 

"You grew."

"Hear it happens."

"Got a girlfriend?"

"Got a pillow."

"Tragic."

"That's me." Gordon throws his arm across his eyes and flops backwards onto the sofa. "Sacrificing everything in pursuit of a noble goal. Hold tight, beautiful people. Only three more months and I'm yours."

He peeks out from behalf of his elbow to see Scott standing over him, arms folded, lips twisted into something a bit like a fond smile. A bit. 

Something unpleasant settles in Gordon's stomach.

"What are you doing desk work for? I thought you were out there --" He gestures to the cloudless sky beyond the glass wall. "Y'know. Saving the world."

Scott opens his mouth, but then there's a chime from the desk and Alan hollering from the staircase and Grandma crushing him to her chest, and Gordon is left to wonder.

---

Scott isn't the only thing that's strange.

There's a fish tank in the corner, empty but for a little model sub from that docudrama he and John used to love to watch with Mom, but when he lays his hand on the glass it hums beneath his fingers and makes his teeth ache. 

John's not here, replaced as resident super nerd by some guy they call Brains who makes John look dumb. Dad isn't there, either, but that's okay. Nor is Gordon, really.

He's lived apart from his family for the best part of two years, he shouldn't be surprised that they've changed. That's he's changed. But somehow, it doesn't feel like he has.

Alan's finally learned to tie his laces but still never bothers, Virgil's taken out his piercing, Grandma is being followed by a robot dog, but Gordon is still the same kid with the same dreams and he isn't sure what anybody else's dreams are anymore. Virgil's in a uniform and Scott's out of his and John is gone and Alan's looking at him like he knows stuff.

This is impossible, of course. Alan is an infant. This is the abiding certainty of Gordon's life and he intends to prove it this evening with three rubber spiders and a trapeze but whatever.

It's just that Gordon isn't quite sure where he fits, just like he doesn't know where to sit when holograms of the great and the good appear in his living room. Doesn't quite know what to make of the way their eyes skip over him to rest on Scott, or Virgil, and where the hell is John, anyway?

"Top secret," Alan says, all pre-teen smugness, "can't tell you."

"Dad'll be home soon," Virgil adds, ever the peacekeeper, "I'm sure he'll tell you everything."

Gordon's not so sure and Scott says nothing at all except a vehement 'no!' when Gordon dares to suggest going for a swim. 

So much for the pool, then.

---

Night is falling and Gordon's already ready for bed when the roar of engines fills the air and the whole family dart for the window, faces pressed against the glass. Gordon hovers behind them, unsure of his place, until Scott grabs him bodily by the elbow and drags him downstairs to where the deck leads down to the pool.

"Come on! You got to see this!"

It's a thing to see, all right. The pool withdraws beneath the villa itself, leaving a great gaping hole in the earth into which a great silver plane descends, jets first. And Gordon remembers the TV-21 and his father's fascination with speed and grace and more speed -- it's the one thing they have in common after all -- but this, this is something else. 

She disappears into the ground, and the pool sweeps over her, only the sway of the water left as evidence. Scott turns to him with an almost hysterical glee.

"Did you see that!?"

Gordon would have pointed out that he'd have to have been dead blind and comatose not to have seen it, but Scott's practically bouncing on his toes, his expression full of what Gordon recognises as real, true love.

"Isn't she beautiful? Come on, come on, Dad's gotta debrief and then --"

"Scott!" They both snap to attention, immediately turning to where their father stands, towering over both of them from the top of the stairs. "Debrief can wait. Let me see your brother."

Scott darts off, probably to hump the shiny thing, and Dad approaches Gordon, his eyes shining, dirt on his cheek.

"What do you think of her, son?"

"I think you've safely guaranteed Scotty won't be bringing you home any surprise grandbabies."

Dad snorts, clapping Gordon on the shoulder and turning him back toward the pool. They head out across the deck together, Gordon barefoot in only his sleep shorts, Jeff in a uniform like Scott's only gently singed.

"I've missed you. How's training?"

Gordon half shrugs. "Wet. Good. Pretty tiring."

Jeff looks him up and down with a critical eye "So I imagine. It looks good on you."

Gordon stretches and grins. "No more noodle arms, right?"

Jeff blinks, and for a moment Gordon almost thinks he sees something like sadness in his eyes, but it's soon gone and his dad's turning him to face the pool again.

"Will it do? I know it's not Olympic standard but we needed some room for the house and --"

"Dad," he says, because his dad is rambling and his dad never rambles. "Dad what's going on?"

Jeff looks down into the pool. The stars flicker into being in his reflection.

"Forest fire. Family home was cut off."

"Your rescue thing. You saved them."

Jeff looks at him, Gordon watches in the water as he schools his features, tightens his jaw. "This time.

"Scott and Virgil?"

"Are involved, yes."

"And John?"

Jeff looks up then, up to the darkening sky, and points. "We built a satellite. It monitors distress calls from all over the world - and beyond."

"Makes sense. Space case."

"Play to your strengths, isn't that what they say?"

"What about Alan?"

"Alan's eleven, Gordon. Even my insanity has its limits."

"And you built me a pool?"

"And I built you a pool. Is it -- " a breath where Gordon wouldn't expect to hear one "is it all right?"

"All right?" Gordon turns to him and grins. "It's perfect."

Because okay, so it's only a short course, and it occasionally has a supersonic plane blasting through it, but it's a pool and it's for him, and that's better than Scotty's super special plane. 

His dad's clapping him on the back again and smiling and that's better than any top secret technology. 

It makes a strange island full of strange things feel a little bit more like home.

Jeff's off again already though, gesturing to the round building above the villa and going on about blast radius and Gordon's content to just watch for a moment, to bask in that feeling for as long as it lasts. Then the subject changes.

"We'll be in Cape Town for the opening ceremony, of course, and I've made arrangements to ensure we can all make your races. I'm sure it won't shock you to hear Alan's made t shirts and John's bringing a banner. I hope it's safe for television."

His eyes snap to his dad's.

"John's coming?"

His dad's eyebrows twitch. "You think he'd miss it? Gordon, none of us will miss this. Not for the world. And as you now know, I mean that quite literally."

Gordon nods, mutely. There's a build up of something in his chest. Lactic acid squeezing his heart. His dad takes pity.

"What about September? Are you still planning on marine biology?"

Gordon scuffs at the tile with his bare heel. This is a conversation he's been avoiding for a long time, now. The after.

"Yeah. UCLA."

"California?"

Gordon shrugs.

"You don't seem keen? Sydney have an excellent program, do you --" Gordon feels more than hears the shudder in his dad's exhale. "No, no Jeff stop it. You tell me, Gordy. What do you want to do?"

Gordon's voice is never small, but it's as close as it's ever been. "Was thinking WASP."

Both of his dad's eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "The military? You?"

It's not an unexpected reaction. Gordon scoffs. "You wound me, Dad. Maybe I have hidden depths."

"I don't doubt that for a moment," his dad says, then he looks up, right up, to where the milky way swirls and John sits. “You’re not old enough.”

“Yeah, I know, I thought, college first - couple of years of credits and I can join as an officer.”

“You’re my son, you can join as whatever you damn well please.”

“Dad--”

"Sorry, sorry.” And his Dad’s looking into space and Gordon’s looking down at the water and it’s kinda always been like this, between them. Gordon suspects his dad hates it even more than he does.”You know I'll support you, if that's what you really want."

Gordon finally follows his gaze, imagines John in the vacuum of space, alone with his books and his stars. He wonders if Dad had had this conversation with him, before sending him up there. "That sounds kinda like a don't do it, Dad, I'm not gonna lie."

"Can I be honest?" Gordon nods, because saying no seems kinda harsh, but his heart is thundering faster than after a sprint. "Gordon, when I designed International Rescue, I designed it for you boys. A legacy, I suppose. I wanted --" he shakes his head. "I'm getting to be a selfish old man."

Gordon scowls. "You're the least selfish man I've ever met. Pretty sure those people whose lives you saved today would agree."

Jeff shakes his head.

"I want you to know," he says, "that there will always be a place for you, here, with us, if you want it. But only if you want it." A twitch of Jeff’s lips. “God knows, I could never make you anyway.”

"Thanks, Dad." Then, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Race you?"

A splash, a shout, laughter rings out into the night and hell it's cheesy but it's true; for a moment Gordon kinda feels like he's already won.

---

The Olympics are due to start in June.

May, and his father dies.

Gordon flies home immediately, thirty thousand feet over Cape Town without even looking down.

He can't.

He has a place in a legacy.

---

[gumnut-logic]

John, you loveable doofus! This is why Scotty has grey hairs. Once Scott has finished with you, you’re gonna have to face Virgil. Once you’ve recovered, you are seriously in for it.

I loved the convo between Alan and Scott on the way up. Scotty, the bubs is no longer a bubs and knows you reeeeeally well. Virgil obviously drew the short straw on who goes up to John, but that isn’t going to stop him managing Scott on the way. Go Alan for mother-henning Scott 😁

This is a fabulous fic. Thank you for joining the challenge 😁💙

Nutty

(John is in so much trouble 😁)

Fab Five Feb - Scott

I think there’s a longer fic here, which I may write at some point.  but for purposes of this challenge, here’s Scott. I think I managed to hit all five prompts.

The House Call

Scott Tracy sat in the co-pilot’s seat of Thunderbird Three and tried not to fidget.  Alan was beyond competent as a pilot, and he was going as fast as he could.  Scott just wanted to be docking with Five now.

Eos had awakened the residents of Tracy Island in the early morning hours.  John, who had been showing signs of a cold following his recent Earthside rotation, had collapsed and wasn’t really responding to the AI’s attempts to rouse him.  Scott and Virgil shouting at him over the comms only resulting in confused mutters and groaning. Fifteen minutes of controlled panic later, and Three was blasting to the rescue.

Keep reading

[strongerwiththepack]

Fab-Five-Feb: Scott

Biggest bro’s time to shine. Poor Scott, so many little brothers to keep track of - and they don’t make it easy for him. A stressed Scott trying to keep all his trouble-prone brothers alive is a common theme in my writing :) Thanks again @gumnut-logic for the fab challenge! If you squint you will find the prompt “What do you mean?” in here somewhere. 

“I’m not leaving her Scott!” Virgil shouted through the comms. Scott could hear the strain in his voice. The raspy tones caused by the growing volume of smoke. Virgil had already been in that house for too long.

“It’s too late Virgil. Turn around and head back.” Scott replied grimly. “That’s an order.”

“But Scott…”

“I know Virg.” Scott’s voice held a type of misery that was reserved for the most dire situations. “There’s nothing more we can do.”

There was a long pause of silence on the line.

“Confirm Virgil.”

A sigh. “FAB Scott. Heading out now.”

Knowing that his brother was headed out of harms way made Scott’s adrenaline ebb away. His field commander persona slipped ever so slightly as he cried out in frustration.

9 years old. The girl in that building was only 9 years old. There had been a rapid spread of fires in this neighbourhood and the residents hadn’t had any chance to evacuate. When International Rescue arrived a young women had been screaming that her daughter was still inside their now up in flames house.

They hadn’t hesitated. Virgil had been inside for over 20 minutes now. No sign of the girl. Scott hoped beyond hope that she wasn’t in there. That she had managed to escape by herself. The alternative was too horrible to consider.

The building was highly unstable now. Scott had been forced to order Virgil to call off the search. Parts of the roof were already crumbling in on themselves. It would be a matter of minutes before the whole place came down.

“Virgil, what’s your status.” Scott muttered into his comm as he began to worry about why his younger brother wasn’t out yet.

Silence.

“Virgil. Report.” He tried again.

It was John who answered him this time.

“I’m tracking him, he’s not heading out Scott.” John said grimly. “In fact he’s been moving further in.”

Scott’s heart clenched as he tried the comm again. “Virgil. I am ordering you to leave that building.”

Silence.

He started moving towards the entrance.

“Scott, stop.” John’s voice came through hurriedly. “You can’t go in there.”

“Virgil’s in there.”

“Virgil is wearing a fire protection suit, if you go into that house you won’t last 60 seconds.” John relayed in a calm voice that grated on Scott’s nerves.

“The suit won’t protect him if the bloody building collapses on top of him!”

John didn’t reply. Scott knew he was being unfair. John was just supplying him with facts, it wasn’t his little brothers fault that Virgil wasn’t answering his comm.

A cough though the comms had Scott standing up straighter practically bouncing on his heels as he listened.

“Enough Scott.” Virgil’s voice was clear as day.

“Virgil I swear to god if you don’t get your arse out here in the next 30 seconds-”

“I heard a cry Scott.” Virgil grunted. “She’s here. I can’t leave her.”

The building gave an almighty groan.

Scott panicked. “I’m sorry Virg but we can’t save everyone”

It hurt Scott to say but it was true. They couldn’t rescue anyone if they were dead.

It was a quiet whisper.

“I’m sorry Scott.”

“No.” Scott said firmly, emotions pouring through the stern voice. “Virgil, don’t you dare do this.”

The familiar beep of the comm being disconnected struck Scott straight in the heart. He screamed at the door of the building. “Virgil!”

“John!” Scott frantically yelled. “Get him back on the comm.”

“I can’t just-“

“What do you mean you can’t!? John I swear to god if you don’t force a connection through-”

The building gave almighty shudder before slowly collapsing in on itself. Scott watched helplessly as ceiling became floor and floor became debris. Flames still licking at the blackened remains.

“No. No. Nononono” Scott stood wide eyed watching the remains, not believing that his brother could be under all that.

He snapped himself out of the daze. “John. Get me a fire services team here now.”

“Already on route Scott.” John replied and Scott could hear the shakiness in the space monitors voice. It took a lot to shake his younger brother but Scott didn’t have time to deal with that right now.

Scott took a double-take at the rubble as he saw a piece of cladding shifting upwards. He almost cried out in relief when he saw the arm of the exo-suit pushing out of the rubble.

“Virgil!” he cried as he ran forward. “I have eyes on him John.”

Please be okay. Please be okay.

He still couldn’t get too close to the depleting flames. The heat burned on his skin as he tried to edge closer.

When Virgil had fully uncovered himself, Scott noticed a bundle of blankets in his arms. He was confused momentarily before his eyes widened further. The girl!

With a civilian back in the mix Scott managed to slip back into his field commander role. He squinted to see what condition they both appeared to be in.

“Virgil!” He shouted. “You have to get her away from the flames.”

He didn’t know if his brother was injured but they didn’t have any other options at the moment. Virgil seemed to have heard him though as he slowly rose, legs shaking in the process. He kept the bundle of blankets wrapped close to his chest. God, Scott hope she was still alive. He darkly wondered how someone could have survived that without any protection gear though.

His brother started moving towards him slowly. Scott shouted encouragements as Virgil stumbled multiple times. He always kept the bundle pulled close to his chest though. When Virgil was within a metres distance, Scott couldn’t help himself. He sprung forward pulling his brother away from the flames and hissing at the heat burnt his arms.

Virgil collapsed to his knees as soon as he was clear of the debris. He coughed harshly and Scott quickly removed his brothers helmet that clearly wasn’t helping anymore.

Virgil held out his arms in a silent plea. Scott carefully took the bundle and shuddered. The small body felt lifeless in his arms. He felt the wetness of the blankets as he gently unravelled them. The must have been soaked in water.

He saw Virgil collapse behind him and it hurt so much that he couldn’t check on him just yet.

He found the young girls face, darkened with soot but with an oxygen mask placed firmly over her mouth. He eyes were closed and she was breathing harshly but at least she was breathing, thank god. He saw paramedics sprinting towards them and sighed in relief. They could take her from here.

Once he was sure she was being cared for he hastily crawled across to his brother. Virgil’s eyes were open, if only barely, as he lay on his side taking ragged breaths.

Scott’s eyes watered.

“Idiot.” He whispered harshly even as he gently brushed Virgil’s hair back away from his face.

Virgil just gave him a sad smile, not yet ready to say anything.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again.”

Scott said it more out of pretence than anything else. Virgil knew it too as he just held his brothers gaze sadly. Virgil had saved that little girl. It would always be worth it in his mind.

Another paramedic came over to help them and Scott shifted aside slightly as his brother was fitted with an oxygen mask and rolled onto a hover stretcher. The fire suit was singed and ripped and by the pained look on his little brothers face Scott was sure his body was littered with burns.

Idiot. He repeated again in his head as he walked alongside the stretcher towards the waiting ambulance.

It was sometime later, after Virgil had been treated and was sleeping peacefully in the local hospital that Scott gave a sigh of relief. It had been a stressful day. He’d already had a long conversation with John, making sure his space-bound brother wasn’t spiralling in silence after the days event.

Scott knew he hadn’t been the kindest to his younger brother throughout the ordeal. He’d already ordered John down for mandatory leave. Scott didn’t want his brother up alone on Thunderbird Five right now, John needed to be with his family.

Scott sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead softly. He peered over at Virgil. How did they end up in this mess? Oh yeah, because Virgil’s an idiot who doesn’t listen to direct orders.

Scott sighed again. He couldn’t really be annoyed. That little girl had survived. She was alive because of Virgil actions.

So yeah Virgil was an idiot, but he was Scott’s idiot. And Scott wouldn’t trade him for a thing.

[cg29]

After Saturdays season 3 final episode, I started thinking about reunions that they may have had before International Rescue. This Scott moment was one of those thoughts... Using @gumnut-logic FabFiveFeb Prompt - Scott & A Dream.

Posted to my A03:CreativeGirl29.

TITLE: Reunion

…The white gate swung open, a large bag hung effortlessly over his shoulder as he strode confidently through…

He’d missed his family: His dad’s long talks, Alan’s infectious smile. Gordon’s laughter. John’s soothing voice. The sound of Virgil’s piano filling a room. Grandma’s warm hugs - even her cooking. Although, he was well aware that he would most likely get sick pretty quickly if he were to indulge.

…A small rock was lifted, a smile at the key hidden underneath…

Yes, he had enjoyed the freedom of being away and the thrill that came with his deployment. Nevertheless, it had been too long.

…Soundlessly he turned the key, then opened the door…

A beaming smile immediately lit his face – He had dreamt of this moment: The aroma of burnt cookies, mixing with the warmth of his father’s famous roast dinner.

…Swiftly he crept inside, and slipped into the gap underneath the stairs…

Animated chatter from Gordon and Alan in the lounge. His dads booming laugh. Grandmas commanding voice calling them all into the dining room. John’s light footsteps when he made his way downstairs, followed by the louder heavier footed sound of his other brother Virgil.

…He tiptoed out of his hideout…

It was thanksgiving. He had missed the last two years, and as far as they were aware he would be missing this one too.

…Softly he stepped towards the open doorway…

Their voices exuberantly filled the air. Each recounting an accomplishment, a happy moment from that year, an aspiration for the future, and a special wish that he was safe and would return home soon.

…He strode through the doorway…

“I hope there is enough food for me?”

A succession of “Scott!” reverberated through the ranch, followed with buoyant cheers and sobs of joy as he was held close and looked at and talked too.

…After explanations given, eventually he was allowed to sit down, and with a bright smile deliver his own thanks…

And he was grateful… Grateful that he had been given an opportunity to save the lives of others, even though at times he was scared for his own. Appreciative for the good he had seen, although there were things he would like to forget. He had grown, from a boy who was curious about everything into a man. Stronger. Wiser. Eyes more open to the world. However, this moment, right now, eclipsed every life changing event he had experienced, and he now knew that whatever the future may hold it would be surrounded with his family.

[fallenfurther]

FabFiveFeb - Virgil

Finally managed to finish this little one. Though I feel sorry for Alan, I fix him up only to whump him again. 

The prompts used: hard, yesterday and “I’m trying!”

******

The aftershock dissipated as Virgil ran into the building. People were trapped on the fourth floor and he had been assigned to rescue them. Virgil jumped up the stairs, the Jaws of Life making the leaps effortlessly. He was on the fourth floor in no time and looked around. They were trapped in a meeting room with only one exit. Virgil took a left only to jump back. There was a hole in the floor, a steel re-enforcement beam had fallen through and take out the floor. Virgil was perplexed. This isn't the sort of thing that should happen. His knowledge of building structures was incredible thanks to the many rescues, and he had kept the knowledge fresh as it came in handy too often. He knew this shouldn't happen. Though whatever the cause, the beam was blocking a door. Virgil eyed up the other side. It should hold. He took a few steps back and took a running leap at the gap. He landed it perfectly. Virgil carefully headed to the door and knocked.

"Hello? International Rescue."

"Hello! We're in here!" A muffled voice replied, "Help us!"

"I'm going to get you out of here. Stand back from the door. I'm going to remove the blockage."

Virgil eyed up the long chunk of metal in front of him. He slipped his hand out for the Jaws of Life and slipped his laser up and onto his shoulder. With the other claw he gripped the beam and braced it. He turned on the laser and cut the beam. As it severed, the bottom half fell through the hole it had made and took a little of the floor with it. Immediately, Virgil slipped his hand back in and grabbed onto the bottom part of the beam, taking all its weight. Virgil carefully adjusted his footing, very wary of the weakened floor he was standing on. Making sure the grip with his left claw was firm he slipped the right one up the bar. He now had it firmly in his grip and could try and guide it slowly out and down the hole.

Virgil was steeling himself when the next aftershock came. He braced his body and heard exclamations from the other side of the door. He felt the shaking through his whole body and there was nothing he could do when he felt the floor under his left foot give way. The next moments happened in slow motion.

Virgil tipped as his centre of gravity changed. The bar slipped down with him as his body started to fall through the gap. The beam pushed him down and his right leg jarred as it slammed against the floor, the exosuit keeping it straight. This tipped Virgil sideways, so he was falling headfirst into the depths of the building. Adrenaline and fear mixed together as he fell. The beam slipped out his grip as his hold on the controls loosened. Virgil watched as the last floor came into view. He was heading straight for the other half of the beam. He tried to brace. He tried to prepare for the exosuit to take the brunt, but the four floors were not enough time to react, and he landed hard on the metal beam. It was lying diagonally in the opposite direction to his baldric, and it slammed into his ribs and stomach knocking the wind out of him. His helmet slammed against the floor. Debris landed around him, but it was the beam he had been holding that did the most damage. It fell, laser cut end first, into his lower back. The exosuit was designed to protect his spine but there was only so much force it could take. Virgil felt it warp under the impact and it sent a sharp pain up his back and he let out a cry. The beam then fell against the first floor raining more debris down on top of Virgil before joining him on the ground.

Virgil stayed very still. He knew the risks of spinal injury, and the seriousness of it. He gathered his breath and tried to move his head so he could see his communicator. This came to nothing as something was lying against his helmet, pinning it to the floor. Virgil focused on his breathing again. He knew he needed to stay calm. He needed his brothers. He needed International Rescue. Carefully, Virgil slipped his left hand out of the Jaws and reached for where he believed his right wrist was. As Virgil reached for his com, ready to give John an update on his situation, Scott’s commanding voice burst into his ear, transmitting to everyone.

“The buildings are collapsing on each other. It’s too dangerous to continue. Everyone, back to the Thunderbirds. We’ll continue when the aftershocks have stopped.”

“FAB.” Gordon replied.

“FA…” Alan started only for a scream to finish the acknowledgement.

The scream sent a dagger through Virgil’s heart. It was a pained scream, one that meant Alan was in trouble.

“Alan!? What’s happened?” Scott’s worried voice came

There was no response. The silent com brought back memories of watching Gordon test the hydrofoil. They had all been excited to see their brother try out the new technology and WASP had allowed Dad, Scott and him to watch. It felt like only yesterday that he had almost lost one younger brother. They had lost communication with Gordon then. They had waited in anxious silence for the stationed WASP teams to rush in and grab Gordon out the water; the senior WASP personnel running around them. Virgil had felt the world stop that day. This felt ever so similar. A weight grew in his stomach.

“Gordon, you’re with Alan, right? What’s happened?” Scott’s voice demanded.

“The building came down. He was behind me.” Gordon responded, a worried edge to his voice.

"Can you get to him?"

"I'm trying!" Gordon replied with a grunt. "I'm trying!"

A sigh came from the aquanaut. "My leg is pinned. I can't move. I can't get to him."

"It's alright, Gordon. I'm coming. John, give me their locations. I'm going to get them."

Virgil still had his hand reaching out to his wrist com. He put his hand down and sighed. He couldn't make Scott choose. Not between Alan and him. So, Virgil lay where he was. Hoping that Scott could get to Alan in time.

[melmac78]

Had to bring this one back because I’m there again for the marathon.

This is a better look of the Duckmaster outfit. They hired this gentleman at least last year: he’s VERY good and I think more of an engaging showman than the previous one (who FTR was also very good).

The Duckmaster cane mentioned is in his hand. The duck is sold, but I don’t have a pic. (They do have punny pair of boxer shorts now, but I’d never put Virgil in those as a Gordon prank.)

These are a few other hotel shots referenced (the village changes every year, except last year’s traditional small one due to Covid protocols).

The room, which I was given an upgrade likely due to two conventions taking my standard room, is quite nice.

It has been updated quite a bit, but I don’t like the new hallway carpet. It’s just a strange design.

Next is Huey’s. I think the Tracy’s would like it. Both places I’ve eaten today too - this and The Arcade, were also very reasonable:

Oh it filled up fast after these photos, and my meal included the onion straws.

I’ll likely not post more on this trip until later in the week - I have done roof ones I need to get tonight, but thought you’d enjoy this.

Virgil’s story for FABFiveFeb

This is based off a Whumptober story I wrote, “A different perspective of ‘I Can’t Walk’,” but this one from Virgil’s point of view regarding Gordon’s surprise prank on Virgil. You don’t have to read it though to enjoy this story. The names of the locations are current.

Virgil prompts: “I’m trying,” shimmer, duck, hard.

***********************

Virgil smiled as he finished the last few strokes of his charcoal sketch. It had been hard to get that detail of the AutoZone Park’s Christmas tree in proportion, but he had to admit it was nice to sketch one in front of the Minor League baseball stadium in Tennessee.

Hard for him to believe it had been just four and a half hours earlier he had finished his 10K race with his brother Alan.

Scott had completed the full marathon and was likely still finishing up his deep tissue massage in The Peabody’s Spa.

The artist himself had taken a nice long hot shower and was now in his robe and boxers, drawing.

Gordon and John and finished the half marathon about two hours ago, and were doing their own recovering.

Virgil chortled at the last part: Gordon had bet John about whether or not he could complete the half marathon - and lost.

The look on Gordon’s face losing still made him smile, especially with John finishing it with an injured ankle falling into a pothole…

“Speaking of which,” he muttered, and got the mediscan out. John was napping in his room in the suite.

The astronaut said his ankle wasn’t bothering him anymore, but if there was one thing Virgil learned from his brothers, it was adrenaline was going to come into play. He was already going to feel the pains from lactic acid walking 13.1 miles, but if his ankle was hurt worse…

Virgil shook his head at the image of John grumbling as he was being carried, and quietly walked into the room.

John was still resting on top of the bed, pretty much dead to the world as he slept from the long walk. The medic was proud of his middle brother, especially all the training he’d done to win the bet.

But at the same time, he winced at the fact John was still in his astronaut themed sweats, which could be a sign his ankle hurt.

Virgil then gently turned on the scanner, letting the blue light scan over the younger man’s right ankle.

“Virg… you’ve got to stop doing that,” muttered a voice.

The older man looked up and saw that John was wide awake, glaring at him. “That’s the fourth time you’ve scanned my ankle since the race was over,” the ginger headed man said, annoyed.

“I just want to be sure there’s nothing torn in your ankle,” said Virgil, who finished the scan and looked at it. “It was a pretty hard fall you took.”

John sighed and stood up. “Yes, I know, but I feel better,” he said, gently leading his brother out.

Virgil frowned. “You’re limping,” he pointed out, unconsciously starting to do a sing-song voice.

“And I said I’m fine,” responded John as he pushed the man out, complete with a swift, and hard kick in the backside with his injured ankle.

Virgil turned around shocked by the fact his normally quiet, calm brother just put his size 12 grey and silver running shoes to a different use.

“See, perfectly fine,” said John cheekily as he walked a bit like a penguin across the room. “Look, I’m going to go look around the hotel lobby. EOS wanted me to show her the gingerbread village. You can come if you’d like, just don’t bring the scanner. Don’t want to send you home the hard way...”

Virgil waved the man off saying he’d join them later.

He watched as John left, and when the door closed, rubbed his backside…. “I’ll show the Astronaut the way home to Five the hard way,” he muttered.

A lighter snort filtered through his ears, making the man groan. “Gordon… if you say one word…”

The aquanaut choked back a laugh. “I won’t - it would be fun to see you try it, would keep me from having to pay up that bet,” said Gordon. He sobered up. “But John is OK, right? I’d hate he hurt himself worse over a wager.”

The medic looked at the scan and then smiled. “Yeah, he is. Just a twisted ankle, so I don’t need to do any more scans,” he said.

“Good thing - I think John is to the point he’d use the Vulcan Nerve Pinch to keep you from scanning his ankle,” said Gordon, smirking.

Virgil glared at the man. “No thank you… he’d probably succeed in knocking me out,” he said, walking back over to his sketch.

Gordon looked at what was being drawn, then smiled. “Looks nice. Going to keep working on your sketch?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“No reason. I’m going to go down to the lobby and chat with John,” said Gordon.

“You mean try to get him to let you welch out of your bet?” said Virgil with a smirk.

The aquanaut shrugged. “Maybe… but even then, I want to tell him how proud I am of him,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Yeah, see you in a little while. We’re still eating at Huey’s right?” said the older man as he started to sketch the skyline around the stadium. He loved the restaurant’s burgers and onion straws.

“Oh yes… don’t forget to dress up,” said Gordon, who then laughed.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but nodded and watched his brother head out. The door closed, leaving Virgil surrounded in the soothing pale Tiffany blue shaded walls and duck themed decorations.

He sketched for a while, finessing the details in his drawing, which now included his brothers. Each of them had worn unique outfits for their race… well except Scott, who preferred the event’s race tank and then fairly short running shorts. “At least he has the kind with the running bloomers,” Virgil thought with a chuckle.

The artist was so engrossed in his work he at first didn’t hear the knock at the door. When a louder one finally drew his attention, Virgil put aside his drawing and then opened the door.

Outside was a Peabody bellhop with a package. “Mr. Virgil Tracy,” he asked kindly, and Virgil nodded before he was handed the bundle. “You have been selected to be an honorary Duckmaster this evening. You need to wear this and come down about a quarter before 6 p.m.”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow, but then chortled. “OK, I’m honored. Thank you,” he said, and after giving the bellhop a generous tip, he brought the box to his room.

He then laughed. “Honorary Duckmaster? I don’t believe it,” repeated the artist as he looked at the card. Sure enough, someone had bought him the honor, something he admitted he wanted to do when he was younger.

Earlier on the trip in Memphis, the brothers had gone to the top floor to look at the Duck Hotel, as well as view the skyline. Virgil alone had several photos of the city as well as the hotel he was going to use for future artworks.

Duckmaster was something different however. had always pictured himself in the sharp red jacket, complete with epaulets, cords and black trousers, leading the ducks around with his Duckmaster cane and taking them up and down the elevator every single day.

Probably explained why he wished Gordon would refer to Thunderbird Two as a duck and not a frog.

Today, he thought as he opened up the package, he was going to get to wear that outfit, and…

His mouth dropped open when he saw what was inside.

“GORDON!”

8888888

Well, it was either do this or go down in his boxers and robe. Gordon had taken every piece of clothing he could from Virgil’s suitcases, but at least let him have the pair of underwear he brought into the bathroom.

He admitted he considered the alternative, but really, Virgil wasn’t going to do that.

Grandma Tracy loved coming to the historic hotel and eating their Banana Oreo Cheesecake, and he enjoyed his cup of coffee sweetened with just a bit of Tennessee honey he only found there.

It was a pair of treats for both and he wasn’t going to risk them getting banned due to a prank.

So, “swallow my pride, step out of the elevator and meet up with the Duckmaster” became his mantra as he entered the main lobby.

The Duckmaster, a kind man with dark hair and brown eyes, looked at Virgil a bit in surprise, then mellowed into a smile. “I see you’re very much the duck enthusiast,” he said kindly, but with a soft chuckle at the sight.

Virgil snorted, which made some of the ducks on his Hawaiian shirt shimmer as the metallic threads hit the light. “Oh yes, my brother knew I had dreamed of being a Duckmaster… I just didn’t expect my outfit to be a kilt and Hawaiian shirt,” he said. “Especially with the ducks having their own shimmering shirts…”

“The slippers are a nice touch,” said the older man with a twinkle in his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it to the slightly embarrassed man, but in his 20 years as the Duckmaster, he had seen a few unusual outfits.

Virgil’s duck overloaded outfit surprisingly was a bit tame to several. If anything the top, if longer sleeved, would fit in the Lansky Bros. Store, one of the hotel’s shops.

“I’m trying to figure out how Gordon managed to find character bedroom slippers in my size,” said Virgil as he took a step, watching the fabric mallard heads bob up and down.

“Not here… though I bet the gift store would like to know,” quipped the Duckmaster, who then smiled. “You look great though, and we’ll make the ceremony even more fun. So ready?”

Virgil saw the sincerity in the man’s eyes, and smiled. “Yes, ready,” he said, as they walked to the fountain. Nearby, Virgil caught the tri-colored blue, yellow and orange shirt that belonged to their favorite human fish - Gordon. Predictably, the aquanaut was already laughing, though Virgil admitted he couldn’t tell if it was from the sight or the Long Island Tea the aquanaut was drinking.

“Seriously… he knows better than to drink even a beer after a half marathon,” Virgil muttered, but seeing the man had also purchased what appeared to be a sandwich from the Peabody Deli, sighed in some relief Gordon was being a bit more cautious.

Next to him was John, who had snuck back to change out of the sweatpants but still wore the NASA patch shirt. The astronaut had a shy smile, enjoying the prank Gordon set up but still sympathetic. He did however roll his right ankle to show yes, it was doing well.

Looking up, Scott and Alan were found in the gallery above, having an excellent view of the scene. Alan was cackling at the sight, and while Scott cuffed his younger brother gently over the head, his eyes sparkled in merriment.

He had to admit, the silly outfit was worth wearing for his brothers’ reactions.

“Yeah, I’m ready… let’s show them how Duckmasters do this,” said Virgil with a chuckle.

The elder man clapped a hand on his shoulder with his own laugh, and started the presentation.

Weird outfit and all however - especially the shimmery top, being an honorary Duckmaster was worth every cent for Virgil as it was for Gordon to prank him.

8888888

About a half an hour later, Virgil sat in the lobby with his brothers, enjoying a cup of hot Earl Grey tea before he dug into his Equinox dessert. He relished the taste of hazelnuts, chocolate cake, and ganache.

He first looked at the Duckmaster cane and special rubber duck he received as part of the package, then looked at Gordon.

“Why a duck kilt Gordo?” he said. Of the three items, he was most embarrassed about the kilt. The shirt at least got him a phone number of one girl who found it hot on him, and the slippers were actually quite comfortable. He just wished they didn’t have the knitted cuffs at the ankles.

The aquanaut shrugged as he took a bite of his chocolate Peabody Duck. “You needed to match: I have a squid kilt, Alan a rocket kilt…”

“But Gordon, Scott and I don’t have one,” said John, who hiccupped slightly. “You know better than to not get me one…”

Scott rolled his eyes. “And you know better than to have more than one Old Dominick,” said the eldest, gesturing at the glass of bourbon. He was enjoying a cup of coffee and a chocolate dome, having to refrain from alcohol. It was nice of John to make Gordon pay for a plated dessert for all of them as part of the bet forfeit, but he still had to fly them home tomorrow.

“I only had two,” said John, who hiccupped again. “Though yes, maybe one would’ve been enough.”

Virgil chuckled. “Thankfully, we’re going to still go to Huey’s, so you can get a burger and soak it up,” he said gently. John nodded, admittedly confused they’d eat dessert first, but thankful they were wise enough to still eat something more substantial.

Gordon laughed. “Rate he’s going he’ll forget the ice cream tomorrow,” he said. “I can welch a bit…”

Scott shook his head. “No Gordo… you promised, and I’ll make sure of it,” he said.

“Even if he eats it on the airplane?”

“Oh no, that isn’t happening…” said Scott, who seeing Gordon nearly cheer in victory continued. “Not until all five of us eat a cone. I want to try that Equinox ice cream.”

“That's what I’m getting,” said John with a slightly brighter laugh, which the others joined in.

Scott, seeing the slight shimmer in John’s eyes, smiled. Poor guy was OK but he didn’t want to risk the twisted ankle become a sprain walking the one block over.

“I do think right now we go back to the suite and rest. Huey’s should be a bit less busy in an hour,” the eldest said. “And I for one want to eat their famous onion straws.”

The others nodded, and after paying their tab, went to the elevators.

Alan, Gordon and John took the first elevator, while Virgil and Scott took the next one.

The eldest looked at Virgil. “You do realize - phone number or not - you look ridiculous,” he said, chuckling. “Gordon got you good.”

Virgil gave a half smile and nodded. “Yeah, he did. But you know they say revenge is a dish best served cold right?”

Scott nodded, and frowned. “Virgil, you know he’s not embarrassed to wear anything weird,” he said, then tilted his head. “Or about not wearing anything at all…”

The second eldest smiled. “No, I won’t do that to him. I love Grandma too much to get us banned from The Peabody. Plus I like that honey in my coffee here,” he said. “I’ve got something better. An invasion.”

The eldest quirked an eyebrow, but then seeing Virgil pull out one of the two items he received as Duckmaster, smiled. “Oh no… you didn’t…”

“Oh yeah, tomorrow he’s about to go ‘quackers’,” said Virgil, who laughed when he saw his older brother do a facepalm at the bad joke.

“I’m going to need earplugs…” was all scott muttered.

8888888

That next morning, the sound of quacks filled the suite the Tracy’s were using..

Well, quacks made more of squeakers.

Gordon woke up to find his bed was nearly covered in rubber ducks, all from The Peabody.

They were also on the floor, bathtub, and toilet.

There was even a silver dollar sized duck someone managed to sneak into his reusable water bottle.

Some had shimmery tops on their body.

One was the Duckmaster duck - staring right at him when he awoke.

“Well played Virg,” said Gordon, with a smile.

He conceded defeat this time.

Now, there were only two things Gordon could do:

First, donate all but one or two of the ducks to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, now working to end even more diseases as they had most childhood cancers.

Second, find a way to pay back Virgil for the prank.

8888888

Reference of the Duckmaster ceremony (by me a few years ago). This is an honorary Duckmaster ceremony, and any age can do this:

[halorocks1214]

the law of relativity

AO3 Link

Word Count: 9963

Summary: The Law of Relativity states that each person will receive a series of problems (‘tests of initiation’) for the purpose of strengthening the ‘light’ within. We must consider each of these tests to be a challenge and remain connected to our hearts when proceeding to solve the problems. This law also teaches us to compare our problems to others’ problems and put everything into its proper perspective. No matter how bad we perceive our situation to be, there is always someone who is in a worse position. It is all relative

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | Virgil | You are here! | Gordon

WHY 👏🏼 CANT 👏🏼 I 👏🏼 WRITE 👏🏼 FICS 👏🏼 IN 👏🏼 MO 👏🏼 DER 👏🏼 RATION 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 also just bluuuergh. dont ask about this fic. part of it was written in a dark auditorium, another was written in a different state, another was written on a frickin bus, this fic has been places ill tell you what. half the time i think this is hot garbage and the other half i think its actually decent so im posting this while my head is in a good headspace and then promptly yeeting myself off the internet for a few hours to wait and see what happens. this series is becoming less of a canon divergence AU and more of a straight-up AU because of certain details im trying to worm in there buT IM TRYING MY BEST

thanks once more to @gumnut-logic, because of the length, this time i used three prompts, them being "What do you mean?", crease, and dream (and they werent even used that much sksksksk)

Warnings for both graphic and non-graphic depictions of violence, as well as mentions of torture and other PTSD/panic attack related stuff. I went deep with this one fellas

Orphan.

The word tasted dirty in his mouth.

He can still see the footage in the backs of his eyelids from when he watched it exactly one year ago. He was the only other (living) adult at the time in the family outside of Grandma, so he was permitted to see it. He remembered they originally didn’t want to show him, mainly because of his age, but Grandma was fierce, and she put one hell of an argument on the table.

One Scott refused to let fall through the cracks by breaking down. If only Grandma knew how he cried his eyes out and screamed to high heaven that night in the hotel room after essentially watching his father be blown to bloody smithereens then she was a goddamn saint for keeping it a secret. It made sense, she was the mother to his father. She had quite the line up of stories from Jeff’s childhood. Scott sensed the early-greying of his hair came from her, heh.

The rest of his family eventually saw it, of course, they did. Scott couldn’t shield them forever. What he will protect, selfishly he might add, was how angry he was at how much better they took it than he did. They cried, yes they did, but they never fully broke down like Scott did. Later in life, he wondered if it was jealousy: jealousy at not truly being able to let go. Whatever it was, he made sure to swallow it along with whatever alcohol he chose for the weekend.

Just add it to the ever-growing pile of shit he had to deal with. Nothing new.

Suddenly he’s 20 again and seated in a plane to be taken to his first stint in the Air Force. He said his goodbyes to Virgil, Gordon, and Alan back at home while Grandma and John metaphorically held his hand all the way to the airport. John was… quiet, more so than usual, but Grandma was stuck right in the middle between being a sobbing mess and ecstatic at the fine young man he’s become.

You’re just like your father. He would be proud.

Scott was secretly glad she never physically said it. It gave him plausible deniability in thinking that those words weren’t laced behind her big, bright, prideful eyes.

The first time went well, maybe even great. He stayed for a couple of months, did some flight tests, and while the training was brutal, boy did he learn a lot. When he came back home it was to a family slowly stitching itself back together. Grandma was a full-time house member, Virgil had taken up painting, Gordon talked about potentially going back to his swim meets, and while Alan was still as silent as ever, he was perkier than when Scott last saw him.

It would be on and off for the next few years: a couple of months at home, slowly and painfully taking over the role their father had (he can’t remember when he essentially received joint custody of his younger siblings with Grandma, but hey, he’s not complaining), then a couple of months out at the Air Force base where he slowly climbed up the ranking platform. He became skillful, perhaps too skillful. When he got his rank of Captain he felt it was less of an honor and more of something they owed him.

He was getting cocky. Never enough to be a danger to his fellow men, but enough to be somewhat of an occasional annoyance. Charles smacked him upside the head more than once. It felt like the world was right-side-up for once. Scott made many-a-calls to John and Virgil, the former enjoying his first few rotations up in space and the latter squarely in the middle of college. Gordon was being offered sponsorships to hell and back, and Alan was quietly getting along with the other kids at his school. Grandma was on welcoming duty for Kayo, who was taking her slot in the Tracy family with grace, though, a warning that their family would take custody of her if something were to happen to her parents would have been nice, Dad.

Of course, nothing ever goes right for their family for too long.

Orphan.

Age 24, it was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission of civilians. Scott was put in charge of his squad and then some. At night, they rolled-- well, flew out to get the job done. Scott can’t even remember the country anymore when minding his own business. Australia? Finland? Perhaps Bangladesh? There was a place John was insistent Scott never do rescues in, Virgil tended to agree, and the eldest unhealthily let them banish him from ever stepping foot there without argument. He could never remember the name off the top of his head until John’s familiar International Rescue, we have a situation rung out in the living room followed by the name of the country.

He would immediately forget it later, trauma too strong, too volatile, but the way his heart stopped and his head shattered and the way he felt ice water rush down his back was a good enough reason to quietly leave the room and let John delegate the job to one of his brothers. Sometimes John found him retching in the toilet halfway through the mission. He made sure to always mute Scott’s wrist communicator, even if it was never turned on in the first place.

The plane touched down. Orders sent the ground team out. But then the ground team took longer than estimated. Scott tensely waited where he was told to. It wasn’t the first mission that took a little longer than predicted and knowing humans, it surely wouldn’t be the last. Then, words mixed with heavy static came over the radio. H--p. Co-- ---7--. --nd ba---p --me--at--y.

Scott sat tensely in his seat, remembering his orders and suddenly hating them. Radio back to home if the mission goes south. Well, it didn’t look like they had the radio anymore. Still didn’t hurt to try at least. Scott spoke the familiar protocol that was ingrained into him when trying to call base. Dammit. Nothing. Probably some kind of blocker of sorts. Sitting up straight as a board, Scott looked through his options.

… He was in charge here. If something happened to his team the fault would lie squarely on his shoulders. Going against everything but his gut, he went out to help his squad. He can’t really remember what he exactly did anymore, but he does remember that it made a noise. Like a Looney Tunes scene: he flinched, froze, waited to see if anything or one heard, breathed a sigh of relief, and continued.

He eventually stumbled across one of his closest comrades, Arnold Brigeets. Yes, the name was ironic and half the reason he joined the force in the first place. The guy was one of the people that actually trained Scott and also seemed to be one of the few that was genuinely proud when Scott became a higher rank. It’s why Scott was more appreciative of Arnold than others, that, and well… Scott thought his fatherly abilities were good. The guy did have three kids back home.

Orphan.

Ducking down behind the cover his older friend was semi-situated behind, Scott watched as Arnold jumped at the intrusion before sighing. Scott had run into some enemies that he swiftly took down-- nothing too serious, he didn’t have the time or weapons for such an act, but they definitely would be out of it for a while-- so Arnold must have too on his way to find cover as well, hence why he was so on edge.

“Thank God,” Arnold wiped his forehead, “Glad to see you join us, kid.”

Scott was breathing heavily, but the grin he attempted was still there, “Y-Yeah, so what happened? More threats than we thought?”

Arnold shook his head, “Yes and no. There were a lot more baddies than we thought, but that’s because the civilians weren’t civilians. It’s a tr--”

Boom. The familiar sound of a gunshot.

Arnold fell over. Never got back up. Dropped like a rock in a lake, never to come up to the surface again.

Scott was so caught off guard he couldn’t react to the gun that swiftly beat him over the head, knocking him out cold. The only thing on his mind was oh fuck oh fuck I messed up I shouldn’t have come I wouldn’t have made any noise that way why did I--

They had him for roughly two weeks. Scott always thought the plotline in movies where the villain vehemently denied knowing any important information was dumb as hell. We’re not stupid. We wouldn’t go after someone if they didn’t know something.

The things they did hurt and no amount of I don’t fucking know anything! would help. Those two weeks were lost to Scott in a sea of pain and torment. The only thing he remembered was being captured, then waking up in a hospital drugged up to his gills with his superiors staring at him like he cured cancer.

“You saved the rest of your squad from sharing the same fate as the first half.”

“I-I did?”

“You betcha, son. I only wish I was there to see it! People be saying you were like an animal in how you took ‘em all down.”

Scott’s never remembered, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was given the highest honors, even the chance to skip a couple of ranks to be at the same level as the big boys, but the night they were going to share the news to the golden boy himself, they found him in one of the bathrooms with a bloody hand and a mirror shattered with no hope of fixing it.

He was honorably discharged to a family that was so thankful he was home. Words like missing in action and POA never stopped haunting their nightmares. Scott was too, God, of course, he was, but sitting around and doing nothing was the last thing his traumatized mind wanted or maybe even needed. After doing what he considered to be the biggest fuck-up of his life, he needed to feel important.

This isn’t the first time he’ll say this and it surely won’t be the last: thank Christ for Grandma.

“You want me to take over?...”

“Yep, it’s about time Tracy Industries received a new pair of eyes. The Board certainly thinks so.”

“But… they’d rather have a crazy, PTSD-infected veteran over you?”

A rough pinch to his ear, “Hey now, don’t call yourself that,” the gentle motherly tone was back as soon as it left, “Besides, that crazy might exactly be what they want. Half of their argument is that I “don’t take enough risks.” They’re getting tired of listening to an old fart like me.”

A moment of contemplation, followed by the cheeky raise of an eyebrow, “So you’re saying you want me to take so many risks they have no choice but to take you back?”

A bark of laughter, “Damn straight.”

He learned the ropes faster than normal (healthy, is probably the correct term), and he immediately won the hearts of both young and old in the company. Instead of flying planes every few months, he worked on business reports and vetoed new ideas every couple of weeks. It felt satisfying for the most part, and his family was just happy he was still alive to enjoy it.

However, there was a slight roadblock on his way to becoming a somewhat stable person.

He became prone to violent blackouts. It had to have started when he blacked out and saved himself from those two weeks of hell, which made the most sense. Something was always destroyed when he came back to life. John was the best at calming him down due to his own experience with panic attacks, however, John couldn’t always be there, and the next rotation for NASA was coming swiftly. Scott swore up and down he would be fine, he could figure something out. John went back into space with an eyebrow permanently raised.

It was just him and Virgil home (Grandma had taken Alan and Kayo to watch Gordon swim) when he, unfortunately, proved John right. Scott wasn’t sure what triggered it, but he vividly remembered coming back in Virgil’s extremely tight hold. The first thing Scott thought to say was damn, beanstalk, when did you get so strong? but then he laid his eyes upon the forming bruise on his younger bro’s face and hasn’t recovered since.

Virgil swore he never held it against Scott. Scott definitely thought he should have.

That night brought sudden clarity to Scott that he was doing this horribly wrong. He was a ticking time bomb, and it wouldn’t be long before something was damaged in a way that couldn’t be fixed. Scott needed an anchor. Something to ground him before he took it too far. John wasn’t going to be earthside forever, Grandma was busy with Kayo, Alan was just a kid, and Gordon was living the dream. None of them were viable.

Then, as he was thinking, he was suddenly aware of how calming Virgil’s arms were around him, how they were preventing the growing panic attack in his chest from getting even bigger.

It was easy.

For once in Scott’s life, his eyes were big and young as he asked Virgil, “Help me, please.”

After a few brief seconds, Virgil gulped, “Okay.”

From then on, Virgil was Stone Number One. Scott’s admiration for Virgil outweighed the guilt of putting the black-haired man in that position in the first place. Virgil was glad to follow his older brother’s leadership, but just as qualified to bring him the hell back when he went too far. From getting too sacrificial to preventing a good punching-out some of the idiots they dealt with, Virgil made sure Scott knocked that shit off.

Time went on, Scott was a top-notch CEO at Tracy Industries, John was having one hell of a time up in space, Virgil was graduated and had so many life opportunities to pick from, Alan was thriving at being a (mostly) stable kid, Kayo was 100% acclimated to the family, and Gordon--

Scott found himself gripping the wooden desk very abruptly. He was shocked he didn’t snap a chunk off in the process. Why was he thinking about this right after a giant business conference? Who knows at this point. If this giant origin story seemed jagged and jumpy, maybe even somewhat vague, good, that’s how it fucking felt.

Back to said story.

Scott always thought he and Gordon would have the least amount in common.

They do, but out of all the things they could have picked to be similar, why did it have to be the PTSD caused by military-related jobs? Scott was 24 when he got his, Gordon was just under 20. It may have been a few years since their respective accidents, but they’re never going to go another day without it feeling like it was just yesterday.

At this point, Gordon was up and walking again, mainly thanks to John and Alan while Virgil and Scott helped in their own ways. Grandma’s cooking was what probably motivated him the most though, ha, the need to get away from it… Scott smiled. Grandma was always a constant. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, the family might have fallen apart. Literally.

What has he been saying throughout this whole shindig? Thank Christ for Grandma.

One day out of the blue, Grandma reserved the entire family (yes, even Kayo and Alan) private plane tickets so they could spend some time on the mainland for a few days. Honestly, even if the island wasn’t getting major renovations, you hooligans need to get out more. Have some fun. Try not to kill anything, especially each other, she all told them while creepily grinning. John and Virgil smacked Gordon more than once on the plane for insisting that she finally snapped, dudes, she’s gonna kill us.

Most of the time during their little vacation, Scott heavily focused on his breathing. He was pretty sure he knew what she was doing. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but the same went for his excitement.

Dad showed him these plans the day after his 18th birthday. You’re a man now, Scotty, I need your help making this big boy decision with me.

As soon as they reset foot down on the island, Scott took a deep breath and felt relaxed at the salty taste in the air. It was weird, nothing on the outside was changed, and yet… it still felt different.

“Guys!” Virgil yelled out, “Stop playing in the water! We just got back, aren’t you two tired?!”

Blinking back to reality, Scott looked over to see his two youngest brothers doing exactly what Virgil was yelling at them for. Poor Johnny was a little damp too, which is what probably caused Virgil to shout at them in the first place. The blondes didn’t care. They continued to prance around in the shallow waves with their pants legs rolled up, acting as if they didn’t hear anything outside of their laughter. Gordon shoved his hands down into the liquid and threw some directly at Alan, nailing him right in the face.

Scott exhaled slowly. He couldn’t imagine them doing this 8 years ago.

Regardless, the artist was right, and they couldn’t waste too much time. Kayo was swift in grabbing both gentlemen by the ears and dragging them onto dry land. They all painstakingly trekked their way up to the-- what would you call Tracy Island? Mansion? Over-blown cabin? Well, whatever it was, Scott would always be willing to call it home.

Stepping inside, each brother took in the view, which was underwhelmingly not that much different, except for one tiny thing. John suddenly noticed a figure already standing in the living room and blinked, “No way… it’s--”

Gordon jumped in, both with his body and his words, “Brains?! Dude, how’s it hanging?!”

The scientist in question jumped at the voices before clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses, “O-Oh, hello again, T-Tracys. It’s good to see you all once more.”

Virgil slung an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the blatant squawk, “Man, how long has it been?! What made you finally decide to crawl out of your hole?”

Snickers came from all corners of the house. Brains stood up straighter, “W-Well, I was contacted b-by Mrs. Tracy over here with an offer I c-couldn’t turn down.”

Eyebrows tilted in all shapes and sizes. Someone cleared their throat. Everyone turned to look at Grandma once again, “I think if you all follow me, you’ll swiftly understand what I’m talking about.”

I already do, Scott thought matter-of-factly. John seemed to be understanding it now, Virgil was on the cusp of remembering what his father was hinting at for him, and Gordon was just as lost as Alan. It made sense, Jeff talked to all of them about it, but the oldest had seniority. The two youngest not remembering just by words was expected, especially since that was going to be rectified very quickly.

The hangar under the island was beautiful. Point blank. It smelt of iron and steel and grease and engine and that was the first time since Scott had been in the Air Force that he didn’t gag or flinch at the thought of flying something again. Scott had seen the plans his father drew. He assumed Jeff finished building it, but he never got to physically see it since…

In some ways, he was glad he didn’t. Now he got to experience it with (most of) his family, and that made it ten times better.

After letting them absorb the scenery, Grandma slowly turned around to look at them all, “You remember that dream your father had?”

The four oldest blinked, Kayo simply raised her eyebrows, meanwhile, Alan, being the teenager he was, didn’t read the emotion in the room, “Oh, yeah! Aunt Casey always talked about how he was going to “change the world” and stuff. What did he call it again?”

Scott felt way more confident than he had in a while, “International Rescue.”

Grandma nodded, gleeful at the happy look on her oldest and youngest grandsons’ faces, “Well, I’ve been thinking about some things. I know we don’t exactly worry about money, but after everything your father put into these girls… I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

The Tracy family jumped at that. John’s mouth was wide open in shock, yes, shock, “That station is still up there?”

Grandma sighed, “You mean ‘Five? Not for long. Not if we don’t send someone up there within the next few days.”

John blushed at the grin Grandma gave him. Clearing his throat, his big brain came to a startling conclusion, “Wait… you brought Alan along?”

The other big brothers in the room jumped at that. Kayo was the only one with enough balls to say the truth out loud, “Mrs. Tracy, I mean no offense, but he’s--”

“Just a kid?” Grandma smirked, “A kid that’s topped the VR charts for Intergalactic Fury for weeks straight while simultaneously getting nothing but A’s in his classes?”

Scott nodded slowly in comprehension. He remembered Alan talking about that game for a while. It was some kind of online racing simulator of sorts. Scott caught the prettiest string of words from Alan when going to bed one night. Nearly made him shit his pants. He made the kid promise to keep it PG-13 if he wanted to keep playing.

Still, the elders in the family slowly turned to look at the freckled boy with both shock and pride. Alan blinked with wide-eyed innocence, “But my English class is only at a B--”

“Shh, kiddo, I’m making a point,” Grandma rolled her eyes. The other brothers snickered. Yep, still Alan. Grandma sighed, “Now before you point out that video games are different, I know, but the difference between them and this is that video games don’t have some of the most talented older brothers in the world to guide him.”

Said older brothers jumped at the idea. Before any objection could be made, Grandma continued, “Besides, the GDF seemed to be okay with it. The Colonel was willing to oversee some of his training too.”

John flinched at that, “But IR is supposed to be independent!”

Grandma slightly frowned. She didn’t exactly like it either, “It still is, but in the world of business, compromises have to be made.”

Virgil huffed and crossed his arms, “Well, that’s… rough. Here I thought only Scott would have to deal with the bullshit of business.”

Grandma chuckled at the somewhat un-Virgil-like behavior, “It really is, Virgil. But about that Scott part,” she slowly turned to look at him and him only, “I hate to give you more work to do, but if you want to work within their restrictions?”

Suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on the head of the family. Gulping, Scott looked down at his feet to think. It was a tense few moments, nobody sure what he was going to decide, least of all him, before the brunette cleared his throat and brought his face back up with a grin.

“Well then,” Scott turned to look at the bright tip of ‘One, chest fluttering with a feeling that became unfamiliar to him over the past few years, “I guess now it’s time to state the obvious.”

From then on, every time he loaded into that cockpit of his girl, he felt lighter than air.

“Thunderbirds are GO!”

Everything was okay again.

Mostly.

Orphan.

Scott took another sip of his whiskey and refocused on his reports.

---

Scott was in some kind of dissociative state the whole way home.

Alan doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid, barely an adult, and he’s going to go through utter hell because you screwed up. You were 24, Gordon was just under 20, Alan was barely 18. Alan’s going to get fucked up like you and it’s all your fault.

His movements were robotic and rigid. Anyone with a working eye could tell he was deep in shock and running on autopilot. Mostly Jeff. Especially Jeff. The rest of the brothers all noticed too, but they were also running on their own empty fuel tanks, so the only thing they could do was guilty send their older brother the occasional glance of pity and concern.

Jeff was going to need to talk to them about that. Somehow. Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to point it out since he feels just as bad. His sons were too much like him, sometimes, and that made his guilt burn all the same. He should’ve been there to warn his sons about the dangers of unnecessary guilt. Having that kind of guilt was a parent’s job, dammit, and maybe grandparents only occasionally.

But then he remembered where he’s been for the past 8 years and… who really was Alan’s parents anymore? His gut was screaming it sure as hell isn’t you, but he knew his sons would want him to step back into the role as soon as he was physically fit to do so, not just for Alan, but for themselves as well. They would deny it, but they probably just wanted to be kids again too, even if it was only brief, fleeting moments.

Who was to tell the protective, fatherly side of Jeff no to that? No better time to fix things like the present after all.

He saw Scott go up the stairs when they first stepped into the living room, so that’s where Jeff was going to go too. Footsteps light, Jeff retraced his eldest’s pathway to his bedroom. Only, he stopped before said bedroom. Unfavorable noises were coming from the closed bathroom door, and Jeff could only swallow whatever emotion it made him feel. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the (unlocked) door to the bathroom and laid his eyes upon the incriminating scene.

Jeff was met with the sight of Scott retching his entire stomach into the toilet, hands aggressively grabbing his sticky, hair-gelled hair and trying to make himself bald from the strain.

Jeff’s reaction was always based on autopilot, and it will never stop being so.

Ignoring his protesting body, Jeff kneeled and placed a hand on his son’s back, only to abruptly pull back like he touched a hot stove when Scott only got more hysterical at the contact. The brunette clenched his eyes shut even more (and they were already shut as much as possible) while his head became a special kind of crease. Like he was in pain, “God, I wanna go home. Why won’t they listen I swear I’m telling the truth! Please, I just want Dad--”

Jeff was frozen on the spot, heart stopping in the process. His brain shut down while he watched his son continue to mindlessly ramble and panic. His freaked-out mind barely registered footsteps from behind in the hallway, followed by a voice going what’s going-- holy--

Something thundered past him. Blinking once, Jeff guiltily watched as Virgil kneeled behind the eldest and wrapped his arms around the thin man’s shoulders while taking Scott’s hands in his in a protective blanket, “Scott! Jesus-- we’re at home, you’re safe and it’s June 14th, 2--”

Scott only struggled more, panicking at the fact he could no longer yank his hair out. Dammit, it was the only way he could feel in control, don’t take that away too! “No! I swear I’ve said everything! Please--”

Virgil immediately knew that this was one of those attacks that Scott wasn’t coming back down from with pure human intervention. Add-on the sight of his father’s big eyes signifying the man was at a loss at what to do, Virgil had no choice. He snapped loudly, remembering the comms were still on and only feeling slightly bad at the way Scott flinched in his arms, “Shit-- John! It’s Scott! Get the stuff! We’re in the upstairs bathroom!”

Muffled footsteps through a few walls in the house could be heard. Jeff’s mind was only starting to catch up when the brother Virgil called for came rushing into the bathroom (Jeff never remembered it being big enough to hold four of them) and ignoring Jeff (practically shoving him out of the way too, man, this was bad) on his way to the main problem at hand. Landing on his knees in a way that made Jeff wince, John gently grabbed one of Scott’s arms from Virgil’s hold and subsequently pulled a needle from nowhere and injected something into Scott.

The response was instantaneous.

Scott’s breathing, while still labored, got slower. He stopped struggling as well, and the way he sagged reminded Jeff of ice melting into a puddle. The two other brothers’ shoulders also sagged, relieved at the crisis averted. John stood up, knees cracking as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he froze at the sight of something in the doorway, “G-Gordon…”

Virgil snapped his head up from where he was looking at Scott. Jeff did something similar. Yup, in the doorway was the strawberry blonde, eyes wide, making him younger by about 10 years. The ex-Olympian in question inhaled, closed his eyes, and soon speed-walked his way out of the entrance to the bathroom. Dammit, neither Gordon or Alan have seen something like that and it probably spooked him more than anything. He’d understand with his own PTSD-related issues, but still, seeing the “never weak” big brother freak out in such a scary way...

John combed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. As he started walking out of the room, he whispered to himself, probably hoping no one heard him, “Dammit, this is all so fucked…”

Unfortunately, Jeff did hear, and the dirty language made the father flinch. John was always the best about making sure Grandma didn’t wash his mouth out with soap, and the fact that he so willingly didn’t care meant that everyone was at the end of their rope. Still reeling at the sight, Jeff couldn’t react to the gentle arms that picked him up off the floor and slowly led him out of the suddenly stuffy room.

With the click of the door shutting, Jeff realized what Virgil did, “W-Wait, Scott--”

“Will be okay for a few seconds,” Virgil finished for his dad, “I know it’s nearly been a decade, but the one part of you I definitely know hasn’t changed is the need to comfort us, just like we hoped.” The small grin that fell over the middle child’s face put Jeff a little bit at ease, but Virgil wasn’t completely done, “So, I’m going to let you take care of this, but I just want to make sure you’ll handle it with grace. Take this slowly, okay? Scott might be doped up, but he’s still… volatile, in a sense.”

Jeff cleared his throat, suddenly choking on the unneeded tension, “Okay, Virgil, I promise, just… what happened? That was… bad, and really bad at that too. I know Scott would never let something that severe willingly come out in front of his family.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not ready for this conversation, “Listen, Dad,” he inhaled sharply, cutting himself off before sighing in a way that said fuck it, might as well get this over with, “As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living. We all have lives and stories now, and this is Scott’s story to tell.”

Jeff was getting misty-eyed again. Back when he was just a kid, Virgil couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, mainly in part due to his insomnia-related issues (Jeff has to wonder if he still has them, more problems for the future) and general lack of filter because of sleep-deprivation. Now Jeff knew there was a starch difference between a kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut and a man who genuinely knew how to respect another man’s privacy, but…

It just hammers home how much he’s missed with his boys. Gulping, Jeff made a mental note to talk with his mom about certain things he’s missed. She’ll know a lot more than he would, “Okay, Virge. Thank you, for stepping up there.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed at Jeff’s words, as well as his father’s hand patting him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Dad. Just… go easy on him. I know it’s a little late for this but none of us ever properly talked about things. It was very unhealthy, deep down we all knew that, but…”

“You just couldn’t get the proper emotions out?” Jeff finished for his son. At Virgil’s soft nod, Jeff exhaled, “I’m not going to say that it was a smart decision, but we’re all here now. We can move forward with this.” Jeff squeezed where his hand laid.

Virgil blinked before curtly going, “Yeah. Goodnight, Dad. Take care of Scott.”

Virgil stepped around his father and walked to where his bedroom most definitely was not, but Jeff could deal with that in a little bit. He had another son who he was pretty sure just had a violent PTSD attack of some kind, plus, Virgil seemed to sour at something Jeff said. The ex-astronaut wasn’t sure what it was, so he didn’t chase after him out of worry that--

Wait.

We’re all here now.

Dammit, Jeff. Out of all the sentences you could’ve picked...

Alrighty, just add that to the ever-growing pile of things that need to be talked about later. No biggie. Jeff found himself sighing and rubbing the back of his neck much like Virgil did a few minutes ago. Turning around, he was met with the bathroom door once more. Shaking his head, Jeff slowly crept into the room and saw that not much was different, especially with Scott.

His heart softly cracked, but, again, he can deal with it later.

Sitting down on the ground and grimacing at the way his body ached (was gravity always this rough?), Jeff leaned against the floor cabinets about 2-3 feet away from Scott, who made himself into a nice comfortable ball in the corner next to the toilet, his palm smushed against his forehead. Jeff waited a few seconds. Then minutes. Then he realized he would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. He probably should’ve realized that right when he came back in. He opened his mouth, but his wasn’t the one that words came out of.

“It was… Zambia.”

Jeff’s heart stopped and his mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes clearly showed his panic, but hopefully, he guiltily thought, Scott was a little too doped up to not realize it, “Scotty, what do you mean?”

Scott shrugged in a way that spoke he thought what he was admitting wasn’t a big deal. Yep, clearly not with it, “Mission went bad… caught for a couple of weeks.”

Jeff was hoping his first fuck back on Earth, spoken to himself like right now or otherwise, would have been a comedic thing, but the way nausea rose in his throat said this was anything but funny.

Scott wanted to be in the Air Force. Badly. Who was a father to deny his son’s want to be part of such a noble cause? He gave him tips, took him to meet friends in high places, sometimes even sparred with him when he turned 18, but then Jeff was suddenly thousands of miles away with no hope of ever having the chance of sparring with his eldest again. Despite it, Jeff hoped Scott went on to become the best pilot the world has ever seen.

Part of this looks like he did, but at what cost?

As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living.

Aw hell, “Jesus, Scott…” Jeff couldn’t tell if it was the brashness or the lack of a nickname that made Scott flinch and he hated it. He immediately softened his tone and brought his 27-year-old child into his arms, “Shh, shh, we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Like father like son, old habits die hard, and as easy as it was to still be able to comfort his children, Scott seemed to just as easily take it as he used to 8 years ago, “Alan doesn’t deserve this kind of hell, God, he’s barely not a kid anymore! Why--”

Jeff tightened his hold to keep his son in reality, and because he didn’t like the tone behind those words, “Hey, you didn’t either--”

Scott somehow managed to fling himself out of the hug, focus incredibly on point for someone who was doped up to his eyelids five seconds ago, “But I fucked up! I made the wrong call and then suddenly Arnold was dead and he had a wife and kids-- shit, what the hell did I do?”

Okay.

First of all: way to put him back in that headspace when that’s the exact opposite you were going for, Jeff, father of the year. Second: dammit. Just… dammit. This was a big fat hand grenade in a giant handbasket that they didn’t have time to gently get out while simultaneously not yanking the pin clean off with the grace of a drunk elephant. Jeff was no stranger to Survivor’s Guilt, but there was a whole untapped pile of metaphorical C4 within his son’s head that was ready for someone to push the goddamn button.

He wanted it to be him, desperately, because it sounded like he already failed his family enough, it was all he could do at this point, but he absolutely hated that he couldn’t do it right now. This was going to take a lot of time, which they didn’t have, plus, Jeff thought he had a pretty good understanding of this new Scott and the rest of his kids. Jeff was aware that if he didn’t help his sons find their baby as fast as possible over everything else it’ll lead to a fate nobody wanted.

A shaky sigh, “Okay, Scotty, let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk strategy in the morning.”

Scott simply nodded as his father flung Scott’s arm around his broader shoulders and picked him up. Slowly and painfully but surely, father and son meandered their way to Scott’s room. With a thump a little harder than Jeff wanted, Scott flopped down on top of his sheets and immediately started snoring. Despite everything that just happened, the father couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Well, there was another thing Jeff gracefully passed onto his son.

Jeff only took Scott’s shoes off. He would’ve loved to pull the sheets up around him too, but the father didn’t want to take any chances at waking him up. Slowly tip-toeing out of the room, Jeff gave one last glance back at his son before finally letting him be and gently shutting the door. He had three other sons he needed to console, but his tired joints told him to selfishly take a moment for himself for right now unless he wanted to collapse and give his family more to deal with.

Jeff eventually made his way to his room-- which was sadly unkempt, he noticed-- and sat down on the edge of his unfamiliar bed to think.

He’ll figure something out. If he had to crawl through images of his son being brutally and bloodily tortured then by God he would with the fury of a thousand suns.

He was back and he wasn’t going to throw away any second or even third chance he was given.

---

“I got him.”

Virgil turned his comms back on, and with it, Scott’s heart restarted for the first time in a few weeks. Taking a moment for a breather, Scott leaned against the wall while practically wheezing. They have him back, holy shit, they have him back. Scott vaguely heard Gordon cry in pure relief and joy. He saw John’s side of the comms flutter for a bit before a bright flash happened. Blinking away the white spots, Scott looked at his wrist to see a fully detailed map of the compound.

Gordon spoke what they were all thinking, “Woohoo! First Allie comes back, then Johnny-boy gets us a free ticket out of here! We’re winning this race, baby!”

A very loud moment of silence. John cleared his throat, “Actually, I was going to say glad to see you in one piece, you little shit,” a playful gasp came from Virgil’s side. It was too high pitched to be from the pianist’s mouth. Scott chuckled, but the paranoid part of his brain said John wasn’t done. His brain was right, ‘“But guys… that wasn’t me. Or EOS. We still haven’t found a way to get past the metal they made these walls out of.”

That silence was even more deafening than the last, and before Virgil could utter out his typical what the fuck, a small logo appeared at the corner of their new map. One that was all too familiar. The Chaos Crew wasn’t the only one who could brand their awful deeds.

Son of a bitch.

Virgil’s order over the radio was meant for Alan, but Scott couldn’t help but listen to it too.

“Shit, Alan, you need to run.”

Making quick work of the compound once more, Scott, while booking it even quicker than last time, opened a private line between him and Gordon, “Hey, how would you feel if I said go help Virgil while I cover Alan?”

The first response was stuttering, which Scott expected, but then it was followed up by something completely out of left field for Gordon, “... Okay, just as long as you promise to bring Alan back in one piece.”

Part of Scott wanted to console Gordon, another was questioning why Gordon was so quick to give up, another wanted to say of course, I will, idiot, but the first part that made itself verbal was easy, “You know I will, buddy.”

Scott could physically picture Gordon’s tiny, little, somber nod clear as day, “Sounds good, captain. See you on the other side.”

With a click, Scott was back on the group comm. Suddenly remembering what exactly his job was, he pulled out the map so graciously given to them by The Hood. Looking at all the dots, one was heading towards a prone one (oh if that asshole did anything to Virgil��) while another one was heading right for Scott himself. Actually, in just a few seconds, right as Scott rounded the corner he would--

“Woah, look out there, Tigger!”

Yes, you heard that correctly: not tiger, Tigger. Tigger hadn’t been used since Alan was itty bitty. It always seemed like the kid had endless energy with the way he wouldn’t stop bounding off the walls and furniture. Even as a baby, Lucy had to sit with him for a few hours while he slept in his crib to make sure he would stay there. In fact, their mother gave Alan that nickname herself. She was quite the Winnie the Pooh fan, and the rest of the family figured it would be one of the ways they could keep her legacy alive for the tiny potato.

Wrapping his arms around said flailing potato, albeit much bigger than a baby, Scott thought he would collapse then and there. Alan was here, in his arms, and yeah, the sight of his dirty and somewhat ripped up IR uniform made him mad, but Scott, for once in his life, decided to focus on the here-and-now, aka his precious, alive little brother, who finally stopped struggling at the realization that hey, the person holding you is a good guy, time to turn off fight mode.

Smushing their foreheads together as much as possible, Scott desperately fought to keep the waterworks back, a smile from ear to ear hopefully taking whatever energy his tear ducts had, “You are getting such an ass beating when we get home, little bro.”

Alan jumped back with a look of What the hell?! What did I do now?!

Scott simply rolled his eyes, “Really? “Not important”? You graduated high school, tiny dude! That’s huge! You remember Gordon’s party, right?”

Alan’s mouth gaped before he closed it with slightly puffy cheeks. Those same cheeks tinged with a small blush. Alan wasn’t exactly expecting to be smothered so soon (well, he did cry his eyes out on Virgil’s shoulder, but that was different!). Shaking it off, Alan moved his hands rhythmically and rapidly, To be fair, we weren’t sure he was going to get one for a while.

Scott faltered a little bit at the ASL. Darn, he should’ve seen Alan’s lack of talking from a mile away. Scott carefully hid his disappointment from Alan. Lord knew what the kid would take it as, “Yeah, that’s what he got for barely making it. Imagine what you’re going to get!”

Scott assumed his semi-fake charm worked, as Alan seemed to play along without any kind of suspicion, Oh yeah. Fair enough.

This kid, man.

Then, slow clapping came from a dark corner, making Scott’s heart leap out of his throat as well as push Alan behind himself. Glaring as much as he could towards the invisible evil-doer, Scott didn’t have to think twice, “Alan, take my map and find Virgil and Gordon.”

The youngest looked like he was going to object.

“Go.”

He no longer did. Good.

Listening to the field commander’s orders, Scott felt his wristband slip off his wrist and a warm body leave his vicinity. An inhale. Also good. An exhale, followed by an even darker glare, “What more do you want?”

Short and straight-to-the-point and angry, two things Scott typically wasn’t. Regardless, like a cold gust of wind, footsteps started approaching him from the shadow. Once Scott saw the outline of a body, he tensed even more. Virgil would snap at him for clenching his jaw so much.

A dark chuckle reminded him of what was important. The voice that spoke reminded him of something completely different, “Now then, brother, let’s not be rude to each other!”

Scott’s pupils shrunk at the familiar sight of Gordon stepping towards him. Except it wasn’t Gordon, because Scott knew that Gordon knew better. He also knew Gordon didn’t cheekily smile like that, even after a prank, nor did he walk that straight. He always had a funny walk after WASP, and Gordon wore that fact like a badge of honor.

Oh no, Scott definitely knew who this was, “What the hell are you playing at?”

Fake-Gordon rolled his eyes, like it wasn’t obvious, “I mean if we want to go that route, why did kid insist you being in the military was the coolest thing he’d ever heard you do? Maybe I wouldn’t have been pressured into joining a branch myself in the end.”

Scott’s nostrils flared, and by God, his pupils might have actually slitted like a snake’s, or possibly even a dragon’s, “Excuse me?”

Scott blinked, and suddenly he was met by not-Virgil, “Plus, why was our conclusion after hearing a three-year-old wanting to see snow to go to a ski resort? It had to have been those big, selfish, beady eyes, right?”

“C’mon, Scotty, we gotta give you some kind of calming exercise. There’s going to come a time when neither me or John are going to be there.”

“Hmm… does yoga work?”

A snort, “Well, that’s not too bad of an idea. Maybe the person pissing you off will stop whatever they’re doing at the sight of you spontaneously doing downward dog.”

Laughter, an unfamiliar action, “Yeah, okay, but for real, those breathing exercises I’ve seen you do look okay. Let’s start there.”

Scott was not a liar by heart. He had to admit that those exercises were doing jack shit right about now.

Another blink, another brother. Familiar ginger hair was all Scott could see, “To continue that previous point, why did Dad start International Rescue again? And what led to his demise?”

“Sounds like a piece of work. Why do you keep dealing with these people again?”

“Someone has to pay the bills, Johnny. Grandma’s too focused on making the perfect poison for us.”

A roll of eyes, “Right, because the billions we have saved wouldn’t be enough to last a couple of families a few lifetimes. Glad to see your calming exercises are working at least. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

A pause. A flicker of vision around the room. Someone cleared their throat, probably himself, “It’s probably not as bad as whatever space is throwing at you. You handling it okay up there?”

Another pause, followed by a sigh, “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Scott wanted to deflect the truth so badly right now more than anything else. Telling him he couldn’t pilot ‘One anymore would be a much more enticing option than what he was hearing.

Suddenly, Scott was looking in a mirror, “Besides, I know more than anybody that he wasn’t wanted. A mistake. I thought we Tracys hated being imperfect?”

The Hood must have known their backstories from internet articles, and being the mastermind he was, it probably took him all of three seconds to see Alan had some hidden self-worth issues. By playing the biggest Guess Who? game of all time, The Hood was most likely able to figure out some less-than-positive ideals Alan thought about himself throughout his childhood and danced circles around his already weakened mind to string together some spineless blame to put on the kid by sheer evilness alone.

Knowing his kid brother, it worked.

Scott wasn’t thinking straight-- maybe even at all when the first punch was thrown.

Just like that, Scott blacked out and was running on terminator mode. John would be disappointed. Virgil would be horrified. Gordon might find it funny. Alan wasn’t here, and thank God for that. Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. All his mind was telling him was make lots of pain hard and fast. His brain also blocked out any hit The Hood was giving him in return. Pain flared for a few seconds, then it was swept away in the puddle of rage his mind was currently being consumed in.

Soon, his out-of-it mind found its target and gripped his-- The Hood’s arm, no disguise would make him have an identity crisis, thank you very much-- nice and rough.

Scott heard the familiar snap of cartilage and felt only partially bad. If he was thinking more clearly, he would be disgusted with himself. Yes, even The Hood didn’t deserve this level of Scott’s fury. Oh, he definitely deserved to be hit by a truck, but not by Scott. It was mostly due to Scott’s sanity. If he could be this graphic and violent at all, even to the worse possible criminals, that meant he could be that way during other moments, and that was not a territory he wanted to cross into.

Welp, he was here now, and he’ll hate to admit it in the future, but the only thing that brought him out of it was a tiny gasp from a few feet away. Snapping his head up, Scott’s eyes landed squarely on a smaller-than-normal Alan, who was currently clutching his arm to his chest in an emotion Scott didn’t want to figure out at the moment. So much for going and finding Virgil and Gordon.

“Allie, help…” fake him grunted out, only making real Scott growl and tighten his hold (and probably making his case worse). Looking up from the person in his arms, Scott felt his heart split in two at the sight. There was fear and uncertainty in Alan’s blue eyes and boy did it hurt. Scott couldn’t tell if it was because even seeing a potentially-fake Scott being beaten up was bad or if it was because he’d never seen big brother be this brutal, even towards their enemies. Whatever the reason, it involved Scott being the main root of the problem.

Wait, that was The Hood’s plan. Shit… make Scott act past the point of no return in a way that was unfamiliar to Alan so the kid couldn’t be fully sure who was who, and Scott fell right into his trap, hook, line, and sinker.

Fuck.

Bloody well done, Scott, you absolute moron.

Scott faltered a little bit, “A-Alan, I--”

That falter was enough for The Hood to break an arm out of his grip and elbow him in the face. In the brief second of freedom he had, he tried dashing towards Alan, but Scott was too quick for everyone’s good and soon had the imposter back in his arms, both of them struggling in a way that made them look like they were tied into the weirdest knot in existence.

Then, an earthquake struck.

No, literally.

A big shake of the abandoned compound threw the look-a-likes about and subsequently off the platform they were on. The place was old; it didn’t take a lot of weight for that guard rail they made their way over towards while fighting to snap right off. With a yelp, the two of them gripped the edge as much as they could and held on. Crap, I know we talked with Fuse about potentially setting some stuff off, but--

Blinking, Scott saw a familiar mop of blonde hair come into view. Alan was rather panicked, clearly not sure which Scott was the real Scott. Not only that, he had little time to decide which one to save. Goodie, another reason to despise The Hood: not only has he put Alan through weeks of torment, now he’s forcing the kid to decide to either save his oldest brother and biggest hero or his personal torturer.

And Alan won’t know until he picks.

Holy hell, this was getting worse by the second. Hopefully, big brother charm can work its magic and get them the hell out of there.

“Alan, quickly, over here!”

“I can’t hold on for much longer, Alan, hurry!”

The two Scotts glared at one another in the exact same way, not making Alan’s job much easier. Another shake, another slip down the metal cliff, more screams, and Alan looked ready to tear his hair out. Scott watched as the kid looked around rapidly, probably praying for a miracle in the process. Suddenly, the kid jumped when he must have spotted something important. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone and out of their range of visions to retrieve it.

Whatever the hell he noticed better be important, because if just ended up wasting precious time then--

Another shake, probably the last one. Still, it was enough.

Both their grips gave away at the same time, screams identical (God, did he always sound that wimpy?) as they plummeted to their demises. Scott was briefly able to look up to see his brother pop his head over the cliff like a chipmunk again and grab the (albeit broken) arm of The Hood and save him. Dammit, Scott should have expected that, though, that display of anger was uncharacteristic to Alan. Probably terrified him even more than he already was. Fuck, Scott deser--

Suddenly, a rope wrapped itself around Scott’s left arm and stopped his descent. Hard. Hopefully, it was only torn stuff, they didn’t have time to deal with dislocation--

Wait.

Scott wasn’t dead if he could think about these kinds of things.

Blinking, he looked at his arm to see the familiar rope of his grappling hook around his forearm. Moving his eyesight to look past that, he saw the wide, blue eyes of his baby brother struggling to stay on top. The Hood was using his non-broken side to try and climb his way back up to safety. Huh, that’s weird. When did Alan get ahold of that? Scott must have dropped it during his scuffle with--

That’s when it hit Scott.

Alan saved them both.

Alan saved them both.

And it would be all for jack shit if Scott didn’t get his ass up there to help.

Panicking, Scott gripped the rope and started to ascend. He had two working arms and a smother complex to boot; it wasn’t long before he overtook a struggling Hood, who could only use one arm and a weakened brother (that bastard was so lucky Alan had a literal heart of gold).

Flinging his arms over the edge and pulling himself up-- and shrugging off the extra help Alan offered. Save your strength, baby bro-- Scott was in a much calmer search-and-destroy mode. He yanked his evil look-a-like up, turned him on his stomach, pinned him down, and before he could even watch Alan blink, “Sign something.”

There, now he watched Alan blink.

Scott pulled out one of his best ‘big brother’ smiles ever, “Tell me something in ASL. I don’t think The Hood learned that kind of etiquette.”

The body beneath him growled, making Alan jump and Scott tighten not only his hold but his glare. Further prove big brother’s point, why don’t cha? He lost the angry look immediately to grin at Alan once more, who seemed to be slowly getting the picture. With a gulp, the blonde slowly strung together a sentence that Scott had to laugh at, just a little bit.

Damn, could you teach me to fight like that, Scooter?

Nodding his head, Scott had to concede, “Sure. Consider it a graduation present.”

Alan blinked again, and the immense relief that washed over the boy’s shoulders would be enough to banish nightmares for at least a couple of days. Suddenly, The Hood’s disguise blinked out of existence, making both brothers jump that time. Scott didn’t falter in his grip, however. This man was going down right here and now, Scott thought darkly, staring at the prone body beneath his.

Scott saw Alan continue to sign out of the corner of his eye, You know you look like shit, right?

Scott chuckled. Alan was always able to put a smile on his face no matter the circumstances, “Yeah, well, kindred spirits, little bro.”

Scott was probably as pale as Alan was with such lack of sleep and food. Running on what was essentially a prolonged PTSD attack wasn’t healthy in the slightest, and no doubt whatever kind of bruises and scratches The Hood gave him didn’t help, however, seeing hope fill those deep-blue eyes when Alan learned he was truly being saved drowned everything out, including the way those freckles were getting lost in those eye bags.

Yeah, their entire family probably looked like shit, and the recovery process was going to be even shittier, but they were going to suffer through it together as a family would.

That made it all worth it.

Shuffling himself so one arm was free while the other kept The Hood pinned, Scott held it out towards Alan. The flinch the youngest made tore a hole in Scott’s heart that was only slightly patched when Alan leaned into the warmth and safety of his biggest bro. Long recovery process, remember? Regardless, Alan still took to the hug like a dehydrated zebra did a pond, and that was good enough for Scott.

The Hood groaned underneath them.

Yep, good enough.

[ak47stylegirl]

Scott - FabFiveFeb

Okay, thought I’ll just get Scott’s fic out of the way fast, I did not want another Virgil fic situation lol😅 @gumnut-logic 

The prompt used was ‘apple’ This was a funny little ficlet to write, Scotty sure loves his apple pies 😁😅

———

Scott loves apples, Scott loves pies...but Scott doesn’t have time to make his precious apple pie himself, and Grandma can't cook apple pie to save her life…

Well actually, her Apple pie could kill whoever was stupid enough to eat it, so it could save her life in theory...but he’s getting off point here...Bottom line is Grandma can’t cook apple pie, and that’s a problem, a big problem!

His only salvation was his brothers and...oh boy, just kill him now…

Alan just throws a pre-bought frozen apple pie into the oven and leaves it, almost burning it in the process. Where had he gone wrong with the kid? Apple pie was special, you can’t just buy a pre-bought pie! It was...it was unethical!

Why were pre-frozen Apple Pies even on the shopping list?!

Gordon wasn’t much better, but at least he didn’t use a frozen pie, he just used the canned apple pie filling and premade pie bases from the store. It was still an abomination of what pie was, especially if Gordon adds any of his special little extras, he shutters just thinking about it…

Then there’s Virgil, his best friend, his best bud...Virgil’s baking skills are...well...The fewer words said about it, the better. Let’s just say someone had to inherit Grandma’s cooking skills...

Now John, oh what wouldn’t he give to have John’s apple pie, even if John’s methods of making the pie were um...a bit unorthodox? Every little detail was taken into consideration, every action John took was calculated. There was no straying from the recipe with John unless he found a scientifically proven better way of doing it…

Word of advice, if John is baking, don’t try to help him because he will just confuse you with maths you don’t understand and probably will never understand. John’s pie never lasts long, it was first in, first served.

One of the benefits of being the oldest was that he could reserve a piece, and if you ate that piece? Run...

[hedwigstalons]

FabFiveFeb - Scott

Part 4 of the prompt challenge for @gumnut-logic. Ok Scott doesn’t come into this much but here is where the prompts took me.  The uses the prompts ‘crease’ and ‘apple’.

xoxoxox

There was a mountain of paperwork to be done.  It seemed like there was always paperwork of some sort demanding his attention.  Mission reports.  Stock lists. Maintenance schedules. Rotas.  Sometime he felt that the rotas were a waste of time; it’s not like emergencies kept to a schedule and down time was generally dictated by who had had the least sleep rather than following any pattern or design.  He liked to at least hope he could give each brother a fairly regular day off rescues but sometimes even keeping birthdays sacred was impossible.

As a man of action the paperwork was a particular bugbear of Scott’s.  Delegation wasn’t an option though.  John and Virgil were responsible for producing at least three quarters of the documents he had to analyse so he couldn’t really push more paper their way, Alan had school work and Gordon was….Gordon.  The last time the irrepressible aquanaut had been tasked with writing the supplies list it had mostly consisted of ice cream and canned cheese.  Scott was surprised they hadn’t all got scurvy that month.

 Speaking of the aquatic sibling Scott was horribly aware of his brother’s presence on the far side of the lounge.  It was disrupting his concentration and causing the stress lines on his forehead to crease even deeper.  He looked up to send the irritation packing but faltered.

 “Gordon…why do you have an apple on your head?”

 He received a cheerful shrug in return.  “Science.”  As if it was obvious.

 “Just how is you balancing an apple science?

 Gordon adopted his ‘I’m talking to an idiot’ tone and pointed to the normally space-resident sibling who was quietly reclining on a sofa in the sunken seating area, reading a book.

 “Johnny boy and I have a little experiment going.  About gravity.”  

 “It’s John, thank you very much.”  The use of the nickname earned a scowl.

 “And just what have apples got to do with this?” Scott didn’t really want to ask but if he stood any chance of getting Gordon to go away he knew he needed to understand.

 “Everything.  Apples and gravity; it’s a classic.”

 “John, can you translate please.  I’m still failing to see exactly why our brother has an apple on his head.”

 John carefully marked the page then put his book to one side. He hadn’t been back on Earth for long and was still in the mandatory rest phase while his blood pressure readjusted.

 “Gordon seems to think I’m disproportionately affected by gravity.  He has decided to test what falls down first, me or the apple.”

 It was well known that John struggled with the effects of gravity.  Prolonged periods of time in the microgravity of Thunderbird Five meant that while John was gracefulness personified in space he was a bit of a walking disaster zone when Earthside.  The first day or two after returning home were characterised by John’s fragile skin being bumped, grazed and gaining all manner of new bruises.

 “If I fall first I have to wear one of Gordon’s shirts for a day.”  Scott could almost see John stiffen at the though of being subjected to Gordon’s fashion choices.  “But if Gordon drops the apple then he has to eat whatever it is Grandma is currently baking for me.  She is making one of her special ‘welcome home’ treats.”

 This time there was no mistaking the shudder. Gordon physically recoiled at the thought.  Grandma’s normal baking was bad enough but the pressure of making something special tended to result in an even more catastrophic failure.  The apple wobbled precariously and Gordon straightened himself just in time.

 “What Gordon seems to have forgotten is that I’m going to be spending the next few hours lying down.  I can’t trip over while I’m reading.  Now if you don’t mind I’d quite like to carry on with my book.”

 He made to pick up the discarded volume when Gordon chipped in.

 “And what Johnny seems to have forgotten is that as well as resting he is also being a good boy and rehydrating.  I know he has drunk at least 40 oz since his last bathroom break. Gotta move sooner or later, space case”

 John became uncomfortably aware of the pressing feeling in his bladder.  It hadn’t been an issue until Gordon pointed it out but now the feeling filled his focus. Navigating his way out of the sunken seating was bad enough during those first few hours back on Earth but doing so while distracted was a whole other level of difficulty.  He wished he had just kept to his room with its nice, convenient en-suite but the prospect of avoiding Grandma’s burnt offerings had been too tempting.  There was no way he was letting Gordon into the hallowed sanctuary of his bedroom and so the experiment was being conducted in the communal areas of the villa.

 Scott rubbed his temples.  The creases threatened to turn into full-blown furrows.  All chances of him completing the paperwork were well and truly shattered.  He evidently wasn’t going to get any peace until the experiment had run it’s course. He had no problems with John sharing the lounge but there was something about having Gordon hovering that put him on edge.  Gordon didn’t even have to make a noise to be distracting, sometimes just his existence was enough.

 He watched as John carefully manoeuvred himself into an upright position and walked with exaggerated care towards the steps.  Gordon was positively vibrating with the tension, wondering whether their rarely-resident space monitor would be able to navigate the obstacle.  None of them noticed Virgil enter the lounge behind Gordon, they were all so engrossed in the spectacle.

 “Oh yum, snack table.”  Virgil grabbed the apple off of Gordon’s head, polished it on his jeans to remove the smear of hair gel, then bit into it with a loud crunch just moments John caught his foot on the bottom step and fell sprawling to the floor.

 “Aww Virg! What did you have to go and do that for? I was just about to win.”  Gordon rounded on the oblivious engineer.

 “What?  What did I do?” Virgil mumbled round a mouthful of apple.

 Scott sighed.  “Apparently Gordon bet John that he would fall down before the apple did.”

 Virgil just shrugged.  “Draw?”  he suggested, reaching down to help John back to his feet.

 “Oh no, I win outright”  John smirked.  “I believe the exact terms of the challenge were that I couldn’t fall over but Gordon had to keep the apple on his head without touching it.  Seeing as the apple left Gordon’s head before I reached the steps, I win.”

 He collected his book, climbed the steps without further incident, and headed towards his room complete with its convenient bathroom.

 In the doorway he paused and turned.

 “Enjoy the cookies Gordon.  I believe Grandma was attempting something with cranberries so try not to break a tooth.”

[tippystreasurebox]

FAB Five Feb 2020 - Gordon

Wooo! Made it just in time for his birthday!!!! :D

This is for @gumnut-logic and her amazing prompt challenge!!! Hopefully, it turned out okay! 

Prompts: “How did you do that?” and Can’t

~*~*~*~*~*~

"How-" a grunt of effort as the elder brother untangled more of the twisted metal and cables with the grip of his exo-suit. Virgil gave an apprehensive groan as he watched the fingers continue to twitch through the small opening in the debris. "How did you do that?"

"Hey," Gordon wheezed through the comm, "would you've - preferred a smooshed bro - instead?" The fingers flexed again as the blonde let out a pained cry.

"Quit moving, Gordon," Virgil ordered gently, the worry seeping into the way he tore at another piece of the shattered remnants of observation bridge. Fires still raged a few decks down in the large ocean liner, the heat and smoke an ever present reminder for the engineer of his time limit. Thankfully, the fires up top had been extinguished. "John? What's the status on the passengers?"

"You've got all but one lifeboat clear." The astronaut answered with the steadiness Virgil needed. "The last one is having difficulty launching."

A growl as he threw another chunk of metal - too small - glaring at the rest of the structure that needed to be moved in order to get to his brother. How many people were left?

"There are one hundred thirty-two waiting to board," John answered his unspoken question.

"Damn it -" he wanted to rip the whole metal disaster away, but with one frustrated pull, it shrieked in warning and Virgil was forced to let go.

"Virg - get the boat down," Gordon urged, knowing the torture a decision like this one would be for the engineer. "I'll be here when you get back."

As if to add emphasis to the need for haste, the ship leaned as plumes of smoke and bright orange erupted from her side. She was going down and if Virgil didn't do his job, the people they'd come to rescue could die.

"You better be," he took the few seconds to remove his hand from the exo-suit and gently grabbed hold of the one sticking through the debris.

Gordon squeezed, shakily, "oh yeah - thought I'd check out the - buffet." Another squeeze and he let go. "Not goin' anywhere."

And that was the problem.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," heavy foot falls sounded over the deck as Virgil ran for the lifeboat John had indicated on his map, keeping the comm line open for Gordon's benefit and his own.

Virgil had prepared for chaos, but was met with the frantic worry of mostly crew and the boat's captain. The man was working at the controls with another officer, trying to disengage the supports. The relief when iR arrived was palpable and Virgil went straight to work on the problem as the group moved away to give him room.

"International rescue," the captain breathed. "We were able to get one of the releases, but this one's jammed."

Looking at the piece preventing the lifeboat from descending, Virgil made a quick decision. "I'm going to have to cut it from the ship and lower it down manually. That'll be the fastest." He was already activating the laser cutter, his claw grabbing the cable before the boat could be damaged in the fall. He grunted as the cords extended, slowly lowering the craft until it hit the water and the bright orange shoot inflated up to the deck.

"That's it!" The captain cheered. "Thank you, we have it from here."

Virgil gave the briefest of nods before turning to head back to Gordon. Two steps and the boat listed again, the rear dropping into the churning waters and it was the startled cries that forced the engineer back to the group. Most were piling into the escape tube, but a few had lost their footing and were sliding along the deck.

"John!" The engineer called with a distinct edge of frustration. "This ship's about had it! Any news on Thunderbird 1?"

"Scott's still dealing with the cave in," John answered, calmly. "Alan's on his way with a pod, but it'll be another twenty minutes."

"Lady Penelope?"

"Still in Peru. She's doing her best to end the talks," there was a 'but' hanging off the end of that sentence. Her work was currently keeping a group of immigrants from being sent back to their country where death was waiting for them.

"Vitals?" He made it to the first crewmember, shifting them to the railing so they could make it back up.

"Steady," and for his benefit, John threw their little brother's suit information up over his wrist. The beat was as the astronaut indicated, though the pressure had dropped.

Alright, four more and get back to him, Virgil caught another as his cable he'd attached farther up continued to extend. The third clung to that one and he swung them both to the side. The last two had hit a set of stationary deck chairs and Virgil quickly collected them, reversing his grapple to bring them back to the lifeboat.

They were down to the last group before the engineer felt comfortable leaving them again, giving the captain a wave before climbing up to Gordon's location.

"Hey, Fish," his breath was short as he turned the corner, catching sight of the smoke overtaking the front of the ship. "You with me?"

"Can you believe - they don't have any pineapple on the buffet?" A laugh that turned into a pained grunt and Virgil was searching for the hand. Fingers were clenched as Gordon struggled to regain his senses.

"There'll be plenty at home," he began sizing up the job, the ship's new angle adding a new level of difficulty. Virgil also couldn't decide which to worry about more, the rising water or the flames cresting the bow. Their options were minimal. And they were going to hurt. "Gords, I'm gonna have to cut the section on top of you and move it as one."

"It's all you, bro," his voice held a smile Virgil wished he could see. "Go for it."

He didn't need any further permission as he aimed for the lower side of the bridge, right of his brother and smoothly seared through the bent metal. His heart buckled with the loud crash of the structure.

"Gordon?!"

"Good, I'm good -" the aquanaut choked out, obviously just as alarmed. "Just a bit more - snug."

"New plan," Virgil dislodged his arm from the exo-suit, bringing up the controls for his 'bird. "John, I'm taking back control of Thunderbird 2."

"FAB," the icon went green as John released the 'bird.

His girl descended through the smoke to hover over his shoulder and with a flick, two magnetic grapples connected with the piece of metal he meant to remove. "Gordon, can you get your arm back through? Once I make this next cut, I plan on moving the debris fast. I'd rather you not be hanging from it."

His brother didn't answer, but the grunts of effort were audible. Eventually, Gordon let out an exhausted sigh. "Yank away, Virg."

A second to reconsider, but there were hisses echoing around them as the ocean flooded the fire-consumed decks. No more time to rethink this. The glow of the red beam reflected around the broken ship, metal melting as it swiftly moved from left to right.

And then, Virgil was watching and listening. Watching the chunk of debris pull away. Listening to the shriek of metal and wood over the cry in his helmet as Thunderbird 2 dragged it over the deck. Seeing the bright blue and yellow.

And he was running through water, sliding to reach his brother's side. Pain was etched across the blonde's features, but he still managed a thumbs up and lopsided smile.

"Going home, now?" Gordon looped his arm around Virgil's neck as he lifted him from the water. The way the blonde's eyes rolled before his helmet fell back and his arms lost their hold sent Virgil's head screaming.

"I've got him! John?" He was trudging up the deck that was quickly submerging, the fire and smoke gone.

"Blood pressure plummeted, but the suit's not detecting any major injuries at the moment." John's words were met with a shuddering gratitude. After all, there had been no time to check his brother before scooping him up. Virgil's mind had already ticked off so many potential injuries that could have been made worse with that choice.

"I need you to take Two again," he spoke as he made it as far up the sinking ship as he could, the water on his heels. John did as requested and the grapples holding the bridge were released. The platform came down a second later and with as much precision as the astronaut could muster from space, he brought Thunderbird 2 down to the edge of the ship. Virgil let his laser cutter make quick work of the railing before carefully leaping into his 'bird.

The next few minutes were a blur, but they all centered around his movements. Get to the med bay, scan Gordon as he began to wake, calm said brother as he came to in pain and crying until he could fight the disorientation and realize what had happened and where he was - all in a matter of minutes that drained them both.

"Thanks, Virg," Gordon whispered with the drowsiness of a kid who'd played too hard for far too long in the pool.

He paused in his ministrations of the brace to the sprained knee, still baffled that it hadn't been worse - the bruising to his abdomen, however was still worrying him. A wavering smile was aimed at the half lidded amber eyes and Virgil let his bare fingers brush through the unruly blonde waves.

"You know I've got your back. Now, lay still. We'll be home in a coupla minutes and a nice, comfy infirmary bed." The smile remained as he went back to his work.

"Ech - not comfy. Wanna sleep in my room." The whine was accompanied by a groan as the brace snapped shut. "Please?"

"Tell you what, your abdomen comes back clear and I can give you the okay," which was going to be a hard no for at least a day. "I'll see about getting you to your tacky palace."

"Promise -"

"Cross my heart."

[such-a-random-rambler]

Fab Five Feb - Scott - Crease

I’s done a drabble for this one!

Scott doesn't know it, but his thirty-seven distinct frowns had been observed, evaluated and catalogued over the years.

When facing a particularly complicated rescue it barely touched his eyebrows though his hairline climbed high.

When he’s in pain it’s most pinched in the middle, creasing the whole brow, ear to ear, trailing around the eyes. He wondered how they knew the meds had worn off, when it’s stamped across his whole face.   The worst one, they’d all agree, only surfaced -scrunching down his nose- when one of the others was hurt. The current frown, a limp hand resting in his.

[gumnut-logic]

BONUS ROUND!

I’m posting this now because I will be indisposed tomorrow. I would like to thank all of you wonderful writers for all your contributions - I’m still wading through them. There have been some wonderful fics created and this fandom is just amazing. I am so grateful for all of you who jumped in and played with the prompts and for those of you who didn’t but read the results and cheered the participants along. You are all wonderful.

In consideration of the end of the third and last season ::wails muchly:: I thought I would throw in a bonus round. This is a little extra, and if you’ve had enough, as with everything I’ve posted, nothing is mandatory, so no pressure, just do what is fun.

Bonus Round is    Jeff

The prompts are:

home

“Never?”

laughter

figure

flower

Take their Dad and one or more of these prompts and write, art, sculpt, create anything. No pressure, no real time limit, just start here and see where it takes you.

When you are ready, post the result and tag it #fabfivefeb and #fabfivefeb2020

If you are not a Thundernerd, then you don’t have to play with Jeff, just pick your favourite character and grab a prompt or two.

If you are a Thundernerd and Jeff just isn’t the dad for you, do not worry. As long as his name is in there somewhere, you’ve done it. But remember, part of the writing experience is to branch out and try new things…you never know what another brother might do when you try him on for size :D

In any case, the most important thing is to have fun, share the results and the love.

So, have at it!

Nutty

PS: I know it is technically still John week, so keep writing about him, too :D Sorry, Virgil is getting his revenge tomorrow and I get dental surgery ::pouts::

PPS: March 12 is Alan’s birthday, so extra bonus kudos for including him in your story with Jeff :D

PPPS: And as a record of all the prompts for this challenge as @such-a-random-rambler​ requested, please see below for the entire suite. I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed this. Don’t hesitate to grab the prompts again and see what happens! I hope you had a FabFiveFeb!

[strongerwiththepack]

Fab-Five-Feb: John

The last bro T_T (Although I see there may be a bonus round in circulation). Thank-you @gumnut-logic so much for organising this challenge, it has sparked up my muse again and hopefully I’ll be able to keep it going! I have to admit this last one was very rushed and I don’t know if I’ve done our spaceman justice but oh well. Using the prompt ‘lightning’. Please ignore all scientific facts as they are spiced up for ~dramatic effect~. Enjoy!

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose in exacerbation “You were trying to harness what?”

The lead scientist, obviously unaware of Virgil’s growing annoyance, replied “Lightning! Imagine a world powered solely by lightning” He gestured wildly as Virgil deadpanned back. “It’s natural energy at it’s finest.”

“Actually, it’s not.” drawled John from behind him. “Which you would know if you’d bothered to read any research paper on the topic at all.”

The scientist scoffed, glaring at the two International Rescue operatives. “What do you know?”

“Far more than you it seems.” John muttered under his breath. Virgil had a feeling the man had heard but nobody said anything further. 

“We need to get out of here.” Virgil re-iterated with a sense of urgency.

The machine the man had been creating was malfunctioning. Of course it is. John had said. There is no safe way to harness one of the most unstable energy sources on the planet.

So International Rescue had been called. There was a team of three scientists here, two had left immediately when asked but of course it could never be that easy. The head scientist refused to believe anything was wrong.

At that moment another blast of lightning hit the machine. It came in through the skylight in the ceiling with a loud crack. The lightning laced around the machine wildly before dissipating. There was a burning smell in the air and Virgil could practically feel the static energy around them.

The circular room seemed eerily dark when it wasn’t being set alight with a strike of lightning.

“That’s it.” Virgil growled grabbing hold of the man’s upper arm and dragging him forward. “We’re going.”

He paused when he reached the door, noticing his little brother wasn’t following.

“John?” He questioned.

“I have to turn it off” His brother answered with a distracted look in his eye as he studied the machine.

Virgil blanched looking at the sparking, malfunctioning machine and knowing he definitely did not want his little brother anywhere near that death trap. “What!? No way John. Get over here.”

“If it explodes, the lightning won’t be contained anymore.” John replied still distracted. Virgil was sure he was running different calculations through his huge brain right now. Too bad it wasn’t big enough to know you do not go near the sparking machine of death.

“Everyone’s out of the building John.”

“It’s not enough.” John shook his head in frustration. “This could cause damage for miles.”

Virgil didn’t hesitate.

“Fine” he responded, giving the scientist a not-so-gentle push out the door before stalking towards his brother. “Then I’ll turn it off.”

John put a hand on his shoulder as he passed, halting his path. “I need to do it.”

“No. You don’t.” Virgil replied firmly, staring his brother firmly in the eye.

“It’s not just an off-switch Virgil.” John huffed in frustration, studying the floor and distinctly avoiding Virgil’s eye contact. “Everything has to be contained properly.”

“Well then tell me how to do it. You are not taking another step towards that death-trap John.”

“I won’t know how to do it properly until I’ve seen the machine.”

Virgil didn’t doubt that John had contingency after contingency running through his head right now along with all the necessary equations to properly shut down and contain this machine. In fact, he trusted his brother’s expertise unequivocally. But like John had been saying all day. Lightning was unpredictable.

No matter what factors John ran through his head his little brother couldn’t predict the lightning. And that was not a chance Virgil wanted to take.

“There has to be another way to do this.” Virgil questioned in annoyance.

“There isn’t and we’re running out of time.” John stopped there, gaze lingering on Virgil.

Virgil stared back before another crack of lightning dangerously lit up the room.

“Dammit.” He yelled out in frustration, turning away and balling his hands up behind his head. He turned back with a fierce look. “You better not get barbecued.”

That was all the confirmation John needed as he turned and jogged back to the centre of the room. Virgil made sure to follow close behind. They reached the low railing surrounding the machine and as John passed through, he turned with a pleading look at Virgil. “Stay here okay?”

Fire burned behind Virgil’s eyes as he got ready to argue up a storm. John could tell too though.

“Please, Virgil.” He pleaded quietly.

Virgil just glared at his brother and John took his cue to turn quickly and approach the machine. For what it was worth Virgil only passed through the barrier very slightly. Even if he was slowly inching closer. He tried okay.

He watched as John closely studied the machine from a short distance. Another lightning strike forced them both to flinch away as sparks erupted around them. Virgil watched as John ducked back, sparks bouncing off his IR suit.

“John?”

“I’m good, Virgil.”

“Can you speed this up a bit?”

“Trying my best Virgil.”

John started pushing the buttons on the machine and Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketed. He was so going to regret this. Why had he let John talk him into this?

John’s hands were flying across the keyboard on the console. Lights started going out and the large metallic spikes jutting out of the skylight began to lower. The machine started to look much less chaotic as it slowly powered down.

“That should be just about everyth-”

John was cut off abruptly as another bolt of lightning somehow found the retracting metal and shot down into the machine. Still at the controls, John went flying back and slammed into surrounding railing, dropping to the ground.

“John!” Virgil yelled in alarm, ignoring the sparks shooting out at him. He ran over to his little brother as the machine finally settled and the skylight closed above them.

He slid to his knees as he reached his brother. John was trying to pull himself up against the railing, hand held tightly over his chest as he grimaced. Virgil put an arm under his brother’s shoulders to help him sit up against the railing.

John grimaced. “Ughhh, that’s going to leave a mark.”

Virgil’s brown eyes bore into him with concern. “What hurts?”

“I’m fine, Virgil.” John assured his brother while making a move to stand up.

Virgil placed a firm hand on his little brothers’ shoulder to stop him rising. “There is no way you are fine. Tell me what hurts?”

John sighed. “Really Virgil, my back hurts a bit from where I hit the railing but I’m surprisingly okay.”

Virgil stared at him, dumbfounded. “You got struck by lightning John. Lightning.”

“I don’t think I got the full force of it.” John tried to assure again. “Must have just been the backlash from the machine.”  

Virgil felt his heart rate finally beginning to settle and sprang at John as wrapped his arms firmly around his brother’s narrow shoulders. John stiffened slightly before relaxing into the embrace and wrapping his own arms soothingly around his big brother.

“What happened to not getting barbecued?” Virgil mumbled into John’s shoulder.

John gave a pained huff of a laugh as Virgil just assured himself John was really okay. He eventually pulled away and helped John to his feet, putting a supportive arm around John’s waist as they hobbled towards the door.

“How come you knew so much about the lightning machine?” Virgil questioned once they were safely back in Two and he had John sitting in the medbay.

John just smirked. “You do not want to know what me and my friends got up to in collage.”

Virgil just eyed his brother, a smirk pulling at his own lips. “Uh, no I think I definitely want to know the story behind this one.”

“Well it started when we decided we were spending too much on our electricity bill…”

Virgil just smiled as he listened to John ramble on about the stupid things he’d done with his friends in collage. Well, as stupid as you could get with a flat full off Astrophysicists and Aeronautical Engineers that is…

He loved his brother but sometimes that brain of his caused far too much chaos. Virgil was shipping John back up to Thunderbird Five the first chance he could get. Back up where he couldn’t give his big brothers any more grey hairs.

Well he could. But Virgil could ignore that fact until the next time.

God, please don’t let there be a next time. He pleaded silently.

[fallenfurther]

FabFiveFeb - Jeff

Finally finished @gumnut-logic‘s FabFiveFeb challenge. Here is my little fic for the bonus round. Prompts used: home, figure and laughter. 

Also see previous weeks: Alan (with part 2, 3 and 4 ), Gordon, Virgil (a WIP, but with one and a half chapters complete so watch this space! I will fix the boys), Scott (now a WIP and to be my first collaboration!) and John.

*****

Jeff’s eyes flickered beneath the sunglasses. It was the second weekend he’d been allowed home and a rescue had dragged his boys away. It was bittersweet. His eldest sons, and mother, fussed over him while Gordon chatted incessantly, intent of catching him up on everything he’d missed. Alan, his little Alan, was still nervous around him. It was hard on both of them, Jeff knew. Seeing Alan so grown up, so tall, so responsible, was still a shock, and yet Jeff could still see the child he’d left behind beneath it all. It had only been three months since he had returned to Earth and there was still so much to adjust to. He was walking better now, for longer periods, and he was looking and feeling healthier. The doctor’s plans did include a strict diet, which thankfully only allowed for one home cooked meal a week, for the time being. Jeff surveyed the lounge from his advantage point. He had been reading old reports on the balcony, but the white bucket chair had proven too comfortable and he had fallen asleep.

The room had subtle differences in it, but it still felt like home. From here Jeff could see John, sitting at his desk, his son’s soft voice coordinating the rescue. Jeff had watched the briefing from this spot and had seen the glance John had given him, as John sat down in the chair. Jeff had just nodded. It still wasn’t his place. Oh, Jeff planned to sit back at that desk, but first he had to get a feel for how the boys ran International Rescue now. Jeff need to understand what had changed, what was the same, and worked and what needed changing, and how he would fit back into the organisation. It was going to be a tough conversation to have, with Scott and John so used to heading up the rescues. Jeff was so proud of his sons. They had all gone above and beyond his expectations, though some had taken on more than they should have on their own. His thoughts drifting to Scott, his eldest, who had shouldered so much. Jeff knew he had to take some of it back; it had all become too much for one man. The logical thing would to be to take back Tracy Industries, and take a back seat with International Rescue, but International Rescue had been his brainchild, his second dream.

His eyes fell on the ginger man, a smile forming as it always did at the sight of his family. John’s attention was on the figures and readouts that were displayed before him. The holograms of various brothers came and went, each updating John and receiving the information they required to continue. Forcing himself out the chair, Jeff lent against the rail to watch the relieved smile that crossed John’s face as the last person was rescued. John’s eyes stayed fixed on the readouts until all four of his brothers were safely in their machines and on their way home. Only then did Jeff see the man relax back into the chair, his fingers flicking and sorting the data in a less rushed manner. Jeff turned from the scene and headed down the steps to join it. He perched on the side of the desk. He watched as John typed up the report and filed the relevant data into a neat mission log, a format that Jeff was starting to become accustomed to.

“Have a good nap, Dad?” John glanced up at him, giving him a quick smile, before continuing. Jeff squeezed the man’s shoulder.

“Mighty fine one.”

“Scott will be home in five, and the others fifteen minutes after that.”

Jeff nodded, his eyes already looking towards the swimming pool. He could still remember when he piloted Thunderbird One. The rush of adrenaline that was always released as her engines roared and forced him back into his seat, then the second release after entering the blue sky, changing to horizontal flight and letting her engines burn. Hitting Mach 20 from such a low speed had always been a thrill, something Scott shared with him. He could never keep that boy away from planes!

John was spot on, and Thunderbird One soared into view, the pool retracted, and the ship slipped effortlessly back into its bay. The doors had been closed, but Jeff could always feel the force of the wind created by the machine. As he watched his mind tricking him into believing it was blowing through his hair. There had been so many things he had imagined over the past few years, sun on his skin, rain, food, his mother, his boys at various ages, his wife. All things he thought he’d never see again. But he had hoped, he had survived and now he was home, waiting for his eldest to emerge from the depths of the island.

Scott emerged as Thunderbird Two made her approach. Jeff smiled as his eldest strolled towards him. Back in his civilian clothes, skin clean of any dirt and hair dried and styled. Nothing about the man in front of him screamed ‘I’d just risked my life to save other’. The smile was returned. Scott gave Jeff’s shoulder a squeeze.

“How’d we do, Dad?”

“Top notch rescue, son.”

“He was asleep for most of it.” John piped in. Scott laughed.  

“You caught me! But I’m sure it was a job well done.”

The laughter was music to Jeff’s ears. There was still worry in the corner of Scott’s eye, but his son now was used to his frequent naps. Scott’s laugh always made his dimples appear and deepen; those dimples which Lucille adored. Another pat on his shoulder, and Scott headed towards the pool.

“Thanks Dad.”

Jeff watched from his vantage point as Scott collected up the deck chairs and set them back around the pool. Bolting the things down only damaged them, and they were forever being forgotten to be put away. The memory of Scott’s training in Thunderbird One came to mind, especially his first attempts at landing through the pool. It had taken a few tries to get the aim right, and even after that a few tiles often got scorched or broken, but the young man had gotten there eventually. Though the deck chairs had been a little worse for wear after those attempts, one even ending up in the sea. Gordon had teased Scott about that for months after that incident. Jeff stood up and stretched when Scott re-entered, before joining his eldest on the sofa. Scott already had a tablet in hand, taking down bullet points ready to write up his report. It was not long until his youngest two joined them, their laughter alerting them that they were on the way, long before they entered the room. Their playful spirit still very much the same as when he’d left. Jeff was glad the bond between the two youngest was strong, and that Gordon was able to be the brother Alan needed him to be. How Jeff had missed Gordon’s jokes and cheek. When Virgil arrived, John joined the family and Jeff could sit in on his first debrief since returning to Earth. It was having his boys close that he’d missed the most.