#Jeff Tracy

[scribbles97]

What's this? A new WIP?

The barest of bare bones idea that popped into my head this morning... we're ignoring the fact that I'm still meant to be finishing my other Lucy AU okay?

“I don’t like it, Luce, not one bit. You retired from the USAF years ago, you owe them nothing.”

“That was in peacetime, Jeff, when there wasn’t a rush to get their planes back in the air or risk being taken out by enemy fire.”

“They have other engineers.”

“None that can put an engine together in under half an hour.”

“Why, Luce? What could possibly make you want to go out there? The boy--”

“Are all safe on home territory, except for Scott.”

[lenle-g]

@idontknowreallywhy said: Jeff but where Jeff actually looks like he’s spent 8 years alone on a rock and my hand slipped also I got struck with the idea that it'd be cute to give his hair a little of John's cowlick when it's lost its styling

[laughing-moonlight]

more sillies <3

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP-woke-stupidly-early-saw-Len’s-gorgeous-art-again-and-went-down-a-rabbit-hole

Seriously though did you see this art by @lenle-g ???? Go and see! 😍

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

The coincidences were extreme… ridiculous. To the point where it felt impossible it could only be a coincidence.

Was this the universe giving him a chance? Was some god throwing him a lifeline?

He’d never really believed in one, but Lucy had. She’d always teased that one day he’d have to accept he wasn’t quite the biggest deal in the universe. Before he could object, she’d shush him and say that the fact they had each other was enough evidence for her that someone out there was blessing them.

He’d almost come to believe the same, to want to believe the same… until she was taken from him.

Now? He didn’t know. But he’d started asking anyway, just in case someone was listening. The requests had varied over time:

Please say they stocked the ship before the test flight?

Please let these seeds be alive?

Please let this generator be fixable?

Please let this bone not be broken?

Please send someone to save me?

Please look after my boys?

Please tell Scott I’m sorry?

Please help me be brave, I don’t feel brave anymore…

Sometimes, on the days he got stuck, when he couldn’t seem to move from his bunk anymore, he thought he could hear a voice - “It’s going to be ok, get up, keep going, it’s worth it, hang on, I’m here.” Maybe it was God. Maybe it was Lucy’s ghost. Maybe he was just losing his mind. But he’d got himself up anyway and he’d kept going. He’d hung on.

Sometimes it was little more keeping him going than the dread of his boys arriving to find he’d given up. But he got the strength from somewhere and used it the best he could.

Please keep this rock together.

Please let there be time.

Another vibration made the entire cabin shudder. He swallowed hard and bit down on the edge of the blanket.

Please let me see my Lucy again.

Please keep them safe.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[edutainer2022]

With Jeff's return, there's a new dynamics of there now being two father figures on the island. And some unaddressed logistical and legal issues arise. This is a Jeff and Scott story. I'm always fascinated with them navigating things new and old, post Zero-XL.

As ever, many thanks to @janetm74 for support! Another night of bombings brings on a fic.

TWO FATHERS (TWO SONS)

Being dead was tedious, as it turned out. But not as tedious as coming back to life. The paperwork alone was threatening to swallow them whole. Jeff had a strong suspicion he hadn't even been privy to the worst of it - Scott handling the steel cage fights with the various red tapes across various countries, Tracy Legal, the TI Board, and the GDF. With a strong, if discrete, assistance of John's hacking and communication skills, he suspected (but never asked, for plausible deniability). He was more than greatful for that. His own energy was mostly channeled to gruelling rehabilitation and reacclimitization, and to not going insane from joy of being with his loved ones again. He was prepared to wrestle back every second the exile in deep space cut off his life expectancy. Truth be told, he'd be more than happy to let it all be and just stay on the island, basking in awe at his amazing boys and friends. But his sons were adamant the world got Jeff Tracy back, reinstated to his full glory - Scott's the strongest voice in the chorus. So he rolled with it. He could never again deny his eldest anything.

He might have kept to himself the increasing worry over the hue of grey pallor and deepened frowns exhaustion was casting over Scott's features those days. Every trip to the States or elsewhere to deal with the ever arising issues - an unseen struggle. Jeff's return was supposed to lift the burden off of his boy's shoulders, not add to it.

He was lounging on the couches that afternoon too, waiting for Scott to come up from the hangars. One just landed into the pool, heralding Scott's return from yet another trip to New York. In the meantime Jeff busied himself with going over more rescue logs. A habit he tried to dedicate whatever spare time he got to. Dear God, there were so MANY rescues over the past almost decade. So MANY close calls.

The elevator clicked and Scott came round the corner, his suit jacket already off, tie loosened. The young man's face looked wane, lost in thought. Jeff waited till Scott sat down next to him on one of the couches. He'd adopted another new habit - to ask how his boy's were openly and mean it. To process every word for concealed pain. But Scott was more or less an exhibit of how he felt - forehead pinched in a frown and eyes squeezed against a building headache. Jeff was half of a mind to skip chat (and possibly a nightcap) and altogether to order his son to bed, braving The Look. But Scott spoke first.

"Dad, I need to fly you in to see the lawyers and the judge next time. To transfer custody."

Oh... Jeff hadn't given it much thought, all the other priorities and sensations vying for his attention upon return. He just resumed being the boys' Dad - never for one second over the solitary years away had he stopped thinking of himself as such. But of course, Allie and Gordie having been orphaned minors, guardianship arrangements must have been made. It didn't surprise him one bit Scott had stepped up. As he did with everything else. If Jeff were honest with himself, his eldest did so a lot longer than eight years.

"Gordon aged out, but Allie's still a minor. I will need to forfeit guardianship and return parental rights to you."

There was a weariness in Scotty's voice, in his whole posture. An air of defeat. Jeff raised a hand to run a circle over the hunched back in a silk dress shirt, but his palm hovered millimeters shy of contact. It was supposed to be for the better! Their world was finally, painstakingly turning the right side up again. Scott was never supposed to be a father to the Tinies. If anything, Jeff had harbored tentative hopes his eldest might have started a family of his own by then. Yet he couldn't deny that for Gordon and even more so for young Alan - Scott was the one father figure they knew best. Allie was just a little kid when Jeff went missing, and now he was an incredible youth - brave, kind, smart, funny, exceptionally skilled and professional. He was growing up to be a remarkable man that Scott raised him. Jeff was still catching up on a decade worth of cultural trivia and technological updates, he couldn't presume to be making fully informed choices regarding the boy's future. He knew what he had to do. His hand landed on the son's shoulder finally and gave it a warm squeeze. Scott looked up, wrought with worry.

"I think we should leave it as is, Bluejay. Allie is gonna be eighteen soon, so the point is moot. This changes nothing for us here, at home. I'm your Dad. I will always be! But for the world of college funds, and insurances, and stock options - you're his parent."

Blue eyes regarded him with doubt. Scott drew in a breath to protest, but Jeff was not done.

"Allie will trust you with things he would never share with me as he grows older. Just you wait! For that you're his parent too. You have been for a while, son. I wish things were different, I wish I could lift that much weight off your shoulders. But I promise to be there every step of the way - for him and for you."

Scott's lips were moving to say something, but no sound followed. Damp blue gaze was searching Dad's face, astonished. But even despite welling tears, his son's features looked lighter. Calmer. Like an old ache got soothed. Maybe it had.

Jeff gave his elder boy's shoulder another soft squeeze and moved to stand up, having made up his mind.

"Fancy a nightcap, son? C'mon, I know you haven't worked through ALL of my good stuff. And then you're going straight to bed, Bluejay!"

He made a pointed gesture that probably resembled his own mother a bit too much. But he could indulge himself in mischief just that once. His failed attempt at a stern glare was met by a smile and mirth dancing in bright blue eyes. As Scott sprung up to follow him, sketching a salute, he could consider his goal accomplished as a father for the night.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

They've just solved the mystery of what Jeff Tracy ate for EIGHT YEARS in the Oort Cloud!!!

[call-me-casual]

No one:

Bestie after seeing TAGJeff: “I’d put him back in space 😬”

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 4

TW: Prisoner of war, torture

With many thanks to @scribbles97 for keeping me inspired!

Scott's POV 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Scott's POV 2 | Jeff's POV 2 | Scott's POV 3 | Jeff's POV 3

Chapter 4 - Scott's POV

It took several days after the debriefing for Scott to find any semblance of balance again. Saying it out loud, putting that room into words, made it real and tangible. It seemed so close, like it was just down the corridor and if they decided they didn’t like his answers, that’s where he was going until he changed his story.

The nightmares got worse. A low-grade fever left him sweating and shaking as he struggled to deal with the shock of what they’d suggested.

Him. A traitor.

Captain Scott Tracy of the United States Air Force, decorated pilot, son of Jeff Tracy, a legendary hero, a traitor.

The worst part was that for a second, he wondered if it was true.

During the darkest moments, he couldn’t remember what he’d told them. He had bargained with them, forcing their attention on him to protect the rest of his team. He didn’t think he was stronger than them, far from it. But they were his squad. It was his duty, his responsibility, to keep them from harm.

The water boarding. The room. The beatings. The humiliation. Scott always believed his family had stopped him from losing his mind: those precious memories giving him a fragile grip on reality. But what if his mouth had betrayed him, betrayed his country, even as his mind drifted away with thoughts of his mother’s smiling face; his brothers’ laughing; his father’s strong arms keeping him safe?

His dad wasn’t enough this time. But by the time the fever broke and they got him back on solid foods again, a therapist had been lined up. The first session left him more wrung out than any of his recovery so far, but it had helped.

Deep down, he knew he hadn’t betrayed anyone, other than maybe himself. It hadn’t taken long for someone to help him reassert his self-belief and shake off the thoughts those Generals had planted in his head.

Of course, it helped that the Generals didn’t come back with any other questions. Scott had a feeling Colonel Casey had something to do with that. She’d been almost as furious as his father at what they’d been insinuating, and Scott knew his ‘aunt’ would’ve have given some higher-ups hell over it, regardless of rank.

But now, things had started looking up again. He’d had another session with the therapist. Then he’d been introduced to a different sort of therapist. Scott had been both looking forward to, and dreading, the start of physical therapy. He wanted to get back on his feet, wanted full motion back again. But he didn’t want to face his own weakness. Never mind his mouth; his body had certainly betrayed him.

It was both better and worse than he had anticipated. But there was one side effect he hadn’t considered.

It exhausted him. More than anything. In fact, it exhausted him so much he managed to sleep without nightmares tearing him from his new reality to his old one.

A week after the debriefing, Scott slowly opened his eyes. It was bright in the room, a natural light rather than the glow of the lamp he insisted was left on. Purely to help anyone coming and going, of course.

But for the first time, he’d slept the night through.

He felt it, too. The blanket was a warm weight rather than the suffocating restraint it had been previously. He hurt, but it wasn’t the agonising stab of memory, more the slightly unpleasant ache of pushing himself too far.

(Apparently, no one told this therapist they’d have a harder job slowing their new patient down than motivating them to take the next step).

Scott rolled his head to the side, and the memory of a smile touched his lips. It no longer surprised him to see his father in the chair by his bed. The man had told him he was going to stay by his side, and he’d stayed true to that. Scott knew he should tell him to go, find a proper bed, get a decent night. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Jeff was exhausted. Scott could tell by the way he didn’t immediately wake up as soon as his son moved. It gave him a moment to study the man, though. There was no doubt he’d aged in the time Scott had been missing, and dark circles ringed his eyes, making him look drawn and, well, old.

But as he looked, Scott’s gaze drifted to his dad’s hand. It was resting, palm up on his leg, his fingers loosely curled around something. It was obvious he’d been holding it tight, but sleep had made his grip soften. Scott caught a glimpse of something metal.

He shifted again, his whole body moving this time. It was enough to make his dad stir. He instantly sat up straighter, cracking his neck from side to side before smiling at his son.

“Good morning.”

Scott’s lips twitched. He wasn’t quite there yet; his muscles seemed to have forgotten how to form expressions other than fear and pain.

His dad stretched but Scott’s gaze was locked on his hand still. It had clenched as he moved.

“What’s that?” Scott gestured at his father’s hand.

His dad looked down at his closed fist. He went still, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. For a moment, Scott didn’t think he was going to say anything. When he did, his voice was quiet but hoarse, as if his emotions were constricting him.

“It’s,” he stopped. Swallowed. Came forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. Scott shifted over to give him space, pleased when his body let him move with something that resembled ease.

“They’re yours,” his dad whispered. Slowly, his fist opened. Scott stared.

He remembered all too clearly the day he’d been presented with the tags. Five days in to his basic military training, queuing up with what would later become his squad: going through the process of registering his information and getting his fingerprints taken to give him an active record on the system. Being presented with the two small pieces of metal and the instructions to have them with him, always.

Scott hadn’t taken them off from that day onwards. Even when he was on leave, and his brothers had pestered to see them, he’d unhooked them from his shirt, let them hold the tags in their hands, warmed by the closed contact with his skin. But never once had he slipped the chain from around his neck.

He could remember all too well when he’d lost them as well.

It hadn’t been immediate. Their captors had let them keep them, let them cling on to their identities, for all the good it did them. As far as he could tell, the rest of the squad had been rescued with theirs still on. It was the only way their captors had let them keep any of their humanity.

But not Scott.

It had been that final time they’d dragged him to isolation. Once they’d got him away from the others, two men holding his arms even as they’d forced him to his knees, another soldier had stepped in front of him. With one sharp tug, he’d torn them from his neck. In that movement, he’d also torn away Scott’s sense of self, his hope, and his adamant belief he was going to see his family again.

He’d torn away what had made Scott Tracy the man he was.

“How-,” this time, it was his voice that was shaking. “How did you get them?”

He thought he knew, though. All along, there had been something missing. His father had refused to say how they’d provided proof of life, refused to comment on what had sparked off the rescue mission when everyone higher up the chain of command had written Scott off as lost.

“They sent them to me,” his dad murmured. “A small, unobtrusive package arrived at the office one day. They thought they were sending a ransom. While it was true that sending me your tags was enough to get my attention, they made a mistake. Sending me these was giving me my son back.”

Scott thought he understood. Until then, his dad hadn’t had a reason to believe he was alive. Sending the tags had given him hope, even as it had been taken away from Scott.

“Here.” His dad gently took his wrist, angling his hand until he could slip the tags onto Scott’s palm.

Scott froze. They were warm from the heat of his father’s skin. The engravings glinted in the warm light of the room, providing Scott with information he’d forgotten about himself in that place. All he could do was stare for a long moment.

A gentle hand covered his own, slowly folding his fingers around the tags. Scott let it happen, but he didn’t consciously move. When the hand disappeared, shifting to a soft grip on his shoulder, Scott made himself look up.

“Scotty?”

With a yell he didn’t know he had in him, Scott threw the tags across the room.

They stripped his identity from him when they’d taken those tags. But giving them back didn’t restore everything he’d lost.

“They’re not mine,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Scott, they are.”

“No.” Scott looked away. “That’s not me.”

The man those tags belonged to had been lost in that prison, trapped in the darkness begging for someone to come and save him. How could Scott take the tags back when he couldn’t go back to the man who’d worn them?

He kept his head turned as his father stood up. He heard him collect the tags from where they’d fallen. While Scott was grateful that his dad didn’t try and give them back, he also didn’t know what to do when the man placed them on the bedside table.

“No one is making you wear them,” he murmured in a soothing tone. “But don’t give up on them so easily.”

Don’t give up on yourself so easily is what Scott heard.

He was breathing heavily through his nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. He was so tired of feeling weak and vulnerable, his emotions getting the better of him after so long suppressing them. But there was something about those two small pieces of metal and the chain holding them together that was more of a painful reminder of what he’d lost than anything his dad could’ve said.

The bed dipped again under his father’s weight.

“You think that because of what you went through, you’re not the man you were? Well, you’re right. No one can undo what you experienced, although god knows I wish I could. No amount of therapy is going to get that man back, son. It’s changed you. But it’s up to you to figure out if that’s for better or worse.”

Scott couldn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the bedspread. It wasn’t a surprise when a hand cradled the back of his head and his father pressed a kiss to his forehead before he stood up. No doubt he was intending to give his son space to come to terms with his latest emotional rollercoaster.

“Dad?”

Scott found his voice just before his father walked out of the door. He stopped, looking back.

“Scott?”

Scott sat up straighter, forcing himself to meet his dad’s gaze.

“Help me shave?”

A grin split over Jeff’s face and he nodded.

“Of course. I’ll get what we need.”

He hurried out, as if Scott was going to change his mind in the few moments it took him to fetch everything. But all Scott did was force himself to sit up straighter, flexing his fingers. He wasn’t steady enough to hold the razor himself yet.

His father had made a good point. He couldn’t be the man he was before. But that didn’t mean he had to be the man that prison had made him, either.

Scott wasn’t naïve: it wasn’t as simple as a change in mindset. He was still haunted; still scarred, both physically and mentally.

But as he got ready to take back some control, he figured a change in his thoughts had to be a damn good starting point.

-x-

“Two more beads, then you’re done.”

Mal’s voice was warm and encouraging. Scott gritted his teeth, his hand, no, his entire arm, trembling, as he held the small bead between thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he held the string as steady as he could, concentrating as he tried to thread the bead on.

It was his fifth physical therapy session, and if Mal was surprised by the strides his patient was taking, he was professional enough not to show it. He hadn’t needed any of his usual coaxing with Scott. Instead, he’d needed to remind the man what his body had gone through and pushing it wasn’t going to make him heal any faster, but the opposite.

Scott threaded one bead, then the second. He saw Mal shift out of the corner of his eye, no doubt prepared to take the equipment away. Before he could do so, Scott threaded a third bead.

“Alright, hot shot,” Mal laughed. “You proved your point.”

He took them away before Scott could do anymore. Scott sat back in the chair with a sharp exhale, surprised when he realised his forehead was damp with perspiration. It should’ve been such a simple task, but it took it out of him more than he cared to admit.

They’d set his fingers, straightening them out after they’d healed wrong from previous breaks. Improving his dexterity hadn’t been quite as straightforward, but Scott was adamant he would get it back. He might not be able to play the piano properly, but that had never been his forte anyway. As long as he would be able to fly, that was good enough for him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mal said. “We’ll hit the gym.”

Scott nodded. He liked his physical therapist. Mal didn’t treat him like he was broken; didn’t let Scott wallow in self-pity. He treated him like a buddy, challenging him in a friendly way that Scott couldn’t refuse even if he found it hard. He wondered what that said about his pride, whether it was as gone as he believed…

“Mr Tracy.”

“Mal.”

Scott looked up at the voice. As Mal left with a cheerful wave, his father came in with two coffees in his hand. Scott gave a small smile, the action gradually coming back to him with each day that passed. The medical staff had tried to warn him off the caffeine, before realising it was a far greater motivator to make him do as he was told than anything else.

He took the offered cup, but had to put it down. His muscles were trembling from the activity he’d just been doing.

His dad sat on the bed. He didn’t say anything: he’d learnt not to ask how the session had been as Scott would only focus on what he should’ve been able to do rather than what he’d managed.

“I was thinking we could get some fresh-,” he trailed off, frowning.

Scott heard it, too. The sound of a commotion coming from further down the hallway. He glanced at his dad, who shook his head: he didn’t know what was going on, either.

Scott shrank back. He didn’t mean to. But the last time he’d heard raised voices down a corridor, they’d been coming for him.

Whether his father had seen the action or was just curious himself, Scott didn’t know. But he leapt from the bed and stuck his head out of the door.

“Stay here,” he called back. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Scott didn’t point out he was exhausted after his therapy session: he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to. But he did force himself to sit up straighter, refusing to be that scared little boy again.

But as the noise came closer, Scott straightened even more. He frowned. This wasn’t a threat. This was something familiar. He knew those voices. They’d got him through the worst moments of his life. Not his team, but people even closer to him than that…

Just as Scott intended to stand, the door opened. His dad appeared, a look Scott recognised from years gone by: half-exasperation, half-fondness.

Four very familiar figures crowded in the doorway. For a moment, there was a sharp intake of breath. Scott stared back just as intently as they were looking at him.

John: paling when he saw his big brother, but the smile uncurling making him look years younger.

Virgil: jaw set, head lifted as he refused to show what he thought about his brother’s appearance and instead trying to be strong.

Gordon: his jaw dropping when he saw Scott.

Alan: giving a small gasp, tears flooding his eyes and turning into John.

Scott didn’t know what to say. Even after weeks of the best care the military had to offer (plus a bit more, given Jeff’s refusal to leave and no one wanting to upset him), he knew he still looked like a mess.

He was wearing a zipped hoodie and tracksuit bottoms. But the exertion of the therapy had made him unzip the top, leaving his chest and torso exposed. Most of the wounds were well on their way to healing, but the scars were still puckered and raw. Scott jerked, quickly pulling the zipper back up.

“Well, fu-.”

“Gordon!” John’s hand shot out, cuffing him over the head.

“What?” Gordon protested, rubbing his head, and looking at John. “He’s not exactly Prince Charming right now.”

“He’s never been Prince Charming,” Virgil said in a distracted tone. His gaze was locked on Scott, his expression serious. Scott wondered if he even realised he’d spoken.

But Scott knew he’d seen what the others hadn’t. The slightest relaxation in his shoulders at Gordon’s words. It was better than pretending everything was fine and nothing amiss.

“That’s because Prince Charming is the boring one. I’d rather be Aladdin,” Gordon shot back.

“A thief?”

“At least he gets to have more adventures.”

“Doesn’t get to fight a dragon though,” John said.

Their dad was shaking his head at their antics. But Alan’s tears had dried up and colour had returned to John’s cheeks. Before Gordon could respond, there came another sound.

One that had been missing for a very long time. Longer than Scott had been gone. As even though he’d been in the hospital for several weeks now, he hadn’t realised he still had this in him. Listening to his brothers’ banter, their utterly ridiculous conversation given where they were standing and what they were faced with, there was only one thing Scott could do.

He laughed.

It didn’t last long but enough to see the startled look on his father’s face relaxing into a pleased smile. John and Gordon exchanged smug smirks and the four brothers made their way into the room.

Scott looked at his dad. “Help me?” he murmured softly.

The man helped him over to the bed, knowing what Scott wanted. Scott then pulled Alan up next to him, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. Virgil snagged the chair and dragged it over even as Gordon climbed on the bed, sitting cross-legged on the end. Virgil sat in the chair, also folding his legs up, while John leant against the wall.

Scott looked around at the four of them. Drank in the sight of them. The feeling of Alan in his arms, Gordon’s weight leaning against his foot, reaching out and touching Virgil’s arm, making sure they were all real, all truly here.

There was a lump in his throat, but this time, it was different to when emotions had previously overwhelmed him. This felt… Scott swallowed. This felt positive.

He thought he’d been starting to come to terms with what had happened to him and started to process the emotions that came with that. But this time, it felt like a leaden weight in his chest had moved from his heart to his throat, and was fighting to free itself. He didn’t currently know how to speak, what he was supposed to say, but he felt that maybe he could breathe properly for the first time since he’d woken up.

He couldn’t stop himself, looking from one to the other, mouth opening. He wanted to tell them what it meant to him that they were here, how hard he’d kept fighting to come back to them and how they’d kept him going. But his voice didn’t work and tears flooded his eyes instead.

They were here.

They were really here.

Apparently, his father thought the same thing.

“How did you get here?” There was a firm note in his voice, one that gave away he expected an answer. Virgil flushed, looking at John who was pointedly examining something on the far wall with far greater intensity than a blank white patch needed. Both Alan and Gordon looked at their big brothers. When no one spoke, Gordon did.

“Virgil flew,” he announced. Virgil gave him a betrayed look and Gordon pulled an apologetic face. “What? You did. John navigated and made all those calls about landing rights and flight paths or whatever he was talking about but Virgil was at the controls.”

“Thank you, Gordon,” their dad said in a clipped tone. “I just didn’t realise he owned a plane to bring the three of you over to the mainland.”

“We may have borrowed Tracy 2,” John confessed to the wall.

“And you knew our location how?”

They were in a military hospital, after all. It wasn’t widely known exactly whereabouts it was located. This time, it was John who flushed and nothing else needed to be said.

Their dad pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “So, you stole my plane and came to a classified military hospital whose location John dug out from somewhere he shouldn’t have access to. How did you get past the guards?”

This wasn’t the sort of place that anyone could just walk into. Not only because it was military, but because of the severity of both the physical and emotional injuries being treated here. Too many things were triggers for the men and women who’d been through hell.

“Oh, that was all Alan,” Virgil said, sounding proud.

“Please, sir,” Alan said in a high voice. His blue eyes went impossibly wide. “Both my daddy and big brother are in there. I have to see them; I just have to.”

“Then I told them I really needed the bathroom,” Gordon chimed in, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Scott couldn’t help it. He laughed again. In a way, he should’ve known. Only his brothers would take entering a restricted military hospital as a challenge and not let anything stop them.

“That’s not exactly how it went down,” a voice said from the door. All the Tracys looked up.

“Aunt Val!” Alan cried, excitedly.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“You think I didn’t know as soon as you four cleared the flight path? I guessed you were coming here, although I’m impressed that you made it that far. I warned the guards four tearaway kids would be arriving and to let them in.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Aunt Val,” John said. It had been a long time since anyone had called him a child.

“Are to me, kiddo,” Val said. She reached over and ruffled his hair, making John scowl and Gordon laugh. “Now, Gordon, Alan, how about you boys come and help me find some snacks.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Alan looked like he was going to protest but Gordon slipped off the bed, serious for once and knowing to do as he was told. She gestured them out in front of her, and Scott watched them leave.

“Alan’s grown,” he said quietly, “and Gordon’s got stronger.”

“He’s training hard,” his dad said. “Taking it seriously.”

“Good.”

Scott had been worried his brothers would give up their own dreams when he’d gone missing. He was glad to see that wasn’t the case, although he did wonder if Gordon had seen the pool as refuge rather than thinking about his career.

For a moment, there was silence. Scott looked up to see John and Virgil exchange glances heavy with unspoken meaning. He understood. For six months, the pair of them had been forced to deal with the idea that he was missing, captured behind enemy lines, and then presumed dead. They’d had to process a lot.

Now they were here and Scott knew he was hardly the brother who’d said goodbye to them last time he’d been home.

But with Alan and Gordon gone, he had some space. He shifted up on the bed, motioning for them to both come closer.

“I’m not going to break,” he told them.

Virgil had clearly been waiting for that. With a soft cry, he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around his big brother. Scott returned the grip, and knew it was the strongest he’d held something in months.

“Don’t do that,” Virgil said against his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Scott said with a small smile. As John came closer, Scott lent his cheek against the top of Virgil’s head and allowed himself to smile.

[gumnut-logic]

Jeff leant on his cane and held his tongue.

His eldest was quietly juggling small talk as they waited for the assistant to bring out the finished product. Gordon and Alan were discussing something about a toy fish far too loudly to be polite, John was talking to Eos via his tablet and Virgil was eyeing Jeff with suspicion like he always was – as if his father might break if Virgil took those worried brown eyes off him.

An internal sigh.

It was a family day out. Well, it was supposed to be. A simple follow up trip to the tailors to collect and check the fitting of their suits. When he suggested they do this together, there had been a few odd expressions, but ultimately, his boys had jumped at the opportunity.

His mother had arched an eyebrow with enough angle to give Jeff the suspicion that this was very unusual. A quick question to her later that night, and his suspicions had been confirmed.

His boys hated shopping.

But this was a different kind of purchase. It was time to spend together as father and sons. Something he yearned for.

The fitting last month had gone really well. He had enjoyed spending time with his boys away from International Rescue. Getting to know each of them. Watching them interact as brothers.

If he was honest, the eldest boys hadn’t changed much in personality. Matured, yes. Taken on more responsibility, of course. But at their core, Scott was still the leader, the hovering, worried older brother. Virgil still had that touch of hero worship for Scott, and rounded up all the others, playing referee to all of them. John was the island he always was until one brother or another cycloned onto his shores and messed with him.

It was the younger two he needed to get to know better.

Something had happened to his little Gordy while he was away. Some things. There were scars on his body that hadn’t been there when Jeff left. His little fish had been through so much injury in his short life…Scott’s quiet voice reported while Virgil stood behind him, so much worry in those brown eyes.

Jeff had enough control not to react. Not until he was alone, late at night, when only Lucy heard his tears.

But there was a gold medal on Gordon’s wall. With the injuries came the triumphs, the list of lives saved.

Including his own.

He had nearly lost a son to Gaat.

Nearly.

He straightened where he stood and shifted his cane.

Of course, this just prompted Virgil to take a step closer, that familiar frown crumpling his brow.

“I’m okay, Virgil.”

The quiet statement interrupted Scott and his small talk. The commander flicked a glance between the two of them, narrowing on Virgil.

Jeff watched a silent communication bounce between them.

Virgil took a step back.

Scott turned back to the tailor, his gaze skipping over Jeff to focus back on the conversation.

Jeff swallowed.

Virgil was still watching.

Another internal sigh. His second eldest was a damned mind reader.

Okay, so he wasn’t feeling the best today. He had days like that. Days where gravity was too much. Days where people were too much. Days where memories were too much. He was getting used to tackling them and they were getting less frequent. Today wasn’t a particularly bad one and he was determined not to miss out this rare precious time with his boys.

“You okay, Dad?” Alan bounced beside him, as always, a ball of energy. His fingers brushed against Jeff’s arm, bright eyes peering up at him.

A half smile. “I’m okay, Allie. Just a little on the achy side today.”

In his peripheral vision, brown eyes across the room narrowed.

“You wanna sit down?” Alan pointed at one of the many chairs in the room.

“No, I’m better standing. Thank you, son.”

Alan eyed him sideways. “Virg, bugging you?”

That prompted a proper sigh. “He means well.”

“Well, if you ever need to hide, I know some good spots.”

“Alan!” Gordon shuffled over and poked him in the ribs. “That’s classified information.”

“Dad, needs our help, Gords.”

The aquanaut eyed his father suspiciously. “How do we know he won’t collude with the enemy in the future.”

Jeff arched an eyebrow. “Since when is Virgil ��the enemy’?”

“See, that’s what I mean. Allie, you’re risking our security.”

“It sounds like the both of you have been risking your health and making your brother’s job harder.” He frowned at his two youngest sons. “Do you do the same to your grandmother?”

Both boys opened their mouths, but perhaps fortunately for them, they were interrupted by the tailor as the assistant brought out their six brand new suits.

Jeff eyed his youngest as Gordon poked him in the ribs again and whispered in his ear as they hurried off. Alan glared at his fish brother and got noogie for his efforts.

No, perhaps his boys may have matured, but they really weren’t that different.

He followed them into the dressing rooms, the tailor himself holding Jeff’s suit.

“Do you need any assistance, sir?”

“No, William, thank you. I can manage.” He shut the door and pushed the rest of the world out.

He needed a moment.

He threw himself into one of the two chairs in the small room.

The decor was on the opulent side. They paid top dollar for this service and the trappings reflected it. His mind threw up the first suit shop he had attended in Kansas. He had been looked up and down as a country hick. The price had been steep then, but was now less than pocket change.

He had come a long way.

Until eight years ago.

Then he was just a long way away.

He cut off that train of thought. Down that way lay depression and lost opportunities. They had no place here today.

Today was about his boys.

He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the ever present aches and focussed on dressing himself without falling on his face.

No doubt, Virgil, or even Scott, would be hovering outside his door shortly.

He made as quick work of the suit as possible. The dark grey material was soft and comfortable, the most subtle stripe emphasizing his shoulders and distracting from his drop in muscle tone.

A temporary thing.

He would get it back.

Eight years was a long time.

“Dad, you okay in there?”

He rolled his eyes. Scott this time. “Nearly done. I will be out shortly.”

It was like he was the child and Scott and Virgil were his parents.

His mother had just laughed when he mentioned it to her. “Honey, your sons are strong. They have become what they needed to be. Give them time to find their places again. Give yourself time.”

He sighed. Patience was something he had learnt while stranded.

Didn’t mean he had to like it.

He tied his shoes and stood up, grabbing his cursed walking stick.

The man in the mirror appeared professional, poised and, with the cane, a little regal.

The man inside felt anything but.

His eyes stared at him.

Haunted grey.

He shook himself. Focus.

With straight shoulders, he grabbed the door handle and strode out to face his children.

-o-o-o-

Who do you save, John?

[scribbles97]

The Nightmare Come True - Part 5 and The End

Thanks @loopstagirl for the original idea of this whole fic that spiralled far further than I think either of us expected. Scott's POV 1 | Part 1 | Scott's POV 2 | Part 2 | Scott's POV 3 | Part 3 | Scott's POV 4 | Part 4

Christmas had come and gone as loudly as it always did in their house. 

The best gift for Gordon was the day his oldest brother had turned up at a training session alongside Jeff, the kid hadn’t stopped talking about it for a week. Jeff had been confident Scott would soon be making his way into the pool himself, especially if his request for an olympic sized pool on their newly purchased island was anything to go by. 

John and Virgil had both returned home for the holidays full of stories and with open invites for their big brother to visit them at their respective colleges come the following semester. Scott had been keen, immediately opening his calendar and circling dates between appointments and other plans. 

Even Jen had paid a brief visit, greeting the younger brothers as old friends proving just how much Scott had spoken of them all to his squad at one point or another. 

By spring Jeff had noticed just how Scott had begun to fill out again, his time in the gym paying off and rebuilding the muscle that had been lost. He was starting to relax, to enjoy life as he once had and found the confidence he had always worn like a comfortable jacket. Gradually, he was becoming a version of the son Jeff recognised. 

March was spent in the air, racking up supervised flight hours after passing the required psych exams. It had taken time for him to be comfortable in the pilot's seat again, but Scott had said himself that being in the air was as natural to him as being in the water was for Gordon. All he had needed was a supportive shoulder, one that Jeff was willing to offer. 

By his birthday, Scott’s full pilot’s license had been reinstated, giving cause for a celebration alone without the news of John’s new Space Rated status. They had called Virgil on hologram, celebrating from their separate corners of the country louder than they had done over the festive period.

It had been late in the night when Jeff had found Scott out on the porch, a letter discarded but evidently not forgotten in his lap.

“I was going to tell you earlier, but the surprise party kind of distracted me.” Scott had smiled as Jeff had joined him on the step and poured them each a measure of whiskey.

“Cambridge offered me a spot to study English Lit, it’s all online so I’d only need to go over twice a semester so I’d still be able to--” He paused to glance over his shoulder, making sure no younger brothers were lingering in the kitchen.

Jeff had chuckled, glad that Scott was doing something for himself, something that didn’t immediately lead to any plans that had seemingly always been in place.  

“You don’t have to, you know?” He had pointed out, “If you want to take some time for yourself before joining the Project…”

Scott had shook his head, grinning as he sipped his drink, “I want to get in the air again, Dad, and that rocket? I’m not letting you have all the fun.”

Both had laughed at the implication, wordlessly reaching their glasses towards one another in a silent salute to everything they had overcome in that year alone. 

Things still weren’t perfect, Alan and Gordon were far from happy about moving to a boarding school away from their family. Scott still had a way to go before he was back at his full strength and fitness, but with the encouragement from Val and Lee, he was well on his way to outperforming them all. 

“This is what I need.” Scott had nodded, “Despite everything, I’m glad we’ve ended up here Dad.” 

Jeff had slung an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close, “Me too kid, me too.” 

Of course, it hadn’t lasted. 

A short eighteen months later, Jeff had been shot into the farthest reaches of their solar system. He had been sure that he would never see his family, his boys, again. It hadn’t mattered what he had tried with the engines, there had been no way for him to get home. He had tried, time and again to find a way to get through to them but it had eventually become apparent that all he could do was try to stay alive.

He had taken to sketching and writing when he wasn’t trying to keep himself alive, focussing on thoughts of each of his boys. How Scott was at least back doing something he loved, that John had made it to space as he had always wanted to, that Virgil was close to graduating with Honors on his engineering degree, that Gordon would have made it to the Olympics, and Alan at least had four older brothers to look out for him. It had been the thought and memory of them that had kept him going, the irony not lost on him that it had been the same things that had kept Scott going through his imprisonment. 

There had been little else to occupy him over those long years. 

He had never given up hope, not even as the planetoid had begun to separate beneath his feet, he had known they would come. 

Right at the last possible second, he had spotted Scott. 

Just like that, their roles were reversed. 

Scott had stepped up in the time Jeff had been gone, and the more he had seen of the man his eldest had become, the more his heart had hurt. 

He had dropped out of his Literature degree almost immediately after Jeff had gone, had taken up the role of commander in International rescue, and the role of Father to younger brothers that weren’t ready to be orphans. Once again, thanks to Jeff, Scott had lost sight of the man he wanted to be for himself.

Once again, Jeff had vowed to set that right.

There had been months of recovery, hospital appointments and physiotherapy, most of it familiar from the year before he had taken the unexpected trip. Scott had resolutely been at his side through all of it. 

“Alan asked how you did it…” Scott had started one night, sat out by the pool waiting for Virgil and Gordon to return home from a rescue.

Jeff hadn’t needed further clarification as he had trailed off. He’d had therapy that morning, had spent the day pulling his boys closer after talking about what the isolation had done to him. Of course, they had all picked up on it.

“I imagine much the same way as you did during the war,” Jeff admitted softly, “Thinking of your family, remembering all the good times.”

Before he had left, talking about the war had been coming easier for Scott. It hadn’t taken long for Jeff to realize that Scott had clammed up once he had no longer had his father to talk to about such times.

Scott snorted, looking out to the horizon, “Admittedly, it’s a good method.”

Jeff smiled sadly across to him, “It got us both a long way.” 

It had gotten them both back home, back to their family, to somewhere where they could find their feet again and work towards the version of themselves they wanted to be.

The man sat next to him was physically recovered from his time as a prisoner, but had never found a solid enough footing to find himself amongst all the chaos life had thrown at them.

“You didn’t end up where you were aiming, I’m sorry for that.” Jeff sighed after a moment, reaching out to Scott’s shoulder, “Because of all of this, I think you lost yourself again Scott.”

“I--” For a moment it seemed like he was ready to argue, before his shoulders had fallen and he had nodded in admission, “I became who I needed to be.”

They had shared a look, one that spoke of burdens that had fallen back on tired shoulders that had barely gotten free before being weighed back down again.

“You deserved to live life for yourself Scott.” 

Scott ran a hand through his hair, “I know that now.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” Jeff continued, “but I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you see that, Son, I’m sorry that life has been so cruel and unfair.”

Scott’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, “I’m glad you don’t blame yourself.” 

Jeff would never admit to him that it was a concept he still sometimes struggled with, but something he was working on regardless. His son didn’t need any more burdens. 

“So,” He started, looking across with raised eyebrows, “Alan’s headed to college in the Fall, how about you take another look at that Literature degree?”

Scott’s laugh was full bodied against Jeff, “Yeah, I suppose that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Laughing with his son, Jeff nodded to himself. 

They were going to be just fine.

[lenle-g]

from this fic WIP by @mariashades, requested by @janetm74 <3

The engine of Lee’s little Piper PA-28 fixed wing roared into life and little Scotty, all of four years old, squealed in alarm and clapped his hands over his ears. Jeff, standing well back at the hangar, scooped Scott up and held him close until the plane had taxied over to the runway.  “Y’know, planes aren’t that scary,” he fondly said as soon as the plane was far enough away. “It’s just noise, nothing to be afraid of.”  “‘S not?” Scott asked, big eyes looking up at his father as he peeled his hands away from the sides of his head.  “Nope.” Jeff smiled. “Besides, we need the noise to fly, and that’s what we’re here to do, right?”  “Right.” Scott nodded, his little face so serious it made him go all gooey on the inside at the sight.  “So,” Jeff affected a serious mein (Lucy always called it his ‘Top Gun’ face), pulled his aviators out from where he’d hooked them on his shirt and put them on his nose. “Let’s saddle up, kiddo.”  Scott immediately put on his kiddie sized aviators (and Jeff went even gooier on the inside) and announced “Let’s saddle up!”  “Attaboy!” Jeff beamed as he walked over to his plane.

[laughing-moonlight]

Hood thinks he's finally rid of Jeff Tracy only to turn around and get jumpscared by another one

[idontknowreallywhy]

Fathers Day 4 - The Other Father

(Parts 1-3)

This one has been brewing a fairly long time. The 3 short sections I posted a while ago form a perfectly good trilogy and we could happily leave it there…but I did sneak in a hint that a certain somebody overheard at least part of the conversation between Scott and his siblings.

And I’m determined to force Jeff to confront his many failings as a parent and make a start on sorting things out with his sons, especially the eldest. Haven’t quite got there yet (of course it would be terribly out of character for me to actually finish the story 🙄) but they are moving in the right direction at least.

It feels a little rougher than I’d like but I haven’t managed to post a whole chapter of anything for over a month and perhaps am a little wobbly on that score but… here goes…

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Jeff hovered uncertainly outside the door to his eldest son’s bedroom, pretending to be minutely interested in the glued crack running down the doorframe through the locking mechanism and out the other side. There was probably a story behind that, an attentive father should probably ask about it… he started to raise a hand to knock but lost his nerve and continued to hover.

Well, truth be told, he wasn’t so much hovering as leaning very heavily on his cane like the frail old man he always swore he’d never be. Certainly not at his age. But he was uncertain (whilst leaning in a solid and definite way) about whether to do the thing he had been so very certain was a good idea an hour ago but about which, NOW… now he was here… at the door… at Scott’s door… he was suddenly deeply unsure.

Jeff didn’t really do unsure and uncertain. That had never been his style. He’d always been blessed with a great deal of confidence in the plans that came to him and that confidence was justified by the fact he usually pulled them off.

Nor was he the kind of man who stood in corridors staring at inanimate objects while engaging in a rambling inner monologue.

And yet, here he was…

It was amazing what years of solitary confinement on a rock could change.

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One hour earlier…

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He eased himself down on to the lounger and closed his eyes, trying to fix in his mind the new version of that sound he’d dreamed of for so long - the laughter of his children. All of them. Together. Happy. Safe. The glowing memory of it had sustained him for years. The fear that he might have somehow extinguished it for good had kept him awake in the dark for far more hours than the mundane concerns about food, oxygen supplies…

Survival.

The voices were deeper now than the ones he’d remembered. Not quite so familiar. But still so beloved. They were still his babies. Lucy’s babies. They’d just grown. A lot. In innumerable ways.

Slowly, so as not to overbalance when gravity tugged at him, he leaned over and felt around underneath the seat to retrieve what he’d initially assumed was a piece of litter but now knew with a prescient certainty was going to be incredibly important.

“It was always you…”

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Or sneak around like a teenager. He was supposed to be in bed but he’d found himself desperate to breathe oxygen rich but un-climate-controlled air for a few moments. As the lingering agoraphobia of the depths of infinite space warred with the claustrophobia born of the small liveable portion of the Zero-X that had been his entire world, Jeff had found his heart rate increasing and knew he wouldn’t sleep without proving to himself once more what the sea breeze felt like on his face.

And he’d snuck down the back stairs because they’d hear his balcony door open and come to check.

Then he’d have to explain.

If he explained, they’d just worry.

And today of all days, when the void between what he knew he was and what he desperately wanted to be to them all had loomed and sucked at him so hungrily… Well. How could he ever be their Daddy again if they had to be looking after him all the time? It was all backwards.

It had been so long since he’d been a Daddy. Far longer than the time he’d been stranded. He had been a good parent, once upon a time. Lucy had said so and he’d always trusted her judgment. To Scott and Virgil anyway. With John he’d done his best too, albeit the boy could rarely be persuaded to leave his mother’s side, but they’d had a decent relationship.

And there had been a time he was Daddy to five. Little Gordon chattering away at his knee while baby Alan’s bright blue eyes peered up at him from the impossibly tiny bundle in his arms. Lucy’s chin on his shoulder, her cheek brushing against his own… he’d known his place in the world, they were blessed with the privilege of raising these little ones together.

And then she was gone. And somehow everything good about Jeff went with her. Including Daddy.

He’d as good as orphaned them back then, eight whole years before it became official.

Eight more years to regret it after that.

Miraculously he now had his much longed-for chance to make it right. But for all the thinking and regretting and self analysis of those castaway years, he still wasn’t entirely sure where to start. He knew what he had to mend, he knew when and why it had all broken, but not how to fix it, if it was even fixable at all.

And now in light of what he’d heard, he realised that whatever “fixed” was, it might look rather different from what he’d spent all those years imagining.

And if he had been more honest with himself… he’d always known that. He let the card fall open in his lap.

“Still true.”

It was. It was absolutely true. Gordon and Alan were Scott’s kids, in all the ways that mattered. They knew it. Jeff knew it. And for all his desire to compensate for the time they had lost, he knew with absolute clarity he did not want to replace their eldest brother’s place in their lives. He had no right to.

He had no desire to. Not now.

He needed to make sure Scott knew that. His knees creaked as he shot decisively to his feet and he staggered slightly before snatching up the cane propped against the back of the lounger and making his purposeful… alright, shuffling way towards his old office.

He needed to find a pen.

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And so here he was by the doorway, the card tucked into the pocket of his bathrobe, trying to think of an opening line. Some appropriate words to broach the subject.

Jeff Tracy was pretty good with words.

He used to be king of the press conference, inspirational teacher of young astronauts. A dreamer of big dreams that could recruit almost anyone to his cause given time. He was used to being in command. When he spoke, people listened.

Yes, Jeff Tracy could make words work for him. With strangers, anyway.

With family it was different.

Especially with one in particular.

Oh, he and Scott had talked a lot. When he was home from space tiny-Scott had been his shadow, trailing him around with his excited, bouncy hop-skip drinking in all his father’s adventure stories. In fairness some of those maybe became just a little exaggerated by the lure of the warm feeling the admiration in those sparkling blue eyes created.

As time had passed the skip-hop evolved into a leggy teenage stride, precisely matched to Jeff’s own. There was less bounce in it, but the sparkle was still there. The constant reminder to Jeff Tracy that he was admired far more than he really deserved to be.

But then it had all gone wrong.

Part of the problem with Scott was he looked like Lucy. He didn’t resemble her much at all, physically - Jeff’s firstborn was pretty much a clone of himself, everyone said as much. No. It was that he looked the way she had. When he was really looking. Something about the intensity of his gaze… the colour of Scott’s eyes may have been from Jeff but the power of them was all her. It was like facing down a strangely warming X-ray.

Yes, the issue Jeff had was that Lucy looked at him out of his eldest son’s eyes and it made him confused and lonely... and so very uncertain about everything that was important.

About whether he could do any of this alone.

About whether he had got a single thing right since she’d gone.

It had made him defensive and short with his son. And when he snapped at Scott, when the same uncertainty, the same confused loneliness was reflected back at him… that chased her away and replaced her image with only himself and he couldn’t bear it.

So he stopped looking.

And so as Scott took on her role, as his son parented far better than the father had the capacity to manage, Jeff backed away and allowed him to do it. He’d let his teenage son be father to his children while he hid away inside himself and focussed on the things that Jeff had been able to do long before he ever met her - he inspired strangers, he dreamed, he commanded.

And Scott had grown up way too fast. And Jeff couldn’t fix it.

There were some short conversations that came close to the one they really needed to have in the aftermath of the Bereznik situation, when Jeff had feared he’d lost his eldest boy for good. But the important words had got stuck in his throat and he’d had to settle for an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Scott had seemed to feel safer with Virgil present anyway and his second son was incredibly protective of his big brother… of course that hadn’t been conducive to bringing up more difficult topics. Although Jeff knew he could have engineered the circumstances if he’d had the nerve. By the time Scott had recovered and they’d both thrown themselves into the Big Project, the moment seemed to have passed.

So they talked Tracy household admin, school admin. Most of all, they talked about the Project, Scott almost as excited as he was about that. His son admired and encouraged and gently challenged him in exactly the way his mother would have. It worked.

It was comfortable. And Jeff had been too much of a coward to make it uncomfortable.

He’d been home nearly two months and he’d nearly missed his chance again.

Not this time.

He raised his hand once more and let his knuckles fall against the door.

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“Scott?”

“Yes, EOS?” His reply was muffled somewhat by a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Your father has been stood outside your door for seven point five minutes.”

Some of the toothpaste migrated to his pyjama shirt. “What?! He should be in bed!”

“And yet he is currently located in the corridor. Just thought you’d like to know.”

“Is he ok?”

“His heart rate is a little elevated but his other vitals seem as healthy as they have proved in recent weeks.”

“I… ok, alright. Thanks for telling me.”

“Of course.”

Scott scrubbed pointlessly at the mark on his shirt and headed out of his en-suite towards the hallway door, where he paused and compulsively tidied his hair.

He reached for the door handle then jumped out of his skin as a loud knock sounded inches from his face.

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TBC when Jeff can work out how to start the conversation ;)

[edutainer2022]

So it's done! The little story that tidied me over this week of missile hellfire and long stretches of power outages. Jeff is back from Oort Cloud and is forced to question his strengths and aptitudes when things go unexpectedly very, very wrong very fast. All boys get to feature, eventually, but Scotty is having the worst time of all. Many thanks to @janetm74 for cheering me on through brief patches of power going up.

GRAVITY

Some days were worse than others. Some days the heady rush of pure JOY and BLISS of being back with his beloved boys, his Ma, in his own home, back on his own PLANET, beneath the blue skies, breathing unprocessed air... were not enough to tide him over the bone deep weariness. Days, when the bustling world around was suddenly too much effort. Too much, period.

That morning he woke up, gruff and bleary, feeling every ounce of gravity amplified weight down to his marrow. He didn't remember sleeping a wink, but he knew he was late. The corner of the blanket peeled away, catching on his stubble, revealed a silhouette perched on the side of his bed. Scott. Already dressed to the nines in a suit that looked like it was shipped straight from the Milan runway. It probably had been. His son's aftershave was fancier and more expensive than he could ever afford or had any clue to choose at that same age. Predawn light was casting a grey hue over Scott's features, gleaming in silver highlights, making him look older. Tired. His eldest looked hauntingly like Jeff felt, sagging under the crashing weight, stretched thin, even put together all sharp like that, bright and early. The sudden heartache of that thought came out as a hoarse groan.

They were supposed to meet several executives first thing in the morning to get Jeff up to speed a bit more. To get the company brass reacquainted with the Tracy Patriarch too. There had been many new promotions and appointments over the past eight years. But Jeff could barely keep his eyes open. The thought of getting up and moving gave him a shiver, which, in turn, deepened the worried frown on Scott's face. The taut lines in the corners of his son's eyes and mouth became prominent. Much as the pallor and dark circles, belying a sleepless night. Scott took a call out in One, right off the roof of Tracy Tower. It was the fastest and most expedient option, regardless of Virgil's protests. That's how Jeff remembered most of his sleep being drained by nightmares - One screeching off and him spending eight endless years calculating and hoping (praying) the rocket plane made it out of the Zero-X launch blast radius in time, taking his son to safely far enough. He winced at the memory and squinted against a nauseating headache. Scott's worry was obviously reaching the red zone.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to press for the pulse. His boy's fingers were uncharacteristically cold, but maybe Jeff was just catching space chills.

"Dad, are you alright? I will cancel the morning! I'll get you to the hospital right now, then Virgil will fly Grandma in!"

The on the go plan was all IR Commander, but blue eyes blown up twice the usual size in panic was Scotty at any given time Dad was about to disappear. Again. He hated the treacherous frailty that got his unwavering boy so scared. As much as he hated the very idea of hospitals, enthusiastically shared by all his children.

"It's okay, Bluejay! No need to worry! Just one of those days. I'll sleep it off. You go ahead with the meeting and I'll rise and shine to have brunch with you, deal?"

Between the Zero-XL assembly under wraps, the possibly one-way mission to the middle of the galactic nowhere, and Jeff's subsequent laborious rehabilitation, the Tracy Industries senior executives really needed some quality face time with the Tracy-in-charge. So they would have it. Jeff was under no illusion he was in any shape to be that, anymore. Scott was, still. But that would have to change maybe sooner, than they both wished, if mornings like that became a recurrent thing.

Scott didn't appear entirely convinced and there was definitely a ping being sent up to Five to monitor Jeff's space-addled sleeping hunk extra closely. However, the anxious scowl softened into warm mirth as Scott smiled down at Dad's rugged face. Cool fingers moved from the pulse point to brush away the matted grey curls from Jeff's forehead. The gesture was definitely well practiced on any and all of the younger brothers, but in that moment all Jeff could see in the slight tilt of the head and a special, radiant fondness in the blue gaze, was the boys' mother. He nearly choked on a sob and covered his eyes, feigning a fit of cough. Scott moved immediately to give him a glass of water from the bedside table. Once done blinking away the stinging moisture, Jeff caught the tail end of a hastily covered wince in the boy's features. If he were operating at full capacity, he would have probably dug to the bottom of it with proper insistence. As it were, Jeff settled for a squeeze of the premium wool clad bicep:

"How're you holding up, son? Tough night?"

"I'm okay, Dad! You don't need to worry! A couple of bruises here and there. Mostly my ego, as I landed in a heap when the jetpack gave out. I'll never hear the end of it from everyone!"

The edges of Scott's "cheeky flyboy" smile were tighter than Jeff should have been placated with. But gravity was already pulling his lids down.

***

He marginally remembered a quick tender peck on his forehead, or maybe he dreamt it up, conflating the endless years of longing for his mother and for his wife even before that. The scent of his eldest's aftershave, laced with a familiar wiff of One's fumes, lingered and calmed him down. He came to think of it as home and hope over the past months. Jeff next woke up to an anxious face of a different son.

John's hologram practically vibrated with anguish, bouncing on the bedside comm unit. Eyes wide and wild, John looked all too much like an Alan Jeff last remembered - eight years old and left at the Warton boarding school for the very first time.

"Dad!!! What's going on!?!! Are you alright?!!!"

Jeff's headache still didn't agree with the yell, audible practically from orbit. He didn't master much but an incoherent grumble to that.

"Somebody called 911 to the TI Conference Room for Mr. Tracy! I can't get through to Scott's comm! You were supposed to have a meeting first thing today! Are you okay!?"

Words rushed and stumbled one over the other, so unlike John's usually impeccable, professionally honed articulation. It took an extra moment for John to compute Dad's state of underdress - a testament in and of itself of the ginger's distress.

"Dad? Are you still in bed?"

Awareness was catching up with him and with it the heavy drag of gravity and dread. His ginger spaceman was still faster on the uptake, his own overwhelming horror finally pinned on a name:

"SCOTT!!!"

The only Mr. Tracy at the TI Conference room at that moment. It all was coming to Jeff in bits of a disjointed puzzle - the overnight rescue, Scott's ashen paleness he chalked up to lack of sleep, the stifled painful grimace his son wasn't quick enough to hide. And Jeff wasn't there for him!

***

If the younger employees of Tracy Tower were secretly looking forward to meeting the Resurrected Space Outcast, Founder of Tracy Industries and International Rescue, Hero of the Century and a Living Legend - Jeff Tracy - it was probably not barefoot and clad in pink flamingo print pijamas, sporting a bedhead and an overnight shadow, stumbling his way down the hallway at an alarming speed with a formidable assistance of the wall and an occasional doorknob. Jeff practically flung himself into the Conference room and nearly toppled over several people in expensive suits, crowded over a prone body on the floor. He shoved somebody's shoulder aside with enough force and less ceremony than was maybe appropriate.

His knees hitting the floor gave a jaw-jiggling rattle and it remained to be seen if he'd be able to make it back up unassisted, but he didn't give a damn. Scott was still and sheet white against the navy blue of the carpeting. Somebody had the presence of mind to loosen his tie and unbutton the shirt. Scott's face and chest were wet as someone apparently tried to sprinkle water on him to ease the fainting. To obviously no effect. Jeff might have noticed a shadow of bruising on the toned torso, but his eyes were on the beloved yet lifeless waxy face. He cupped Scott's cheek and shifted the other hand to rub his sternum forcefully .

"C'mon, Bluejay! Give me those eyes! Time to wake up!"

Either the father's voice or the strenal rub had the effect - Scott eyelashes fluttered and a sliver of blue became visible. Jeff felt encouraged, thankful the baffled and paniced executives were giving him a wide berth.

"There you go, Scotty! Open them up for me, eh? Dad is here, Bluejay!"

Jeff moved his palm from Scott's chest to grab a cold limp hand and squeeze. His other hand never left the son's cheek, the thumb caressing cool clammy skin carefully. Give the boy a sensory anchor.

"Stay with me, kiddo! It's alright!"

Blue eyes were still cloudy and unfocused, eyelids heavy. Scott seemed to have just then noticed Dad's presence.

"Dad? Yu'came?"

Jeff's chest constricted. Of course, they were supposed to be in that meeting together. But Jeff succumbed to weakness and left Scott alone. Again.

"I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here!"

The pained, far-away gaze still didn't land on him.

"Yu'never come... Only Mom comes... I call'n'call an'yu'never come..."

He was feeling cold sweat and shivers raking his own body, his head was swimming from strain and fear, but he had to keep Scott conscious and talking.

"Dad is right here! I'm with you, Scotty! Just look at me! Can you do that for Dad?"

Scott seemed to have made an effort to look at him, the brilliant blue almost black with strain.

"Yu'never come when I'm dying..."

With that Scott's eyes rolled back into his head and a thin rivulet of blood trickled down the corner of his lips. Jeff couldn't tell if his son's skin went colder to his touch as his own hands went icy numb. There was a distant sound coming through the pounding in his ears - an animal-like wail of Scott's name in a voice Jeff didn't recognize as his own. Space shifted around him, bodies shuffling urgently as more people entered the room. Multiple hands were prying him away from Scott's unmoving body, but they would need a crowbar. Jeff was putting up a fight to stay latched to his son, or so he thought. In the middle of a vicious flail he was suddenly tipping sideways some distance away, Scott completely obscured from view by a wall off luminicent lined uniforms of paramedics. And Jeff's world went black.

***

[Lucy, please! I know you miss him, love! Oh my God, I KNOW, baby! I know you're all alone there! Please, don't take him! PLEASE! He hasn't lived yet! Our boy, Luce! I let him down so much! I'm so sorry! I asked so much of him, and he gave up everything! I screwed up! Take me, hon! If you absolutely must, take me instead! I'll watch over them all with you, dear! But you can't take him! You won't! I know you won't let him! He needs to live! Please, don't let him stay with you, Lucy! PLEASE!]

***

He started awake yet again with his eldest son's name on his lips, voice hoarse like he'd been shouting over the ocean surf, crashing on the island shore. Caramel eyes were startled by his roar that time. Gordon was quick to collect himself and put on a smile.

"Hey, Dad! You're awake!"

Not unlike Scott's early that morning (was it still the same day?), Gordon's grin was thin, taut, not bright enough to cover the shadows visible on tanned skin. Jeff tried again, putting a worth of questions into the name:

"Scott?"

Gordon's smile faltered and Jeff felt the heady rush of weightlessness, his mind slipping away from the tether of sanity.

"Scotty's in surgery, Dad! There was internal bleeding and he crashed in the Conference room. The paramedics said he coded there, but they got him to the hospital on time! They're working on him now!"

Coded. Scott died on his watch. Because Jeff wasn't there. He took a breather, let his boy take over his slack and his duty. Again. Scott was paying with his life when Jeff was unfit to deal. Again.

He shifted in what appeared to be a hospital bed, but the range of his movement was limited by the IV line, now pulling at his hand. Gordon stopped him from getting up, hands, weighing his shoulders back on the mattress, a lot stronger than he remembered.

"Whoa, Dad! Nah-uh! Stay put! Your BP tanked and you blacked out there too!"

That probably explained the dizziness and the hospital ward spinning slowly around him. Jeff took a cautious look around the room, but for the monitor tracing his vitals it was empty. Gordon read the question in his gaze.

"Allie got so worked up with worry - he threw up. John's with him, helping to clean up. Grandma's watching the surgery and consulting in the OR gallery. They actually let Virgil in the OR! Those puppy eyes are a menace! Or maybe Johnny-boy donated the hospital a research lab or something. Anyhow, they let him stay with the anesthesiologist - you know how Scooter's body eats through painkillers! Freakish metabolism and all! So they wouldn't want him wake up mid surgery,  and Virgie knows the dosage and his stats by heart. It's good, right? Scotty's not all alone in there!"

Gordon was rambling, not pausing for air, and Jeff knew that to be the boy's primary tell for intense anxiety. He reached for his second youngest hand to ground himself as much as to offer comfort.

The door hissed open and Alan waded in, followed by a mile of ginger topped blue. Allie's face was blotchy and ashen, fresh tear tracks marking the skin. John was gripping the boy's shoulder with one hand. He had a tablet clutched to his chest with the other.

"Dad!"

Alan sounded so young Jeff's heart ached. He lifted the IV bound arm and Alan was quick to tuck himself to Dad's side, lanky teen limbs curled into a ball. The boy was not bothering to be discrete about crying again. Gordon flopped over Jeff's legs, uncharacteristically lost for words and craving contact too. Jeff waited till John walked around and perched by his shoulder. The ginger was engrossed by the video feed on his tablet. The live stream from the OR Jeff was not sure the hospital authorized or even knew about. He didn't care. He was dying to ask how the surgery was going, for how long, but Jeff wasn't sure how much John had clued the Tinies in. So he craned his neck to better see the screen and waited. Silence stretched. Virgil's massive form in sterile scrubs, cap and mask was visible, hunched over Scott's face, his fingers drumming lightly over the brother's bare shoulder. Jeff couldn't tell if Virgil was tapping in Morse code or playing out a mute tune. Either way it was definitely a way to reach through to big brother and not to disrupt the doctors. The surgery site was a hustle of frantic activity Jeff didn't dare follow too closely. At some point John's eyes went almost sea-green dark and the grip on the tablet turned his knuckles white. Jeff squeezed his shut, hugging Alan's trembling shoulder closer.

[Please, Lucy! No! Please!]

Time stretched further without meaning in perfect silence. John finally shifted to get up and announced:

"They closed him up! He'll be wheeled to Critical Care now."

Turquoise met caramel across the ward and it occurred to Jeff the statement was addressed more Gordon's way, as the blond was on his feet immediately. There was a LOT of communication between his family going right over his head. Maybe they didn't trust his strength that day. Or maybe they were just too used to not factor him into the synergy of their tightly knit world. Either way, it hurt more than he could ever let them know.

Gordon got his cue and was peeling Alan up and away from Jeff's side.

"C'mon, Al! Let's go find Grandma before she instills fear of hell into the nurses! And maybe grab some snacks for everyone! On my word, Dad DOESN'T want the local variety of green jell-o!"

Alan, as well as everyone else in the room, knew it for what it was worth - a diversion tactics to get him away. Allie could be stubborn with the best of them, and he wasn't a kid anymore, despite a widely acknowledged belief, but he knew there would be no real talk of Scott's post op prospects with him around. Not right then at least. Besides, the boy looked veritably drained by fear and all the uncertainty, and could use a change of scenery.

Shortly after Gordon chaperoned Alan out the doors to Jeff's ward hissed again. Virgil appeared like a giant ghost, swaying on his feet. He shed the surgical mask, gloves and cap, but was still in the OR scrubs. Drenched through with sweat. John was by his brother's side in one long stride. The boys leaned into each other for a long moment, their foreheads touching. Jeff longed to envelope his sons into a massive hug and let them draw strength from their father, as should be. He longed to rush to Scott's side and hold on to him as tightly as he knew how, not letting the boy slip away. He longed to console the Tinies and shoo away the haunted desperation from their eyes. He longed to ascertain them all they were not loosing Scott. Because they couldn't. HE couldn't. But he was marooned by the stupid IV, bedridden by gravity, exhausted by dread and guilt, eating him alive. Not for the first time that day Jeff felt redundant and useless, a fragile husk rolling around, causing mere nuisance.

Virgil heaved a breath to center himself and John stepped around him to head out. But not before giving his brother another quick fierce hug. Virgil seemed to be gathering his bearings, his mind booting up, previously lost in whatever he saw and felt going on in that OR.

"John, wait! Scott is critical. They won't let you in!"

John's face was a chiseled mask, a shade paler yet, if it were at all possible.

"I just bought this hospital equipment enough to research immortality. I'm going to be with my brother!"

With that he was gone through the door. Virgil seemed lost for a moment, lonely in the middle of the room. Chocolate eyes landed on Dad and just like that - the dam broke. The tidal wave of years worth of fear and pain, and toll of anticipatory grief as well as the actual one, for reasons Jeff only began to piece together, breached through defenses and Virgil collapsed into his father's eager arms, sobbing.

***

Maybe it was fitting he only got to do his vigil bid by Scott's side after all his kids, and his Ma, had exhausted themselves. Maybe it was his turn to step up, finally. Or maybe he wasn't ready before. How could he be? No amount of bracing himself could prepare Jeff for seeing Scott in the Critical Care unit - translucent and perfectly still - machines doing breathing for him, pumping blood for him, doing all the living for him. Even after That Place there was more life in his son's body, more tangible reality beneath the gossamer skin. His son's spirit was nearly unmoored, yet Jeff felt like he was the one needing life support. A lifeline. So he reached for the one that had yanked him from the brink more than once, led him out of cosmic limbo, sure and true - his son's hand. And held fast.

***

[I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here! I never come when you're dying, because you're NOT! I'm right beside you! Mom will show you the way home! I'll be waiting right here, son! I'm not going anywhere, I promise!]

[jacksonstarkiller]

Gordon: I feel like you’re always making up rule and stuff.

Jeff: Like what?

Gordon: Like if I don’t clean my room, a portal will open and take me to another dimension.

Jeff: Well, that’s what happened to your brother Wally.

Gordon: My brother Wally???

Jeff: Exactly.

[call-me-casual]

Friendly reminder for everyone that Jeff Tracy is canonically gen z

You’re welcome