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hebuiltfive · 2 months ago

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Like Father, Like Son

Three days running of being inspired by random prompts. Will we make it to four? Probably not 😂

This time, the prompt can be found here.

I've been working on a next-gen fic and this kind of slots into that universe. For that reason it is full of headcanons, the main one being Scarlet's children.

Emotional angst and very, very mild swearing. Again, this is a rough piece (trying to do more of these to combat the perfectionism curse currently).

AO3 link here.

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When Tommy was angry, he never failed to let it show. Today had been no different. He had marched straight into his father’s home office and stared down at the man who was sitting behind the glass desk. Paul didn’t even lift his eyes to meet his son, but no doubt felt the presence of the furious teen who’s breathing was ragged and uncontrolled.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Paul continued to type away on his computer and Tommy, a bubbling ball fit to burst, waiting impatiently. They both knew why he was there, why he was so irate. Paul had been expecting this confrontation a lot sooner than seventeen, after the first accident had occurred, but that had been Tommy who’d been injured, not his sister. Like most older siblings, it was the welfare of those younger who most concerned the eldest. Thomas and Charlotte were no different.

“Are you not even going to look at me?” Tommy eventually asked. He hadn’t yet sat on the chair opposite the desk; he still had enough respect for his father to wait for permission.

“You’ve caught me at an inopportune moment. Give me a minute and you’ll have my full attention.”

Nothing more was said, Tommy probably realising that he did indeed need his father’s full attention if he wanted to make his case effectively. So he waited.

And waited, and waited… Until at last, Paul ceased his typing and turned to his son.

The extra few minutes he’d made him wait had calmed Tommy somewhat. No longer was he excessively fidgeting, but was standing more calmly. He still, however, glared daggers at his father. Paul took it on the nose.

“Sit down, Tom.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“We both know that’s never true.” Paul gestured towards the seat. “Sit.”

Tommy deliberated for a moment. His gaze softened as he looked between his father and the chair. He knew what Paul was trying to do; he was trying to gain control of the conversation before it had even begun. If Tommy sat, it would be one score for his father’s and would leave him on nil.

He shook his head. “Like I said, I’d really rather stand today.”

“Very well.” Not wanting to push an unimportant matter, Paul rested back in his own chair, his arms laying on the rests either side. “What is it you want to talk about?”

“You know damn well what I want to talk about, pops.”

Paul nodded once, keeping eye contact with his son the entire time. If he felt any guilt, he did well to hide it. “Lottie.”

“You didn’t even stay for five minutes!”

“I had work to complete. You and your mother were both there. Tell me, what would have been the point?”

Tommy scoffed. He rolled his eyes, pivoting around in a circle in disbelief. “Unbelievable. You’re unbelievable! Your daughter was seriously wounded, mortally, in fact, because of something you did, and you couldn’t even deal with the consequences.”

“Tommy…”

“No, I’ve had it with your bullshit, dad.”

“Language!”

“Oh, don’t you tell me to mind my language!” Thomas raised his voice, a finger pointing towards his father. “Don’t you tell me to mind anything, not when you are the one who’s to blame for all of this! You are the one who did this!”

Paul could see his son battling with his emotions. Tommy had always been a wild card when it came to feeling things, but he had never been able to ascertain why. Fawn had always assured him it was natural, but Paul had always felt differently. The accusations being laid down at his feet were not helping those thoughts, but Paul took them in his stride. He leant forward, elbows settling on the desk in front of him.

“Tom, sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit. Down.”

Rebellion flashed over Tommy’s eyes momentarily as he questioned how wise it would have been to not obey his father’s simple request. Reluctantly, however, he pulled the seat out and sat. The pillow behind, placed there for additional lumber support, was pulled around and into Tommy’s arms. He squeezed it to his chest tightly.

Paul remained quiet, observing his son with a sad expression as he sniffled and fought back the aggravated tears. Theirs had never been a household which taught the kid that boys don’t cry. In fact, Paul had actively encouraged Tommy to allow his wild emotions to run freely, however they wished to be released, so long as no-one, including Tom, was injured in the process.

“I can’t believe you were so selfish.” He eventually spoke in a hushed tone.

“Selfish?”

“You knew what your children would be.You knew we’d never belong in this world. How could you create us, knowing we’d only suffer?”

Paul sighed, long and hard. It was a valid question and he, unfortunately, knew it. He stood from his chair and rounded the desk, perching on it beside his son’s seat. “I didn’t know you’d suffer.”

“You suffered.”

“What I mean is, we couldn’t have been sure this… whole thing was something that could be passed down.”

“You could have made an educated guess, dad.”

Paul shrugged guiltily. “I guess we could have, but the Mysterons have powers beyond our comprehension, even after all these years.”

Tommy squeezed the pillow tighter. “That still didn’t give you the right.”

“Doesn’t every parent have to battle with the consequences of bringing a child into a messed up world?”

“But this is different. Me and Lottie weren’t just born into a messed up world; we’re part of the problem.”

“Don’t you ever say that.” Paul’s stern statement was full of hurt. “Don’t you ever think you’re any part of the cause to this.”

“But we are though.”

Paul crouched down, patting his son’s arm. “Tommy, look at me. Look at me.”

The tears were glistening in his son’s brilliant blue eyes. None had yet fallen and, if Paul knew his son as well as he thought he did, Tommy would do his best to keep it that way despite the effort being fruitless.

“Do you know what Vincent says? He says that me and Lottie were only born so Spectrum could have more soldier like you.” Tommy snorted. “I never used to believe him, but—”

“Don’t you even go there.” Paul cut him off. “Vincent is an idiot and he doesn’t know anything.”

Tommy smirked at that. The ongoing rivalry between the two had become more amiable in the last few years, but there were still often swipes that both parties delivered which left the other hurting. No matter how much Paul and Richard had tried to cease their squabbling, the boys continued regardless.

“You and Lottie are the best things that have ever happened to me. Don’t for one second think me and your mother raised you only to become soldiers. This was never your fight and, if you wish to remain out of it, we wouldn’t blame you at all.”

“You’re only saying that so I don’t yell at you again.”

“Tommy, if it made you feel better, I’d let you yell and yell until your voice grew hoarse, but I don’t think you want to yell.”

His son shook his head slowly, lowering it until his chin touched the top of the pillow. “I’m worried about her.”

“Me too.”

“You didn’t even stay!”

The accusation cut Paul like a knife. “I didn’t stay, not because I didn’t care, Tom. I…Do you have any idea how hard it is to see someone you love in that position?”

When Tommy was six and had his first accident, Adam had been on hand to help Paul. He’d tried to relay the difficulties he’d faced whenever he’d had to bring a limp Captain Scarlet to Cloudbase, and Paul had never realised the emotional damage he’d unwittingly caused his friend. Now, he was the one who was on the receiving end. It hurt worse when he considered they were his children.

“Lottie will be fine, Tom.” He reassured him softly. “I’ve been talking with Fawn all morning. He says we should see considerable improvements by this evening.”

“And then what? We wait until one of us is back in the MedBay and do this all over again.”

“Well, hopefully not all of this. I don’t mind your yelling but let’s try and keep it out of the next conversation?”

Tommy cracked a small smile. He wiped his arm across his nose briefly and chuckled. “Yeah, no promises on that one, pops.”

As Paul stood back to his full height, he ruffled his son’s hair. “I’m going to go and check in on your mother. Stay for as long as you need. We’ll take the flight up to Cloudbase just after lunch, if you want to join us.”

“I’ll be there.”

His son remained sitting at the desk, pillow held firm against his chest, as Paul left the room. He gave him one last look before he pulled the door to the office shut, and then rested his forehead against the doorframe. Under his breath, his cursed himself. He had done his best to reassure his son, to make Tommy feel better, because that’s what a good father did. Deep down, however, he’d be lying if he didn’t say he believed every word his son had laid out as accusation.

All of this was his fault. He was selfish for bringing not one, but two children into this mess which he’d failed to clean up. No amount of sugar-coated words would change the facts.

Indestructible he might very well have been, but that didn’t mean Paul’s heart was incapable of breaking.

And, silently, break it did.

#prompt fill #captain scarlet and the mysterons #captain scarlet fanfiction #next gen captain scarlet #paul metcalfe #oc - thomas metcalfe jr #five fics #fic: like father like son #part of the universe for:#fic: the insurgents

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hebuiltfive · 8 months ago

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Ring A Ring O’ Roses - Chapter Two: The Trail

As requested by @mariashades this is the second part of the Captain Ochre private detective AU! I have more ideas for the story as a whole so this probably won’t be the last either!

First part can be found here!

Following their failed lead in New York, Richard returns to the drawing board. Meanwhile, Paul seeks refuge up north in the only place he can currently trust.

———————————————

Being back at Square One was never an avenue any detective wanted to return to. After days of constant research, of calls made and opportunities struck, for it to have been pointless felt like nothing more than a waste of precious time.

The tiny, rented office space that sat on the East River, overlooking Roosevelt Island, indicated to Fraser, more so than anyone else, how much he needed to solve this case. It was more than just a case of justice and truth, it was the continuation of his business that he’d built up from the ground. For so long, Richard had convinced himself that this was all he had; no qualifications save the ones he achieved in the Academy, no experience beyond police grunt work that he could now never return to regardless of what he wanted. It was this gig, or… what?

More over, he had promised Patrick his help. If they couldn’t solve this case, all of that would have been for naught and Patrick would be sentenced to a lifetime in prison for something he was already beginning to atone for. Richard could see it in his protege’s work ethic, in the way he regarded himself since working alongside Fraser and for the good of the community at large. If Richard failed this, he would be doing a disservice to more than Metcalfe’s family, than himself. He’d be condemning a man who was trying to right his wrongs, and that seemed cruel.

He lent back on his swivel chair. The old seat creaked and bent as he stretched. Up above, dark clouds were rolling in, promising a shower of rainfall within the hour. Richard flicked his wrist to check the time. It was almost coming up to half-past four. Maybe it was time to call it a day.

“Patrick!” He called through to the backrooms where he had set up a small work area for his new employee. “You still awake back there?”

Beckoned through, Patrick appeared in the doorway. In his hands, he held two sheets of paper and, as he slowly strolled over to Richard’s desk, his eyes did not lift from whatever secrets they held.

He really is trying, thought Fraser. It was a shame this case was soon to be a bust.

“Not much more we can do today. Get on home before the rain sets in and be back here tomorrow at nine. We’ll try and pick up a lead if we can.”

Patrick did not say a word or move an inch, however.

Richard tilted his head. “Donaghue? You in there?”

“Hm?”

His eyes lifted to meet his boss’s. Fraser could see the dark circles forming under the man’s eyes. It didn’t help to quell the rising guilt he felt of failing him.

“I said you can go home and we and try and pick up more leads tomorrow morning. What’s got you so interested, anyway?”

In answer, Patrick merely handed Richard the two sheets of paper. He scanned them quickly. They were both grainy CCTV photographs; one was a from a station terminus, Richard guessed Penn Station judging by the architecture; the other was from a street camera in a neighbourhood he was less familiar with.

“What are these?”

“Our next lead.” Patrick’s tiredness dulled his excitement, but Richard could still sense it.

He laid the images across the sheets that covered his desk and pointed to the figure that featured in both captures. “Metcalfe?”

Patrick nodded. “It’s grainy, but I think that’s our guy. He changes his hooded jacket between shots but the height, the cautiously looking over his shoulder, the shoes… I think it’s him.”

“Where was this second one taken?”

“Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts.”

Richard jerked his head up from the photos to offer him a quizzical look.

Donaghue merely nodded in agreement. “Our friend’s taken quite the journey up north.”

“The question, I guess, is why.”

“Does the expenses extend to taking the train, or are we road-tripping, because if its the latter, I’m calling shotgun and control of the playlist.”

Richard suppressed a grin. “We can take the train. Perhaps if we follow in Metcalfe’s footsteps we can get a more detailed plan of what he might be up to.”

“Should we inform his parents?”

“Not yet, not until we’re sure.”

“And the other ‘worried’ party? What about them?”

Although Richard had wished he’d been able to conveniently forget about the added governmental pressure to find their former employee, he had unfortunately been unable to.

He shook his head. “Same rule applies. Besides, the family were the one who officially hired us. The other party don’t get to know anything until they do.”

Patrick pursed his lips, once again nodding his agreement.

“I’ll book us some tickets for tomorrow morning.” Richard continued. “Think you can get to Penn Station for around seven? I’ll text you the details.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Get home and get some rest.”

He didn’t need to tell Patrick a fourth time. His protege briefly disappeared back into his make-shift office to retrieve his items before returning into the main room. He approached the door to leave.

“Oh, and Donaghue? If this had been a road-trip, you do know you can’t call shotgun and request DJ permissions, right?”

Partick smirked. “It was worth a shot. Don’t stay here too late. I doubt Metcalfe will be moving on quite so quickly.”

“I won’t. I promise. See you tomorrow.”

Once the door clicked closed and Patrick was well on his way out of the building, Richard unlocked the lower drawer to his desk. From within, he retrieved a burner phone. It only had one number on it. He dialled.

“I’ve found him. Boston. Back Bay East.”

———————————————

Paul went to the one person — the only person left — that he knew he could trust.

The journey had been rough. Two trains up north and a multitude of guards and police presence to dodge. Being a wanted man, by the government no less, had that unfortunate effect, but he managed to make his way up to Boston as night began to fall.

Faking his own death back in the New York motel had been no easy feat. Paul knew the scene was nowhere near as believable as it could have been, and should the cops look too hard they’d realise that in a heartbeat. He had little time, however, and now could only hope that they wouldn’t work out the obvious until he was long gone.

He lacked sleep. Paul could feel his bones growing weary, his muscles growing tired, but he had to keep moving. If he stopped, even for a few hours, he could risk being identified and caught. That was not an option. He was safe nowhere, not until he reached Adam.

In any other circumstance, Paul would have called ahead, but he knew the Spectrum department would be able to monitor such calls, should they wish. In the recent past, it had been him on the other end of those tracking devices, seeking a man who, like himself, should have been long since dead. On the journey up to Boston, Paul wondered whether there was any way of finding Turner. Given his own predicament, and the lengths he’d been through to stay off the grid, he doubted it.

The taxi he had taken from the station pulled up outside the address Paul had given to the driver. He was relieved he hadn’t been caught out by the man and taken to the nearest police station instead. Paying with cash to avoid leaving a digital trail, he thanked the driver before hopping out of the back door and dashing across the street to Adam’s apartment building.

His knuckles rapped harshly on the door.

“Adam? Adam, it’s me. It’s Paul. Are you there? Adam, open up!”

He had never been so relieved to hear the sound of a door unlocking before. Paul burst through the moment it had opened, knocking the blonde out of the way before Adam could finish his greeting.

“Hey, Paul, what’s— Hey! Careful!”

Paul didn’t listen. “Are you alone?” He asked, directly making a beeline to the windows. Any blinds that were still up were quickly lowered.

His friend locked the front door before following him through to the living room. “Paul, what’s going on?”

Paul allowed himself to take a breather, his paranoia subsiding for the time being. “I need a place to lay low.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

It was now that he noticed his friend was dressed in blue loungewear, suggesting to Paul that he was getting ready to turn in for the evening. How his heart ached with guilt that he was going to ruin that plan.

“I made a really bad mistake, Adam. A really bad mistake. I don’t know if I can fix it.”

#captain scarlet fanfiction #captain scarlet and they mysterons #au april #captain scarlet au #fic fics #fic: ring a ring a roses #paul metcalfe #adam svenson #richard fraser #patrick donaghue #captain scarlet #captain blue #captain ochre #captain magenta

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