#Virgil will always go to Scott

[gumnut-logic]

I need to tell you something (Bit 1)

From this prompt :D a little random virgil!whump before breakfast.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tripped over a chunk of masonry and nearly fell flat on his face. At the last second he caught himself and only staggered.

For the zillionth time in his career, he thanked the specialised rubber in his boots. They made him slightly less agile in the field, but he had compensated over time and his boots had saved so much skin and bone they had proven themselves essential and a blessing.

He blinked, the grey of post-disaster blurring a moment. Scott was in the distance liaising with the GDF. Virgil knew he would much rather be pulling people out from under the rubble, but they were at the stage of the mission where ‘liaising’ was necessary. A good part of the time John managed to handle that, but onsite it was usually Scott.

You would think Virgil’s calm and calculating mind would be better suited to speaking to the local authorities than Scott, who despite being an excellent commander had been known to fly off the handle at the occasional idiot. However, Virgil had also been known to calmly ignore idiots and just do the job of saving whoever needed saving at the time.

It was probably the incident where Virgil had backed Firefly over the top of some guy’s car because the idiot refused to move it. In Virgil’s view it was simple practicality.

Scott and John did the majority of liaising from that point on. Apparently some people did not agree with Virgil’s efficiencies.

A grumbling thought. Didn’t stop Scott from torching a car or two with One’s exhaust.

It was a matter of style, apparently.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” John’s cool voice was ever reassuring as it bounced down from orbit.

“I need to speak to Scott.”

Scott blurred again as he gesticulated with aggravated arms. Great, he was pissed about something.

“Is there something wrong?” There was sudden suspicion in John’s tone.

Virgil grunted at him. “Just need to speak to Scott.”

While Virgil loved John with all his being, Scott was the big brother Virgil was drawn to when he needed help. Scott was his leader, best friend, support, someone he couldn’t do without.

Virgil had a problem? He went to Scott.

“Scott?”

The gesticulation stopped and his big brother turned. “Virgil? What? You’re supposed to be on the east side.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “But I have to tell you something.”

Blue eyes stared at him through two layers of plexiglass, his brother frowning.

“Excuse me, Commander, but you still need to move your craft.”

Virgil blinked away blur and realised Scott had been talking to two people, not one. One was GDF, yes, but the other was some guy dressed in a suit. His expression was one of outrage.

Oh, great, one of those.

“What is it, Thunderbird Two?”

Yay for name dropping, muscle flexing, and…he located Thunderbird One and sure enough, she was perched on the road, blocking a fancy looking car.

Hmm, Virgil could whip up a Firefly. She’d climb nicely over that polished hood.

“Virgil, are you okay?” A gloved hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Huh?” Turning his head back to his brother, the world took a moment to catch up. Oh. Urgh. “Um.” His stomach clenched.

“Virgil!” Two hands were suddenly holding his arms. “What the-?”

“I’ve been shot.”

The specialised leather of his boots did nothing to help as his legs suddenly decided they no longer wanted to hold him up.

But strong arms disagreed and as his big brother caught him, he knew he’d made the right decision to tell Scott. Scott would look after him. Scott always did.

He did yell, though. Virgil attempted to blink away the blur but this time it was persistent and wouldn’t clear. It only got worse.

Scott was calling his name, and swearing, so much swearing. And the other guy, the guy with the car…

Virgil really needed to construct a Firefly and trash that guy’s car just to shut him up.

But as the world faded, he focussed on Scott’s voice.

His big brother always knew what to do.

-o-o-o-

Next

[jacksonstarkiller]

*en route to the danger zone*

Gordon, over the comms from the pod: If you had to choose between Alan and all the money I have in my wallet, which would you choose?

Scott, from TB1: That depends, how much money are we talking about?

Virgil, piloting TB2 and listening in: Scott!

Gordon: 63 cents.

Scott: I’ll take the money.

Virgil: Scott!!!

[bonsaiiiiiii-fics]

Eggs

Is it destiny? Is it a coincidence? But especially, What should she do now that the person she has been looking for doesn’t exist anymore?

Words: 5300-ish

Genre: fluff, slice of life. a bit of angst too? cos memories and stuff…no trigger warnings mentionable.

Fandom: Thunderbirds are go!2015

Characters: boi, all of ‘em! We also have Lucille, and I sprinkled in some oc’s!

Special mention: thank you to @louthestarspeaker for lending me her Laurie, your girl has been an absolute delight to write!

This story is kinda weird, and I don’t know if there’s gonna be a continuation or not. I just had an idea, wrote it down and here we are! Nothing serious, just for fun/writing again/passing the time. Don’t @ me, if you read it and discover you don’t like it, leave it where it is and back tf away slowly. (just for precaution. moots i don’t wanna bite ur ass <3)

Ao3 link

"...Is it too late to back up now?" She asks timidly, grimacing and taking a small step away from the door. Gran Roca Ranch. At least that's what it says on the billboard at the entrance. "Probably she isn't even here anymore!" 

"Nope." Laurie answers her first question, a haunting hand hovering on the door. "This is the time to act like that amazing, confident, person that you are, no ifs, ands or buts about it." She tries to fight her best friend when she gets a grip of her hand, forcing her to depart it from the door the farthest possible. "And you- ugh!, you won't know if you don't knock!" She grunts, noticing just how strong Quinn can be. Seriously, she eats tacos and smoothies all day, how the hell does she manage to keep it if she's as slim as a twig? Genes? 

"Well I need a reinforcement taco before this!" Quinn forces through gritted teeth. "And what do you think I'm going to tell her, hey! I'm your donor baby and I'm here to flip your life upside down?" She rolls her eyes, adjusting her sunglasses. "What if she doesn't even want to see me?" 

"If she left you her address in the envelope, then I think she wanted you to find her." 

"Well, I'm not ready to find out just yet!" 

"Not that you can help it, you know. You're screeching so loud I think all the neighborhood heard you." Laurie says, hands on her hips and a false innocent smile on her face, the plan morphed into her mind taking action. "And if she hasn't heard you before, she surely will hear this now!" And with that awful sentence she rings on the doorbell, doing what Quinn tried stopping her from doing until now. 

The blonde girl, in return, starts by gawking at her with her eyes almost out of their sockets and a jaw so low you could store an entire cake inside her mouth, then punches her -not so lightly- on a shoulder, making Laurie gasp at the pain and the sudden movement. "Traitor!" She spits, just seconds before the door opens, revealing... 

"Uh..." Kayo falters, taking in the scene in front of her very eyes upon opening the door. There's two women, soft blonde waves and some midnight black locs, arms tangled in each other, more like the blonde is trying to strangle her friend and the latter is trying to defend herself, both looking awkwardly at her. "Can I...help you?" She asks tentatively, her eyebrow raised, studying them intently. The blonde is holding an envelope in her hand, and now that she looks at her...the resemblance is dangerously familiar to someone... 

"Uh!" Quinn gasps, detangling from her best friend and just smiling broadly, as if nothing happened. "Hi, my name is Quinn, and this is Laurie." 

"Hi, Quinn and Laurie. So, what can I help you with?" Kayo repeats, her patience wearing thin. Who are these two strangers? This isn't pizza delivery! She mentally prays that it’s not another string of paparazzi striving to secure an interview, them being the first two of a long queue. Even if the Tracy’s like to be reserved about their whereabouts, the paps’ job is to unveil, tell and write as many tales as possible, and this requires some great investigative skills, for example finding Jeff Tracy’s old house. It’s not the first time paparazzi are at their door, and it certainly won’t be the last.

"Um," Quinn clears her throat, shifting from embarrassed to confident, again, that spark in her eye that looks dangerously familiar. Now that Kayo thinks about it, if Gordon was to have a female counterpart, Quinn would be embodying it. "I'm looking for Lucille Collins. Does she, um, live here?" 

Now this leaves Kayo dumbfounded. 

And with a lot of questions. 

How does she know? Why is she looking for her? Could it be...? 

"Um. Excuse me." Is all Kayo can say to excuse herself and close the door in their faces, now leaving both girls with a fish out of water face. 

"What was that?" Quinn asks, her cordial smile still plastered on her face, but one eye twitching in incredulousness. 

"I don't...know?" Laurie is smiling too, holding her still painful shoulder. They both look at each other, and this is the moment when Laurie knows Quinn's about to lose control. 

"So who was it at the door? Did the pizza delivery read our minds before we could place the order?" Gordon asks smugly, a note of curiosity in his voice. 

"That would be so dope!" Alan adds, leaning forward in his chair so his arms come to rest on his lap. 

Kayo, however, doesn't seem to hear them as she clears her throat, ready to drop whatever bomb this is on them.

"Are you okay, Kayo? You look like you've seen a ghost." Virgil butts in, obviously concerned about her losing all the color in her face. 

"There's two women at the door, they're looking for Mrs. Tracy, and I don’t mean Grandma." She says as neutrally as possible, not seeming to avoid massaging her arm awkwardly in the process. "What am I supposed to do?" 

Nobody answers her, and the silence is so audible you can hear the indistinct chatting of the women still at the door, probably debating on whether to stay and just vanish from the premises from the heat of it. 

"Huh." Jeff mutters, taking the situation in his own hands. "I think I know what this is about. Help me up, please." He asks no one in particular, Scott jumping up from his armchair like it's on fire, instantly by his father's side. "Thank you, son. Take me to the door." 

"If we disappear silently, she probably won't even know we were there! We can say she just imagined it! Or that I'm the, uh, mailman?" Quinn tries, shrugging her shoulders in the process. 

"I don't think she would believe you, you're not exactly dressed up as one." Laurie counters, eyeing her short romper. 

"Gasp," she audibly gasps. "Are you trying to say I look ugly?" 

"If the shoe fits." She winks at her bestie, earning a glare from her. 

"I hate you." 

"No you don't." 

A sound near the front door, like a crane tapping on the floor, makes both straighten their backs up, standing like soldiers in wait for their general. Moments later, Jeff Tracy himself, accompanied by his son, opens the door, and the girls just...stare. 

"Uh, Quinn? I think we got the wrong house..." Laurie recognizes immediately the man standing in front of her, seemingly unlike Quinn, that flashes him and his exact same, younger copy, her dimpled smile. 

"Hiiiii!" She tries a more energetic approach. "I'm Quinn, and this is Laurie." She gestures to her bestie, who is looking mildly uncomfortable, deeming it necessary to introduce themselves again. "We're looking for-" 

"I know." Jeff nods. "You must be her daughter. Co-" 

"HUH!?" Scott gasps, involuntarily interrupting his dad who side looks at him. "What!? Her what??" He looks wide eyed at her, then at his dad, then back again at her. 

She seems to ignore his apparent outburst. "Yeah, something like that. So, does she live here?" If there's one thing to know about Quinn Prescott is that she gets straight to the point. And eats tacos nonstop, apparently. 

Jeff is silent, a pang of sadness visible on his face. "Come in." He replies to her question, stepping aside - and forcing Scott, as still as a statue, to do the same - and welcoming them in what used to be Luci's house. Scott disappears right back in, probably to warn everyone of the unexpected new visitor invading their home, or to prepare them psychologically for this, leaving the girls to let themselves in without too many ceremonies, Quinn taking off her paperboy hat and just holding it in her hand as Jeff slowly accompanies them to the living room, where everyone is gathered. 

"Holy shmeesus!" Is the first thing she mutters to Laurie upon seeing all these people, wondering just now that maybe she got the wrong house. But if she did, the man living inside it wouldn't let them in, right? She's probably not home at the moment, yeah, that's it. One thing for sure, the room is loaded with people and every single one of them seem to be looking- no, gawking, at her. Expecting her to be joking about the matter. There's the woman that opened the door the first time, the man that opened it the second, 5 other men and a old lady. And not to mention this house is gigantic. Dam, egg mama's loaded! 

Everyone is so still, the silence is so deafening, like they can't believe their eyes; she manages to get a sound from them all, a collective general gasp, after her sunglass lenses fade back to clear, not sensing any sunlight inside, revealing her warm brown eyes. 

"It's uncanny." Scott mutters, breaking the silence. 

"It's mom." Virgil backs him up, just gaping at her. She shares his same eyes, and, well, mom's. Come to think about it, she is mom, just a different smile, skin tone, and some round glasses added.

"What is this, dad?" Scott confronts their dad, wanting, needing, to know more. A perfect stranger, with the same appearance as their mother, comes at their door, searches for her, and apparently she's her daughter? And seemingly, Jeff knows about it all. 

Jeff in reply looks at Quinn, holding out a hand towards her as if to show she's there. "Want to do the honors?" 

She nods, taking in a deep breath. "So...I'm Lucille's donor baby, and I'm invading your lives!" She jokes, to then immediately facepalm, followed by a nervous chuckle from Laurie, accompanied by a head shake. "Hehe, sorry...I always joke when I'm nervous, I don't know why I do that." She first scratches her jaw, then behind her ear, handing Jeff the envelope she carried until now, covering her lap with her checkered white and brown hat. "But that's about it. The address listed in her description was this one." 

"Yeah, I know who you are already." Despite this statement, he still opens the envelope, suddenly invaded by his eldest three sons that read over his shoulder too, reading indeed his late wife's name, but another as well. "I just didn't think you'd even show up, even if she hoped to see you." 

"She does?" She smiles, her dimples showing. She unconsciously side glances at Laurie, which shoots her a timid thumbs up. 

"She did." He corrects her, the pain in his words leading her to lose the dimples she shares with Scott. 

"Um, care to explain for those who can't understand the situation?" Alan butts in, knowing the heaviness of the situation but now how to decipher it. 

"Yeah, like, we just got mom's clone and then what?" Gordon counters. 

Just when she wants to speak, Jeff looks again at her, prodding her silently to explain herself. It's her situation, and she gets to take it into her own hands as she wants. 

"So, from what my parents told me, they weren't able to conceive, so they picked out donors from both sides; Lucille was my egg donor, while Clinton was my sperm donor. I don't really know anything about them, my parents told me about it just recently and recommended that I speak personally with them first, but without them I wouldn't exist, so...ta-daaa!" She slightly enlarges her hands, waving her open hands up and down. 

"Well, you surely took your time." Jeff comments sarcastically, loosening her stiff shoulders a little. 

"That's cool! Is it something like out of a lab?" Alan asks, earning a side glare from Virgil. 

"Egg and sperm donors have existed for a long time, you know?" The second eldest points out to him in a scolding tone. 

"I didn't know about the egg ones, Virg!" 

"Me either Virg! We're not all medical like you." Gordon, as always, speaks as if he and Allie are the same. 

"Pardon my sons," this sentence from Jeff seems to override their sons'. "They're just curious about you, she never spoke to them about you." 

"How to blame her?" Grandma says, laughing gently. "She didn't expect the gal to even show up. She just did a good deed." She gets up, sitting on an armrest of the armchair Virgil sat back on, patting gently his shoulder. 

"That she did." Jeff looks at her, drinks her in with those silver eyes of his. Yep, she's Lucille's spitting image: long blonde hair, chocolate brown eyes, same nose, same lips. The only thing changing is a golden skin tone, complimenting perfectly her eyes and hair and making her look like a golden ember, and the way she smiles; even if she has Luci's lips and dimples, she smiles differently, a charming and 'I'm sexy and I know it' kind of smile instead of Luci's warm and harmless one. "You look a lot like her." He says after a long while, in which she seems content basking in the attention. She knows she's beautiful, she probably has an overly big ego, and the fact this family is feeding it is rather nice to her. 

"Yeah, Laurie says I'm her spitting image. Uh, from the pictures I found in the envelope." 

"I'm sorry, but you won't be able to see her anytime, I'm afraid." He says.

She doesn't seem to read between the lines. "Oh, yeah, I totally get it! She has another family now, not that I was her family before, but I get it, no worries. Just tell her I've been here." She gets up, dusting absent-mindedly her dress and hat. 

"No, you don't get it." Jeff is finding all the strength in himself to say the words long dreaded in the Tracy household. "She passed some time ago." He lets out after a long, painful, sigh. 

"Oh." She mutters, to then plop back down. "Can I ask for how long?" 

"Almost 20 years." 

She gets silent, a lot of thoughts whirling in her brain, but she pushes them aside for her to think about them later. "I'm sorry for your loss." 

"I'm sorry too." He raises his eyes to look at her. "She wanted to meet you, she really did." 

"Well...I wouldn't be me if I didn't keep my always being late rap, right?" She tries to crack a joke, earning a cheeky smile from everyone, even a tiny laugh from the tinies. 

"Oh, preach!" Laurie exclaims, happy that her friend finally noticed. 

"So, what is it you do in life, Quinn?" Jeff changes subject after she so helpfully contributed in raising the spirits back up; unfortunately, Lucille has always been a tough topic to talk about after her passing, and probably this is just what they needed now that they're all back together. 

"Oh, I just got into college, Columbia." 

"Ah, Ivy League! Impressive! Major?" 

"Programming." 

"I see. Well, I wish you best of luck on your journey." 

"Thank you, um, Mr..." She just now realizes she never properly caught his name, nor the others'; it sure looks like a wide family, though. 

"Oh! We didn't introduce ourselves, sorry! We were just so caught by everything..." He immediately apologizes, getting up not without any help from his second eldest. "I'm Jeff Tracy." Once in front of Quinn, who just got up too, he extends his hand for her to shake it, and notices she has a very tight grip, too. 

"Huh, Tracy you say?" Quinn is silent for a second, an eyebrow raised to try and remember when she heard that name before, while Laurie, once her suspicions (that weren't so suspicious) got confirmed, draws in a shaky breath, not understanding why in the Heavens her bestie doesn't realize how lucky she is to even breathe the same expensive air as these business tycoons. And, yeah, International Rescue themselves. "I like it. I assume you are- uh, were..." 

"Yeah, her husband. These are our kids. Boys?" He calls out for them to get up and present themselves, to which they oblige dutifully. 

Scott is the first one to present himself, his grip somewhat strong, but not menacing. He saw the description, everything true to the minimal detail, and the fact she's their mom's spitting image contributes greatly to the cause, as if she was cloned, and their dad seems to know and support of this situation; however, he still doesn't know if she's lying, faking it all, and found sensible information, touched a nerve who could bring them down, his Commander brain gearing up for action. He, alas, has complete faith in dad, and in John, who didn't go unnoticed by Scott as he briefly excused himself to go to the bathroom, secretly fulfilling the eldest' order to run a background check on her. He notices her firm grip too, complete with the fact she either doesn't seem to care, or is oblivious to the pinning, calculating stare he's giving her, flashing him a taste of his own medicine, killer dimples. Yep, truly mom's child. 

The next in line is Virgil, who takes her hand softly and shakes it gently, and she swears he's like massaging it or something, because she finds instantly relief from a throbbing she didn't even notice until it passed, truly magical. They both get lost in the eyes they both share the color of, mom's color, and both wonder how one could be a spitting image of the other. Virgil is calm, trusting, not wanting to start any rumors or thoughts, just trusting what the person in front of him is saying. Like, how could she lie with those eyes? He swears he's looking at mom who came back to life and waltzed back into their lives.

Gordon pops up next, and damn! If she thought to be Lucille's spitting image, from that little description pic, then this man is taking it up a notch! Same features, different gender. It's almost frightening. Gordon, on the other hand, is totally unaffected by any negative thoughts and emotions, just excited to hear about this new, strange thing, egg donation, and the fact that a new sibling is added to their family, even if she's just a half-sibling. It's still something from mom, and everything from mom is precious right now. 

Alan is quick in presenting himself with a fist bump, a gesture that Quinn loves gladly, evolving it into a weird bro hand salute Alan seems to be on board with, professionalism not necessary right now. After all, if she’s in college right now…same as him! They’re college buddies!

Last but not least brother, John, shaking briefly her hand and directing a hidden thumbs up at Scott, who nods and exhales briefly, his worries dissolving temporarily. 

Kayo is up, her way of shaking hands translated into shoving a tablet into Quinn's face, that shrugs and places her thumb on it, more than calm about the fact that they can't get money from her as she's broker than a broken record, having invested her last savings in...tacos. Kayo swiftly nods, and Quinn just shrugs, before she gets presented to the next person.

A sweet old lady, who seems very spirited. “Hello, gal! Well, I’ll be damned, you’re her spitting image!” This makes Quinn crack a wide smile, the girl identical in her biological mother even in these simple gestures. "I'm Sally, but you can call me Grandma. I'm the boys' grandmother and Jeff's mother. It's nice you finally joined us." To unknot her nerves, Grandma gently squeezes Quinn's shoulder, to which the girl looks at her warmly. This woman, this part of her newfound family, has this capacity to melt her worries and insecurities away in a way...familiar to her, like it's been done to her since she was born. 

"Don't blame her too much, she has this knack for always showing up late." Laurie butts in the conversation after being presented too to the boys, daring to see if a joke can fix up the mood. 

"I call it being fashionably late." Quinn replies, swooshing a strand of hair behind her shoulder smugly. 

Grandma laughs heartily. "I know a thing or two about it. Between us, but...your mother was always fashionably late too." She confesses to the girls, Quinn gaping a little. 

"See?" She triumphantly points out. "It's all in the genes!"

Laurie laughs too, looking at her bestie. “Don’t give her excuses now, or it’ll get to her head!”

Quinn is about to counterattack with a not too ladylike answer, when another voice joins in the conversation again. "Clinton Smith?" She turns to look at Jeff, which looks at the envelope then at her.

“Oh, yeah, that’s my donor dad. Or at least that’s all I know about him, I haven’t visited him yet.” She replies, looking somewhere else with a bitter smile, that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeff.

“Is he…unavailable too?” He tries this word, not having enough guts built up to say that word, that nefarious word he wishes he never had to say to describe his wife.

“Actually…I don’t know?” She replies questionably back, scratching her neck in the process. “I haven’t been able to find him at all. Either he vanished, or he doesn’t want to be found, or…yeah.”

“Doesn’t want to be found…why is that?” Jeff asks back, trying to understand more from that situation; maybe he can help, he can ‘rescue’ her if she wants to.

“Well, there’s his name, but no address. But I suppose if he didn’t want to be found, then he wouldn’t have wanted his name to be added to that document, because it’s supposed to be for me to read once I came of age.” She plops down to her previous seat, crossing her arms with a focused frown painted on her face, the upper lip touching her nose septum, her dimples visible and her eyes looking upwards, painting Lucille’s face with an almost childish and exaggerated undertone. “I know I’m very late in searching for them since I got the documents, but if you don’t want your child to know anything about you, then…you cancel everything they might know about you, right?”

“I don’t know exactly, it never happened to me…” He replies ironically, earning a broad smile from his boys, a sign that they had a father from the start that cared about them and loved them deeply. “But if you want to get to know him, we can help you out.”

She widens her eyes slightly. “Really? You don’t have to…”

“Yeah, of course! Family is important, and if you want to know exactly who both of your biological parents are it’s perfectly normal! I just happen to know a detective that can help you out on this, that is if you accept our help.” He states tentatively, knowing he doesn’t have any ‘power’ over her, despite her being Lucille’s first child and only daughter, her only female lineage, making her very precious; but at the same time he knows that he can’t force her to be a part of their lives just because she’s family by blood, she has another adoptive family that love her and raised her to be the woman she is now. The decision to be a Tracy must belong to Quinn and Quinn only. “And, of course, I’ll tell you more about your biological mother as well.”

“Well…” Quinn takes it all in, pondering deeply which answer she should give in return and moving her gaze to the floor. She knows that if she replies positively, this means she’ll come in contact with part of her biological family again, but she also knows that this decision is totally up to her, just like before when Jeff allowed her to explain who she was and why she was connected with this family. The question is, does she want to be part of this family? She already has another one, the one that has been there with her from the start, waiting for her at home. Can she replace them so easily? Being part of more than a family at once, even her biological dad’s side, is it possible? Does it mean that if she chooses to do this, she’ll have to leave her ‘old’ family behind, or can she rotate between one family and the other on random days?

“I’m sorry…” She finally comes up with an answer. “...but I have to think about it. This thing about Lucille has been a huge blow for me, and I’m not saying this because she…well, passed, but I think it would have been a blow even if today I would’ve gotten to talk to her. I received the document just recently…and…you guys…”

“Don’t apologize at all, Quinn, it’s understandable.” This is the first time that man calls her by her name. it’s…strange. “You have yet to elaborate all of this, and we’re here when, if, you’ll be ready to talk to us again.”

“Thank you.” Quinn smiles fondly at Jeff, and for the first time since she smiled at him, it seems like Lucille is smiling at him again after 19 long years where the world has been deprived of his wife’s warm and innocent smile. Another person notices, and where Jeff forces himself to keep the tears in, Virgil can’t manage to, a single, lonely, tear leaving a trail down his cheek but a happy smile painted on his chiseled face, Scott and John reaching out to place a hand on each of his shoulders, sharing the same emotion he’s feeling in seeing that smile, happy that they got the wish to see their mother’s smile one last time, even if it’s not their mother that’s in front of them right now. She captivated with that dimpled smile of hers everyone in the room, not just Jeff and his second eldest, and she doesn’t even notice it, how similar but how different she is from her biological mother. She glimmers with that smile.

“So…I’ll go home now, I think I already spent too much of your time.”

“Believe me,” Jeff starts, raising himself up to his feet and prompting his eldest and Quinn to do the same. “This time has been very well spent.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” Alan, surprisingly, asks, like it’s not the first time he makes this question. Surprisingly, because he doesn’t feel the same way as his brothers and dad; sure, he saw mom’s photos, but she unfortunately doesn’t have the same place in his heart like it does for everyone else of them, since he didn’t have the opportunity to grow up with her, leaving the surprisingly vivid picture of her with an eerie heaviness over it, almost as if, everytime he looks at his mom, it’s like he’s worshiping a Goddess. It used to be like this with his dad too, before he returned from the deserted and secluded place he was left in for all these years, just after mom’s death…for as long as he can remember before things changed, his dad disappeared, his mom left them, and he was essentially an orphan growing up with his brothers, under Scott’s guardianship over nothing more than a toddler. But now that he looks at things under another perspective…it’s bad to say, but she also will never get the chance to meet her, didn’t get the chance to grow up with her either, and will always look at her photo to remember where she came from…they’re similar, if not the same, in this. Maybe they can help each other.

“Yeah, we have pizza!” Gordon butts in too, visibly perturbed by her departure.

“If you remember to place the call to order it.” John points out like usual with a raised eyebrow, earning an eye roll from his younger pufferfish sibling.

“I’d love to, but my parents are waiting for me at home.” Quinn turns towards Jeff, as if to seek some approbation from the Commander Supreme. “Another time, maybe?”

He nods, waiting for his two youngest sons’ faint oh’s to dissipate before speaking again. “We are more than happy to welcome you again. You can take my contact or one of my sons’, so that you can have your way of reaching out when you’re ready to.” He offers, glancing at his sons that all nod.

“Yeah, that would be a great idea. I hope you won’t mind if I take my time in…”

“Ah, no worries! We’re more than happy to help.” Jeff replies while he scribbles something on a paper, probably his comm link or his number; once he’s finished, instead of passing it to Quinn he raises it somewhere on his right, Virgil taking the paper and scribbling something on it too. “Once you’re ready, reach out to us, here’s our contacts.” Once the paper is in Jeff’s hands again, after it being passed through some brothers, he hands it over to Quinn, who takes it gladly, folding it and tucking it into her romper’s pockets.

“Well, then, I’ll leave you to your dinner. Thank you for everything, and it’s been a pleasure meeting you.” Quinn bows her head slightly, smiling warmly to everyone.

“It’s a pleasure for us too, and it was nice meeting you too, Laurie.”

“Are you living far from here? Do you need one of us to accompany you?” Virgil asks, his ever caring spirit always present.

Quinn shoots a quick glance to Laurie, which in the meantime has almost teleported to her side; in exchange, Laurie raises her eyebrows and glances to the side, Quinn responding to her by shrugging slightly, and this ‘conversation’ goes on for a bit, all the while Virgil looks confused at them, then at his father.

“It’s a girl’s way of communicating, boys. You wouldn’t know.” Grandma intercepts the question marks in Virgil’s mind, talking to everyone.

“Well,” Quinn’s voice makes them all turn towards her and her bestie, who is smiling. “She’s coming back home with me, and we live just here across the neighborhood, so we’ll manage on our own, thank you anyways.”

“Perfect then. We hope to see you soon again, and I wish you good luck again on your journey. Please say hi to Bentley from me, and tell her I’m sorry I didn’t get to visit her and Charlie.” The procession has finally arrived at the door, escorting warmly their newfound family member out.

Quinn smiles as a sign of gratitude, before dropping her jaw to the floor and widen her eyes. “You know my parents?”

“Of course! Me and Luci have known them for a very long time now, we’ve been to school together, but we lost contact after we started working and had our children.”

“Oh…!” Quinn replies, then looks at the floor and smiles. “Sure, I’ll let them know.” She looks at Jeff with that smile on again. That warm smile that makes her dangerously familiar in his eyes.

“Well then, thank you for coming by. It was truly needed.”

“You’re kidding me? Thank you for having me!”

Once they finish bidding their farewells and the door closes, making them depart from the ranch, she turns towards her bestie, her smile radiant. “Girl, that was…”

“I’d say it was a success, but you didn’t find your mom.” Laurie counters, matching her newfound speed towards Quinn’s home. “Why are we running?”

“Well, but my parents are supposed to know her well, and I have all these step-brothers. And…oh, don’t brag.”

“We have no reason for running!” Laurie hisses, out of breath, her long locs whirling in the wind. “They can help you find your biological father too. Maybe you have some brothers or sisters from there too.”

“Well…” They both pant profusely, finally arriving at their destination; Quinn also lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know…I gotta talk to my parents. I want to know them, but…having them in my life…ugh! I need tacos.”

“Nu-huh. We’re home now and we’re eating what your parents made. Stop spending your life savings on tacos, bestie.” Laurie ushers Quinn towards the entrance door, forcing the latter to get the keys out to open it with another deep sigh. “And if talking with your parents is what you need…just, think about it. They are pretty important after all.”

“Hm?” Quinn says after greeting her parents loudly, announcing them she’s back home. “They’re just my biological half-brothers and their dad. Yeah, they’re important, but-” “Girl,” Laurie interrupts her with a serious face, making Quinn furrow her eyebrows in confusion. “You have no idea who they are, do you?”

[willow-salix]

New chapter, what's this?

New chapter is up and there is some major tea spilling going down. Sippity sip!

Here's the link

Picture of the boy looking relaxed on the beach for attention.

I know, I get it, he's too hot to not stare at. So here's the link again in case you missed it with your eyes glued to the boy.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Aaaaah this is so glorious!!! Just the birthday treat we all needed…

I'm on an insanity tight deadline, so of course a lighthearted little piece wanted to be written. There's a mention of nudity, but it's just innocent shenanigans. Virgil spends time sketching on the beach, Scott takes a swim in the ocean. Brothers are sometimes brothers. Nothing hurts (much).

SKETCHES

The surf splashed forcefully over bare feet, but Scott didn't step away, face tilted up to the sun. From under a wide-brimmed hat Virgil huffed and turned a sketch-book page. Scott, relatively relaxed, stretching up, siluetted against the ocean and sky, wind in ungelled hair, was a rare treat for pose reference. A rare treat, overall.

It was a drag-biggest-brother-to-the-ocean kinda day. Unsurprising, after the week they had. A brief silent conversation behind Scott's back in the lounge, that involved lots of brow action and eloquent squinting, had Gordon arrange a boat trip to Mateo Island for himself and Alan. It was definitely not a Tinies' shenanigans on the beach kinda day. John and Kayo stayed to decompress in the quiet of the villa. They would all reassemble for a movie night and reconnect in a puppy pile, inevitably, but for now the forces needed to be divided and conserved.

"I told you should've brought swimming trunks."

Virgil cast another glance at the scene as Scott moved a step deeper into the water. Big brother hummed noncommittaly, then stretched his arms up to the sky. Virgil quickly drafted another sketch.

"Who says I need anything extra to swim?!"

There was mischief in the voice that carried over the mild waves of precisely the Gordon variety. Virgil took a lungful of air, prepared to reprimand about jeans and a denim shirt getting too heavy when soaked. But he didn't have a chance as his straw hat got smacked askew by a tightly wound glob of denim and cotton, everything Scott had on down to a thread, besides shoes and socks, parked before in the sand besides Virgil's makeshift drawing station. There was a laugh, resembling a war cry, and a splash that followed immediately. Virgil shook his head in a way that was appropriately scandalized, plopped Scott's clothes on his shoes, automatically marked the time that Scott dove in, and shifted his gaze to the shimmering waves, waiting for the brunet head to reappear in the distance. A lot farther distance than Virgil was strictly comfortable with, to be honest, but this was Scott. Scott didn't do slowing down or pacing himself. Virgil would still take skinny dipping nonsense over dark brooding silences and stifled tears of the days before.

Before Virgil could actually think through ideas like "hypothermia" or "muscle spasm", there was another splash and a body heaved up effortlessly on the boulder by the surf in a blaze of foam and crystalline drops that would put Little Mermaid (or Gordon's poolside Aquaman act) to shame. Virgil huffed in appropriate Victorian exasperation and turned a page for a new sketch. Today was certainly a gift that kept on giving. The Not So Little Six-feet-three Merman instantly transformed into a sea lion, or sea cheetah, more like, and stretched on warm stone, squinting in the sun. A medic (and a long suffering, but caring brother) part of Virgil considered mentioning sunblock and sunburn in places Virgil really, REALLY didn't look forward tending to with aloe vera, once the latter inevitably occurred. But it was still relatively early morning (for him, anyway), the light was soft and biggest brother was stationary (and rather content), for once, giving him excellent view of muscle and sinew definition. And a soft smile. That would also mean unobstructed landscape of colorful bruises and faded scars, but Virgil didn't have pastel pencils with him. The artist in him won over and decided he would haul Scott down from the rock and into the shade when it started getting too hot.

Having Scott stay still, basking in the sun, for that long was always gonna be a miracle too good to be true. So of course he was now shifting to the side, craning his neck, curious what got Virgil so occupied in the sketchbook. Sometimes it was easy to forget Scott and Gordon were related. In moments like this it was far too obvious. Blue eyes first went comically wide, then, in a fluid motion, Scott was on his stomach, feet kicking in the air and chin rested playfully on his palm. The idiot even batted his lashes and toned down a shit eating grin to an impish pout:

"Hey ViiirgIEl'!" - yeah, sure, of course he'd dig deep into that Minor in French. - "Are you gonna draw me like one of your French girls?"

Well, at least they could be sure, if the goings were truly low, biggest brother could always fall back on a lucrative career in pin-up.

Virgil needed an excuse to hide a grin of his own, threatening to split his face in half, so he ducked beneath the brim of the hat and reached for the ball of Scott's clothes, fully aiming either to smack the brother's big head or land it in the ocean. One imperceptibly quick thrust of an arm up and Scott caught it mid-flight. Fighter pilot freak. That dissolved them both into a fit of giggles to the point Virgil's sides hurt.

By the time he resurfaced for air from stitches, Scott was dressed again, standing up on the boulder, overlooking the ocean. Virgil considered throwing quick lines for yet another sketch, lamenting he didn't have his camera - the sight was just so evocative and precious. Scott appeared assured and carefree, like the sky and the sea around him. But Virgil thought better of it, committing the moment to memory, instead. This couldn't be the last time he saw big brother like that. This needed to become a habit, before it could be transferred to canvas. A thump in the sand heralded Scott jumping down from the boulder, a warm hand landed on Virgil's shoulder, breaking the spell. Scott was smiling again, open and bright, and grateful. Okay, if the Tinies were not back yet, Virgil would throw in another sketch before dinner and movie time - to never loose the reference.

[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.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Push

A little Flying Fish one-shot thrown down on my commute. Less plot, more vibes, but inspired the fact my tiny Scott keeps enduring this Situation:

And not at all that a certain someone not too far away may have tried to approach a certain thing in a certain way. Nope…

Featuring One Idiot Flyboy and One Wise Fish

💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛💙💛

“Better not let the Virg see you limping about like that old man.”

Damn observant squid. Scott immediately corrected his gait and strode purposefully into the kitchen.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Damn it.

Gordon followed, because GORDON.

“What? I just had a wrinkle in my sock.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah ‘uh huh’. Now it is gone.”

“Course it is.”

Scott set the coffee machine running and for a few blissful seconds conversation was made impossible by the sound of grinding beans.

It also handily covered the noise of him cursing the entire physical therapeutic profession under his breath.

Sadly, between them Brains and Virgil had upgraded this to be the most efficient coffee-production mechanism on the planet, and the excuse was gone before Gordon got bored and left him alone.

Who was he kidding? Once the limpet latched on… a different tack was needed to scrape him off. And after all, attack is often the best form of defence…

“So, how’s your back after the super-sub rescue, Fish?”

“Getting there. I know the drill now. Slow and steady, just gotta be careful not to rush or over-extend it. The physio helps…”

Gordon had an eerie way of making an ellipsis audible.

“Good good, keep it up.”

“Thank you, Mr Motivator.” Gordon perused the range of noxious-coloured energy drinks in the fridge and in a clearly fake-casual voice threw the return grenade over his shoulder:

“How’s your physio going?”

“Fine. Good. Smashing it actually.”

“You don’t smash physio, bro.”

“I do.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll have to give me some pointers. For example, how to smash it so hard you appear decidedly more uncomfortable you did yesterday… I can tell by your posture - that ain’t no sock wrinkle, Scoots.”

Scott immediately stood up straighter and took a long gulp of scalding coffee to disguise the wince.

Gordon raised an infuriating eyebrow.

Scott eyeballed him impassively and took another swallow, just to make sure his throat lining was entirely obliterated. No point doing things by halves.

The raised eyebrow was replaced by an even more irritating expression of concern.

“Hip dislocations take a while bro… and your leg very nearly parted company with the rest of you… there was a lot of swelling in that joint. Give it time.”

Scott shrugged.

“Is all good, I’m nearly there. As soon as I get full rotation, I’m back in the air.”

“I knew it!”

“There’s nothing to know.”

“You’re trying to fast track it! It’s meant to be a GRADUAL extension of range! Faster isn’t always better, you great lanky donut!”

Scott didn’t have to listen to this. So he spun on his heel and made for the desk. He absolutely did not wobble and tip the rest of his coffee down his sleeve as his treacherous pelvis made a ridiculous fuss over nothing.

An even more treacherous part of his brain wondered if his little brother didn’t have a point. Scott threatened it with hyper-specific lobotomisation.

Little Mr Got-Straight-As-In-Physio slid under his shoulder and took a good proportion of his weight just as he stubbornly stepped forward again. Blinking frustrated moisture out of his eyes, Scott heartily wished it hadn’t helped as much as it did.

“Pretty sure you’re meant to use the crutches for a little longer yet too, huh?”

The groan escaped before he could stop it.

Gordon manoeuvred Scott to the couch. Scott’s right hip point blank refused to resist and the rest of his body meekly followed.

He dropped on to the couch, yelped, muttered a few words Grandma would have disapproved of and then stared mutinously at the ceiling.

He was so very Done with it all.

Little brother cocked his head to one side and then handed him a fluffy cushion. A hot pink fluffy cushion.

THE hot pink fluffy cushion.

He looked up at the one person who really and truly Got This. Gordon smiled and inclined his head towards the much loathed eyesore he must have brought up its home from the infirmary. Prescient little guppy that he was.

Scott glared at the cushion. Then pressed his face into it and screamed and shouted for what could have been thirty seconds or thirty hours.

Eventually he was spent. Taking a couple of shaky breaths he sat up and threw it with all his strength across the room. It hit the wall of the stairwell and dropped out of sight.

“Better?”

“Mmhmm.”

Gordon gently lowered himself on to the couch and looked down at his hands, slowly flexing his fingers, one by one.

“Sometimes I was so crushingly bored with all the teeny tiny increments… it felt like I was going backwards… so I’d push until it hurt. Like, really hurt. Because at least then I had something to fight. Then at least it would be interesting, you know?”

Scott nodded, quietly. Then rested his head on Gordon’s shoulder.

“Think I’ve made it worse.”

“Yeah. You’re an idiot. Runs in the family, I guess.”

Gordon ruffled his hair and Scott growled.

“You’ll get back on track, bro. Just might have made it a bit of a longer one.”

Scott couldn’t summon up anything more profound than a sigh.

“Y’know… I could always keep you company. When you’re doing the exercises, I mean. Could make a game of it or… or something. If you wanted, I mean… you don’t have to if it wouldn’t…”

“It would. I’d like that.”

“Cool. Team Hip Flexion is Go!”

Scott made a valiant attempt at the audible ellipsis thing.

“The Upright Knee Raise Crew? The Abduction Gang? Aaah I’ll work on it…”

For the first time in what felt like weeks Scott’s mouth twitched into a grin.

“I’m going to regret this aren’t I?”

“You can bet on it.”

[tagsecretsanta]

From @thalassastra

From @thalassastra to @niffler-gold

Prompt given:

1. Scott comfort. 2. After Jeff's return. 3. Scott finally getting the weight lifted of him (could be mentally or literally).

Would rather it just be focused on the brothers and dad not really any other characters.

Only warning is um it discusses the existence of Santa?! 

The New Old-Fashioned Way

“Scott! Santa’s been!” Gordon bounced on teenage Scott Tracy’s bed, a present clutched to his chest and a cheerful grin on his face. “Uuuurggghhh. Too early Gordon.”

“But Santa’s been, look!” “Santa isn’t real,” Scott grumbled uncharitably, and tried to pull the covers over his head. Gordon wasn’t having any of that and pulled them back down.

“Of course he’s real.”

“You know it’s Dad. You’ve known that for at least two years now.”

“Yeah so? Dad’s real. Dad is Santa. Therefore, Santa is real.” He jabbed Scott with the still-wrapped present. “And he’s been. Look, you have one too!” He bounced to the bottom of the bed and picked up a shiny blue package adorned with cartoon Santas.

“Hey, gimme. That one is mine.” Fully awake now Scott took the present from Gordon and sat up, wiggling over so that his brother could climb in next to him. Grinning, they opened their gifts. Gordon squealed in delight as a cuddly fish fell from the package. Scott’s grin grew wider as a kit for a model airplane tumbled out. It was almost a joke present these days - he got a different kit each year, which he attempted to build and paint. Sometimes he even finished them. He always looked forward to seeing which model “Santa” had got him. “Come on, let’s go show everyone what we got!” Gordon jumped off his bed with a thump.

Scott finally glanced at his clock to see if he should be letting Gordon wake everyone up.

“Gordon, wait!  It's five in the morning!”

—-------------------------------------------------

Many years later… 

It was Christmas Eve. Sort of. When your work made you regularly cross time zones it was sometimes tricky to keep track. Still. Gone midnight on Tracy Island, so yes, Christmas Eve. Still the day before in New York, which was where Scott currently was, and still dark for another hour or so.

It was easy to think he had all day today and tomorrow to sort everything out. But the time he had gained going west he would lose again heading east. But he was in New York. Lots of shops! He could get those last-minute gifts. Head into the office to chase whoever was lingering out of it. Technically the office was closed as from lunch time for the Christmas break; they gave all their staff the week off. Some of them would hang about finishing things off though. Scott didn’t approve. They needed to get home to their families. He could finish up any paperwork and make sure that the staff got home on time. Or go to do their Christmas shopping. He really should have started that already. It was almost stereotypical, a man of his age leaving it until Christmas Eve. But he’d been busy. But Dad was home! He had to make this Christmas the best one yet! 

He gritted his teeth as the beam lying across his shoulders shifted. A trickle of dust poured down through his torchlight, glittering in a mockery of the season’s decorations. He glanced down at the shop workers huddled together in the narrow space he was holding open. He was under no illusions; he knew he wasn’t holding the whole shop up on his back, just keeping something in balance that was holding something that was holding something else and stopping the situation from getting worse… but it certainly felt like he was holding the whole building up.

“How’s it going there, Virgil?” he grunted through gritted teeth.

“Nearly with you. Hold on.”

“Holding on.” Don’t think about the weight. Think about other stuff. Like the orders that still need to be put through for the new year. Like that loose connection in Thunderbird One that kept telling him that the port light was out even though they’d checked it and it was fine, but what if the light really did go out and he ignored it thinking it was just a faulty warning? Like should he buy brussels sprouts cause no one except John and Virgil really liked them but it was kind of a tradition? Besides they would complain that it was the only time they got to eat them and they were nice. Nice. Huh. 

The beam shifted again, the weight pushing him down to one knee.

“Virgil!”

Light. 

The space that had been confined was illuminated in a bright white, the cold air of the night brushed past his fingers, and the weight was gone.

The shopworkers scrambled to get out.

Scott sat down with a thump and took a deep breath, feeling it filling his chest, stretching his aching shoulders, holding it for just a moment, before slowly breathing out the tension and relaxing. He’d done it. They were out.

“Hey, Scott.” Virgil put a hand on his shoulder; it was sore, but he welcomed his brother’s reassuring touch anyway. “Not a good idea to rest here, bro. Come on. Everyone’s out, and Two’s got our morning coffee waiting.”

Scott laughed.

“Morning? Was evening when we left the island.”

“Evening hot chocolate then,” Virgil gave him a gentle tug. “Come on, on your feet.”

He helped Scott up and they climbed over the rubble and away from the flashing lights and cameras, back up into Two’s module.

“I’ll clear up,” Virgil offered. “Take a break. You've been up for hours. In fact, get John to fly One back. I'll fly home and you can sleep.”

Scott yawned and looked at his watch. 

“No, the shops will be open in a couple of hours. I'll head to the office, grab a shower and get those orders in, then I can head over to the store-”

“Seriously, Scott? Take a break. We're all having Christmas day off. If you wear yourself out today you're just going to spend it sleeping.” 

“Yeah but I've still got stuff to do.” He ran his hand through his hair. “It's gotta be perfect, you know? Dad-”

“Dad doesn't expect anything other than for you to be there to celebrate with him. Awake. Come on, Scott. You don't have to do everything for him, you know. He's Dad.” “He was stranded in space for eight years, Virgil.”

“Yeah?” his brother started shifting some boxes, replacing tools and supplies that had been dragged out when he’d arrived. Scott leaned back on a crate, watching.

“You can’t act like everything is just going back to the way it was before.” 

“I don’t. I’m well aware of how far he’s progressed with the physio, how far he still has to go, and the physical damage that likely won’t be healed. But he’s still Dad. His mind is still as sharp as ever, and he hasn’t lost any of that determination that he had before.” Virgil grunted, lifting another box. “The problem is, Scott, that you are not letting anything go back to the way it was. He’s capable. He’s already not the same guy you pulled off that rock a few months ago.”

“I know. I’ve read his progress reports too.”

“Do you, though?” Virgil paused in his rearrangement of Two’s hold to stare at Scott. “‘Cause I get the feeling you don’t really believe them, and you’re not going to until you see Dad start to do more.” He shifted another box. “Which you’re not going to see until you slow down a bit and pay attention.”

“Yeah, well,” At a loss for how to argue against that, Scott pushed himself off the crate, stretching and ignoring the crack his shoulder produced. “I’m going to the shops. I’ll be back for bedtime.”

Virgil gave him a disbelieving look.

“I promise. Someone’s gotta go get your disgusting sprouts.”

“Fine. I’ll wait here to fly you home. If you’re not back in five hours I’m going to come get you.”

“You won’t need to.”

“Good. ‘Cause that would be very inconvenient. I still have to add more glitter to the card I’m making for you.”

“Uh, I said no glitter this year! It gets everywhere.”

“Tough. Christmas is sparkly. You shall have sparkles.”

“See you later, Virgil!”

“Five hours.”

Scott threw a wave over his shoulder as he departed for the offices.

A shower, a clean outfit and a coffee later and Scott was feeling… well, tired, if he were honest. But he had an hour to sort the paperwork and three hours to shop before Virgil would be after him.

Of course nothing was that simple, though, because the paperwork he thought he’d completed last week had been bounced back, and he could delegate it, but he wasn’t going to do that to anyone on Christmas Eve. Or Christmas Eve Eve. Still the 23rd here, he reminded himself. It wouldn’t take long.

Two and a half hours later he pushed the last of what he was going to do away and rubbed his eyes. There was more to be done, but it could wait. It might mean a bit of a crunch in the New Year, but he needed to do the shopping.  He needed to make this Christmas perfect for his Dad’s homecoming. 

Whenever John went shopping, it was a precise operation. He would look at the footfall trends, the weather reports and optimise the route to visit the shops he wanted to go to in the order that required the least doubling back. John would never, ever, have ventured into the shops two days before Christmas. Scott had to admit, his brother was onto something.

The crowds jostled and heaved, queues to check out stretched back into stores, blocking access to the shelves. It wasn’t so much that Scott minded crowds, certainly they didn’t bother him as much as they did John, but it was frustratingly inconvenient when he was in a rush.

There were some things he knew he had to get; A few fresh items that he hadn’t remembered to list on the last supply run; (bag of sprouts, some chestnuts, a bunch of fresh sage to make stuffing with,) some Eggnog, and chocolate after dinner mints, (because he’d always liked getting an extra sweet after dessert.)  

As he piled the food into his basket he tried to work out what time he’d have to start cooking in the morning to make sure everything was ready, then decided he’d figure that out later. He was too tired right now. He (eventually) checked out with his purchase and belatedly realised that it would have been far more sensible to leave what he knew he needed until last, because now he had to carry it around while he browsed for gifts.  

Luckily Kayo was easy to shop for; in the weeks leading up to Christmas she would always make sure to leave magazines or website pages open with things she wanted. It was just a matter of “stumbling” on what she had been browsing and coordinating with his brothers to make sure they didn’t all buy the same thing.  This year he had been allocated a kimono wrap style silk top with a turquoise and pink floral print, which he knew he could get from one of the big department stores, because he had actually checked that some time ago with the intention to call in and get it bought early. He hoped there would be something he could get to go with it there too, because he’d always thought it was more exciting to at least have something that was a surprise, even if it was just a pack of sparkly hair bobbles. (Kayo had actually declared that a very thoughtful gift because hair bobbles would frequently vanish.)

May as well start with that, he thought as he wound his way down the street.  He was still lacking a good present for Gordon, and had no idea whatsoever what he should get his Dad. What do you get the guy who both owned an island and had lived with nothing for nearly a decade? He’d had everything and nothing. A box of chocolates just didn’t seem to cut it.

A man in a tophat and tails opened the door for him as he entered and Scott nodded his thanks, giving a smile that was perhaps starting to verge on the side of a grimace. Tables decorated with whimsical Christmas scenes interspersed shelves of nuts, biscuits, chocolates and dried fruits. Further on makeup, bath bombs, soaps… He scanned the goods on display as he wound his way to the clothes department, hoping that inspiration would strike. 

He’d barely reached the silk tops, (stopping only to pick up a jumper for Gordon that he’d spotted on the way,) when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out to see Virgil’s name across the screen.

“It can’t have been-” a glance at the time told him that it had, in fact, been five hours since he’d set off from Two. He did consider ignoring it and pretending that he just hadn’t heard the ringtone in the busy store, but he wouldn’t have put it past his brother to suddenly appear out of the crowd, pick him up and carry him out. He reluctantly swiped to connect the call.

“Hello.”

“Time’s up. Meet me back at Two, I’ll fly you home.”

“I’ve still got to buy a few things…I haven’t checked out here yet. …and I haven’t got Dad anything.”

“Scott, he doesn’t need anything. Just grab him some food. Honestly, he’s still loving anything with a taste, he’ll appreciate it.”

“It just feels so impersonal, you know?” 

“You’re overthinking things again. Seriously. I’ll give you an extra twenty minutes. Look around the store you’re in, grab something that reminds you of Dad, even if it’s just a little toy plane, and come back.”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Twenty. You’ve got to allow time to walk back here and if we don’t leave soon we’ll miss the evening at home, Christmas Eve movie together, remember?”

“..okay.” He hung up and then marched as quickly as he could through the store thinking; something that reminds me of Dad, something that reminds me of Dad…

“You get something?” Virgil asked as Scott came jogging up to Two. 

“Yeah…” Scott ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I did so well on the presents front this year. I should have started thinking about it earlier.”

“Relax Scott. All done now. We should be back before midday, enough time to get a sleep in before tonight. Try to have Christmas off from worrying.” 

Scott frowned as he followed Virgil to the flightdeck and settled into the co-pilot seat and tried to relax for the flight home. He couldn’t help but do a bit of worrying though. Christmas had always been a big deal in the Tracy household; and this was the first time in eight years that his Dad would have a proper one. What if it didn’t live up to the memories? He closed his eyes so Virgil would think he was trying to get some sleep while he ran through the dinner plans in his head again.

—----------------------------------------------

The lights on the tree were multicoloured, because everyone agreed that even though they were rich now, “classy” plain white lights were boring. The only other light was from the projector, playing the first movie of the night. They hadn’t been able to decide between “A Muppet Christmas Carol” and “Die Hard” so it was a back-to-back, with festive drinks and snacks. 

Scott was sitting on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder with Virgil and his Dad. It was warm, the lights were soft, the muppets were singing. His eyes were heavy. 

He couldn’t go to sleep yet. It’s not like he hadn’t grabbed a few hours when they’d gotten back earlier. There were still things to do. Still things he needed to prepare for the morning, presents as yet still unwrapped… 

“Might want to hold off on starting Die Hard, Virgil,” Jeff said softly as the first movie ended.

Virgil looked over to see Scott slumped on his Dad’s shoulder, mouth slightly open, eyes shut and breathing deeply.

“I’d leave him, but he’s not as light as he used to be. And he’s going to get a cricked neck at this rate. We’d better wake him and send him to bed.”

“Don’t wake him. I’ll take him. I’ve done it before.”

Jeff frowned at his son, then raised his eyebrows in surprise as Virgil stood and picked Scott up, with a smooth enough motion that the older brother slept through being moved.

“Does this happen often?” he asked the room at large as he watched Virgil carry Scott out.

“Does Virgil try to pick Scott up and take him to bed? Yes,” Gordon grinned. “Does it work? Most of the time, no.” 

“He normally wakes up, unless he’s very tired,” John clarified.

“Then they have an argument about it. Then Scott goes to bed. Then they make friends again in the morning when they apologise to each other,” Alan added, oblivious to his older brothers shooting him a look that said he could have left the arguing part out.

“I see,” Jeff frowned. The Scott he remembered was meticulous about getting enough sleep; always wanting to make sure he was fit enough for anything the day threw at him. That he didn’t always, well, that was news to him.

Virgil returned a few minutes later, giving a thumbs up.

Good he’s getting some rest now, Jeff thought, that’s something I’ll have to have to deal with. But for now, there were other things to think about. One son asleep, four more to go.

—----------------------------------------------------

“Scott! Santa’s been!” Gordon crashed onto his brother’s bed, no longer a small boy, but a rather heavy man. Scott woke up with a start as he was bounced off the mattress.

“What?! Gordon?” He rubbed his eyes sleepily. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Gordon was grinning at him. “Santa’s been.” He waved a present in his face.

“Santa?” Scott repeated with a sleepy frown.  He didn’t remember coming to bed. In fact he was still wearing his clothes from the night before. He wiggled up onto his elbows and looked down at the foot of his bed. Sure enough, there was a blue gift, wrapped with a silver ribbon, and a label with his name in cursive attached to it.

“Well?” Gordon didn’t grab the present as he so often had in years gone by. This one was for Scott and he knew Scott needed to be the one to pick it up first. 

For what seemed like the longest time to an impatient Gordon, Scott just started at the present, convinced that he was dreaming. Eventually he sat up and crawled to the end of the bed. Picked up the package, running his fingers over the ribbon and re-reading the name on the label. It wasn’t his father’s handwriting - it was Santa’s. It was the same script his Dad had used to disguise his own hand when he took the role.

“Santa’s been,” he whispered. “Santa’s back.” He grinned and opened the present, pulling the ribbon free and ripping the paper off.

A model kit Tiger Moth fell out.

“This was the one I’d asked for when-” the tears started to run down his face, but he was still smiling.

Gordon’s eyes looked a bit glassy too, as he threw his arm over his brother’s shoulders and gave him a hug.

“Hey, shall we wake the others and show them?”

“Wake the… wait, Gordon, what time is it?”

—-----------------------------------------------

The sun was rising, golden light streaming through the windows and sparkling off tinsel and glass, causing the huge Christmas tree to glitter in a rainbow of colour. 

Underneath; a stack of presents, not all of which had been there the night before. 

Scott felt as if he were in a dream. It was the same, but different. Their childhood tree had been half the size, it would have hit the ceiling of their home otherwise. But the years-old paper and dried pasta decorations they had made at school, the over-glittered salt dough shapes they had made with their mom, still hung among the shop bought baubles. There were still candy canes that Alan claimed he didn't touch until Christmas day, yet were always fewer in number than at the start of the month 

He watched as Alan raced Gordon to the tree, sliding on their knees to stop among the presents. John and Virgil followed at a more leisurely place, having already obtained hot drinks. 

Virgil's hair was sticking up funny, and John was wrapped in an interestingly-patterned dressing gown. They were all smiling and laughing, and there was an air of excited anticipation. When was the last time they had tumbled into the living room in PJs to open presents? They’d left that long behind, always putting it off to get dressed first, because really, what was the rush? But now, Scott felt the buzz too, the remembered magic of the morning. His Dad had pulled up a seat with a good vantage point near the tree. He was dressed; smart shirt, not a hair out of place, and sipping his coffee with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

And just for a moment, he looked as he had all those years ago. Scott saw him dark haired and strong, a quiet presence while the rabble of boys dug through gifts, reading labels and pushing parcels to the recipients with enthusiastic calls of “this one's for you!” and “look what I got!” 

“Hey Scott!” Alan slid a present towards him, breaking his reverie. He grinned and forgot about the things he hadn't had time to organise, instead moving over to sit with his brothers and join in. There were gifts from his siblings, a fancy hamper of biscuits, jams, chutneys and chocolate from Lady Penelope, a jumper his grandmother had made, and, for the first time in eight years, a stocking stuffed with little gifts from “Santa”. He ripped the paper off patterned socks, a box of chocolates, a book, a puzzle and a bottle of colour changing bubble bath. Colours were compared, chocolates swapped, advice on puzzles offered and rejected. 

He dished out his gifts to his family, (hastily wrapped after Gordon had woken him), and tried not to squirm a little as he handed his present to his Dad over. 

“Get anything that reminds you of him,” Virgil had said. What had made him think this represented his Dad he had no idea, but it was what it was. 

Jeff opened the parcel to reveal a shirt with flamingos all over it, and laughed, a genuine, happy, surprised laugh.

“Your mother bought me a shirt just like this, when you were a toddler. You loved it. You'd sit on my lap and count the birds. I thought you'd be too small to remember it.” 

“I didn't,” Scott replied in surprise. “Not really. I just saw it and thought of you.” 

“It's perfect. Thank you Scott.” And he meant it.

Scott grinned. He’d really been enjoying the morning, living in the moment with his family, but the sun was getting higher and he knew he had to get on with things.  

“Well, I'd better get to the kitchen,” he looked at his watch, attempting to remember any of the timings he’d worked out on the flight home the day before.  “I think it might be a bit late starting…” 

“It's already started.” Jeff smiled and gave him a wink. “Don't worry, Scott. Santa got everything organised today.” 

“You did?” Scott blinked. “I mean… but… how?”

“I worked out how to survive on a rock for eight years and ran a multinational company for several before that. You think I couldn't figure out how to sneak a few presents home and sort a dinner?” 

Scott turned red. 

“Well, uh… I just thought…” 

Jeff laughed.

“I got some of it prepped yesterday and had a bit of help from Brains before he flew out with setting up the cooking timers. He left a little robot here, that’s quite a help in the kitchen. Honestly, it’s all in hand, and you can help me with dishing up when it’s ready.” He smiled.

“Why don't you go play some games with your brothers? Looks like Alan has a couple of new video games, and Gordon's setting up a chess board there.” 

Scott glanced over. Alan was starting up his console, while Kayo collected controllers and Gordon was carefully pouring something into a set of frosted glasses arranged on a board, while John and Virgil watched. John was seated in the opponent's chair and had a much more serious expression on his face than Virgil who was wearing a face-splitting grin.  

“Shots chess?” Scott realised. “Oh no, who got Gordon that?”  

By the time dinner was ready, both Gordon and John were tipsy, (they had had the sense to stop after one game, after all, Dad was watching), Alan had been permitted a go at the shots chess against Virgil using lemonade and cola, and Scott had found himself caught up in games and laughter and simply forgetting that he’d ever been worrying about how long to cook potatoes for. 

They settled around the big table, to roasted turkey and honeyed ham, crispy potatoes and parsnips, steamed carrots and (in Virgil and John's case) sprouts. There was sparkling wine to drink, pudding with brandy cream, for afterwards. Finally, they settled around the lounge with coffees and the after-dinner mints, allegedly to watch a movie, but in reality, to doze after having eaten slightly too much food. 

There was a pleasant lull in the afternoon; a pause where each member of the family took themselves off to have a bit of space and quiet. They knew they would come together again later, and it was in companionable silence that they arrayed themselves about the place each absorbed in their own task. John and Alan had stretched out at either end of a sofa, leaning back on the cushions, legs tangled, new Christmas socks on display.  The only noise coming from either of them was the flutter of paper as they occasionally turned a page in their respective books. Gordon and Kayo had gone for a walk, insisting that exercise helps with digestion. (John had claimed that it did nothing if you waited through a two-hour movie after dinner before you went for the walk, but was threatened to a rematch at shots chess instead, and so had conceded the point.) 

Virgil was painting on the mezzanine, trying out a set of metallic paints he had received. Scott had settled himself nearby, dragging a table into position and tipping out and sorting the parts of his kit airplane. 

He glanced down over the balcony railing to see his father sitting at his desk with a newspaper folded on his lap, and some magazines arranged before him. He was chatting softly with Grandma. It looked like they might be doing a crossword. Scott smiled, as a long-forgotten memory resurfaced of the pair of them doing word puzzles from time to time. 

Everyone was content, and calm. Scott returned to his model, concentrating on the immediate task, warm in the knowledge everyone was safe and happy and home. 

—-------------------------------

The sun set over the sea, and the stars appeared in the clear night sky. 

Scott found himself standing on the balcony outside, with a glass of whisky in hand, the salty ocean breeze mingling with the scents of the trees, and the lingering smells of pudding and cinnamon wafting from inside. Virgil was playing the piano, happily taking the requests that were thrown at him. There were a few old favourites, some classics and an ill-fated attempt at converting this year's viral Christmas hit into something that could be played on the piano. 

He took a deep breath, drinking in the scents, the sounds, the sight of the lights reflected on the pool below. It was only now he'd had time to reflect on the day he'd realised just how much he'd needed this. To let go, to be a child again. And it had been good, really good. It had, he realised, been perfect, without him obsessing over getting everything just right.

His dad joined him on the balcony, glass in hand. 

“Merry Christmas,” he raised his glass and took a sip. Scott did too, acknowledging the toast.

They stood in silence for a few moments more, his father enjoying the same sensations.

“When I was out there,” he tilted his glass towards the stars, “for a while, I thought it was the pageantry of Christmas that I missed. The lights, the colours, the food.” He shook his head. “It wasn't, really. It was seeing you and your brothers have fun.”

“It really has been. Fun, I mean. And I can't remember the last time-” he suddenly realised what he was saying and shut his mouth, then gave his Dad an awkward smile. “I hope you've had a good day too?”

Jeff laughed and clapped his son on the shoulder. 

“I've had a great day. Do you know how long it's been since I've gotten to order other people around?” He grinned. “I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of getting all this sorted without you noticing. And to see it all come together…” He gave a short laugh. “It's so refreshing, working things out again.” 

“I thought you'd have had enough of working things out, after…well you know.” Scott nodded up towards the sky. 

“There was a lot to work out there, sure, to start with,” Jeff leaned on the balcony, next to his son and looked up at the stars. “I had to figure out how to make things work, how to get sustainable food, water, power…” He shrugged. “...and then one day I'd done it. Got everything working, everything running on cycles. Got a routine. And then that's what I did, day in, day out for years. I tried to keep my mind active, of course, drew stuff, wrote things. But actually using the skills I enjoy to organise, to face a new challenge. That's something I've not done in a long time.” He smiled at Scott. “To be perfectly honest a lot of the time I was pretty bored.” 

Scott smiled in amused surprise.

“I guess I thought you were working every second, up there.”

“It was pretty quiet.” He took a sip of his drink and then gave Scott a sideways look. “I missed working with others too. Letting them take some of the burden. Collaborating. Delegating.” 

Scott huffed a gentle laugh. 

“That wasn't subtle.” 

“Subtlety was never my strong suit. Virgil told me whenever you weren't sure what to do, you'd ask yourself what I'd have done.” 

Scott mumbled something about interfering brothers. 

Jeff laughed. 

“Well for the most part, you got it right, Scott. You've achieved more than I could have ever imagined. But you got one bit wrong…” 

Scott felt his stomach drop. What had he done wrong? 

“I never even tried to take all that on my own.”

“...But you built the company from the ground up, got it going-”

“With help. Your mother's for a start. Who do you think was earning a living when I was starting out? She loved her work, yes, but even so, I wouldn't have sat at home trying to launch a business if she hadn't agreed to it. And if it hadn't been for your grandparents helping to look after you boys, well it would have never worked. And even away from family, I had a budget to get things off the ground, and that included things like paying for an accountant to help with bookkeeping when necessary… and do you think I made the website alone? I mean, I had a go, but it looked like someone had made it at the kitchen table.” He patted his son's shoulder again. “I'm not superman, son.” 

“Oh. I just, I guess I'd never thought about that.” 

They settled on the balcony, a comfortable silence passing between them while they reflected on the past. 

Scott became aware of his Grandma requesting a song. Virgil launched into “Rocking around the Christmas tree,” and she started to sing, then his brothers joined in. He smiled to himself, memories of them all singing as his mother played the piano so many years before.

“You should be CEO again,” he blurted out.

“Scott, when I said you needed to ask for help, I didn't mean I wanted to take over from you. You've been doing an excellent job and I don't want to take that away from you.”

“No, I want you to.” Scott swirled his whisky around in his glass, watching the liquid spin close to the edge. “I really hate meetings.” He gave a half smile. “And I seem to remember you quite enjoyed them.” 

Jeff wondered if that was a dig at the family meetings he'd call whenever he was trying to work out which boy was responsible for the latest mischief. 

“I thought when you came back that things had changed too much to go back to how they had been. You'd been through so much, and we've all grown up… heck, the world is different in some ways too.” He furrowed his brow in thought. “And I don't think it will go back, not exactly, not to how it was before. And I think that's why I wasn't letting anything go back at all. I think I was scared because it wouldn't be exactly the same as before, it would be like, I dunno… grasping at trying to relive those days and then finding it coming up short. But I'm not scared of that anymore.” 

“What changed?” 

Scott grinned.

“Santa came back. And it wasn't the same but it didn’t matter that it was different. I still felt those feelings again, the excitement of a bit of magic in the air.” 

Jeff grinned.

“I was a bit worried you'd think it was a foolish old man trying to relive your childhood.” 

“No. It felt…happy. I feel happy.” Scott visibly relaxed, his shoulders softening and giving a contented sigh. 

“So… you really want me to take over TI?” 

“Yep.” 

He considered it for a few moments. 

“You know, I think I'd like that. I don't think I had even thought about the fact I could go back, really.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“We’ll work something out, together. But for tonight let’s just enjoy ourselves. Come on, I want to join the others.”

The group at the piano had gotten to the end of the song and belted out at the top of their lungs:

“Everyone dancing merrily, in the new, old-fashioned wayyyyyy!”

Scott grinned as his father went inside.

“Here's to doing things in the new old-fashioned way.” He took a drink, gave the starscape one last look, and followed his Dad inside to be with his family.

[astranite]

Joy Where We Find It

John and Scott send each other photos of cats they find. It's a love language.

There's so much fluff here. This started with a delightful discussion with the wonderful @edutainer2022:

"Oh, now I think sending cat pics is a John and Scott thing. John is pretty much a human shaped ginger cat. Cat pics are his love language Scott gets and appreciates. Scott sees more live cats planetside on IR rescues and Teacy Industries trips - and snaps cats for John. But Scott is pretty much a cheetah himself- a large lithe cat, built for speed. John gets what many don't about big brother. And sends him cats."

---

Scott crouched down, wiggling his fingers and making clicky noises towards the ball of fluff and whiskers he could see peering at him from beneath the bench, heedless of the other people surrounding him on the sidewalk. If the kitty could just come a little closer, he could snap a picture on his phone before reluctantly making the return journey to back the the office. 

He placed his freshly fetched keep cup full of coffee down on the bench, stretching out a hand and reminding himself to wait patiently for the cat to come to him. That was something that had taken him a while to learn until John clued him in. Cats were like John, really, or John was pretty much a human shaped ginger cat: both preferred to be given time to chose to make the approach themselves rather than suddenly having their space invaded, no matter how well meaningly.

Taking the moment was rewarded when the cat curiously peeked out and wandered towards him, tail held up with the tip curled over. It was covered in a delightful mess of ginger, black and white, like a little brother had splodged paint all over it. Scott smothered a laugh. There had been that one time with Virgil and their childhood cat…

Moving slowly, he pulled his phone out of his suit pants pocket and took a photo, flicking it off to John with a smile. 

--

John kicked off the wall of Thunderbird Five’s hub, rippling the holograms beneath his feet. He turned another backwards flip, with a dual purpose of revelling in the sensation of the movement and keeping himself occupied in the lulls between calls.

A new message pinged and he immediately twisted around then dispersed his momentum by delicately colliding with a different wall to read it.

-Scott Tracy: Kitty cat for you Jay!!!!!

The attached image of a calico cat had John grinning. 

Before he had a chance to reply, another message came through of a close of of the cat’s whiskered face with Scott’s hand in the frame rubbing around its ears. John could practically hear the contented purring. 

-John Tracy: Awwwwww a sweetheart!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, that was exactly the number of exclamation marks he needed to express his joy and make sure Scott knew it. 

Overtime, sending pictures of cats back and forth to each other had become one of their things and it delighted them both. It meant they got to share so many moments with each other, even far apart, and it was often the beginning of more conversations, even if they had to happen in five minute bursts between busy moments. It was a way of showing they remembered and cared for and were thinking of the other. A love language all of its own. Plus, cats!

Scott saw more live cats up close because he was planetside on IR rescues and for TI, but when John was down he made up for it with tours of the world’s universities he got to lecture at by their cat populations he befriended. 

His brother could be rather cat-like too, more of a large, lithe cheetah built for speed. Or a house moggy with a propensity for climbing the walls and always finding the highest place possible to perch, no matter how impossible it seemed to get to. John shared in that too, they were both often found on the rooftops, stargazing or sunning themselves, with a large hat and extraordinary amounts of sunscreen especially in John’s case, but he wasn’t going to let Scott get cooked either.

On occasion, Scott did also get the mad, dash around the house, hyperactive zoomies of a cat, where he couldn’t possibly sit still. It was always delightful when Scott let himself mess around and lean into it.

One of John’s favourite memories as a kid was of him and Scott curled up together, practically on top of each other in a nest of blankets with books of all sorts and many toy planes within reach. Mum had come in and snapped a photo of them, laughing fondly, “Like cats in a basket!”

He probably had the photo around here somewhere, he’d downloaded a lot of their childhood photos to Five’s memory banks as well as the data storage on the island. He hadn’t seen it in years. With Eos’ help, he found it in a few minutes. He did have to explain to her why he was blinking away tears as they welled up in his eyes as he’d forgotten how he and Scott had been wearing matching blue pyjamas covered in stars because they’d both been going through a phase of wanting to have the exact same things as the other so as to not be left out.

He sent it off to Scott.

-John Tracy: Cat basket :)

Bubbles signifying typing disappeared and reappeared as Scott on the other side of the world figured out what to say. John gave Scott the same patience he gave to him when John was gathering his words for the exact ones he wanted to say.

-Scott Tracy: Next time we are both home? If you want.

-John Tracy: Of course. When you get back, I’ll take the elevator down for the weekend.

He could cuddle up with Scott and take a moment to just be together. It was well past time they did, it always got to this point which they really needed do something about.

Suddenly the only place John wanted to be was curled into Scott’s side, with a good book and maybe some hot chocolate for them both too, surrounded by as many blankets as they could find.

Scott sent through another burst of photos of the cat from before, including a few selfies of it sitting in his lap, snuggled up to him. He was grinning happily and that was worth the world, no matter the cat hair on navy blue suiting nor the coffee that was doubtless half cold and nearly forgotten.

John loved his brother so much. He kicked off another celebratory flip, joy sparking brightly as a glowing star in the centre of his chest.

[gumnut-logic]

Okay

Have a little FishTank with a background of pissed off Scotty.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight for all her help on this and for putting up with my crazy as usual :D

It was supposed to be something and this is what happened. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

-o-o-o-

Virgil rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of the elevator and into the comms room. He wasn’t surprised to find Scott’s commander persona firmly and concisely flaying someone via hologram at the main desk. Virgil had no doubt that several heads would roll after this incident.

But he would field Scott later. Besides it was fair to let the person responsible reap their rewards.

A pissed off Commander Scott Tracy was a weapon of precise destruction.

For the moment, Virgil had two aims. He rolled his shoulders again. Maybe three. Some paracetamol wouldn’t hurt alongside the coffee.

Both would be needed to tackle his main priority.

His little brother Gordon.

Those four words made it hurt even more.

Because Gordon was his little brother and when some asshole threatened the Fish - no matter how adult his brother would ever be, he would always be their Little Fish - and then had the nerve to physically assault Gordon…

Virgil beat down his anger. Anger wasn’t what he needed right now. Scott had enough to cover the entire family and then some. What Virgil needed was to be calm and centred so he could be there for Gords.

Because despite having the military background, the tough exterior, and a strength of will that continued to stun Virgil with its ferocity, Gordon was…

Hell, he was Virgil’s little brother and while Scott eviscerated those responsible, Virgil had to make sure he was okay.

Beyond the obvious physical injuries.

The anger had to be stomped on again.

He jogged down the kitchen stairs and grabbed the paracetamol out of the medical kit stashed under the sink. He chugged it down with some coffee, probably hotter than it should be for the meds, but he needed both so that’s what he worked with.

Gords was lying on one of the loungers by the pool. It was odd to see him out there but not actually in the water. The sling holding a broken arm, the concussion, and black eye, hidden by convenient sunglasses, were reason enough.

As with all of Gordon’s injuries in the field, Virgil was fully prepared to find a way to enable his brother to get back into the pool as soon as possible.

It was a survival instinct, after all. A Fish out of water tended to be flammable and explosive - Virgil liked their villa in one piece and minus the pranks born of boredom or frustration.

But it would be a couple of days at least before Gordon could be let into the pool this time. The broken arm was fine, it was the head injuries that weren’t conducive to swimming.

Virgil stared out at his little brother a moment while downing the remains of his coffee. Food was likely out of the question, but Gords might be able to manage a light drink, get some simple sugars and energy into him.

Turning back to the kitchen, he rustled up some tropical fruit juices, coconut cream and ice, dropping a splash of cranberry into the mostly yellow and orange concoction. A small smile and Virgil dug out one of his brother’s little cocktail umbrellas to give it the Gordon-pizazz it required.

He even made one for himself, put both of them on a tray, along with a small bowl of brightly coloured barley sugars.

Holding the tray steady, Virgil stepped softly out onto the patio and bee-lined casually in his brother’s direction.

The dark sunglasses glanced up. “Virg, I’m fine.”

Virgil ignored him, sliding the tray onto the small table next to Gordon. Not saying anything at all, Virgil grabbed the nearest empty lounger and dragged it over, dumping himself into it with a sigh.

He claimed his drink and fiddled with the umbrella. They reminded him of his fish brother, they really did.

And the drink was cool on his coffee-blasted throat.

Nothing was said for a long moment.

“Scott toasting the GDF?” Gordon didn’t even look at Virgil.

“More like roasting, after skinning and gutting.”

“Perhaps we should put warning labels on our uniforms. Warning: Commander will go medieval on your ass if you ever lay a finger on any member of International Rescue.”

“Family.”

Gordon groaned. “Way to serious a perfectly good pun, bro.”

Virgil shrugged and his shoulders ached. “It was a serious incident.”

“Yeah.” The word was mostly breath and ever so resigned. His brother looked away, out towards the sea.

“How are you feeling?”

A sigh. “As I said, I’m fine.”

Virgil sipped at his drink. “You don’t look fine.”

Gordon shifted where he sat. “What do you expect?”

“No expectations.”

His brother scoffed and turned back to looking at the ocean. There was nothing but breeze, birds and the waves for a very long moment.

“No, I didn’t expect it all.”

“Expect what?”

“The good guy to be such an asshole.”

Virgil didn’t comment, sipping his drink and waiting…

“They are supposed to help us. Supposed to be us. I didn’t expect him to do that. I would never put my life above so many. I’m in this because I believe in what we do!” Gordon’s uninjured arm was pointing and gesticulating not unlike their biggest brother inside. Virgil was often struck by how Scott and Gordon were so similar, yet so different. “We are the ones with the skills, the equipment and the vow to do everything we can to help people out of dangerous situations. There were families, Virg! Little kids! And he was willing to sacrifice them all.”

“You did good, Gords, you know that.”

“I should have done better.” Gordon’s good hand balled into a fist. “I should have seen it coming. Should have seen beyond the uniform. Should have hit him harder!”

Virgil turned on the lounger and let his feet touch the concrete so he could reach over and place a hand on Gordon’s leg. “You did everything you possibly could. None of us expected betrayal, much less from the GDF.” He drew in a breath. “It will be fixed.”

Gordon scoffed. “Of course, it will be fixed. With both Scott and John on their asses, they’ll be lucky there is any GDF left by the time they’re finished.” Gordon wilted just a little. “I hate it when you guys have to do that. Scott doesn’t need any more grey hairs, and Johnny shouldn’t have to skirt the law. I should have handled it better.”

Virgil stared at his little brother. “What John does with the law is not your responsibility.” Though Virgil would need to check on his space brother. John was as pissed as Scott. Maybe they should have a movie night tonight with all the junk food to go with it. Drag John down, corner Scott, and get the lot of them to sit down and take a breather. A few hugs would definitely not go astray either. Some reassurance that Gords was still here. “And Scott is going to kick ass regardless. That GDF officer had no right to intervene on our rescue and then to put his life above all the others he was meant to save…” Virgil let the sentence hang and he fought down his rage and outrage again. He swallowed. “You did what you always do, Gordon.” His eyes latched onto those dark sunglasses. “You did us proud.”

The sunglasses stared at him a moment. “You okay?”

“I will be.” Once his brothers were okay.

“Virg?”

Virgil slid off the lounger and onto his knees, holding his arms out a little. “C’mere.”

Gordon rolled his eyes, but smiled as Virgil enveloped him in a hug.

It was for Virgil as much as Gordon.

To find a GDF officer on the train carriage had been a blessing at first. The man had taken charge, liaised with IR, and set people at ease. But once IR made it onto the scene and Gordon, and the rescue rig, arrived to start getting people out, the man has changed.

Sure, it was a perilous situation and yes, the train could have dropped any moment despite Two securing it with grapples. But nothing excused the man’s conduct.

He had thrown fellow passengers aside and demanded to be rescued first. Gordon, of course, said no. IR had its priorities and not only was the man a trained GDF officer, but fit and healthy, and, if the emergency became more dire, he would be more likely to survive a more physical rescue attempt. Unlike the elderly and the children on that train.

And hell, the man had taken a pledge to serve and protect.

None of them had expected anger from the man, much less physical violence. He grappled with Gordon, determined to board the rescue rig first.

Gordon was well trained and an expert in self defence. However, the dynamics changed when you were hanging over an empty chasm that ended in certain death.

Gordon was thrown from the train and it was one of the worst moments in Virgil’s life. Yes, his brother was tethered, thank god, but the carriage was precarious, moving with the sudden change in weight distribution, and tangling with the safety line. Both Gordon and the rig had been dragged down with the train, forcing Two to compensate. Alerts screamed as the grapples securing the carriage strained with the sudden shift.

Virgil’s voice still ached from his yelling his brother’s name.

And the lack of an answer.

It had been Virgil who shimmied down the rescue rig cable, desperate to locate Gordon with John worrying in his ears.

He had found his brother upside down with a massive dent in the side of his helmet, faceplate cracked, unconscious.

Virgil retrieved and secured him in the rescue rig.

Then it was Virgil who had to face the rogue GDF officer. Virgil, who was considered the gentle giant who wouldn’t hurt a soul.

Virgil, who physically picked up the yelling man and, despite his struggles, strapped him into the rescue rig in a very specific unable-to-move way. Hence the aching shoulders and the bruises.

Twenty people were rescued from that train, the very last barely making it out as gravity and wind finally took their toll and John was forced to release Two, or lose them all.

Most of them were injured in some way, but none as much as his little brother.

The GDF officer spent the rest of the ride strapped in the rescue rig in Module Two.

Virgil managed to not say a single word to the man the entire time.

Gordon woke up swearing, halfway to the hospital, and didn’t let up until the doctors let him go under Virgil’s supervision several hours later.

Debrief had been explosive. Scott livid, John tight lipped and furious, Virgil…

He pulled his little brother in just that little bit tighter.

“Oof, Virg, I’m okay.” But Gordon didn’t let go.

Virgil released him a little, but rested his head on his brother’s non-injured shoulder and closed his eyes.

And tried to convince himself of Gordon’s words.

-o-o-o-

[skeefee-sky]

'False silent treatment.'

@thunder-tober Day prompt: 8 / Alt prompt!: Silence Characters: Virgil Tracy, Thunderbird Two, (Scott Tracy) Word count: 620

Ignore the fact I went over 600 words with this one, shhhh >w> Multiple maintenance checks, and Virgil always overlooks the one thing that’s wrong with his Thunderbird. Having been so used to her silence, he might have forgotten her sentience made her vocal.

💙💚TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB 💚💙

His maintenance checks weren’t always made-up excuses, like some of his brothers thought.

Virgil was just particularly cautious when it came to his Thunderbird, even more so now that she was sentient. He might not have known how her new systems worked, but he always made sure to check up on her, just in case.

There was a routine. Virgil would come down to the hangars, humming, sometimes broken notes or a song he’d heard in passing. He’d run a diagnostic scan, then get to what needed fixing. Thunderbird Two remained in craft-mode on day one – she needed a refuel, and a recharge after those back-to-back rescues. Her pilot would ask her things, but she’d merely rumble back in response. Virgil never questioned it in the beginning. He didn’t know what was really wrong…

The second day both Scott and Virgil had come down to the hangars; eldest brother apologising profusely to the heavy lifter. They’d been blind sighted in the sky, and both Thunderbirds had managed to swing into each other; One almost being knocked out of the sky, and Two receiving a large scrape along her side that had stripped paint. Virgil kept insisting it was neither of their faults, but Scott knew how he felt about his craft, and still was guilty about it. Virgil had taken up a roller brush and a large tin of green paint to cover the scrape, looking over his ‘bird carefully.

“I know it’s not causing you any pain but, you’re not usually this quiet, Thunderbird Two,” he observed, prepping the brush. “Has, something else happened? … Did you and Thunderbird One have an argument?”

He knew that wasn’t true – the silver rocket wasn’t sentient. But as he waited for a response from his craft, his expression dropped a little when all he got was a rumble from her systems.

“Huh, not feeling up to chatting again? No worries; shouldn’t take me long to fix this.”

On the third day, it had become obvious that something was wrong. He’d come down every day since to check on her again, and it was still the same thing. Entering the hangar today, Virgil found Thunderbird Two finally transformed, sitting up near the module-storage with her arms resting over her midsection. Her pilot approached cautiously.

“I know you haven’t been ignoring me these past couple of days,” he started softly, feeling golden-orange optics scan over him. “What’s going on, Two? Why haven’t you tried to tell me?”

She lifted a hand, making sure he looked up, and pointed to her neck, mouthing what looked like ‘I can’t’ before giving him a small shrug. Brown eyes acknowledged her quizzically.

“Something wrong in-…? Wait, no… God, I wish I knew exactly how you worked…” Virgil rubbed the side of his head, unsure of what she’d tried to tell him. He had an idea, but-… If she were human, he’d assume maybe she had a sore throat, and had lost her voice. But then-… He looked up again to hear the Thunderbird tapping a finger against the insignia on her chest – a sound to get his attention – then pointed to her neck again, mouthing another word.

Malfunction.

“Vocal malfunction?” her pilot pieced together, and Thunderbird Two nodded. Virgil scoffed at himself. “Of course; I should have known that…! Sorry Two. Can’t believe I overlooked it so often-!”

As he made his way into the module-storage to find some tools, Thunderbird Two watched him go with a fond smile. She couldn’t blame him for not being quick to observe what was wrong, they’d all had a lot on their minds lately. In the end, she’d managed to get attention to it, and her silence would finally be broken.

[loopstagirl]

Midnight Snack

Just a bit of brotherly fluff for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt this week.

Word count: 1000

Scott’s senses were tingling.

With a groan, he threw back the covers and rolled from bed. There was no point trying to go back to sleep now. His brothers always mocked him for his ability to just know when something was wrong, but that didn’t stop them from listening to those same instincts when it suited them.

This wasn’t a collapsing building sort of wrong, though. It was much closer to home.

He padded out of his room on silent feet, not pausing to grab a top. The island was hotter than usual, and he welcomed any breeze he could find.

He pushed open Virgil’s door. A deep snore was his only hint there was someone in the bed. Despite the heatwave, Virgil was still buried under his covers, just the top of his head poking out. Smiling, Scott retreated and shut the door.

Alan was the opposite. Limbs splayed in all directions and lying on top of the covers. His head was thrown back, mouth open, but he, too, was fast asleep. Scott couldn’t resist watching the rise and fall of his chest for a few moments, finding it soothing. But it wasn’t Alan who needed him.

Habit made him open John’s door. Of course, the room was empty. Hovering in the doorway, he touched his watch, sending the faintest vibration up to space. If John was awake, he’d answer. If not, he wouldn’t feel it.

Nothing. His space-bound brother was also lot in dreams, although Scott prayed they were good ones after the few days they’d had.

He didn’t bother checking Gordon’s room. He didn’t need to now he knew the other three were resting. Instead, he stole downstairs, glancing into the lounge as he did so. The automatic lights were off around the pool: Gordon wasn’t out there, either. However sneaky he tried to be, he couldn’t get around the sensors – which was the exact reason their dad had installed them in the first place.

There was a light on, however. It wasn’t really a surprise it was coming from the kitchen. Scott nudged open the door, blinking in the soft glow. Gordon was sat on a bar stool, head resting in his hands, slumped against the table. He didn’t give any sign that he’d heard his big brother, but Scott knew he had. It was harder to sneak up on Gordon than him – and that was saying something.

He slipped onto the seat opposite, waiting. He didn’t say anything, knew he didn’t have to. It took a good ten minutes before Gordon lifted his head. He looked exhausted, red-rimmed eyes and dark bags betraying how much sleep he hadn’t been getting. But more than that, he looked miserable.

“Tell me,” Scott said softly. His tone was a mixture of command and plea, knowing Gordon needed to let whatever it was off his chest.

“It’s just…” Gordon breathed deeply for a few moments. But then he pushed himself into a more upright position and looked Scott in the eye. “So many rescues, lately. Do we even make a difference?”

Scott smiled gently. Gordon was always the lightest of sleepers out of all of them, and no doubt the heat had been keeping him up despite the tiredness caused by the rescues. But while exhaustion may have given voice to his words, it hadn’t planted that thought. Who knew how long this had been bugging Gordon?

“168,” Scott said. Gordon blinked.

“Huh?”

“168 people. That’s how many we’ve had contact with over the last two weeks. Sure, some of them would’ve been fine without us. But you know a lot wouldn’t have been. Especially those fires.”

“168,” Gordon repeated softly. “That’s how many we’ve-,” he trailed off, as if saying it was just too big.

Scott nodded. “Saved, yes. And 38 were you alone when you got that trawler to safety.”

“Well, Virgil-,”

“Gave you a lift there, and that was it. You saved those people, Gordon. You let them go home to their families and loved ones that night. Why don’t you ask them if we make a difference?”

Gordon managed a weak smile. But a shadow was shifting in his eyes. This wouldn’t be the end of it: the next hard spell would bring those same doubts back, for Gordon, or any of the others. But for now, Scott hoped that nightmare had been put to rest for the time being.

He stood up. Gordon looked surprised.

“That’s it? You’re going?”

“While my bed is calling me, no,” Scott said. He crossed the room, grabbing a couple of spoons before opening the freezer. The kitchen tiles were bliss on his bare feet. “There’s something we both need more than sleep right now.”

He heard Gordon shift behind him as he rummaged to the back.

“I’m not in the mood for a beer.”

Scott shot a scathing look over his shoulder. “Since when do we keep beer in the freezer?”

He pulled out his prize, dumping it on the table between them and passing over a spoon. Gordon’s eyes lit up.

“Chocco-chunk,” he half-moaned. “I thought Al had eaten it all.”

Scott winked. “I hid it the last time he was raiding the freezer.”

It was already half eaten. Gordon wasn’t the first to need an emergency sweet treat lately, and Virgil had helped him make a good dent in the ice cream last week.

As Gordon attacked it, smacking his lips in delight at the ice-cold sensation, Scott smiled and prised some out for himself. He wasn’t generally a big ice-cream eater – that was John – but there was something about a middle of the night crisis session where it was the only thing that would do.

As the coldness melted on his tongue and he felt his entire body temperature drop, Scott relaxed. Gordon’s shoulders had softened, his posture had straightened, and the look in his eye gave away Scott wouldn’t be getting much more if he didn’t hurry up.

In other words, back to normal.

[edutainer2022]

Another story to tide me over through a blackout. Scott has a DNR and it nearly reaches a breaking point for everyone, but mostly for John. It's a Scott and John story, but Gordon has an important feature too.

Thank you, as ever, to @janetm74 for all the amazing support!

WHERE THERE'S A WILL

The doctors were considerate, compassionate even, given the family status and the scale of impending global and personal tragedy, but insistent - a decision needed to be made. Scott needed to be taken off the vent and if respiratory functions didn't resume, well... The hospital management were as discreet as possible, but the telltale glee was hard to hide when the doctors regarded "organ donor" on the esteemed patient's chart. A Christmas come early - Scott Tracy was young and extremely fit, and, of course, eager to save as many lives as possible as his last ever feat. It was the family's call.

Virgil seemed to barely hear the honeyed drone about a noble purpose of a life lived in service. His focus was on Scott exclusively - biggest brother's pale face and a limp hand, clutched in his both.

"Come back to us, Scotty! C'mon, don't leave me! Don't go!"

Grandma reclused herself from judgement, suddenly looking paper thin and frail, and every bit her advanced age, full of loss. She concentrated on keeping Alan from the worst of it.

Gordon raged and raved at the doctors. Scott would NEVER give up. Neither would they! Then Gordon raged and raved at a still, lifeless Scott, till completely exhausting himself and curling on the edge of the hospital bed.

Kayo and Brains were silent ghosts at the perifery of the unthinkable discussions. So were Penelope and Parker. It wasn't their place to decide, but it would be their loss to grieve a lifetime.

John knew. He felt like the tethers keeping him planted on solid earth were snapping and he was floating into the cold, dark infinity of space - lightheaded and nauseous. Detached and numb to everything. Because he knew. Attached to Scott's will was a DNR clause. Biggest brother didn't want to go on like that. To be a burden of failed hope. Always all too eager to race beyond the horizon. To follow Dad and meet Mom...

John knew, so he spoke up - for his brother couldn't. And just like that he felt the tether snap.

Virgil growled "NO!" and just clutched Scott's hand tighter. Grandma cried, for the first time in many years. Kayo steered Alan away and looked back at John like she was going to hunt him down and lurk in shadows later. Gordon raged and raved, for a good reason this time. He spat out names John didn't even contest and vowed to disown John if he went ahead with pulling the plug. Then he stormed out.

Brains looked at him like he'd killed MAX.

John felt about ready to disown himself. But he stood his ground - that was Scott's call, not theirs.

Deep down John understood. His own darkest fear had always been the loss of self. But it did little to feel better about loosing the beloved brother. The one thing worse was feeling like he was killing the beloved brother. Maybe more than one, if Virgil's reaction was anything to go by. Definitely more than one, for John knew he wasn't coming back from that.

***

The one thing Scott was apparently unable to do ever was ignore the brothers' pleas. He breathed. The dam broke then. The hospital bedside was a mayhem of happy hugs and happier tears, and cheers. The nurses had to shush the rowdy, extatic bunch down.

The Tinies flung themselves at Scott's still motionless, quiet form. Virgil never left his side, just adjusted the grip of the hand.

John bolted. He barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. And then broke down completely, his knees buckling and sobs raking his whole frame. Grandma hunted him down later with a reassuring ruffle of copper hair and a lopsided squeeze of the bony shoulder. But John could barely look her in the eyes. He wasn't sure how he could ever live with himself again.

Scott still had a long way to go, however, from an unassisted breath to consciousness. Anxious tension hung in the air and John was feeling every inch of the taut rope.

***

Scott had been in and out of it for several days. Each movement of eyelids or a slightest shift of the fingers - an effort. There was never fewer than one family member by his side, within reach. Sometimes several at once, somebody curled up over his covers, somebody holding on to his hand or carding carefully through his hair. But never once did his waking window focused on a much missed lanky ginger figure.

Until that one moment, around lunchtime, when the private hospital suite was otherwise deserted. Murky blue eyes, still groggy and unfocused, landed on the tall frame folded almost in two, kneeling by the bedside.

John had his whole face pressed into the brother's knuckles, clutching them fervently. Dried out tear tracks seemed to have been staining his face for some time. Rugged stubble shadowed the usually clean cheeks.

Scott's fingers shifted lightly, tenderly, to brush his brother's face.

"Hey!"

Scott's voice was raspy, barely a whisper. John started, dropped Scott's hand like he was burned, and nearly jumped away to the window.

"You're awake! I'll go get Virgil!"

John was mumbling and stumbling over simple words, which he never did, normally.

Scott's brow frowned, clearly upset.

"Don't go, 'ohnny. Long time no see."

John's fingers fidgeted, he did his best to avoid the blue, tracking him relentlessly, if with strain.

Fingers, thinned after a long coma, beckoned the spaceman feebly.

"Grandma told me. Thank you!"

John keened and shrunk away.

"Don't!!! You can't! You should hate me!"

He stopped screaming only having noticed Scott winced.

"I pulled the plug! I nearly murdered you! How can you forgive me?!"

John's own voice cracked and tears were streaming liberally.

Scott turned his hand palm up, prompting his brother to connect again. His voice was small, but earnest.

"You fought for my choice, Johnny. Nobody ever did."

The sound John made at the back of his throat was pure pain. For everything Scott was meaning. A flash of ginger across the room and John was sprawled across big brother's chest, bawling his heart out. Scott lifted his arm against fatigue to hold his brother closer.

John gulped down a choking sob and lifted his face to be level with Scott's gaze.

"That was a one time thing, brother. Don't make me do it again! I can't!"

"Johnny, please..."

"No!"

John's eyes were glassy, almost manic.

"No! Listen to me, Scotty! If it were me, or Virgil, or Allie, would you give up?"

"Never!"

Scott's answer came as naturally as a breath.

"Right! You'd hope for a miracle till the end. And then you'd make it happen. So will we!"

John's voice grew steadier by the second.

"Brains, and I, and Eos - we'll push the edge. We'll think of something nobody has ever imagined before! You deserve nothing less than a miracle!"

Blue eyes were glistening with a sheen of moisture too, by then. John rested his cheek over big brother's heart, exhausted.

The door opened and Gordon slipped in, taking in the scene before him. The ginger's back tensed and Scott shifted a pointed gaze up at the Fish. Gordon perched on the other side of the bed and reached to rub a circle over John's shoulder blades, before reaching to clasp Scott's hand.

"It's okay. We're good! We ARE!"

John visibly relaxed and Scott closed his eyes, spent by the turmoil.

Gordon flopped himself over John's prone form, wrapping both brothers in a true squid hug.

Scott was out like a light, breathing calm and even, by the time all others trickled back into the ward quietly, adding layers to the Tracy pile.

[scribbles97]

The Nightmare Come True

A direct result of This Fic of @loopstagirl 's. I'm afraid to say it spiralled into something much larger than planned and there may or may not be a Part 2 lurking. TW: POW

“Daddy!” Alan’s wide blue eyes shone bright in the snowy landscape, “When’s Scotty comin’ home?”

Jeff gaped, trying to reach out for his youngest only to find he was just out of reach downhill from where he stood. 

“He’s not.” Virgil appeared, hunched up under a tree off to Jeff’s right, the snow mounded up all around him, “Dad sent him to the Air Force and he’s not coming home.”

“No,” He found himself answering, “I-- I didn’t.”

He hadn’t forced him to go, it had all been Scott’s choice. 

Hadn’t it?

To his left, Alan screamed, begging for Jeff to bring him back, for his Scotty to come home. 

To his right, Virgil continued to rant, “He just wanted to make you proud, he just wanted to do everything just like you, he just had to follow your footsteps.”

Jeff shook his head, unsure of which son to turn to first, which to beg more forgiveness of. He knew he hadn’t been there enough and had been trying to do better, to be the father they deserved. He had stepped up so Scott could step back and be the teenager he should have been. He’d taken the interest he should have in all of their hobbies, supported them in their aspirations, encouraged them to make their dream jobs a reality. 

He stumbled back as Virgil shoved him, falling back into the snow but not feeling the bite of its chill. 

“It’s your fault he’s gone!” Virgil yelled, “Just like Mom. It’s all your fault!”

Before he could speak, the hillside shifted to a mountain, a low threatening rumble filling his senses as he looked for both Virgil and Alan as the snow around him started to move. 

“No!”

He caught himself, the yell a gasp of breath on his lips. 

He was home, the farmhouse in Kansas familiar and warm as it always was in the summer months. 

His bedsheets were tangled around his feet, twisted in the way as they always were after the nightmare. 

Rubbing his face, Jeff forced his breath to slow, forced the racing beat of his heart to settle into something healthier. 

It was just a nightmare. 

The same nightmare he had been having for months, ever since the news had broken of the Bereznian war and he had known. 

He had known that Scott would be amongst the American Service Men and Women that would be deployed to the area in some capacity. There had been no doubt in Jeff’s mind that his eldest would face the same dangers as he had himself during the Global Conflict. 

There had been a handful of precious days before he had been deployed, Jeff had gotten John home from Oxford for the occasion, determined to have all of his boys together and in arms reach for just a moment. He had spoiled them all rotten, and if the eldest three had cottoned on to his reasoning, none of them had passed comment. Scott had laughed and joked as bright as any of them, beanpole arms and legs toned with muscle easily scooping up both youngest brothers, much to their delight. 

It had been on the kid’s last night that Jeff had pulled him aside to share a measure of whiskey out on the back porch, a memory that he clung to in the long minutes after his nightmares. He had held his son close and Scott had leant into him like he had done when there had been far fewer brothers around. They had talked about the Air Force and what likely came next for Scott after deployment and what challenges he would likely face. 

Then, when the drinks were finished and Scott had clung to his father for just a moment too long, he had promised Jeff one thing that neither knew he could guarantee. 

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

Jeff hadn’t corrected him, instead he had laughed and nodded, agreeing that the kid would be home for Christmas. 

The Holidays had been months ago, but at least had been accompanied by letters and holo-calls, even if the latter had been static-filled and intermittent. Scott had still been smiling, but Jeff had caught the weariness behind his eyes that not even the hologram could hide. He had wondered at the time if he had looked the same when calling his young family from far off lands. 

It had been after that that the nightmares had gotten more regular. Though only when John had gone back to College and Virgil had started spending more time in the library after school that his mind had started to trick him into believing that his sons were drifting out of his reach. 

He’d gone through enough psych evaluations as part of his NASA training to know it came from a deep rooted fear that he wasn’t enough for them. So he’d gone to his therapist and talked about his fears, and gone home and made sure his remaining four son’s knew he loved them and was there for them, whatever they wanted in life. 

It had been Virgil who had clocked on to Jeff’s sudden overtness, and who had gently called him out on the matter one afternoon whilst the pair had replaced a broken fence post on the driveway. Jeff had admitted as much as he had dared, not wanting to feed into the fear he knew the middle child held for his eldest brother. They had paused in their work long enough for Jeff to apologize for not being there sooner, for not being more and doing better, and Virgil had forgiven him. 

Yet still the nightmare had come. 

Life went on though and the family had adapted to their new normal, Scott’s holocalls becoming more infrequent until they had stopped altogether. Jeff had assured the rest of the family that it was simply signal issues, that a good old fashioned letter was undoubtedly in the post on its way to them to tell them as much as he could about his latest missions.

Jeff’s words had sounded hollow to his own ears as he had remembered his own most dire moments of the Global Conflict and how he had still found a way to get a message home to his family. Scott would have found a way. If there had been any possibility, Scott would have sent them something to let them know he was fine. 

The missions weren’t long, Bereznik wasn’t a large country, Scott himself had told them as much. A couple of days was usually the worst of it, newer rules of flying hours and rest periods forcing the Air Force’s hand in ensuring their people were well looked after. Jeff had tried to tell himself that they would hear something soon, that Scott was just busy and the storm system Jeff had watched sweep over the foreign country on the Weather Channel had knocked out comms. 

Then his nightmare had come true. 

It had been whilst the kids had all been away at school and Jeff himself had been in the middle of a business meeting. The incessant knocking at the door had been a mild irritation right up to the moment when he had identified the CAO. 

“No.” He had stated, stepping back from the doorway, “Tell me he’s not--”

“Captain Tracy’s Squadron has been MIA for a month.”

They had refused to tell him more, no matter how much he had yelled and how many times he had stated his rank in the same damned Air Force. Even when he had begged, finally clocking what day it was in April and using it as part of his reasoning, they had still given him nothing more to go on.

Val had been his first call, and then Kyrano. 

The third had been his mother. 

His brilliant mother who had never pulled her punches, had listened as he had berated himself for letting Scott follow his footsteps and enlist. Never once did she tell him that it would all be okay. 

Instead she had listened, patient as ever, despite her obvious horror at the thought of what could have happened to Scott. She had waited out Jeff’s rant and hugged him when he had finally burned himself out before she had asked what he was going to do about it. 

She had looked after the boys whilst Jeff had made calls to every contact he had. He had found the version of himself that had once been a Colonel and used it as the strength he needed to get through each of the calls when one after another ended in promises he knew would be empty. 

His demands had gotten him a story though, a squad on an aid mission to support a supply drop to civilians trapped in the mess of war. They had been shot down in enemy territory but had made contact from the village they had been trying to assist. There hadn’t been any further contact, too risky Jeff had been told, but when recovery crews had finally made it to the village three weeks later, the whole place had been razed to the ground. 

It was a sanitized version of events, Jeff knew that much from his own experience, but it was something to work off of.

So he had, throwing the business and his projects on the back-burner to focus everything he could on one tiny village in the center of Bereznik and the fact that nothing of the Air Force Squadron had been found there. 

As spring had turned into summer and new updates had gotten fewer and farther between, he had finally accepted a need to tell the boys. 

He had tried to explain that MIA was good news, it was better than the definitive alternative, it meant there was still hope. None of them had really seemed convinced by his reasoning, Alan screaming and begging in the same way that Jeff had pictured in his nightmares, Virgil staying solemnly quiet as he shed his own tears in a way that was entirely opposite to the reaction Jeff’s mind had conjured up. John and Gordon had both frozen, each wide eyed and horrified at what they were hearing, he had seen Gordon’s tears later when the kid had pulled himself out of the pool at training. 

As far as he knew, John had never cried. 

Despite their reactions, the nightmares had come the same as they always did. 

In his gut, Jeff hated himself. 

Even as he knew there was nothing more that he could do, not without something key in finding where Scott could have ended up. He hated that he was stuck, on the opposite side of the world, with nothing more to do than wait for one of the few that would help to call and tell him they’d found something. 

He knew he wouldn’t sleep for a while after the nightmare, the what-ifs too loud in his mind for him to shut off. So, as he always did, he pulled himself out of bed and slipped downstairs to the office, hoping to at least be productive with the few hours before he needed the boys up to get Gordon to training. 

It took him a moment to realize the vid-message icon was coming from his personal comm, not for business. 

He opened it quickly, knowing only a handful of people would leave a message for him overnight. 

Val’s hologram popped up, bathing the whole room in a soft blue as her pinched brow looked up to him.

“I’m not calling because I haven’t time.” She started, voice soft like she couldn’t afford to be heard, “So you’ll get this in the morning and maybe I’ll have more answers. The GDF have been called in to retrieve Prisoners of War from a base not far from the village. I’ll call you when I have answers.” 

His hand reached out instinctively to call her, needing something more after the long long months of nothing. 

The call didn’t connect. 

“Dammit, Val.” He uttered, rubbing his hand over the stubble that had begun to form along his jaw, “What am I meant to do with that?”

He was still too far away, needed to be closer than he was in that moment. He needed to be there. 

Jeff couldn’t go to Bereznik, but he could fly himself to London, that was only an hour from Paris, where he knew they had been taking the worst injured. 

A few phone calls later and the plan was set in motion, his mother would take the boys, he would fly himself to London and meet Hugh, an old friend he’d not caught up with in too long. 

What he hadn’t expected when he stepped out onto the tarmac into a gray London morning, was for Kyrano to be standing next to Hugh. Jeff hadn’t even been aware that the pair had known one another, let alone that Kyrano was in London. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Jeff.” Hugh had laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “Kyrano and I have been crossing paths since before you knew me.”

Jeff looked to the Malay, raising an eyebrow, “You have?”

Kyrano smiled in that soft, knowing way that betrayed the kind of man he really was, “You don’t know everything Jeff, even if you wish you did.”

He shook his head in admission as Hugh gestured towards a truck. Where it would take them, Jeff wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t doubt that the pair that had met him would have some kind of plan in place.

“Is there any news?” He asked as they pulled out of the airport.

“No.” Kyrano shook his head, from the passenger seat, “Val told you she would call.”

“Do we know why they’re releasing them?”

“Also, no.” Hugh answered, glancing back in the rear-view, “Though sources suggest it’s less of a release and more of a trade.” 

Jeff couldn’t say he particularly cared for the semantics of release versus trade, he needed to know the details, who and why and when. The Bereznian forces weren’t the sort to simply let people go, not without a valid reason or a high price. The opposition had to have had something that the other had desperately wanted.

“They’ve not taken people back this whole war, why now?” He murmured, “Who did we capture?”

“That, my friend, is what we’re going to find out.” Hugh answered without looking back, “Might as well get comfortable, it’s a couple of hours to Norfolk.”

Jeff took the hint, settling back in his seat and managing to doze for a brief time before the familiar roar of jet engines woke him. 

The base was familiar, likely one he himself had stayed at for a stint during the Global Conflict, though he knew he’d have been lying if the bases hadn’t all come to look the same over the years. 

Their car was waved through after Hugh had given the guard on the gate a few choice words, drawing Jeff straighter as they weaved through the buildings to one closer to the airfield itself. 

Hugh had ordered the pair to stay put as he had slipped out the car and strode towards the offices, pausing to salute the man on the door before vanishing inside. Neither had spoken as they had waited what felt like hours, both able to see the silhouettes of people arguing through the unshuttered windows. 

In all the months he had been waiting for news, he had never seen the action his friends had been taking in person. It had always been from a distance, vid-calls and messages that left out what they had all been doing behind the scenes for him and his son. 

He had always been grateful, but never more so than after seeing all they had been doing for him in action.

Hugh’s sigh was heavy as he got back into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary as he did so.

“I don’t know what new Colonel Casey is going to call you with later, but I wouldn’t expect it to be good news, Jeff.”

It hadn’t been good news. 

It hadn’t been until the next day that Val had called on a secure line, and after tutting when she had discovered he was in London, she had filled them in on everything she had known. 

A group of highly decorated Bereznian Soldiers had been caught by the Opposition on a takeover of a base close to the border, intel had suggested the loss had been devastating to the Bereznian army and left morale sinking quickly. It was no surprise that the country wanted them back, if only to boost the confidence of the young men in their forces and renew their efforts. A swap had been agreed, the handful of captured American and French soldiers were to be released in a man for man exchange.

Except the Oposition had refused to release a captured Colonel, and the Bereznian’s had accepted without argument. 

Scott’s squadron had been amongst the men and women released. 

Scott had not.

It had stunk of horseshit. 

Val had agreed as much. 

“They’re not in a good way, Jeff, but when I can I’ll try and get something out of them.” Val had promised before she had ended the call. 

So he had been left with nothing else to do, but wait. 

He was sick and tired of waiting. It had been months since he had heard his son’s voice, even longer since he had held him close and been able to tell him just how much he loved him. There had never been anything for him to do other than stand by and wait for others to make their move. 

Just where had that gotten him?

“We need to find out where that base is.” He had told Hugh and Kyrano over dinner, “I’m not waiting any more, I’m going to find my son.” 

Both had shared a look, one that Jeff knew as a question of if there was a son left to even save. 

Jeff didn’t want to think about that as a possibility. 

Hugh had eventually nodded and cleared his office though, setting up a map in place of the encyclopedias that had filled the desk space. Jeff had raised an eyebrow when the man had produced the copies so quickly, but Hugh had simply shrugged and told him how it was best to be prepared. 

They had plotted late into the night, and long into the next day. Jeff had caught catnaps as the other pair had discussed security protocols, and they had slept as he called in favors from old friends still in the forces in the hopes of someone letting slip of a location.

Time moved slowly, like the whole world around him was moving through molasses, everything just taking that much longer than he wanted it to. 

In the end, Val didn’t need to find out anything for him. 

It had come from his secretary in New York, an innocuous little box that Jeff had been too intrigued by to not open. Inside had been a letter with a number, and his son’s dog tags. 

It had been with Hugh and Kyrano at his back that he had made the call. 

“You have my attention.”

“How much does your Son mean to you, Jeff Tracy?”

“I don’t bargain for lives. Where is my son?” 

“We are not bargaining, and you are in no position to make orders of us.”

“What do you want?”

“A million of your American Dollars. A secure wire transfer.” 

“I want proof of life.” 

“Oh, we can arrange that, just listen.” 

Silence on the other end of the line for a moment before…

“Let me out! Please! Let me-- Let me out!”

Jeff’s heart stalled in his chest, a memory of his son being so much younger and getting himself trapped under the bed echoing with the cry of fear. His little boy, terrified of whatever happened next with nobody to come to his rescue.

Kyrano’s hand on his shoulder snapped him from the memory, a sharp nod as the man pointed to one of the maps where Hugh had drawn a big red circle. 

They’d gotten a location, the final piece they had needed. 

“It’ll take time to get that sort of money together.” He forced his voice to remain steady, “A week at least.” 

“We can wait that long. Let us hope your son can also.” 

And then the line was cut. 

Jeff had wanted to collapse in a heap, to sob and beg of someone to save his little boy and fix everything for him. 

“They didn’t bother about their Colonel because they need money more.” Hugh stated, “If you pay up, they’ll likely keep Scott and barter for the Colonel as well.”

Instead Jeff forced steel into his spine and cleared the lump from his throat. His heart restarted with a fire burning in its pit, anger at the players that had decided his boy wasn’t worth it, anger at the Bereznian’s that were hurting him, anger at the whole damned war for trying to take his son. 

They had confirmation, Scott was alive. They knew where he was. They had a plan to get to him. 

It all fell into motion perfectly quickly, the molasses cleared and everything suddenly running at double speed.

He had only paused long enough to visit his son’s rescued squadron when Val had finally given the all clear. Men and women, shells of their previous selves that Jeff had met in passing. Kids just like his son who had gone into the war thinking they could survive anything the world threw at them. 

Jenny, Scott’s co-pilot, once as quick witted and bold as his son had always been, had barely been recognisable, her cropped hair uneven in the way it had grown out, her cheeks hollow, and her eyes without the spark that Jeff had always seen when the crew had been on leave. She was small in the bed, a shadow, not the strong bold woman that had challenged his son. 

She had grasped onto Jeff’s hand the best she had been able with fingers that evidently hadn’t healed in the way that they should have, her voice barely above a whisper as she had told him how their superiors wouldn’t listen to a trio that would undoubtedly receive an Honourable Discharge in weeks to come. Jeff would have words about it later, once he had his son safe he would tear a new one to anyone who had considered it acceptable to leave a man behind.

“Scott’s alive.” Jenny had hissed, “Of that I’m certain, Colonel.”

“We’ll bring him home.” He had assured her, closing his hands over hers, hoping and praying that she was right. 

“He’s the strongest of us all.” She had nodded, the tiniest spark coming back to her features for a brief moment, “He’ll keep fighting, if not for us, then for his family.”

It was with that Jeff had left, his own hope quietly fanned from a spark into a smoulder. 

All that was left to do was arm themselves. 

In abstract, Jeff had always known Hugh had held an armory of sorts, though he had never seen or imagined just what such a place would contain. Never in a hundred years would he have pictured the secret room the Aristocrat had led them to, weapons old and new lining the walls on all three sides. 

Kyrano took free reign, but as Jeff reached out, Hugh stopped him. 

“You’re not coming that far, Jeff.” 

“What?” He had spun, thinking back to the plans they had made, and what they had agreed would happen once they touched down in a clearing just beyond the base.

Hugh had held both hands up, almost like an apology, “You’re too involved, too at risk yourself.”

Whilst it had been true, it wasn’t the biggest problem that Jeff had foreseen. He had a son to save, a son he was going to fight to get back, a son that he had left to face the world long before he had been drawn into a war. Jeff wasn’t going to leave him to struggle through on his own, not again.

Hugh and Kyrano of all people should have understood.

“You both have daughters,” He started, waiting until Kyrano had turned to look at him, “can you truthfully tell me you wouldn’t see the world burn for them?”

“The difference is, Jeff, we have.” Hugh shook his head, “That is a place we have both been to and a place neither of us would choose to send another parent to. We do not know your son’s status, and whatever we find there you will undoubtedly carry with you for the rest of your life.” 

Kyrano set the rifle down that he had been examining, “What Hugh means is, you might know what Prisoners of War go through and have seen the extent of Jenny and Gary’s wounds, but Jeff, that will not prepare you for whatever they might have done to your own son.”

Jeff held his hand out again for the gun Hugh had taken from him, “I’m coming with you.”

The pair had shared a look but hadn’t argued. 

Jeff had helped himself to whatever weapons he saw fit. 

Then they were there, the three of them and a car of Hugh’s own design tucked safely away in a clearing barely a mile from the base. Night had fallen and wordlessly they had moved, the plan working seamlessly as they had slipped in through a disused entrance. 

There hadn’t been as many guards as they had expected, and the reason for everything fell into place as Jeff had pulled a man he had knocked out into a small cell. Their uniforms were grubby, tattered and frayed at the edges, the men themselves skinnier than a soldier on home soil should have been. 

The country was bankrupt. 

That was why they wanted money. Why they had kept hold of Scott and used him to bargain. 

It was why the Oposition hadn’t bothered to bring Scott home, they must’ve believed that soon enough the war would be over ayway. 

All the while, his boy, his strong, brave boy, had been left to suffer. 

It was with anger in his heart that he no longer hesitated in pulling the trigger with each soldier that had come to face them. 

Jeff was finding his son and taking him home. 

And nobody was getting in his way.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 31 - Review

Happy Birthday Virgil 💚 I didn’t get you a present but I finally got you and your brother back on the path to Best Brodom. Just, um, bear in mind it’s just the start of the journey and maybe don’t read the last paragraph until tomorrow?

I hope this is ok, I have agonised because this chapter contains Virg headcanon that is dear to me and I just hope I did it (and his inner voice) justice. It’s probably too long but… well… here it is. Thanks to @sofasurf and @astranite for the encouragement / chivvying / poking with stick to just get this done and out there.

Story so far

They had to start somewhere… literally at the top is as good a place as any, right?

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“You’ve dyed it! You’ve dyed your hair!”

Scott blushed and his hand returned to his forehead, as if to hide the evidence.

“Uh, yeah… thought I might give it a go…” he cleared his throat awkwardly “I couldn’t find exactly the right colour it was kind of hard to tell on the website… who knew there were so many types of brown, huh?” He paused and grabbed a dishcloth to rub irritably at the gel residue on his fingers before glancing over at his brother. “I mean, obviously YOU would.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. Scott wasn’t kidding, the former greys were a much redder shade of brown than the rest and on close inspection looked a little… odd… but he wasn’t about to make his brother even more self-conscious by pointing it out. He picked up his coffee with both hands and took a long sip to buy himself some time to work out what to say.

“You don’t approve?” The chuckle was more than a little forced.

“You don’t need my approval, Scott. I’m just… surprised, I guess? You’d always swore you’d never dye it. Didn’t you say you’d earned every last one of them and had nothing to be ashamed of?”

His brother snatched up his own coffee and feigned a sudden interest in the view from the window.

“Is no big deal… you were bothered by it so I just sorted it out.”

“I was bothered by it?”

“Uh, yeah. When… the other day when you were really… err…” Scott cleared his throat “… upset, you said so and I figured maybe you were worried I was getting old or… or maybe I was looking too much like… uh, well…”

“I complained… about your hair?” Virgil was baffled. The silver streaks were the subject of much banter in the Tracy household but for a long while had been a part of who Scott was. While in theory Virgil might have said almost anything in his state of confusion, he had still been himself even while his perception of the world around him had been faulty. He just couldn’t imagine being negative about a feature he’d always felt rather affectionately for.

“Well, not in so many words but…”

“Can you remember my exact words?” Virgil knew full well that if Scott had been worrying about this enough to break his avowed hair dye abstention he’d have gone over what had been said again and again and again. And then probably again just for good measure. Sure enough, the response was immediate:

“You said you didn’t want me to be grey. And then you literally begged me not to go grey. So I decided not to. It’s not a big deal.”

Virgil closed his eyes.

Ah.

Sometimes it would be handy to see the world in the simpler, more solid way other people did, as if everything was a hollow photograph existing in straightforward three-dimensional space. He’d never choose to live life without the full range of his sensory experiences and feelings overlaid in glorious technicolour… but he learned very quickly other people, even artists, did not see the same and thus he tended to avoid any accidental references to it.

Obviously he was less careful when he was out of his mind.

He suppressed the sigh and took a measured breath.

Virgil opened his eyes to see his brother had already drained his coffee and was almost vibrating with the effort of maintaining his fake casual stance leaning on the kitchen island. He’d have expected pacing by now except that this was his big brother’s way of showing that not only did he want to hear his brother out, he wanted to reassure Virgil he was, definitely, listening.

He grabbed Scott’s hand which was discharging some of the discomfort via quiet but incessant tapping on the work-surface and interlaced their fingers. The relentless movement continued more softly and for a moment Virgil allowed himself time to notice the vibrations travelling through his knuckles and up his arm and for his mind to quietly acknowledge the subtle shift in rhythm from need-to-explode to need-to-connect. He mirrored it back and Scott squeezed his fingers in response.

“Let’s walk for a bit?”

Virgil knew it was the right call even before the relief flooded Scott’s face and he made a beeline for the door.

They made their way down on to the deck and then up the stone staircase via the roundhouse and took the path towards the caldera.

“I didn’t mean your hair, Scooter.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I don’t think so. I reckon I can explain but you’ll need to give me a minute and try not to be too… literal about it?”

“I can do that.”

“Right.” The path narrowed and demanded single file. Virgil gestured for Scott to lead the way and smiled wryly to himself as the steep incline accentuated the slight height difference between them to the extent that his current view of his brother was very much the waist region. Nevertheless, he could see from the slightly uneven movement of his hips that the leggier man was moderating his stride so as not to get too far ahead to hear.

Ha, he was so familiar with his brother’s body language he could even read his…

“So…?”

Oops.

“Sorry, got lost in my own head there.”

“It’s not a problem.” Scott’s hurried response betrayed his even-worse-than-usual anxiety for a brother and Virgil really needed to fix that asap. But first he needed to sort out the immediate confusion.

“Ok… you know I see a lot more things in colour than most people do?”

“Two makes forest green noise and One makes gold and light blue.” Scott immediately confirmed and Virgil experienced a little rush of warmth at the thought his big brother had felt the detail important enough to commit to memory.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s the kind of thing. Well it isn’t just sound it’s… everything? Smell, taste, heat… and err… kind of… mood? Not exactly mood… um... The way people are? Their personalities, almost?” Virgil faltered a little, desperately searching for better words to form a neat box around the web of overlapping sensations in his head, but it felt much like the time he’d tried to explain to Alan why magenta made his teeth fizz. Some things just… were. Maybe if he tried to tie it to something easier to pin down:

“Ok, maybe the best way I can explain is - you know it was me that picked the colours of the birds? Well, One, Two and Four anyway…”

“I didn’t!” Scott was evidently curious “I never thought to wonder who did.”

“Well, it was me. Mostly. Well a bit. Brains was going to have them all in silver and I suggested that some form of colour coding might be a plan, for easier recognition compared with other organisations’ ships and machinery and bright colours are a more friendly sight for scared rescuees, you know?” Virgil paused to use his breath to navigate a particularly steep part of the track. Scott, possibly misinterpreting the pause for uncertainty sent encouragement over his shoulder: “Makes sense to me. Our public face needs to be unthreatening.”

“Yeah, exactly and in that time just after the… um, well it needed to be clear they weren’t military ships…” there was a grunt of agreement from in front. “It took a while to decide which would be which colour. For Three Dad picked red because in little Allie’s mind rockets were always red and it was his way of reaching out to the little guy I guess. But it’s not right really, Alan is light blues and bright purple. And of course One should have been primarily Cerulean to contrast with the Maya Blue but he wanted silver to represent speed and so… we had to compromise on her design but I did win with Four because he thought she should be orange, like a life buoy, you know? But I said no - Gordon’s bird couldn’t possibly be anything other than sunshine yellow. John picked his own so I didn’t get involved there but…”

“Virg, you’re losing me a little. Alan is… blue and purple?”

“Light blue. Bright purple. When he’s cheerful, yes. He gets steely blue when he’s angry same as you.”

“So we all have a colour?”

“Yeah. Well, a palette of them. Kind of. It’s… I’m sorry it’s the best way I have of describing the presence you have. Words can be a bit limiting sometimes.”

“Maybe you should try painting it?” Scott‘s voice lifted a little and he was looking at him intently. “I’d like to see us the way you do.”

They had finally reached the top of the volcano and stood together admiring the view to the east. A vigorous breeze, sharpened by the bright metallic tang of salt, dried the moisture from Virgil’s lips and he pressed them together with a doubtful hum.

“I’ve tried before and it didn’t really…” the glimmer of eagerness dulled and Virgil hurriedly sought to breathe life back into it “but I guess I could give it another go?”

His big brother smiled and lit up again for a moment before the cloud crossed back over his face and his eyes dropped from Virgil’s.

“And I’m… grey, then?”

“No! Not usually! You’ve always been blue, like the sky… there are so many shades of it, with hints of yellow or gold…”

“There’s a but coming, I can feel it.”

Virgil grabbed Scott’s hand again as if to reassure himself his brother wouldn’t float away before he managed to express this.

“Sometimes it’s like you fade a little.”

“I fade?”

“You try to be a lot of things, Scotty and it’s admirable, it really is, and you do it so well but sometimes I worry there isn’t enough of you left to be you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re blue when you laugh at your own jokes, or smotherhen us and make a leaning tower of pancake… when you beat Gordy at his own prank game or act all melodramatic when you’re smuggling in the sweets Grandma doesn’t approve of. When someone says pie and your eyes gleam and when you randomly recite Shakespeare inaccurately and out of context or run up the stairs for no reason and surprise hug Allie… those times you’re a rainbow of blues. In the field when you’re problem solving at the speed of light and oh! That time you flew Shadow just for fun you came back shining so brightly…”

Yet again at the mention of Shadow, Scott had startled but recovered quickly and deflected:

“My Shakespeare is always in context.”

“Sure it is, Scott. And it’s very YOU.”

A flicker of resolve hardened his brother’s expression and Virgil was suddenly terrified as to how his clumsy explanation could have been interpreted by someone who was already chronically shackled to the ‘brave face’ impulse…

“But Scott, listen to me, this is important.”

He waited until his brother dropped his eyes from the horizon and met his own.

“I’m not saying it’s just when you are happy, you know? When you’re worried or angry or even sick or even… no, especially when you let yourself be vulnerable for one damn second, you’re you then too.”

“Then…” Scott sagged a little and an edge of indigo desperation coloured his voice “I don’t understand what the grey thing is meant to mean!”

“The grey thing… I guess it’s how my brain interprets the way I sometimes miss you when you are right in front of me. When you get hidden by everything else you think you are supposed to be. You lead so naturally, you do it without even trying but sometimes… sometimes you put on that damn grey baldric and it smothers you.”

“But the baldric is silver. My baldric is silver to match One!”

“It used to be blue though. Blue to match you.”

“Oh. And that’s what is bothering you?”

“No! No, I’m not saying the baldric needs to change. You can have salmon pink or zebra stripes if you like - that’s what I meant about not being too literal about this. I just… I wish you wouldn’t feel like you had to act like someone else. Just… be you, you know?”

A slight squeeze of the hand said message received but Virgil knew it might take a while to process. An unspoken agreement saw them taking the shallower broader path down towards the shore.

“Please don’t say that thing about the baldrics to Gordon, you know he’ll come up with something hideous.”

“He really would. It’d be burnt orange with pink polka dots within minutes.”

“I can just see it now.” Scott facepalmed melodramatically then ran his fingers into his hairline.

“So you weren’t worrying about the hair?”

“No, Scott. I don’t have any problem with your hair. I’m sorry I confused you. I just want you to be happy and be yourself. That’s literally all I would have meant by it.”

“I’m trying, Virgil, I really am.”

“I know. I’m proud of you.”

He really had been trying. Scott’s attempts to reconcile his past and present and figure out who he was again had actually been a source of real joy to Virgil. It had been so long coming.

Years of encouraging, nagging… in all honesty borderline-harassing his big brother to break out of his self-imposed exile from life, to take the opportunities to enjoy himself when they came… and finally, FINALLY there had been some movement. Previously there were deleted emails, invitation cards hidden in drawers… if it wasn’t for Penny’s sake or for the good of the business, Scott didn’t see it as worthwhile. But this time, Scott had pinned the gilded rectangle of card to the noticeboard with a hurried circle around the date and a carefully inked question mark.

It was bitterly ironic that after all that time… even after actually standing over Scott with folded arms and while he messaged his friend to RSVP in the positive… when he’d nearly actually succeeded in nudging his brother into the light somehow as a result Virgil himself had run headlong into the dark. A cold, slimy tendril of fear crept into his heart and asked who on earth Virgil thought he would be if Scott didn’t need him anymore…

He shook it off because it was ridiculous.

Not to mention selfish.

“Scott, I’m sor….” he began but his brother had not been party to the developing inner monologue and was still some way behind him, despite leading the way off the rocky track on to the beach.

“So I can get rid of this?” He gesticulated irritably at his own forehead

“YES, Scooter.”

“Thank heaven, I hate it. Will it wash out?”

“Eventually. I have to top mine up every few washes.”

“Yours literally obliterates light particles though.”

The affectionate shoulder nudge was brief but it heralded a return of the easy natural proximity he’d missed so badly. His brother was back by his side and Virgil realised with a shock that breathing was suddenly effortless again.

There were other things they needed to discuss, difficult things he knew were coming and no doubt even more difficult things he was still as yet unaware of. But for a few moments, Virgil was more than happy to enjoy the respite of their well-rehearsed haircare banter:

“That’s not the dye it’s the secret ingredient. I told you, quit the super shiny addiction…

“SUPREME shiny…”

“Pfft, you know it’s the same formula, you’re just paying for the fancier packaging.”

“Not true, it’s a far higher quality product.”

Virgil poked his brother in the side of the head “And yet by some miracle, chemically identical.” He made a show of wiping the tip of his finger off on Scott’s shirt while meeting the faux-glare dead on. His brother’s eyebrows said outraged, the sparkle in the blue said bring-it-on. “Ditch the dark side Scotty, leave the slimy stuff to the teenagers and join team pomade. More natural, less greasy. Best tip Dad ever gave me.”

His brother’s flinch was fleeting but sent a shockwave through the narrow pocket of air between the two of them. Scott’s eyes slipped from his, the pocket widened and the warmth suddenly drained out of the sun.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

[tagsecretsanta]

From @coco9728

From @coco9728 to @pareidoliaonthemove

Secret

Virgil stood in his father’s… (Virgil mentally cursed himself) Scott’s! office.

It was a sort of foreign place…he felt like he knew the room like the back of his hand, yet at the same time it was a complete mystery. He didn’t know how Scott could spend so much time in here, he practically lives in here when not out on any missions. He himself could only count on one hand the number of times he’d been in here since…7 years now since Dad had gone missing. Virgil mentally shook himself to stop his mind from going down that dark tunnel of thoughts, again…

Why was he here again?...Oh yeah! Virgil walked behind the desk and opened several draws. Since Scott had badly cut his leg open on some debris from a flood when out on a mission two days ago and didn’t seek medical attention straight away…the flood water had gotten into the cut and caused a severe infection, taking the pilot down hard…So now, whilst Scott’s in the infirmary with both Alan and Gordon babysitting him just in case, though It would be a miracle if Scott had enough strength to sit up in bed, let along walk out the door.

John had sent him to Dad’s (arrrgh not again) Scott’s! office, to fetch some Tracy Industries paperwork needed for the next TI meeting this afternoon. He was thankful for John’s sacrifice in going into all these meetings in place of Scott. He definitely wouldn’t want to go.

Virgil sighed as he continued to rummage through the papers in the draws. Secretly, he was kind of glad that Scott had ended up in the infirmary. He desperately needs the rest after back-to-back missions all week and endless TI business to attend to. It seems that the only way he will ever let himself rest is if he’s forced to. A.k.a. the infected leg at the moment. Virgil muttered under his breath, ‘’Irresponsible brother, why can’t you see how not looking after yourself is not only affecting you, but everyone else as well!’’

Sighing and giving up on his search for now, Virgil took a seat in the office chair behind the desk. If Dad and Scott could find comfort in this chair then maybe he could too. Virgil lent back in the chair. ‘’Woah, Oof!’’ and accidentally tipped the chair backwards in the process, causing both him and the chair to end up on the floor… ‘’I guess the chair wasn’t designed for someone with broad shoulders like me.’’ He sighed.

From his new position on the floor, Virgil began to survey the room…it just seemed like too much effort to get up right at this moment…Everything in the room was neatly organized, not a single sheet of paper on the desk or book on the shelf was out of place. ‘’Wow, and I thought I was bad for being organized.’’ he mused.

He continued to survey the room, mentally counting the endless number of books, folders and papers that would be hiding in the many cabinets and shelves around the room. Though paper is a rare sight these days. Everything is usually stored digitally in holoprojector files. However, for important papers and documents about TI and IR, physical copies rather than digital are still safer with the number of hackers and AI around these days.

Sighing tiredly, he let his eyes roam around the room once more. He started tracing the textured lines of the wooden shelf, he always liked the look of oak wood…Then he noticed the amount of dust adorning each shelf. ‘’Damn.’’ Looking around the room all the furniture was dusty from this angle. Grandma would not be pleased. He really should bring a duster in here next time…

Suddenly, a small glint of light coming from somewhere under Scott’s desk in the middle of the room caught his eye. Getting up onto his hands and knees, Virgil crawled under the desk until he found what had caught his attention…On the underside of the desk in the far back corner was a small round silver button.

‘’That’s odd, I didn’t know that was there.’’ Virgil said in surprise. He thought for a minute…It must be IR related for a start because it’s hidden…but what for?...’’hmmm.’’ It probably just activates an emergency shut down procedure of some sort…though I really can’t think what for, we made it a rule that everyone knows and memorises where all emergency activation buttons, codes, switches, panels (the lot) are located around the island…so why don’t I know about this particular button if that’s the case…maybe it doesn’t do anything important…it must just activate something boring like a pop up cup holder on top of the desk…but then why hide the button under the desk where it’s hard to reach…

Thinking, what’s the worst that could happen. Eventually curiosity took the better of him and Virgil quickly pressed the button.

…

Nothing happened.

A beat of silence.

Another.

Then finally the button changed colour from silver to red. With tiny writing appearing on its surface saying, ‘Access Denied’. Then a couple of seconds later, it changed back to silver.

 ‘’Oh!’’ Virgil said in surprise. Why does the button have our standard IR recognition software?...It must do something fairly important then…but then, why didn’t anyone tell me about it?...and why don’t I have access…who does?...

‘’Ah Ha!’’ suddenly Virgil new what to do…

Crawling out from under the desk and standing up, he looked on top of the desk and found what he was looking for. The old holoprojector attached to the desktop. Now thinking of Parker’s old trick, Virgil reached into the desks top draw and pulled out the packet of gum he knew Scott liked to keep there. Opening the packet, he popped one into his mouth. ‘’Bleh!’’ It took all of Virgil’s self-control not to spit it back out again. ‘’Apple pie flavour, ewe!’’

Taking a minute to chew the gum he then popped it back out of his mouth and carefully proceeded to lift Scott’s fingerprints of the holoprojector by pressing the gum against its activation panel…However. What he didn’t account for, was to accidentally activate the projector. He only had a second’s warning to throw the gum back into the open draw before John appeared in front of him.

…

After a few moments of silence John was the first to talk. ‘’Are you alright Virgil?’’

Virgil brushed down his shirt to give himself a second to compose himself…A sudden remembrance as to why he was in the office in the first place. ‘’Ummm yep I’m fine, was just wondering where exactly the paperwork is in here, I uh can’t find it.’’

John rose a questioning eyebrow. ‘’It should be in the bottom right draw, that’s what Scott said earlier…’’

Virgil quickly bent down and opened said drawer to take a look. ‘’Ah yes, here it is…ummm thankyou John…’’ He put the papers on the desk.

John frowned at him but didn’t say anything. ‘’No problem…I’m down in the hangers now prepping Tracy Two for flight, I’ll see you down here in a minute.’’ And with that John cut the call.

‘’Few!’’ Virgil wiped the non-existent sweat of his forehead. ‘’That was close.’’ Then he paused…wait…why am I hiding this from John?...It’s just a small button...I could ask him what it does!...but then, does John know about it?...and If he does, then why hasn’t he told me about it?...

Wanting answers to his ever-growing list of questions. Virgil proceeded to grab the gum and got back down on his hands and knees before crawling under the desk once again. Placing the gum over his own finger with the copied fingerprinted side facing outwards. He then stretched his hand towards the button. Before pausing centimetres away…Why did he feel so stupid all of a sudden…Virgil outwardly laughed at himself. Here he was sitting under a desk, gum on his finger as he stared at a simple small button…It’s probably just some dumb prank Gordon had come up with…though it is clever Virgil would give him that…but then…Gordon hasn’t been in the office since…Actually, I can’t remember the last time Gordon had ever been in here…so…unlikely to be prank…but then…what is it doing here?…and why do I need to know what it does so badly?...

Then before he could think twice he had pressed the button.

…

To Virgil, the silence seemed to last a lifetime. Though in reality it was only seconds.

Then something happened.

It worked; the button lit up green before its entire cover flipped up to reveal a small silver control switch hidden underneath.

‘’Oh, come on!’’ he groaned…Now this is odd…Virgil stared at the switch suddenly fearful of its existence…First fingerprint recognition, then a protective cover for a hidden control switch…and don’t forget the fact that this is hidden on the underside of the desk…in the office of all places…What does this switch do to need so much protection?…It must be still active…I mean I got this far…Though that was using Scott’s fingerprints…And why does Scott have access using the fingerprint recognition, but I don’t?…But before Virgil could make another thought the holoprojector on top of the desk connected again.

‘’Virgil?’’

Oh no, it was John again.

‘’Virgil, where are you?’’

Virgil got out from under the desk and stood up to get back into viewing range of the holoprojector. ‘’Here John...just ummm…checking the desks legs…I thought one may be wobbly or something.’’ God he hated lying, and he knew he wasn’t good at it either.

John looked sceptical. ‘’Oooook…well I have to go within the next ten minutes so…can you bring me the papers now…I kind of need them.’’

Virgil mentally cursed himself, of course! How had he forgotten about John and his TI meeting in New York. That’s why he was in the office in the first place, to get the paperwork John needed. ‘’Yep, I’ll be right there bro.’’ And with that Virgil quickly cut the call. Ok so John was definitely going to have questions now. Quickly going about putting everything in the office back to the way it was before he came in. Virgil then grabbed the desired paperwork off the desk and raced out of the room to meet John. The hidden mystery under the desk completely forgotten.