#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.

[avengedbiologist]

The urge to be accurate Vs the urge to mullet

[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.”

[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.

[tracybirds]

Happy @thunder-pride to @knyee!! I'm your giftee and I hope you enjoyyyyyy <3 Aroace Scott and some background Pen and Ink :)

---

Gordon flopped down onto the lounger beside Scott, reaching into the cooler for a drink. Scott raised his own bottle in acknowledgement, his eyes not leaving the horizon.

“I’m sorry we had to drag you away from your date,” said Scott. “You call her yet?”

“Nah,” said Gordon. “It’ll be the middle of the night now. We’ll make it up some other time.”

He glanced sideways and grinned. “Beside, you know Penelope. She’ll be thrilled we owe her a favour. You know how she’s always trying to get everyone ‘out in society’ and all. Tell her you’ll do a double date to one of those charity galas and she’ll forgive you in an instant.”

Scott gave a wry grin. “I think you might want to ask someone else for that favour.”

“Oh come on,” said Gordon. “We both know Virgil’s hopeless at getting a date, and Alan’s far too young.”

“John?”

Gordon gave him an incredulous look. “We can barely get John to visit us.”

“At least he has a standing date already,” said Scott with a shrug.

“John does? Who?!” demanded Gordon. Amber liquid sloshed out of his bottle, spilling onto his lap as he sat upright. He shook his head and pointed at Scott. “Never mind, you’re trying to distract me so you can worm out of this.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“But why?” asked Gordon. “People love you and I hate to admit it, but you look pretty spectacular when you’re dressed to the nines and someone else has styled your hair.”

Scott glared at him.

“I don’t want to spend an evening charming someone into thinking I want something I’m not interested in giving,” he said shortly. “And I want to participate in uninspired conversation with diplomats and world leaders while you disappear to woo your Lady even less.”

“Alright, alright,” said Gordon, rolling his eyes. “Geez, what’s with the sour grapes, I’m the one who lost their evening. Although maybe if you spent a few more nights off this island, you’d be less snappy.”

 Scott flinched. Warring emotions swirled in his head, instinctive anger slowly beaten back by a dawning realisation.

“Are you just saying that to be a jerk? Or do you not know?”

Gordon looked at him strangely. “You’re a jerk, jerkface. I was being serious.”

“Real mature,” muttered Scott. He stood and stretched, looking down at Gordon with an unreadable expression.

“What?” demanded Gordon. “Come off it Scott, I was just messing around. Sorry if it struck a nerve.”

“I’m aroace,” said Scott.

“Oh.” Gordon blinked. “Oh! Oh shit, I didn’t know… wait, how did I not know?”

“I guess I’m just too charming and good-looking,” said Scott dryly, and Gordon barked a laugh.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It’s not a secret,” said Scott. “I thought you knew, we had a whole party about it when I was in high school.”

“Oh, right, so you mean when I was like five,” said Gordon, unable to hold back his laughter. “Yeah, that was a real formative memory for me, one of my boring older brothers hanging out with his boring friends and not wanting to play in the sprinkler.” He grinned. “I was probably just there for the cake.”

“I certainly was,” said Scott. He picked up his empty bottle. “Right, I’m turning in. Don’t stay up too late talking with Penelope.”

“I will,” said Gordon grinning. “By the way, do you want me to get her to back off on the whole society scene?”

Scott laughed. “I’d like to see you try. It’ll take a miracle to convince Penelope that the Tracy bachelors aren’t cut out for her kind of party.”

Well,” said Gordon. “I feel like I worked some sort of miracle to start going out with her. I might have another one in me still.”

“Save it,” advised Scott. “You’ll be needing it at some point I’m sure.”

[edutainer2022]

I made it to Vienna for the week-long Digital Humanism event and I've been meaning to place Earth and Sky in Vienna for ages. This is an absolutely indulgent, decadent, undiluted fluff, full of bosom headcanons, informed by the first Sunday of fall here, drenched in sunlight, late summer flowers and classic German poetry. That's it, that's the story - Scott in Virgil go to Vienna and absolutely nothing hurts.

Thank you always to @janetm74 for putting up with my ramblings.

SUNLIGHT AND POETRY

He could smell the eye-wateringly expensive coffee first. Then the steps, muffled by luscious grass, were followed by a nondescript grunt that probably summarized the general state of the joint World Council, World Bank and GDF committee. An equally obscenely expensive suit jacket was thrown on the lawn unceremoniously to dub as a picnic blanket and, finally, the full length of Scott flopped and stretched beside him, wiggling to get comfortable. A goody bag with a tell-tale Zacher Hotel crest landed in Virgil's lap and he put aside the sketchbook, wasting no time to dig in. Coffee and the most luxurious chocolate cake in the world certainly worked the magic to improve Scott's mood and soon he was grinning up to the sky, although Virgil knew to look for signs of weariness in the corners of blue eyes. He was tempted to return to sketching, though - Scott's relaxed smiles, although in a far more ample supply after Dad's return, were still a rare treat.

Usually, it would be Virgil dragging biggest brother along to Vienna, when Opera was in season or an art exhibition Virgil didn't want to miss - a feat frequently accomplished with toddler-wrangling worthy bribery in form of copious amounts of Austrian finest street food and baked goods or the deployment of most deadly puppy eyes. The exasperated groan signaled that the odorous Wienerwurst from a digny kiosk on the corner of Bristol Hotel was still in the cards that day, much to the hotel staff's (and finest chefs') incessant bewilderment. The Tracies rented the penthouse floor at the historic Bristol, facing Vienna State Opera, for years, the place deemed secure enough by Kyrano Sr. all those years ago. That time, however, it was Virgil who tagged along whole Scott had a week of sessions set up with the Joint Committee of Global Services on the update of interoperable search and rescue policies. Trust Scott to spend his hard carved downtime on redrafting global policies and making the world a better and safer place.

That was just it, Dad having put his foot down (two, actually, and a fist) on IR rota expansion and rearranging operations with A LOT more of their habitual toll outsourced to GDF and local response services, they had more time to pursue their interests and develop their personal strengths. To have a life in an unironic way. But that also meant spending less time together on rescues, even on the island. Scott of course up and found himself the next all-consuming cause, so Virgil was kinda... missing him. Missing his best friend in the way he hadn't since Scott left for Yale, then for AirForce. Maybe it was the ever present thrum of dread over Scott involved in any thing GDF since... That Place... that got Virgil wistful and a bit clingy. Scott, naturally, didn't mind. They were having a great time, actually, reconvening in the afternoons for leisurely strolls, good food and uninterrupted talks about everything and nothing. Virgil treated himself to revising his favorite exhibits at Albertina and Kunst Museum, then took to camping out on sundrenched lawns of Burggarten, sketching statues or people around. He never felt as at home in Vienna as Scott did. Much as their ginger spaceman could fit right in on any red brick Gothic campus, Scott, all towering height and blue eyes, and slim athletic built, and structured suits just MATCHED the stately grandor of old imperial capitals. Virgil always felt too big and too rural American among the understated regal splendor of Vienna. But here, in the landscape informed by art, and the shade of Mozart's monument, and calm, and familial bonding, he was in his element.

Scott was stretching in the evening sun, like a giant cat, and blinking his eyes slowly at Virgil - that definitely called for a sketch.

Chocolate treats were, apparently, Scott not only loot that afternoon. He shifted to the side, wiggled a hand into the suit pocket and produced a small tattered volume. Faded gilded embossing and yellowed pages belied the treasure only found in antique bookshops. Virgil wasn't surprised when Scott started reading. One of the Tracy family best kept secrets was Scott's affinity for classic reading. Passionate, well-spoken and charismatic - Scott was the darling of every AP English class teacher, the Speech and Oratory Team captain and persistently courted for a graduate degree in French Modernism through his Lit Elective at Yale. In a different life Scott would have been an inspirational military leader, a kickass defense attorney or an Office-track politician and public speaker. But a different life had not been in the cards for Jeff Tracy's eldest Son and Heir.

What DID surprise Virgil was Scott settling up to read out loud. In German.

"Wem der große Wurf gelungen

Eines Freundes Freund zu sein;

Wer ein holdes Weib errungen

Mische seinen Jubel ein!"*

And raven brow shot up quizzically and in perfect synchrony the shit-eating grin erupted:

"What?! I'm his brother too!"

"To the point of speaking German?"

The grin faded a shade. Damn.

"To the point of speaking World Bank finance and AirForce parade drills with the old European Uninion Anthem. Schiller's statue is right OVER THERE, I was in the mood."

The returned smile was muted, but mellow. Virgil thought back to an old comedy, "what? like it's HARD?" almost audible in big brother's nonchalant shrug.

Only Scott Tracy would make a point to swing by a rare books shop and get himself a 1820s copy when he felt like reciting Schiller's poetry on a sunny afternoon in the old royal palace park. Virgil certainly hoped that indulgence streak broadened and became a habit.

----

* A stanza from Ode to Joy, Friedrich Schieller

[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 35 - Reappraise

Story to date in order (Tumblr / AO3)

Previous chapter

ART!VIRGIL KLAXON

Perhaps if you hadn’t read them before these two chapters (here and here) may make more sense of what Virgil has been drawing.

And if you missed the wee!Earth&Sky flying machine adventure, that is contained in this one and this one.

But now, onwards! Virgy-boy still has some demons to exorcise and needs Scooter to help him. Points to whoever spots the cameo from an old friend 😈

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

The view from Virgil’s balcony was very similar, but subtly different. They weren’t adjacent - both John’s often-empty and Dad’s always-empty room lay between - and the shift of a few metres to the left meant the light reflected off different facets of the damp rocks of Mateo and the shadows changed shape. The sea met the shore at a marginally different angle, the light refracting through the shallows and hitting the greener end of blue. Two of the trees visible from Scott’s were hidden by the curve of Roundhouse Peak.

Scott hadn’t noticed any of this before Virgil pointed it out. What he did know was that on his own the breeze was stronger and there was fractionally more sky. On a hot day he’d always advocate for the cooler, more exposed position. Where he could see as far as possible. Where he could breathe.

But on a cooler evening, there was something comforting about how the sun’s residual heat radiated from the stone and bathed Virgil’s preferred haven in a warm glow.

Virgil had added to the warmth that evening by opening a bottle of Scott’s favourite scotch which he’d clearly stashed away at some point. Had it been one of the others who produced such a thing, Scott would be waiting for ‘The Favour’ or ‘The Difficult Question’. In Gordon’s case, quite frequently ‘The Confession’.

Virgil, however, often just did it to be nice. And Virgil knew that, unlike Dad and himself, Scott preferred his liquor without rocks. He took another sip and rested his head back with a contented sigh, allowing the liquid to rest on his tongue.

“Scott?”

“Mmmmhmm?” The heat spread through his sinuses as he breathed over it.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

Oh!

The whiskey hit the back of Scott’s throat and his eyeballs burned. Virgil seemed hesitant which mean this was going to be important! He coughed and croaked out a hurried confirmation:

“Always.”

Virgil, staring out to sea, appeared not to notice his brother’s nasal passages vaporising which, again, indicated something was Up. Scott scrubbed at his eyes with a sleeve and with an iron will, forced himself to get a grip of his respiratory system. He was about to say something else encouraging when Virgil suddenly spun to face him and in a voice of utmost seriousness stated:

“It’s a weird one.”

Scott raised an amused eyebrow.

“I can do weird.”

“Would you wear it again?”

The other eyebrow joined it with vigour.

“Wear what? If you’re asking about Halloween and that cursed Superman costume, Alan beat you to it and it’s a hard no. I might be persuaded to consider Batman but only if you’re Robin.”

Virgil snorted and swirled the ice in his glass. The not ungenerous measure he’d poured himself having already disappeared.

“As you very well know I don’t do tights. Not after the Christmas debacle.”

“I think you made a lovely elf.”

“You’re deranged.”

“Yeah but you love me.”

Virgil threw an ice cube at his head before conceding: “I do. Yes.”

He then frowned.

“Scooter, are you CRYING?”

“Nope. No no I’m just… enjoying this with ALL my senses.” He raised the glass and winked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes as if invisibly scanning his brother, then with a quirk of an eyebrow seemed to conclude there was no sudden emotional devastation and released him from scrutiny. He looked back out towards Mateo and tracked the petrels swooping to and from their rocky nests.

Scott followed his line of sight and started a little. There was a small cave at the base of Mateo which was invisible from Scott’s balcony. How had he never seen that before? He was about to point it out when he realised he’d distracted Virgil from his question.

“If you didn’t mean Halloween… what are you asking?”

“Your uniform. The, uh, air force one.”

“Hell no. I’m planning to burn it. That’s not part of my life anymore.”

“That doesn’t sound very environmentally friendly…”

“Alright bury it then. Shred it and bury it. No… shred it, dissolve it in acid then bury it.”

Virgil blinked. “Have you been watching murder mystery reruns again?”

“They’re relaxing.”

“Riiiiiiight.” Despite the feigned disbelief, Scott knew that Virgil had been the one to add three hundred and thirty-six hours worth of ‘A Century of Detective Classics’ to the family server and he knew Virgil knew that he knew that he’d done it as a cunning way to tempt Scott into some downtime. Devious little brothers… who… needed reassuring, immediately.

“It hurt you so it’s got to die. Don’t worry. I don’t even want to touch it again. If Grandma hadn’t spirited it away somewhere to clean it would be gone already.”

“Oh.” Perhaps imbibing scotch straight into his brain had slowed him down, but Virgil didn’t seem as reassured as Scott had intended.

“Don’t you need it for Ash’s dinner? You should go to that, it’s important.”

“I’ll work something out.”

“Oh, ok.” Virgil went quiet again and Scott realised he’d given the wrong answer somehow but wasn’t quite sure how to change it.

“What’s on your mind, Virgil?”

He sighed and cracked his knuckles one by one, making Scott cringe.

“Would you… um, would you wear it once more if… I… for me to… uh…”

“For you?! But… I don’t understand! It made you so unwell? I thought you hated it?”

“I did. I do. But… I don’t want to carry that fear anymore, I can’t be scared of CLOTHES. It’s… I just can’t. It’s ridiculous. And, well… and I was thinking perhaps if I was prepared… if it wasn’t a surprise… it might… I might not react quite so badly? My last memory of it wouldn’t be… uh… so heavy? And maybe I could finish my book.”

“Your book?” Now Scott was really bewildered.

Virgil put down his glass and disappeared into his suite, returning swiftly with one of the large black ring-bound pads of thick art paper the like of which Scott had seen many times. This one was more battered than most and his little brother clutched it to his chest for a moment then cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat down.

“I found it when I was hunting for a sketch I wanted to work up for the exhibition next month. Some of them aren’t… very nice. I was going to just throw it away but Gordon thinks I should complete it… finish the story.”

“Gordon’s seen it?” Scott wasn’t actually jealous, he was relieved to discover - the little snakelike green monster’s appearance seemed to have been limited to the ‘other’ version of himself. But he found himself kind of intrigued that their fish brother was apparently giving art advice these days.

Virgil rolled his eyes and growled quietly. “You know what he’s like… I foolishly tried to hide it when he burst into the room and of course he noticed and he wouldn’t let up until I showed him.”

“May I see?”

Virgil chewed his lip and nodded. Scott shuffled his lounger closer such that they were shoulder to shoulder and felt his jaw drop as Virgil opened to the first page and he saw a vivid recreation in pastel of his toddler self proudly holding a tiny baby Virgil, Mom and Dad hovering in the background. The baby’s fingers were wrapped tightly around his thumb and Virgil had sketched several enlarged views of their chubby hands in pencil along the bottom.

He turned the pages slowly and Scott saw several scenes he definitely recognised from childhood photographs and some he thought must have come from Virgil’s memory. They paddled in a watercolour sea together, rode their bikes in oils, Scott dangled upside down from a charcoal tree with chalky Virgil underneath, arms stretched upwards. There was a cartoon school bus with a dimpled stickman waving from the window.

He smiled as he recognised the two of them with the flying machine on the roof, although he remembered it as much sturdier than the painting suggested. The faded but detailed cross-section taped in to the next double page disabused him of that impression. This one was covered in his own scrawly handwriting. Scott chuckled and raised a hand to the scar on his jaw.

“Oh DEAR, I’d thought it was a much better design than that!”

“Hmmmm.” Virgil rumbled “The basic concept was sound but the materials and our duct tape-biased construction methods left something to be desired and yeah… your “math” was a touch… shaky…”

Virgil smiled and turned over to another cross-section, only this time of a much more elegant design which was surrounded by small sketches of joints and diagrams showing balanced forces, each with the appropriate calculations painstakingly recorded in Virgil’s neat handwriting.

Scott gasped as he realised that this… this could work. Who was he kidding - it was Virgil’s design - of course it would work.

“You fixed it!”

“I did. I felt… bad that we never tried again and you didn’t get your moment.”

“My moment?! Virgil! I nearly killed us both!”

“You were only eleven.”

“Even so…” Scott tried very hard not to think of all the occasions since then when he hadn’t had ‘being only eleven’ as an excuse but the more he tried the more of them bubbled up in his memory like some kind of noxious gas polluting his only fresh water source. No. They were past this now… it was better. Things were changing. He was changing.

“I guess I had this idea that I could build it and if… if you ever came back…” he shook his head “it was just a silly…”

“No.” Scott interrupted, grabbing his arm and pressing his forehead into the side of Virgil’s head. “Not silly. Thoughtful. Ingenious. Seeing the potential in an idea and making it work? Very… YOU.”

Virgil gave a small smile and turned back to the book. Scott felt himself blush at page after page of sketches, all of himself - as a wide eyed child, a cocky teenager winking, a laughing adult flipping pancakes… even a few where he had apparently sprouted falcon wings, one where Virgil had them too.

Scott couldn’t imagine how many hours these must have taken to create

“When did you do all this?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he knew it was a stupid question. Virgil shrugged and turned the page.

“When you were gone.”

Scott put his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and squeezed as he turned again, seemingly keen not to linger on any one image.

A blazing sun burned out of the page, the wall of colour marred only by a silhouette of the falcon-winged man, clearly falling, curled in on himself as the wings trailed limply behind, the dark shapes of lost feathers becoming larger and more detailed towards the top. No prizes for spotting the reference there. The real sun, heading swiftly towards the horizon seemed to lose most of its heat and a modern day Icarus-but-for-Many-Miraculous-Escapes wondered yet again how he could have been so blind.

If that one gave him a chill, the next made him shiver, the warmth from the whiskey had now entirely dissipated - a faint pencil outline Scott holding a heavily shadowed Virgil in his arms. Then… there was that same Air Force Grad photo, reproduced in a dozen different styles. The last one almost photo-realistic but crossed through in heavy red pen.

Virgil tried to skip several pages but Scott gently took his hand and turned back. He recognised the image of the crashing jet, over and over… pencil drawn, painted, scratched with a blade into a thick black layer of wax crayon. There followed a page solely of fire. Skeletal outlines of fighter jets. Storms. Crowds of agonised faces. An incredibly detailed map of Bereznik decorated with vicious-looking black insects.

The last few pages shocked Scott the most - all the pictures were drawn on scraps of paper, and then glued in. The largest was a drawing in black ballpoint pen of an almost unrecognisable bearded stranger in a hospital bed, covered in bandages and tubes. There were smaller pencil studies of bruised hands, a foot, an ear, eyebrows over sunken eye sockets, a nearly skeletal chin with a scar… his scar. Scott swallowed hard - he’d looked that bad?

One smaller image stood out as it had clearly been screwed into a ball before being flattened out to stick on to the page. Scott’s younger self winked and laughed up at him from behind the creases, one arm wrapped around a huge box of popcorn, the other hand reaching out of the page towards him. Virgil had clearly got hold of a blue ballpoint pen for this one and had skilfully used it to produce a rainbow’s worth of blue shades. The picture somehow gleamed at him and Scott felt the green serpent stir in his gut. He bit the side of his tongue and motioned for Virgil to turn over to the next.

The very last page contained only the sky in vivid shades of blue with light wisps of cloud: Virgil’s starting place.

Scott swallowed hard as he realised Gordon hadn’t been giving art advice at all.

“I put it away when dad brought you home.”

“It’s… Wow…”

“It was an outlet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Scotty.”

“Not all of it. Some things though.”

He pulled his brother close again and planted a kiss in his hair.

“So how do you want to finish it?”

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Next chapter