#a phade fic

[phading]

Just Posted to A03

Marks and Wings because it's home.

[gumnut-logic]

Gordon (Part 3, Bit 1)

Part One | Part Two | Part 3 - Bit 1

This fic was started in June 2019. It is a very much ongoing WIP. I’m not sure if this bit works and may alter it later, but it is what I have written for tonight.

This is the second of the Marks & Wings fics. Getting closer to the end, but still a little bit to go.

Thank you to @phading​ for poking the inspiration.

I hope you enjoy this little bit.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was cold and in pain.

On any normal day, one hundred kilometres would be nothing. His wings were perfect for long distances as much as Scott’s were good for aerobatics. Virgil’s wings were as sturdy as he was and took soaring in their stride.

But he had been flying for most of the day, had been up early for that damned rescue that had started all this-

A sudden downdraft in the cooling air and he staggered, both wings screaming at him.

A flash of pale grey and he only had a split second to dodge something suddenly in his flight path…

Aching wings, exhaustion…he flung himself to the left, his right pinion wrenching as he dodged the protesting bird.

His flight spiralled, the world spinning in shades of blue and the last light of the long gone sun. His right wing wasn’t responding, the muscle shooting pain at his addled brain.

The ocean was leaping up to tear him from the sky.

Scott was going to kill him.

The thought of his big brother and his aerial acrobatics…

His sunny smile as he dove around Virgil, defying gravity in ways Virgil couldn’t even dream of mastering…

A breath, a moment of stillness as the air rushed past him.

Virgil spread his wings and braked.

His right wing wouldn’t fully extend, but it extended enough and he broke the spiral, swooping out of the dive. He yelled as he skimmed across the ocean surface, narrowly missing being caught by a wave.

He rode the energy of his descent in a wide arc until he had no choice but to climb.

The first stroke told him he wasn’t going to make it.

Whatever he had done to his wing, it was crippling. He could work it, but not without fire running the length of the pinion.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, John was screaming at him, Gordon flailing and pleading.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

He gained a little height, but not enough. He could grab at the air, but could not extend enough for a solid glide.

His flippant determination with Kay earlier…she had been right. She usually was.

God, he loved her.

She was going to kill him.

If he survived.

He couldn’t even see the lights of Tracy Island.

But as he grabbed painfully at the air like an injured raven, there were lights.

Red.

Green.

And the hiss of specialised rocket engines.

Shadow was barely her name as she shot out of the darkness into a hover below him.

Relief was was everything as she shone a spotlight as if reaching out to hold him.

He couldn’t hover, but she could, the elegant Thunderbird edging up beneath his faltering flight.

Stroke after painful stroke, he held himself aloft as she carefully manoeuvred into reach.

And then he was collapsing onto fuselage almost as dark as the night it was slicing through.

The moment he gave into gravity, her ‘bird stilled, hovering above the Pacific that tried to claim both him and his brother today.

He might have lost a moment there, swamped with pain, but her gentle hands caught him before he could face plant on cahelium.

“You idiot.” It was muttered as she assessed him, drawing his head onto her shoulder.

Chest still heaving, he curled into her embrace, wings limp in a ragged, half-spread cloak around them. “At least I didn’t get eaten by sharks.”

She grunted. “Yet.”

He closed his eyes and let his breath sigh out between his teeth.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[idontknowreallywhy]

Ahhha! Interesting you should mention it as I had pegged the Tallis Fantasia for another fic that’s WIP as it’s VERY Virgil but then recently saw another amazing piece by Phade which uses it and so it is irrevocably tied to that one in my head now and I shall pick another.

For me though, to relax he needs to listen to something primarily carried by an instrument he doesn’t play otherwise he’d be distracted by trying to play it - twitchy fingers!! Hence violin loveliness fit the bill. I’ve only recently rediscovered the Lark and started loving it because I HATED it for so long as a teenager when my teacher tried to get me to learn it and it is unbelievably hard to get right. Getting the notes is one thing, but if the tone isn’t there it’s awfully screechy 😂

“It’s so hard to see someone with the charisma to light up the planet making himself so small” AHH SO PERFECTLY PUT!! I’m so glad that made sense to you. I was slightly nervous thinking “would he, really?” but the gut feeling that this would be his reaction wouldn’t leave me and the idea that he’s so tall and imposing usually but just folds himself into a small corner… well I like the contrast.

Thanks for your lovely comments 🥰

Play it Out - part 3 of… it’s anyone’s guess at this point…

I promise I am definitely fixing this, the two of them are just taking a really long time about it… and this chapter got quite long before I got anywhere near to the point. Err, enjoy anyway?

This will make even less sense if you haven’t read Part 1 and Part 2… (AO3 link)

Virgil carefully stowed his tools in Two’s specifically designed storage compartments and stretched, stifling a yawn. He checked his watch - 2am already! Gordon had bailed and disappeared off to bed a while ago but he hadn’t realised it had got quite so late… he’d got thoroughly absorbed in those calibrations though and it was satisfying to have it finished.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and made his way over to the elevator, turning to look back at the big green behemoth as he waited for the door to open. He was now 3 weeks ahead on his ship’s routine maintenance schedule and she was purring like a kitten. Between the familiar but challenging work and Gordon’s background chatter, he’d been doing a great job of not thinking too much either. Which was… good. Hopefully if he ignored the weird existential angst feeling for long enough it would go away and he’d get back into the more healthy habit of loving his life.

Which he did. 

So. 

All would be well.

As he passed through the lounge he was relieved not to find Scott there working until the early hours again. He’d seemed more tense and frowny than usual the last few days and Virgil was incredibly thankful he’d resisted the temptation to unburden himself to his big brother. The last thing that man needed was anything more to worry about.

Not that he wasn’t eaten up with guilt about it anyway. There was a good reason he was never deliberately untruthful with Scott - it felt like a betrayal even if he knew it was for the best. He was a horrible liar at the best of times, and now he could feel his face burning whenever his brother caught his eye. Every time Scott spoke to him, Virgil’s treacherous heart jumped into his mouth and he was almost overcome by the need to confess everything.

Not that there was much to tell.

Except that he was a fool who needed to get a grip and be grateful.

With stealth borne out of years of practice he crept on silent feet past the rooms of his younger brothers and paused at his own, glancing over at Scott’s. A prickle of… something ran through him and he was seized by the sudden urge to burst in and demand a big bro hug. It had been a few days, in fact, since his last. But Scott slept little enough as it was. Tomorrow, then.

Gosh he was tired. He opened the door and made a beeline for the bathroom, beginning to pull his shirt over his head as he walked. He became vaguely aware of a rustling noise from the vicinity of his right foot and shook it irritably, failing to shed whatever had got stuck to his sock. Flannel tangled over his face he reached down and removed the sock, random scrap of paper and all and abandoned it behind him. 

Once the grease was washed from his hands and teeth thoroughly brushed he drifted back into the bedroom and went to stand at the window. He squinted into the grey, his eyes finding nothing to focus on as the low lying cloud reflected the light from his bedside table straight back at him. He shivered, despite the villa’s consistent, comfortable temperature.

Tracy Island’s sub-tropical winters were very mild compared to those he’d experienced growing up, but the cooler temperatures combined with the frequent sea mists still made him long to hibernate. He pulled the blinds down and shut it out.

Flicking through the playlist on his tablet, he sought a track guaranteed to send him extra quickly into the land of nod for who knew how long he had before a rescue dragged him back into unwelcome consciousness. He smiled with satisfaction as he hit play on the snooze-jackpot - a soaring violin solo by a British composer - and collapsed face first on to his pillow to enjoy the fine arcs of spring green sound swoop and flutter around him like the songbird it celebrated.

And relax.

He was just on the edge of sleep and beginning to drool slightly when the change in texture brought by the woodwind entry nudged him awake again and he realised something was niggling at his sense of peace. With a huff he turned on to his side and opened his eyes. What had he forgotten?

The sock stared back at him.

Virgil considered himself a fairly tidy person, nothing on the military precision of his father or eldest brother but preferring a significant level of order higher than the younger two. An abandoned sock wouldn’t usually bother him however but, well, turned out a lot of irrelevant things were apparently bothering him lately.

He slid out of bed and commando crawled over to the sock in order to banish it to the laundry basket. It made a unexpected crinkly sort of noise and he pulled out the paper, realising with surprise it was a sheet of the fancy monogrammed stuff his dad had stockpiled long ago but nobody ever used in this digital age. Curious.

Humming to himself, he unfolded the note and the bottom fell out of the world.

A week’s worth of dropped eye-contact and excuses slammed into him like a runaway freight train. The background music was drowned out by a sudden high pitched ringing in his ears and a nausea that threatened to overwhelm his senses as he suddenly saw his attempts to hide the truth from his brother’s perspective. He looked at his watch and swore profusely - 3am.

How could he have been so short-sighted? So selfish? Of course Scott would interpret Virgil’s avoidance of him as a failing of his own. 

And he knew… he KNEW his big brother experienced rejection as physical pain. He may as well have kicked Scott in the stomach. In fact, that would have undoubtedly been less cruel.

He struggled back into his discarded clothes, panic making him clumsy and his mind flooded with memories of seeking out his trembling brother in the hayloft. Of finding his hero curled up in agony, borderline incoherent and paralysed by the conviction he’d let their overworked and well-meaning but infuriatingly oblivious father down *again*. That he’d never be good enough. 

It had always been Virgil’s job to look him in the eye and promise him that he was.

Not as much had altered in their adulthood as Scott seemed to believe, except that his over-achieving brother hid that pain better from the world. From everyone except Virgil. Because that certainly hadn’t changed - Virgil would always be there for Scott, would always hear that hitch in his breath, the subtle change in the melody of his voice. He would always catch him as he fell, would always seek him out and would never leave him alone.

Until now.

It must have cost his brother so much to write that note and Virgil had just… not showed up.

Stealth abandoned he raced to Scott’s door, only just restraining himself from barging straight through it - he might be peacefully asleep… maybe.

He cracked open the door and recoiled as a blade of cold damp air rushed into his face. 

The room was empty. Bedclothes neat and smoothed down, fluffy scatter cushions at 45 degree angle to the bottom edge of the pillow and… an ancient guitar propped up against the headboard. That gave Virgil pause, Scott hadn’t got that out in… a long time. He reached out and brushed his index finger across the strings. It was in tune. He’d been playing then? 

His attention was caught by the curtains billowing from the open balcony door, the luxurious material making a low whomp whomp whomp as it flapped back and forth.

His brother had returned from duty with an Air Force zero tolerance approach to clutter but a very definite inclination towards soft furnishings. He shuddered to imagine why.

Surely he wasn’t still out there at this time? In this weather?

Thrusting the drapes aside he all but threw himself on to the balcony, the exasperated reprimand almost on its way out of his lips before his brain caught up with the fact that both easy chairs were distinctly empty. Two glasses and a bottle of Virgil’s favourite whisky waited on the table between them. Unopened.

His hands white-knuckled on the balcony rail, as he peered out into the mist, racking his mind for where Scott could be - maybe he would have taken a hazardous, self-punishing run up the volcano? Would he have gone to hide on the beach? There were caves down there and some of them were tidal, would his brother be thinking straight enough to choose a safe place to tuck himself away? His heart hammered against his rib cage as he tried to work out where to start. Should he call John?

He half raised his arm to activate his comm and froze as the faintest of sounds interrupted his train of thought - a shuddering breath and a whisper of a sigh.

Virgil spun around and his already compromised ventricles were strangled even further as the shadow tucked into the tiny space between the far lounger, the wall and an outsized plant pot resolved itself into a tight ball of limbs and a pale chin just visible beneath an oversized hoodie. 

How like his commanding tower of a brother to try to make himself small.

Little music vibe note: the piece Virgil chooses is The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams

All the love to @sofasurf @astranite @womble1 @hebuiltfive for incitement their encouragement, sense checking and specifically detailed discussion of soft furnishings.

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Just Posted to AO3

Shades of 'Just Another Night in the Infirmary.'

This one is just for fun!

[phading]

Idiots. Brothers. Heroes.

WIP...

All Scott wanted to do was run.

“Don’t!” The sheer desperation in John’s voice clawed him back. “Please, Scott!”

Up on Five, John was begging … something that never happened.

Scott bit down hard on his lower lip, fists clenched around the fire line tape, and prayed. Vivid blue eyes stung and watered from the acrid smoke but they never blinked and they never strayed from the building’s main entrance where Gordon had vanished from sight in search of Virgil.

Scott’s breath stalled in his parched throat when the smoke eddied for an instant and someone emerged. Squinting, he made out the bulky shape of a uniformed firefighter coming towards him with the small, limp body of a child cradles in his arms. Scott held the tape up for them, his eyes inevitably drawn to the horrid burns on the little girl’s neck and chest where her pink, plaid dress had burned and melted away.

“A guy in there saved her,” the fireman gasped as he ducked past. “Someone else is helping him, they were right behind me. Our men are all out and no one goes back in. The roof’s about to go.”

Scott nodded woodenly, shocked eyes refocused on the entrance. Flames licked out the windows on either side as roils of smoke, a slightly paler grey than the night sky, tumbled through the doorway. Without a uniform he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Come on, Gords, get out of there! Get both of you out of there!

Scott held his breath, then sucked more in sharply. They were there, framed by flame, one walking, one trying ...

TBC

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Just Posted!

I dug myself out of a landslide of angsty WIPs and this happened ...

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WIP - Trading Places

The holiday season is over and my muse has resurfaced, gasping for air but by some miracle still alive.

It’s just a normal, everyday IR rescue – except that Virgil, the field commander, is piloting One while Scott’s flying Two and donning his brother’s Exo. Alan’s mostly unconscious, Gordon’s pretty much the only functional operative on site, and John is — well, John is John — a million thank you’s are never enough for John.

Teaser …

“How many casualties, John?”

“Officially? 47. Unofficially? More than 47.”

“There’s gonna be hell to pay,” Virgil muttered. “Hey, Scott, how’s my baby behaving?”

“If you’re referring to this god-awful, whiny clusterfuck of cahelium parts …” Scott’s good-natured rant broke off with a shout of warning before being drowned out in a cascading rumble of sound. John and Gordon were suddenly yelling for their brothers but there was no response from either Scott or Alan …

Posting to AO3 soon …

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TRAINING Just posted to AO3!

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WIP Alert

WIP Alert … and it’s not even Wednesday!

I haven’t posted a fic for a while, and I have three (hopefully good) excuses. I’ve been dividing my time between these WIPs that are all tugging at my heartstrings ...

STARSTUCK

It was one of those heart-stopping moments when your mind realizes you have totally and absolutely fucked up so bad that your life from this point forward will be unalterably changed. Alan’s throat choked on a swallow that ended up being a gasp.

“Alan!” John’s shout broke through the fog. “Scott and Gordon have already responded! Get a stretcher and a medkit down there. Move it!”

Alan moved it, familiar routines and following orders overriding the need to think. The infirmary loomed, dimly lit and ominous around him as he hastily prepped a stretcher, loading it with standard emergency gear. Reality didn’t hit until the elevator doors split open at the refuelling hangar level.

The alarm was abruptly silenced, no doubt by John, but the residual echo continued to ring in Alan’s ears. The air smelled of fuel and singed metal, cut with the almost fresh scent of flame-retardant foam. His beautiful, red bird was tilted to the side in her silo, rail docks and thrusters damaged, a wing pylon bent out of shape and so many scrapes in her hull that it looked like she was bleeding.

…

CASPIAN (Nutty's Marks and Wings AU)

“Ditch the protocols, Virg, just get as much distance between you and Five as you can. I’m not certain I can avoid a collision.”

Virgil didn’t know what they were about to collide with, nor did he need to. What he did know was that John was doing everything in his power to keep it from happening.

“Understood,” he growled, reluctantly turning his back on his brother and heading for the nearest suit-up station where he found John’s partner closing the last fastening on one of Five’s emergency suits. They were designed to fit all of the brothers, and since Caspian was even leaner than John he was almost lost in the baggy cloud of space-rated neoprene.

Virgil snatched a helmet, settled it onto Caspian’s suit latches and clicked it into place. “C’mon, let’s go!” He grabbed a fistful of loose suit and powered both of them towards the airlock.

“No!” Caspian writhed and twisted in his grip. “Let go of me! I’m not leaving John!”

Virgil half-plowed, half-swam forward, his expression a rigid mask of fear for his brother’s safety. “John’s doing his best to avoid a collision,” he asserted, trying to convince not only Caspian but himself. “We need to launch Thunderbird 3, keep her safe. If this goes sideways John’s gonna need our help.”

…

STARS BEYOND SCIENCE

“We’re done with that one, Gordy,” John said softly, absently watching a fuzzy sun tint the early morning sky pink and orange outside the window. “Hemingway’s a little bit out there, but what did you think?”

He should have been accustomed to the lack of response by now, but John could feel the salty sting of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“I know you’ve probably done Moby-Dick, bro, but I think it’s worth reading more than once, don’t you? Let’s give it a go.” The gentle suggestion went unnoticed but Gordon’s chest still rose and fell in perfect rhythm as John read the first 27 chapters without pausing.

It was Day 4.

…

[phading]

Surprise posting to AO3

Didn't see this coming ... wrote itself in an hour.

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StarStuck

Just posted on AO3. Hey, I wrote Alan!

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Stellar - Just Posted

It's late, I'm exhausted, emotionally drained and so, so ecstatic to have finished this fic! Hope you enjoy.

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Whump? Did somebody say whump?

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Idiots. Brothers. Heroes.

Complete story now posted!

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Thunderbirds Light!

I've been all about angst lately so I thought it was time to serve up a little palette cleanser ...

Part of Nutty's FAB-FIVE-FEB Challenge 2024: "Scott" and "quiet".

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Fish Aren't Meant to Fly

A Marks and Wings Fic

WAHOO!

Gordon skimmed just above the surface of the water at a ridiculous speed, wondering why in the ocean he had never morphed into this form before. Spreading four wings as wide as he could, he coaxed a few extra metres out of the glide. As soon as his belly brushed water he skimmed along the surface, pumping his caudal fin with all the enthusiasm he could muster. In no time he was airborne again, the tropical sun warm on his back, the spray cool on his face …

SMACK!

Gordon’s fun came to an abrupt and painful end on the side of a fishing boat. Stunned, he slid down a rough, wooden hull and plopped back into the ocean. Swimming in tight, dizzy circles, he tried to orient himself and move away from the boat.

Water churned around him, sharp strands scraped and stung his fragile skin and Gordon found himself dangling above the surface, twitching in a mesh of glistening, sunlit waterdrops.

A net? Well, this was unexpected. A rough voice rang out above him. “Hey, mate, what kinda fish is this?”

A second voice. “Is it big enough to eat?”

EAT? ...