#earth&sky

[coco9728]

Awww I love this!💕

They always have each others backs.💙💚

Hey Brother

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Virgil, Scott

They have each other.  Always.

Day seven of Earth&Sky and I am mildly amazed I actually managed to complete it!  Big thanks to both @flyboytracy and @sonatanotwo for organising this week - it’s been a lot of fun and shoved me a little way out of my comfort zone (so much Virgil!).

Scott falls.

That’s not an unusual state of affairs.  Virgil lost count years ago, if he ever kept one in the first place, of the number of times he’s seen Scott fall.  What goes up must come down, and Scott’s always been one for going up.

Climbing on the back of the couch, climbing onto the roof, climbing up trees.  Up, up, up, because big brother always wanted to touch the sky.

The inevitable falls were varied.  Sometimes they were controlled, a simple jump from a safe height that had Scott flashing a cheeky, innocent grin at whichever adult had told him to get down from there, Scott.  (It’s the exact same grin Gordon started using when it was his turn to be the troublemaker.) Sometimes they should have been controlled, Scott having something on hand that should have kept him safe during the descent but didn’t always do its job – Virgil still vividly remembers the day he leapt from the top of the old oak with a folded bedsheet for a parachute, and the broken arm that followed.

Most of the time, it fell into varying levels of control.  Scott flies high but he knows how to land, because his family are there and he’s worried them enough in his lifetime not to take some level of care over it.  Virgil was not the only person who made sure Scott’s IR gear was chock full of ways to slow and stop his falls – whether it be a jetpack, remote controls for his Thunderbird, or grapples.  Even a wingsuit snuck its way in, for particularly reckless stunts.

Keep reading

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 34 - Redux

What went before - Tumblr / AO3

Previous chapter

Also if you never saw my short fic Composition which I snuck in between Presence and this one, it’s only 2,700 words in total but as the below references it a fair bit, you might want to have a quick look there.

Anyway, Earth&Sky in the storm time.

Um, second time’s a charm?

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Have you got a plan?

Scott’s run had lasted just over 135 minutes so far. According to EOS, he had achieved three new personal bests over some of the steeper segments of the Island’s well-worn tracks despite the relentless downfall making his footing treacherous. He laser-focussed on the familiar path ahead, compensating for the slip risk. He wasn’t a fool, well aware that he was likely to fall and turn an ankle or sprain a wrist or something similarly irritating if he didn’t concentrate and he didn’t have time for that. So he concentrated. Because stopping wasn’t an option. He couldn’t even ease up the pace yet. Because if he did, he’d have time to think and… and… no.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He’d let too much happen already today.

He hadn’t even tried.

Scott! Have you got a plan?

Not yet. But I will in a minute…

What if he’d said yes? What if he’d been quicker to think? Was there something he’d missed? Some way through…

Wait, Scott! We need more data. Wait?

If I can just get down there…

Please, Scott, listen?

He spluttered as a gust of wind blew the deluge directly into his face.

Could you listen?

He’d promised he would, so he had.

He had. He’d listened and he’d done nothing and…

Aaaaaaagh.

He growled, shook his head and pushed harder, trying to drown out the memory of his brother’s voice, of all the other desperate voices, with the harshness of his own breathing.

Just… run. Uciec.

Every life he’d failed to save since the very first, clawed at him from the sides of the track. So many of them now. He pressed on, trying not to step on their hands.

Listen!

Wait?

RUN. It was the only plan he had for now.

His pulse thundered in his head as, predictably, the brother he least wanted to see right now joined the trail just ahead of him and jogged easily alongside. The only surprise was that it had taken so long.

Scott pushed his speed up a notch and his quads screamed at him. Good. Focus on that. The rain provided enough white noise that he could almost ignore the sound of the second set of feet pounding along the track.

He counted his own steps under his breath:

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneight…

His pace slowed a little as the path sloped upwards more steeply, his breath little more than gasping now… nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen. Thirteen. Thirteen families torn apart. He staggered a little and immediately noticed but ignored the hand brushing his elbow. He pushed on.

Fourteen-fifteen-sixteen-thirteen-thirteen-thirteen-thirteen-thirteen…

All those people had believed in International Rescue. Believing for a miracle in blue.

Believing in him.

And he’d stood there… waiting… USELESS… and then it had all come down and it was too late and they were gone.

He hadn’t even TRIED.

“Scott, slow down. Please?”

No.

Can’t.

Uciec…

“Did that already. Didn’t turn out so well.”

“I’m sorry. But can we…”

“I need a minute.”

“You’ve had plenty, Scott it’s been…”

“You know best of course.” He regretted the snarling tone as soon as it emerged but he’d just have to add ‘being a good brother’ to the list of other stuff he’d already failed at today.

And when Scott Tracy started failing he really went to town.

His breath caught painfully in the back of his throat and his eyes blurred in a way he couldn’t blame on the rain streaming down his forehead. All those people. He hadn’t even tried… he hadn’t even…

With a hiss he shook his head and tried to blot it out. Something twinged in his thigh and he weaved slightly as he tried to shake it out. Of course little brother would have seen but he didn’t mention it and Scott ploughed on. The path turned and began to climb the shoulder of the caldera. Thunder grumbled away in the distance but he hadn’t noticed any lightning amongst the deluge.

“You know I was right, Scott!”

“THEY DIED! THEY ALL DIED, VIRGIL! GONE! JUST LIKE THAT!”

“AND YOU WOULD HAVE TOO!”

The unexpected volume finally brought him up short. Virgil didn’t shout…

But Virgil’s expression wasn’t angry. Scott turned away again, unable to process the agony in his brother’s eyes just then.

“Maybe I wouldn’t… there might have been something I could have done.”

“Sometimes there is nothing that can be done, Scott. Even by us. Even by you.” Virgil’s voice was small now. And it shook.

Scott keened quietly and hugged himself in an effort to control the muscle fatigue shivers that were beginning. He slowly shook his head from side to side, as if denial might yet change the outcome.

Virgil’s arms appeared around him and held on tight. The rain continued to slam into the earth around them.

“Sometimes there is nothing that can be done.” He repeated softly.

Scott had already parroted these exact words to the GDF officer who had, as usual, turned up too late to be of any use. His heart hadn’t been in them. Where his heart had been at that very moment was in the clenched fists of the woman he could see over the uniformed shoulder. Whose eyes had pleaded with him to make it untrue. The wife of one of the local first responders who had been trapped in the mine as it collapsed. The raw agony on her face as she hung limply over the linked arms of two friends and howled was too familiar.

A freak avalanche obliterated all in its path. A sabotaged fighter jet exploded on the runway. A prototype spaceship exploded into atoms.

The second solid hour of pushing past his limit wandered over and presented its bill and Scott folded at the knees.

Virgil caught him and held him up, like he always did. Even when Scott was unwilling to admit it was required.

“We can’t save everyone Scott… you know that. Dad always said so.”

“I didn’t even try.“

“You would have if there’d been a chance. So would we all. That’s why we flew all the way there. That matters!”

Scott blinked the sweat-rain-weakness out of his eyes and glared at a rock.

No, not weakness. She always said so.

He kicked at the rock and missed.

He wrestled back control of his limbs and straightened up and but continued to avoid Virgil’s eye which took some doing because his he could feel his brother eyeballing him as determinedly as the amply muscled arms were holding his torso hostage. Scott pretended to himself that this was why he was struggling to catch a breath. The rainfall increased in intensity and the sound of it filled his ears with fuzz.

“One of the wives… she just looked at me and I… I had nothing. Nothing to say to her. Nothing.” His thoughts sped away from his control even as his brother restrained his body from chasing them. “But what could I say? We’re supposed to stop it happening! I’m supposed to try… Can… can you even imagine…” he dragged in a breath and tried to stop his head swimming as the nausea rose “… how they feel when we fail? To know the person who made their life make sense… who they exist for, is gone? Just like that?”

“I don’t have to imagine.”

Virgil’s voice was quiet and flat, but cut through the air like a scythe.

Scott‘s racing mind ran smack into a wall. The chill of the rain was nothing compared to the ice that suddenly crystallised in every vein.

He swore, silently - he had no breath left to make a sound.

How could he have forgotten?

Already?

It hadn’t even been two months since he’d held his tormented and terrified brother in his arms and sworn he’d do anything. The reason he’d stopped today, for the promise he’d made was the knowledge of what he’d driven Virgil to. And yet somehow as soon as the path between he and the trapped ones had disappeared, the guilt had driven it from his mind. He’d lost his way. Again.

The thunder rolled more insistently. This time the flash was bright enough to penetrate his scrunched up eyelids.

Even if he had the breath he didn’t yet have the words. So he dragged an arm out of Virgil’s vice grip and hugged him hard. Virgil sagged into the embrace and Scott shifted the angle of one leg such that he was better able to support his larger brother’s weight. He had nothing left for anything more. The fury was gone, leaving only a gaping chasm where the pent up energy had been.

Scott’s breath deepened and slowed as they stood there, propping each other up. Even here, even like this, his brother’s presence was soothing. Grounding. It always was. It was why Scott had been avoiding him… he hadn’t felt he’d earned that comfort today.

The storm was right on top of them now, the roaring and the flashing almost synchronous. The palm trees creaked and groaned, the rain slammed into their skulls and gushed down the rocky track. The sea howled and tore itself apart on the shore.

And yet all Scott could hear was Mom’s song. Not with his ears, he heard it in his bones as Virgil hummed quietly into his chest. Suddenly he was in the deepest pit again, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to hold on to anything but his brother’s voice calling him home.

Only this time, he could answer.

And so Scott sung her lullaby to his little brother as the storm raged its way over their island and out across the Pacific:

You’ll soar through the sky

Or sail on the sea

And when you get home

That’s where I shall be

Go find your adventures

So fearless and free

I’ll wait for you always

As proud as can be

And if there is darkness

No hope you can see

My heart holds you safely

You’ll always have me

At the last line Virgil was gripping him so hard Scott could feel the skin bruising under his brother’s fingers.

“I am such a fool, Virg… I don’t deserve you.”

Virgil huffed a sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

“S’ok.”

“It’s not.”

“Was never gonna be easy. Thank you for stopping.”

“Thank you for asking me to.”

Virgil looked up at him, doing an impressive impression of a half-drowned puppy. But for once Scott’s heart didn’t melt at the sight of an adorable younger brother.

Instead it clenched with dread. Pale, heavily shadowed and his eyes dilated to almost black in the fast-fading light, Virgil seemed almost wraith-like.

This had to stop. He couldn’t keep doing this to them. He could see it so clearly now. The empty space in his chest where the hurt and the guilt and the rage and the despair and the fear had resided began to fill with a steely glow of determination:

He would burn the world to protect his family.

He’d do it without a second thought.

So why was he risking hurting them every time he tried to save it?

He kissed Virgil on the forehead then stepped out of the embrace to take his brother’s shoulders in his hands. Blue met brown and held them steady.

“I will get better at this. I promise. I… I don’t want to leave you guys. I swear it, Virg, please believe me. I never have. The only reason I didn’t give up and die back… back then was because I needed to get home to you. Because you called me home. I knew you were waiting for me. That hasn’t changed. It has never changed, not for a second.”

“Then… why?”

“I don’t knooow.” The bewildered schoolboy inside Scott betrayed his presence with a faint whine. “I don’t mean… It’s not… It’s just…” He took a shaky breath. “It’s hard for me to choose NOT to act. It’s hard to not TRY. It feels… I… I think I’m scared of the what if? What if I had done more… pushed a little harder and… it had turned out better? It’s hard to see the line where it isn’t worth the cost to try.”

“You can see it well enough when one of our lives are in the balance.”

“True… True. I guess because its the opposite? I’ve spent all my life worrying about how I can protect you all, so I have to restrain myself from stopping you going out there in the first place and… yes I know, I know…” Virgil’s single raised eyebrow said it all. “I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite.”

Scott sighed. Then shivered. His leg muscles sent a polite three-second warning.

“Could we sit down? I might have, um, overdone it a touch.”

“Who could possibly have predicted that?” There was a welcome undertone of humour in Virgil’s snort.

They landed inelegantly but side by side in the mud. Scott took his hand again and they rested a while, their clothes steaming gently in the warmer evening breeze that had pushed the storm ahead of it. A sprinkling of early stars peered through a gap in the diminishing cloud cover.

“I can see the line for you so I can learn to see it when it’s mine too. I’m going to keep listening, ok? Until you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

“Thank you.”

“But…”

Virgil stiffened.

“I need you to do something else for me too.”

“Anything.”

Scott considered his words carefully. He didn’t want to make the same mistake he had ten years prior and shackle his brother with an impossible vow.

“I need you to change your mission.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“The task you gave yourself when you were small… to show me that… that I’m worth more than I thought. You have Virg, you always have been doing that but now I see things more clearly… well… I have to take that one on myself.”

Virgil’s hand shifted in his as the younger brother sat up straighter, Scott could sense rather than see the shoulders being squared.

“That makes sense. I can’t be your self-esteem for you. But I will make damn sure you keep making progress on it. Weekly mission status updates, minimum!”

Scott laughed quietly at the grin in his brother’s voice. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. And you have your own now too.”

“And what is that, Oh Great Commander?”

“If I’ve let Dad’s shadow shape me too much, you’ve let my… issues… shape you. I need you to find yourself again.”

Virgil tensed as if he was going to speak but no words came. Scott pressed on:

“You are so very much more than my keeper, Virg, but I’m worried you’ve pushed a lot of yourself to the side for me and I didn’t even see it happening. If I give you a break from being Scott’s 24/7 bodyguard and cheerleader, can you use it to give Virgil time to shine instead? I’d really love to see what might happen if you did.”

It was too dark to see his brother’s face but the happy relief in Virgil’s voice was light enough for both of them:

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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Your honour, I finally fixed them.

3 more (shorter!) chapters to go by way of epilogue because I promised fluff and bunny ears and they will definitely happen. After all this progress I think they’ve earned it.

Oh and here’s the beautiful art by @lenle-g showing our boys in the rain 💚💙😍

Next chapter

[without-ado]

Full Moon over the Temple of Poseidon l Lolos Marios

[idontknowreallywhy]

💙💚

The love on their faces - I am UNDONE.

“Happy birthday, little brother”

[alltheshadesofamber]

AFTG is a very good example of narrator bias, because if we didn’t get a book from Jean and Jeremy’s POVs we would have no way of knowing the world does not actually in fact revolve around one Andrew Minyard

[spacewonder19]

Ring of Fire in Cloudy Skies © Bryan Minear

[mournfulroses]

Manuel Bandeira, from This Earth, That Sky: Poems of Manuel Bandeira; "Morning Star,"

[idontknowreallywhy]

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Oh boys…

sad boys in the rain inspired by this WIP by @idontknowreallywhy:

Scott’s run had lasted just over 90 minutes and, according to EOS, he had achieved three new personal bests over some of the trickier segments of the Island’s trails. His pulse thundered in his head as, predictably, the brother he least wanted to see right now joined the trail just ahead of him and ran alongside. “Scott, slow down. Please?”

“I did that already! Look how well it turned out!” “You know I was right, Scott!” “THEY DIED! THEY ALL DIED, VIRGIL!” “AND YOU WOULD HAVE TOO!” Scott turned away, unable to process the agony in his brother’s eyes just then. He nudged the pace up a little, hoping those that pleading face would fall behind him. “Maybe I wouldn’t… there might have been something… something I could have… done.” His limbs betrayed him and he staggered to a stop again, breathing heavily. “Sometimes there is nothing that can be done, Scott. Even by us. Even by you.” Virgil’s voice shook. Scott keened slightly and hugged himself in an effort to control the shivers that were beginning. He slowly shook his head from side to side, as if denial might yet change the outcome. Virgil’s arms appeared around him and held on tight. The rain continued to slam into the earth around them. “Sometimes there is nothing that can be done.” He repeated softly. Scott had already parroted these exact words to the GDF officer who had, as usual, turned up too late to be of any use. His heart hadn’t been in them. Where his heart had been at that very moment was in the clenched fists of the woman he could see over the uniformed shoulder. The wife of one of the local first responders who had been trapped in the mine as it collapsed. The raw agony on her face as she hung limply over the linked arms of two friends and howled was too familiar. A freak avalanche obliterated all in its path. A sabotaged fighter jet exploded on the runway. A prototype spaceship exploded into atoms. The second solid hour of pushing past his limit wandered over and presented its bill and Scott folded at the knees.

[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 😈

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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

[karlrincon]

This is how Eclipse Solar 2024 is looking from space. 🔭🌘

[without-ado]

Storm cloud over Texas l Laura Rowe NASA APOD

[idontknowreallywhy]

A little reread. One of my faves. 💙💚

Thunderbird One shuddered as she slid into dock, her whole fuselage groaning as if in relief. As she relaxed, her airframe creaked, losing heat to the cool of the hangar and for a moment everything was still.

Scott let his shoulders loosen, his whole body slumping in his pilot’s chair. One by one, he uncurled his fingers from the controls, his joints stiff from holding them so tight.

His head dropped back against the headrest and his eyes closed.

God, damn.

Breath hissed between his teeth as he let it out as if he had been holding it in all afternoon.

It certainly felt like he had.

They couldn’t save everyone.

They couldn’t.

But god, how he tried.

He drew the breath back in and activated pilot retrieval. One’s main viewing hatch folded back and the platform extended out from the dock as his chair unfolded to meet it.

Even then it took him a long moment to move.

“Scott?” John startled him. “You okay?”

He drew his shoulders up, straightening automatically. “Perfectly fine, Thunderbird Five.”

There was a grunt from orbit. John didn’t believe him.

Scott was not surprised.

A sigh and he pushed himself out of his seat and onto the delivery platform, forcing the correct stance so he didn’t abruptly end his career on the concrete floor far below.

Machinery that had no concept of emotional state hummed smoothly and retrieved him back to solid ground. He took the last step.

Scott stared at his elevator for a solid minute before turning to the stairs and taking them instead.

He needed to move. Needed start his heart beating again. Needed to rescue himself from that vast hole that was sucking him down into its depths. That same empty hole those dead eyes had lured him to once the boy’s life had fluttered away and…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a gloved hand.

It was always the eyes that got him.

These ones had been brown, somewhere between Virgil’s and Gordon’s and…oh god.

Move.

He threw himself up the stairs. Fortunately, there was a lot of them and they made his body work hard. By the time he made it to the locker room, he was panting.

His own breath was harsh in his ears and had a helplessness to it he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He shed uniform. His gloves hit the bench, followed by his baldric, his boots skidding across the floor. Struggling not to think, he unzipped his flight suit and shed the thick material, barely acknowledging the cool air as it hit the bare skin of his arms.

Another moment and he flung off his undershirt and shorts and padded over to a shower cubicle naked as the day he was born.

Goose pimples raised on his arms.

The shower was as hot as he could get it. But not hot enough to wash away the bruises he had no doubt Virgil would be targeting the moment he laid eyes on his eldest brother.

Scott’s sigh couldn’t be heard above the water spray.

Body scrubbed clean…ever so clean…red raw in places…the Commander of International Rescue stood under the steaming shower and closed his eyes.

You can’t save everyone.

It was his father’s voice. The same voice that came to him in all difficult moments. Grey eyes, reassuring smile and a strength Scott wished daily that he had. Jeff Tracy was a legend, bigger than life. Jeff Tracy was his father.

Jeff Tracy was a voice that guided him, that saved him, held him tight and prevented him from falling into that pit of despair that sometimes just loomed.

He turned the water off and let the remains drip off his body.

His left thigh was turning an ugly purple.

Damn.

Another sigh and he pushed aside the cubicle door and grabbed a towel.

It was big, extra fluffy, sky blue and all Virgil’s idea. He could still see his brother making his case for luxury towels in the locker room where they were needed. Mental health, he claimed.

Scott, Air Force to the core, had used abrasive cardboard squares masquerading as towels enough times to acknowledge the difference and how right his little brother was. It wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity.

Scott buried his face in deep cotton as the cool air wrapped around him. Another moment and he was rubbing himself dry, his thigh, left ribcage and arm complained. The ache was creeping up on him. He hadn’t really noticed other than the sharp collision when he had initially fallen.

But he hadn’t had time. Arms full of dying rescuee with a building on its way down…he did what he had to do.

Still, it hadn’t been enough.

First John and then Virgil yelling at him over comms. He was fine. The teenage boy was dead, but Scott Tracy was fine.

Just fine.

He scrubbed his hair dry, trying his best to ignore the fact his left arm hated being lifted above his shoulders.

Hair hung in his eyes and he brushed it aside, irritably.

Somewhere outside the rock walls of the locker room a familiar roar swelled and he knew Thunderbird Two and his three brothers were moments away from invading this quiet space.

Scott straightened. It was inevitable. Virgil would not let him escape again, but there might be a few more minutes alone if he got his shit together.

One of the advantages of flying the fast ‘bird. First dibs at the showers and that moment to gather himself before his brothers cornered him.

Digging through his locker, he found some underwear, loose pants and an old t-shirt. His usual casual wear beckoned, but even he knew he wasn’t fit to go out again, even if Virgil hadn’t grounded him yet.

He wasn’t stupid.

Tomorrow, yes. Today? He needed a stiff drink and time to himself.

So that is exactly what he did. Detouring to the drinks cabinet, he nabbed himself a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. Two, because he was a realist.

Hair still a damp mess, he skipped up to his rooms, grabbed his tablet, and hid on his own private balcony. From here, he could see the Island, the villa below and the sky to the south. Mateo had birds hovering over it like it always did in the early evening as the day started winding down.

His eyes randomly tracked a lone bird, different from the others, coasting past high above the Island.

He threw himself into an overly plush lounger. Again, a sky blue and Virgil-instigated. Scott had returned from a mission several years ago to find it sitting on his balcony. Not a word had been said, but he knew it was Virgil. Just like the towels, it wasn’t extravagance, it was mental health and Scott had to admit to curling up in the contraption on many an occasion since.

The tablet, bottle of whisky and tumblers landed with a thud on the wooden table beside it.

His body creaked as he folded into the chair and he was reminded that he would likely have a medic brother on his ass sometime soon.

He lay back and closed his eyes and forced every to muscle relax.

And tried to ignore the eyes etched into his mind.

Only to be startled awake as someone loomed over him.

“Hey, hey, it’s only me.” Familiar, soft baritone and deep brown eyes, Virgil was crouched down beside him. His brother’s hair was still curly damp from the shower and he was frowning…at the bruises on Scott’s arm. “Just chasing you up after that fall.”

Scott shifted on the lounger and his whole body protested. Damnit. “I’m fine, Virgil.”

“I’ll decide that.” That prompted the ghastly yellow scanner light to flicker across his body.

“Virgil!”

His brother’s lips thinned to a line as he read the scanner’s readout. “You’re off rota at least twenty-four hours, possibly more.”

“I know that.”

“I’ll note that against your diagnosis of ‘fine’.”

Scott glared at his brother.

Virgil rolled back on his heels, eyes assessing in that damned medical way of his.

“Virgil, I’m okay. A few bruises. I’ll live. Stop worrying.” He hated being the source of anxiety.

Still, his brother stared, his frown emphasizing that scar between his eyebrows.

“What?!”

Virgil’s eyes didn’t waver. “Sit up.”

“Why?”

“Scott…”

Fine. He pushed himself up out of the lounger and sat on its side, frustrated as all hell as to why his brother was being such a pain.

Virgil rolled onto his knees and before Scott could do anything, he found himself wrapped in a massive hug.

His brother’s arms, ever so strong, built for heavy lifting, held him tight, but gently, Virgil’s damp hair brushing his cheek as his head rested on Scott’s shoulder.

Startled, it took Scott a blink to return the gesture, his longer arms flailing for just that moment of surprise before curling around red flannel. “Virgil? You okay?”

His brother’s only answer was to tighten his hold a little more.

Scott frowned, unsure what the hell was going on, but Virgil didn’t let go and Scott could only stay tensed up for so long before he was forced to relax into his brother’s embrace.

“What are you doing?” It was asked against flannel and his own breath was warm against his lips.

Virgil still didn’t answer, but one large hand crept onto the back of Scott’s head, fingers stroking hair.

What?

But somehow the question never made it to his lips. Somehow, his body began to melt, each muscle falling limp, those strong arms taking the place of the tension in his body.

Fingers carded through his hair.

“Virg…” But it was little more than breath and he found himself blinking rapidly.

No.

Still, Virgil didn’t stop. Scott could feel his brother’s steady pulse, thrumming against his neck, his chest moving with each breath.

Scott closed his eyes.

Ever so warm.

He could have struggled, fought, pushed his brother away. But…

Brown eyes vacant and hollow. The image had him flinching and the arms around him reacted, shifting just a little. His brother’s baritone rumbled a reassurance he didn’t quite hear.

But still Virgil held him.

Held him.

Scott had no resistance left.

That baritone rumbled again and his brother’s free hand began stroking his back.

Nonsense words. His brother was spouting nonsense words.

But Scott’s eyes were closed and his body spent. He wilted into his brother’s arms and found himself breaking on the inside.

Vacant, hollow eyes.

So young.

So like a little brother.

Scott scrunched up his face, fighting his own reaction. But Virgil was still rumbling, still stroking his hair.

A single tear escaped to dampen red flannel.

No.

No.

He let the wave of grief wash over him, but refused to react, waiting for it to wane away.

His heart beat too fast and it left him exhausted.

And still Virgil held him.

He lost time for a bit there. Eyes closed. Warm flannel. His brother’s voice. A small part of him resisted it. Virgil was a little brother despite their closeness in age. Scott should be the comforter, always…

But the little boy who had lost his mom, the young man who had lost his dad…the commander who lost a young teenager in his arms today…took that moment, grabbing it like a life line and accepting what his brother was trying to give him.

He sat there, he didn’t know how long, just existing, warm and safe.

Perhaps he would have fallen asleep right there in his brother’s arms, whether he would be embarrassed to admit it or not, but there were bruises and aches and eventually he was forced to gently pull away.

Warm brown eyes peered up at him, still worried. Virgil’s hand was on Scott’s knee as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Thanks, Virg.”

That hand squeezed his knee in acknowledgement. “Lie down and get some rest.” His little brother stood up and walked out of sight a moment, only to return hauling another lounger, this one in a deep green. “John’s coming down in the morning. We can debrief then.” Virgil grunted as he put the lounge down. “Grandma has an eye on Gordon and Alan, but the Fish has a new Buddy and Ellie series and Alan is hip deep in that latest game of his. I think they’re good.” He threw himself onto the lounge and the structure creaked under his weight. He lay back, crossed his feet at his ankles and closed his eyes. Virgil was obviously here for the long haul.

Scott wasn’t surprised.

The scanner lay discarded on the table.

A sigh and he lay back just like his brother. The sky was beginning to pink in the east, the echoes of a sunset he couldn’t see lighting up Mateo.

He felt far more relaxed than he had earlier. A tension had been eased, while not entirely, that would take time, lessened considerably.

He eyed his medic brother. The man looked like he was going to fall asleep. The sight of him had Scott yawning.

Damn him.

But it was thought with fondness and with a sudden urge to reach out and hug his brother again.

“Go to sleep, Scott.”

Virgil didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Scott sighed and looked back up at the sky. It had been a shit day. Not the first. Probably not the last. Vacant eyes still haunted him and probably would for some time, but a pair of rich, brown eyes full of life and not a little love had somehow managed to take the edge off. His brother had filled that cold vacuum of a hole with warmth.

Virgil began to snore and Scott was forced to smile.

The snoring was probably fake, but it was lulling nonetheless. Safe and home.

Loved.

Scott closed his eyes.

And let himself drift away.

-o-o-o-

[figtreegif]

Wardrobe // Martha Jones (Freema Agyeman) // Doctor Who Seasons 3 & 4 (2007-2008) + Torchwood Season 2 (2008) + specials

[paintedcrows]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

[idontknowreallywhy]

The pictures! The writings!

Pure Earth and Sky loveliness

So. Better late than never right? XD I’d had hopes to reveal a fic I’ve been trying to work on forever this week… but… yeaaah. About that. >.>; Soooon. So here’s some art. :D Couldn’t do anything fancy due to reasons, but doodled a new cute Chibi!Virgil and then dug through my sketches folder to find some things I haven’t posted before and finished throwing colour on baby Virg there. …And then I stuck em’ into Tumblr and realized I’d somehow managed adult->teen->kid->baby Whoo :D

Scott and Baby Virg is inspired from some of @flyboytracy’s headcanons and writings. :D