#gordon and john always sitting pretty at the top of my favourites list

[cookidoughlilac]

Rewatching TAG is such a delight, because I immediately get obsessed with my favourite little people and ships 🥺

[gumnut-logic]

Not So Alone (repost)

This is a shameless repost because I haven’t written a thing today. So I poked around in my archive and found some fluff. I chose Alan fluff cos that is what I’ve read a bit of today :D I think this may have been one of the first times I wrote Alan’s POV. I know I remember being a touch terrified :D

Apologies to those who have already read it, I’ll try to write some new stuff tomorrow ::hugs:: My brain has just been mush today :(

-o-o-o-

Title: Not So Alone Author: Gumnut 21 Jun 2019 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS Rating: Teen Summary: Alone time is sometimes better shared. Word count: 1767 Spoilers & warnings: None. Timeline: Standalone Author’s note: This is for @ak47stylegirl​ who wrote me the first part of this little fic, Alone Time, which can be found on her profile on Ao3. She wrote Virgil, so I stepped out of my comfort zone a little and wrote her some Alan to keep her Virgil company :D I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :D Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-   

Alan was bored.

It wasn’t often that he found himself with a lack of things to do. Life was generally busy with Thunderbird maintenance, rescues and backup duties.

Of course, he could always kill some zombies, but he was feeling restless. Gordon was off the island with Grandma so that didn’t help. Scott was buried in paperwork and John was still hiding on Five. Virgil had disappeared.

Wandering out onto the balcony, Alan eyed the pool a moment before throwing the idea out. Without Gordon it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun.

Maybe he could go for a walk. Scott had been nagging him to get into a more regular exercise routine and, hey, he hadn’t seen the other side of the island for a while.

Darting up to his rooms, he threw on some loose clothes, decent shoes and a hat. A quick note to John to say where he was going and he was out the back door and crunching gravel up the side of the mountain.

While he had no objection to the great outdoors, Alan had no particular preference for sun, surf or bush walking. Not that he didn’t love a splash in the ocean with his brother, or even a jog around the island with Scott, it was just that many of his interests lay in the confines of the virtual world.

Or space.

Part of him didn’t want to admit he was like Johnny, but he was in many ways, but where John adored seclusion, Alan loved people. Basically, Alan was happy doing pretty much anything as long as it was with someone, preferably someone he loved.

So, he would really be lying if he said he took his route at random. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more just what he knew was going to happen regardless.

Virgil had some favourite places on the island to sit and just be. Alan didn’t quite get it any more than he got John’s love of solitude, but he knew his brother liked it and he stored the information for when it was needed.

Today Alan wanted company, so he used the information he had at hand.

Clambering around on the rocky island was not for the faint-hearted. There was no doubt that he was getting a good workout just by going for a simple walk. His first stop was a small cliff beyond Thunderbird Two’s runway. It was Virgil’s favourite, just on the other side of the mountain. He could often be found here just staring out into the ocean thinking who knew what. The scene had been painted, scribbled and, in one case, mosaicked onto a table. This was definitely Virgil’s favourite place.

He wasn’t there.

But Alan still had his list.

Two more Virgil spots proved empty and Alan had managed to work up quite a sweat. He was beginning to wonder why he was even bothering when he caught sight of a figure almost completely hidden in a grove of palm trees.

Virgil sat on a rock, his sketchpad on his lap, completely absorbed in his art. He was up a cliff overlooking a good chunk of the island, the twin peak at an angle even Alan could appreciate.

Alan eyed the climb and with a deep breath began the trek to reach his brother. He kept quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him. That would be a good way to get his head ripped off. But if he approached from just the right angle, he should be able to see what Virgil was actually drawing.

It took actual rock climbing in a couple of places, but Alan eventually found himself situated behind his brother on top of the cliff, and as expected the view was breathtaking.

It was late afternoon and the entire side of the island was lit up by the sun. Gulls were wheeling in the air above the forested slopes, catching rising air. Far below, raw Pacific collided with the rocky shore in places and wrangled with reefs in others.

Virgil had certainly found a spot.

Quietly Alan made his way closer to his brother. Virgil drew on, showing no sign of knowing Alan was there. The cliff was a slope that had Alan descending towards his brother. Virgil was facing away towards the scenery, slightly hunched as he drew. Because of that slope, Alan was actually able to see his brother’s hand, this time his right, sketching pencil lines on the paper.

For a moment Alan was content to simply watch, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t come all this way just to spy on his brother.

“You do know it is rude to stare.”

Virgil’s voice was always soft yet possessed a strength that could be startling. Alan stiffened, annoyed at being caught so easily.

“What? Do you honestly think all that rock clambering would go unnoticed?”

“Dunno.”

His brother had yet to look up at him, simply continuing to sketch as he spoke. You gonna come and sit down?” Virgil held up a hand. “Just be very quiet, I don’t want you to disturb them.”

Alan frowned. “Who?”

But that hand didn’t answer, just beckoned him over.

Alan did what he was told and found himself sitting on that rock beside his older brother.

Virgil was scratching lines furiously onto the page, but the subject wasn’t what he expected. All that beautiful scenery and Virgil was drawing a haphazard pile of sticks?

Whispered. “They’re sea eagles. I’ve never been so close.”

Alan’s eyes darted from the sketchpad to a slither of rock a stone’s throw away from the edge of the cliff. The pinnacle stood alone and defied gravity almost to the point of disbelief. On its very top sat a huge nest. From this angle he could see the two chicks waiting for their parents to return.

Breathed out quiet. “Cool.”

Virgil was sketching madly and under his practised hand, one of the chicks slowly came to life. Simple line instinctively placed, shaded and shaped. It was a little mesmerising.

Alan, of course, had watched Virgil draw before. Amongst all the other things. His brother was usually fiddling with something. He had to have something in his hands, whether it was a pencil or paintbrush, piano or Thunderbird, Virgil tended to always have something playing between his fingers.

When Alan was little there had been many a Kansas winter night snuggled up by the fire, curled up beside his brother watching him draw. Sometimes he would dare him to draw outrageous things like Pedro the Peanut-Killing Pickle. There had been odd stories and scribbled down comics. Alan had even tried his hand under a little encouragement from his brother, but he didn’t have the enthusiasm that Virgil had for the art.

Besides, Alan was quite happy to just sit and watch. Rare quiet moments shared with his artistic brother.

They had been getting rarer and rarer.

“Can I sit with you, Virg?”

A brown eye with an arched eyebrow peered at him. “You’re already sitting.” The curve of a smile. “But sure. Just be quiet and don’t make any sudden moves.”

Respectfully whispered. “Okay.”

So, they sat for an unknown length of time. Virgil drew the second chick, and as one of the parent birds landed with the evening meal, its strong wings, talons and beak appeared on the page. Alan watched as the pencil lines grew darker, surer. Virgil switched pencils and they grew darker still, the birds emerging out of the page into three dimensions.

Down below the two chicks guzzled food from their parent.

A loud, awkward screech from above and another eagle was circling overhead, likely the other parent.

In the corner of the page, the bird quickly appeared, wings spread wide, soaring.

The quiet was amazing. Alan wasn’t one to sit still for any length of time, so perhaps he was missing the obvious, but the sound of Virgil’s pencil, the tease of the breeze and the call of the eagle above had only to compete with the waves far below and the rustle of the scrappy forest.

And a pair of squawking, complaining eagle babies.

Gordon would probably have loved this. His fish brother loved the sea, but he loved all the creatures contained in it even more. Despite this preference for water breathers, if you shoved a puppy or a panda in front of him, the man melted into a gooey puddle. Eagle babies would definitely be on the goo list.

“This is nice, Allie.”

“What?”

“Bit like old times, you sitting and watching me draw.”

Alan shrugged. “I’ve always liked to watch you draw. Guess we haven’t had as much time lately.”

The pencil paused. “Yeah.” His brother turned to look at him. “Well, it is good to see you out here. Nice to have your company.” A gentle smile.

“Anytime, bro. Kinda nice out here anyway.”

That smile grew a little before softening. “Well, unfortunately we have to head back now.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to pick up Gordon and Grandma.”

Alan checked his watch. Where the hell had the time gone? He’d been out here…three hours! “Wow, didn’t expect it to be so late.”

Virgil didn’t comment, just smiled a little more as he packed up his sketchbook and pencils.

Alan stood up and stared out across the ocean. A flicker on the surface of the water and he caught sight of a pod of dolphins frolicking in the swell. He stared.

“It’s amazing what you can see if you stop and look.” His brother’s soft voice so close to him made him jump.

“Virg, personal space.”

His brother snorted and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t think such a thing exists on this island.” That smile again. “Probably why John hides on Five.”

Alan grinned. “You’ve got a point.” And despite his earlier protest, he dropped his head against Virgil’s shoulder and for just a few more moments, they both tracked the dolphins as the cavorted past the Island.

“Can we do this again?”

“Sure.” Virgil slung his pack over his shoulder.

“Great.”

Silence fell, and they stood there a moment longer until Virgil squeezed a little and let go. “C’mon, sprout, time to clamber down the mountain.”

Virgil took the first few steps and Alan followed, throwing one last glance back at the nest now full of the entire family of sea eagles. A sharp beaked head turned in his direction and glared at him.

Alan couldn’t help but smile at the bird before he hurried after his brother.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[darkestwolfx]

Grandma Tourismo - Re-Review #44

Wouldn’t we all love to have a Grandma like Sally? Yes everyone, meet Sally. It was, after all, about time someone gave her a name besides ‘Grandma’.

“It’s Sally. Call me Sally.”

For the record, I still adore these dice. They are exactly the type of thing I can imagine fitting in with the Tracy boys lives. I think they belonged to Jeff, or the boys’ Granddad.

And the rescue operation is in full swing!

“Virgil are you fully prepared for today’s mission?”

“Everything’s A-Ok, John.”

“Sure you don’t need backup?”

“Situation under control. Cargo pod is go.”

Yes! Hang on... cargo pod? Yeah, not quite the rescue I originally thought they were setting it up to be.

Those dramatics zooms! It’s only Grandma, remember!

“Let’s do some shopping!”

“This is going to be so much fun.”

I don’t think you could possibly be any more sarcastic, Virgil.

And let the shopping list of Tracy Island be unveiled. P.S. I always thought it was a shame that the paper covered up whatever grand expression Virgil probably made at the sheer length of it.

Suppressant something (Grandma’s hand is in the way)

Toilet Paper

Hairspray

Hawaiian Shirts (this one makes so much sense after ‘The Long Reach’ too, but really, where were the Pink Flamingos? Still raging)

Plant food

Protein Powder

Celery crunch bars (um, last episode’s vow forgotten so speedily Gordon? That’s the last time luck with give up promises ever works for him)

Toothpaste

Piano Strings

Fire Extinguishers

Tanning lotion

Tofu

Multivitamins

Snooker cues

Apple Pie

Bagels

Lemon squeezer

Pillow case

Anti-rust spray

Extra cable

Oh, I know - let’s play a game! Assign someone to every item on the shopping list. I know I have my ideas about what is for whom.

Also, it’s nice to see a really sneaky TOS nod there.

Played in ‘Operation Crash Dive’, ‘Move and You’re Dead’, ‘Security Hazard’ and ‘Thunderbirds Are Go’. I believe there was also a scene shot for ‘Edge of Impact’, but I can’t remember off the top of my busy head whether it made in into the final cut or not. So, I wonder where they’ve been hiding this on Tracy Island?

“Grab some of that super shine gel for Scotty. I’ve never seen a boy spend so much time combing his hair.”

This. This is one of my absolute favourite lines ever in the history of TAG. Because we all knew this was Scott without it needing to be confirmed - and this is also definitely where Gordon gets his nickname streak from.

“Detour!”

Grandma really is a task shopper. And you know what, I love how Virgil knows exactly what that sole word means.

Remember this scene from ‘Unplugged’? Well, this is that episode, but in series 2 and a lightly new form. The thing which has stayed the same? The team up of Virgil and Grandma. Interesting choice for that pairing, but it makes so much sense for it to be Virgil. He’ll joke, but never at her expense, he defends her cooking, he accompanies her on shopping trips, he listens to her, he even seems to take after her. At this point in time, I always thought this was just a nice way to explore that relationship - by the time we get to ‘The Long Reach’ it’s a whole lot more than that. One thing that storyline didn’t disappoint on was tying up this relationship in a neat little bow.

“We’ve got a situation.”

Of course we do, because this family can’t even get through shopping without interruption - which I’m guessing might be the norm as they speed out of the shop with non-paid for goods (note, us normal humans would all be arrested on the spot for this, so do not attempt it in your local store).

“Hey!”

“Put it on our account!”

Or maybe they - like many others - just didn’t want to argue with Grandma. Wisely so.

“This is my job, Grandma.”

“And worrying about you boys is mine.”

Just a really nice little family moment here. The nuggets like this are part of what made this show for me. They tell more than any massive display could.

What a great landing - in fact, there were many great landings in this episode.

Talk about just going along for the ride, hey? I think there was a lot more than that on display.

“I can’t be two places at once, Thunderbird Five.”

“You don’t have to be, I’ll go.”

“Grandma there’s no way you can steer through a storm.”

“Isn’t that what you have your fancy autopilot for?”

“She’ll be safe in Thunderbird Two.”

“The ship will do the work. I’m just going along for the ride.”

“Okay, I’ll program the autopilot to take you straight there and back. You won’t need to touch anything.”

I love how all that concern was disguised with the same look he gives Gordon to not touch his ship.

“Look after her.”

After all these years, I still can’t work out exactly who this line is for. It’s one of those beautiful lines which has such a lovely level of ambiguity. It’s obviously about Grandma, but it also references his ship and there is just a gorgeous level of family and responsibility balanced out in this episode.

“Grandma...”

“I didn’t touch a thing.”

And lovely little chunks of humour interspersed.

“Can you reprogram the autopilot to do that?”

“No. For that we’d need Virgil to pilot remotely.”

Even the communications were all go in this episode. Honestly, sometimes John is so much more than  go-between.

“Is Grandma ok?”

“She’s fine, but she needs your help with the rescue.”

“The storm’s about to hit here. I need to get these guys out.”

“The storm’s already here. And this young woman isn’t going to make it, unless you help me get this ship to her.

“Sorry guys, this will just take a minute. Someone needs are help.”

“Go for it.”

Well, those guys weren’t really in a position to say no, were they? I mean they need IR’s help too, and I probably would have been tempted to leave them there if they started getting on their high horses. Good people besides the Tracy’s do exist in the world of TAG and this episode had a really nice mix of them. No obnoxious rescuees.

“Let’s just hope I can do this.”

“I heard that. Of course you can do it.”

“Perfect!”

“You did it!”

Of course he did. He’s Virgil Tracy of International Rescue, and that’s his Grandma.

“There’s no getting out in this! We need to stabilise the building.”

“John, we’re gonna’ have to ride it out down here. Can you make sure Grandma stays put?”

“I’ll tell her to put on the coffee pot.”

“You’re with International Rescue?”

Never judge a book by it’s cover.

“You could say that. I’m the Tracy boys Grandma.”

“Kate. And I’m really pleased to see you Grandma Tracy.”

This was so interesting to watch! What you do when you’re stuck in a Thunderbird.

“I’d offer you something to eat, but I’m all out of homemade cookies. As the boy’s would say, lucky for you.”

And one of my favourites;

“John, be a dear.”

I love it when Grandma says that! We saw her do it in ‘Volcano’ too and it was grand.

“Now if we’re lucky all we do is sit here until this blows over.”

I’ll just clear my throat at the idiocy of saying that as Virgil slides expertly across the floor to hold the roof up. And yes, it was possible to do and type this sentence in the time that move took.

“International Rescue, we have a situation.”

“I think our luck may have just run out.”

Predictable...

“The shifting sands are putting extra weight on the structure. It’s not gonna’ hold much longer. John, if we don’t find a way out of here, we’re not gonna’ make it!”

“Yes you are! I’m coming to get you!”

“Grandma, there’s no way. The storm is interfering with my autopilot, and I’ve got my hands full. I can’t remotely fly you back.”

“Don’t need remote control or autopilot. I’ll do it.

“You?”

“Have a little faith, boys.”

Yeah, have some faith. I think there’s a song lyric there;

You gotta have faith

Back to the conversation at hand;

“Who do you think taught your Dad to fly?”

“But that was a single engine plane.”

“And a long, long, long time ago.”

We so often see Grandma sat here at the desk (like above), so in this episode it’s really nice to see her in the driving seat. Age doesn’t have to stop anyone, and this episode was a brilliant piece of script writing to showcase Grandma’s place in IR. She is far more than just anyone’s Grandma and I love how the tension of this episode really built up with the pressures of duty and family.

Oh, the history that is here! I adored that little chunk of life we got a look into.

“You’re following your dream. Good for you.”

Do this, people, it’s one of the best pieces of advise on the planet. I’ve been doing it, and it’s working out pretty well for me so far. I’ve interacted with animals I honestly thought I would never meet, met amazing people and seen the world from many angles. Whatever your dream is, it’s worth doing it.

“Was this your dream?”

“It was my son’s dream, to help people. And now it’s my Grandsons. And I’m happy to support them.”

“Virgil, how are you holding up?”

“Oh, it could be better.”

“Well don’t you worry, I’ll be there any minute. You tell the others.’“

“My Grandma says don’t worry. She’s coming to pick us up.”

“Your Grandma?”

The look on Virgil’s face which just speaks not to underestimate her.

“I can do this. I think.”

“I heard that. Of course you can do it.”

“Of course I can.”

This moment is the sort of writing I live for. It was so nice to see Grandma’s own words thrown back at her. Everyone needs a little positive reinforcement from time to time. I’m sure Virgil can forgive the little scratch on Two’s paintwork.

The hats! It was a really nice touch and look at how happy Grandma looks in hers. Kate doesn’t know what she’s got herself in for in meeting this family. Little taps of those dice for luck.

 “Hurry, Grandma, CO2 levels are critical.”

“We’re not gonna’ make it.”

You were saying?

“I’ve never been more glad to see anyone’s Grandma in my life!”

Too right you haven’t. And Virgil had move moves than Kayo in this episode, even with all his equipment on. I love the fact that Virgil is holding the dice now! Oh, they were so a small thing, but they managed to make them matter so much. Sometimes it’s the little things which matter the most.

“Not so fast! We gotta go back and finish our shopping!”

I think that might be the face of someone who would prefer another rescue than a conclusion to the never ending shopping trip from hell!

Oh well, Virgil’s still in one piece for episode 19 so he must survive and get that shower at some point.

This is another of my favourites though really. The balance of family and danger and normality and duty was just spot on.

[markwatkinsconsumerguide]

Consumer Guide / No.107 / Gosh! It’s Amelia Fletcher (of The Catenary Wires and Swansea Sound) with Mark Watkins. 

MW : What’s your favourite year for pop music? 

AF : That is a hard question. Most of the music I love best is from the 1980s and 1990s. But in terms of a single year, I reckon it has to be 1965, even though I was a foetus at the time. Just so many of the songs that I really love seem to come from that year. 

To pick just a few: ‘You Don’t Know’ by Ellie Greenwich; ‘I’ll Never Find Another You’ by The Seekers; The Shangri Las’ ‘Leader Of The Pack’ album; ‘Tired Of Waiting For You’ by The Kinks, and ‘Message Understood’ by Sandie Shaw. 

MW : How did your first and last (current) bands get to be formed?

AF : My very first band was at school. We were initially called …And So To Bed, after a local bed shop (nicking that idea from Everything But The Girl). We later changed our name to Splatter Babies. We were a bit gothy by that point. I can’t really recall quite how we formed, but we were all mates at school in Oxford already, and I guess we just started messing around with playing covers. We did write some of our own songs, and they might have even been quite good, but the only tape we have of the band is a live show from London, when I couldn’t hear myself onstage, and I am singing totally out of tune! We split up soon after that. The rest of the band went on to form a band without me called Shake Appeal, which later morphed in Swervedriver. I waited a bit and then formed Talulah Gosh.

Our most recent band is Swansea Sound. We formed in March 2020, just as lockdown started. We were feeling a bit bereft, with all gigs cancelled for our main band (The Catenary Wires) and felt like we just wanted to make lots of music. Rob decided to send a song he’d written to our old friend, Hue Wiliams. Hue and I had played together in his band, The Pooh Sticks, and Rob’s song (called ‘Angry Girl’) seemed more appropriate for him than for The Catenary Wires. Hue was basically sitting at home with nothing to do and responded immediately. He sang a rough take of his vocals directly onto his phone in a cupboard in his house. We thought it sounded fine. 

We asked Catenary Wires drummer, Ian Button, to play some keyboard drums onto it (he wasn’t allowed to play proper drums in his flat). We then slapped a mix together, recorded one more song (Corporate Indie Band), and hey presto we put them out as a single! It has all been a bit of a whirlwind. Ian and Hue have never even met, or even been in the same country. (Ian lives quite near us in Kent, and Hue lives in Wales). The Swansea Sound website is :

www.swanseasound.bandcamp.com

MW :  Talulah Gosh. Describe the preparation/s for, and the recording involved (set list etc) for the Radio One sessions for JANICE LONG and JOHN PEEL. What was it like meeting both DJs?

AF : My memory is hopeless, so I don’t have any recollection about the preparations, or even much about the recording. I do remember that Janice Long contacted us very early on. I think we’d only been together a few months really. By contrast, I had to write to John Peel to beg to do a session for him. We were such big fans, and it was a dream of ours. I remember him phoning our shared house in person to invite us to do the session. Our flatmate Richard answered the phone, went a bit pale, and kind of mumbled, “erm, I think John Peel is on the phone”. Both sessions were at Maida Vale Studios. Of course, we felt like complete pop stars being there! 

The thing they don’t tell you about those sessions, though, is that the DJs aren’t actually there. I’ve never met Janice Long, even now. I did get to meet John Peel a few times later on. He was always lovely and friendly, but I was always a bit of a gibbering idiot. They say you shouldn’t meet your heroes, and it’s true. But it’s not because they turn out to be a disappointment – it’s because you turn out to be a disappointment!

MW : What is your favourite seaside resort and why?

AF : This one is easy. Broadstairs. I love it. We first went there in 2003, when I was heavily pregnant with our first daughter, and we’ve been literally hundreds of times since then. Rob’s Mum and Dad even moved there for about 8 years, because they loved it so much too. I don’t quite know what is so brilliant about it, but with little kids, the safe sands of Viking beach and Morellis ice cream parlour were big hits. And the whole 1950s picture postcard vibe of the place. We once took a friend who hadn’t been there since he was a teenager in the 1970s and he was gobsmacked at how little it had changed.

MW : Which hill have you most enjoyed climbing?

AF : Ah, also easy. Cadair Idris in Snowdonia. Well, it is more of a mountain than a hill, but I guess it counts. It is quite a hike, but really fantastic. I pretty much never wear trousers, so I did the whole thing in a skirt and tights. On our way up, we bumped into one of the mountain wardens and I could just tell he thought I’d never make it because I looked so ill prepared. But hey, I was fine!

MW : What fired an interest (and career) in Economics?

AF : It was a bit of an accident really. I did science A-levels, and then panicked that I didn’t want to be a scientist. So I hunted for an arts degree that I could get into with all science A levels. The best I could find was Politics, Philosophy and Economics. I had no idea what Economics even was – I figured I’d drop it after a year and focus on Politics and Philosophy. But it just ended up being the subject I was best at. 

I still wouldn’t have taken it further, but what I really wanted to do was play in a band, and I realised that I could get a grant (those were the days!) to do a doctorate in economics, which would in turn allow me to avoid getting a job and do lots of music with our band Heavenly. That worked well, but it had the result that I ended up very highly qualified in economics!

So it was all a bit of an accident really. But somewhere along the way, I guess I did really get into it!

MW :  Rank your Top 3 Chancellors of The Exchequers and give reasons for your choices...

AF : Haha. I’m actually not going to answer this question. As my excuse, I will point out that I am not the ‘right sort’ of economist to really know – Chancellors typically deal with macroeconomics, and I do micro-economics. But also, I think they are all a bit of a mixed bag. Gordon Brown did some brilliant things, for example, but his over-reliance on PFI and his over-lax regulation of financial markets were both seriously problematic. 

MW: Well done for receiving a CBE and an OBE. What are your (general) thoughts about the Honours Lists and on those that decide to return or refuse the honour?

AF : I felt queasy about receiving both honours actually. I was touched that colleagues had gone to the effort of making the applications for me, and was also very aware of how useful such things are for me in my day job. I also have no problem with a National Honours system in general. What I hate is the “E” for the Empire part of the whole thing. It really sticks in the craw. 

So I did think hard about the whole thing. I read a lot of interviews with black people who had accepted honours, and about the soul-searching they had done around the issue. I ended up feeling it would be almost patronising to the difficult decisions made by those people for me to decline. 

I was then going to write some of this up on the day of announcement of my CBE last year, but then Marcus Rashford was the big news of the day, and it didn’t seem the right moment for a white person to be having a moan about the words used for honours. But I do really wish they would change them. And yes, I therefore totally understand people or return or refuse the honour. I only hope they also understand people accepting them.

MW : All being well, what are your personal and professional plans for 2021?

AF : Well, Rob and I have just started a record label called Skep Wax  

http://www.skepwax.com/

which is keeping us busy. We will be putting out new singles and albums by Swansea Sound, and our main band The Catenary Wires. So that is pretty exciting. 

Professionally, I am involved in trying to introduce a regulatory framework for the big tech platforms: Google, Facebook, etc. This is incredibly important, in my view. Indeed, I have been one of principle advocates for the policy. But it is far from straightforward and requires lots of careful thought, to make sure it delivers good results.

As you can see, I have a rather schizophrenic life, but I guess both sides to it are effectively about trying to make good things happen, of one sort or another.

© Mark Watkins / January 2021

[tb5-heavenward]

artwork by the fantastically talented @birdologist and animation by the lodestar of my heart, the inimitable @awkwardarbor

One more chapter to go, and then it’s on to our epilogue.

You can find Heavenward on Tumblr // Ao3 // ff.net

a_moment_of_dawn - part 19

The letter is printed on real, actual paper. Usually it sits in his desk drawer, still in its torn open envelope, a secret he secretly sort of wants someone to catch him with. More than once he's left the top drawer open, just halfway, in case Grandma or Scott happen to be in his room for whatever reason, and just happen to feel inclined to grossly invade his privacy. So far both Scott and Grandma have disappointed him. As far as he knows, the letter's still his secret and his secret only.

Secret or not, occasionally he takes it out and rereads it, and though he always remembers the gist of the contents, it's always surprising to him just how flattering it actually is. Words like "it is our sincere pleasure" and "bright and widely gifted" and "standout candidate from our thousands of applicants". A lot of grand talk about kindred spirits and a history of excellence. The sort of promising language that had almost—almost—might've made him excited about what the future might hold.

He'd spent a lot of time trying to work out just how he wanted to tell John. Obviously it would have to be John he told first. He'd thought about sneaking the letter in with one of John's monthly supply shipments, letting him find it for himself—but he also wanted to be there in person, wanted to see the look on his brother's face. So that was no good.

He'd tried to come up with some plausible, non-crisis based excuse to get back into orbit, back out to TB5 before his next scheduled cargo drop off. But it costs about a quarter of a million dollars to launch TB3, and so just popping into orbit on a whim hasn't ever really been an option, for Alan, and his excuses for getting into space generally need to be really good excuses. Lives need to be on the line, for Alan to get into orbit. And waiting for his next scheduled supply run would've meant waiting 'til October—too late.

Ultimately, as he'd started to let the idea fade out of possibility, he'd even entertained some wildly improbable schemes designed to get John to come down, off of TB5, and back home, so that Alan could tell him. So that it could be a surprise that he dropped into the middle of a welcome home party for his brother, and a reason for John to stay on Earth for a while. Besides John, he still needed to drop the news on the rest of the family, and figure out how completely his life was going to change as a result, and whether or not he really wanted it to.

It just had to be John who heard first.

But then, EOS. And malaria. And with everything that had followed, even if it had gotten him back on the ground, the complete and total collapse of John's life as he'd known it has been a fairly compelling reason not to bring it up. The sum total of everything that's happened to John makes Alan's letter seem like such a small, pathetic thing. Like bringing it up now would be a feeble, futile gesture, something pitiful and naive. As though John could possibly find a way to be happy for or proud of his little brother, in the face of everything he's lost. It's stupid. It would be stupid to even mention it.

It's probably too late, now, anyway. It's the twenty-second of August. Classes start on the seventh of September. He needs to be registered before that, needs to have tuition and everything all sorted out and in order. Sure, they've got the sort of money that just makes this kind of thing just happen, whatever the obstacles. His family's name is the kind of name that scissors effortlessly through red tape, cuts through bureaucracy like butter. But still. It's not much more than two weeks. And anyway, it's the worst possible time for something like this. Alan shouldn't even be considering it, really. He doesn't think he even really wants to go.

So Alan's not sure what he's doing, lying awake at six AM, reading and rereading the stupid letter. He's not sure why he folds it up and slips it back in its envelope. He's not sure what compels him to get up, out of bed, and creep to his bedroom door, and then out into the hallway. No one else is going to be up. John's definitely not going to be up. There aren't a lot of reasons for his brother to want to inhabit the waking world at present, the side of reality where he's sick and bereaved, and still fresh in the failure of a task he'd thought was most important thing in the world.

And in light of those circumstances, he's not sure why he wants to just slip the envelope beneath John's door, and if John's got the capacity to care one way or the other about the fact that Alan's been accepted to MIT, then that can be John's choice.

Except when he comes to the door of John's room, he finds it's been left hanging halfway open.

In and of itself, this isn't enough to make him panic. But he does feel his throat constrict just slightly, as he pushes open the bedroom door and finds the bed empty, and the light in the bathroom off. The notion of John not being where he's supposed to be is a fairly new addition to Alan's list of major fears. Considering John had spent nearly three years occupying exactly the one place he was always supposed to, it's probably not surprising that recent events have given Alan a fairly acute phobia of being unable to find his brother.

Alan turns the light on and checks the bathroom anyway, finds it cold and empty and with the shower still freshly wet, a heap of clothing on the floor. Just a little bit frantic, exiting the bathroom, he pushes the disarrayed sheets and blankets off the bed, but it's obviously empty. The light in the closet is on, shining beneath the closed door, but he's not there, either. There's just a discarded towel, still damp, and clothing all over the floor. John's not here, but Alan calls his name anyway, just once, and his voice comes out small and flat and falls through the silence like a smooth stone through still water.

Alan's starting to get scared.

It's not like he could've gone anywhere. It's not like he would've left, either, not like he has anywhere to go. And he wouldn't, he just wouldn't. After everything, John has to know he has to stop. Alan hasn't even started to look for him properly yet, all that's happened so far is just that John hadn't been where he was expected. That's all it is. John's probably just down in the kitchen or he's gone to the lounge or he's just somewhere Alan hasn't looked yet, because Alan hasn't even looked anywhere. The fear starting to churn in the pit of his stomach is just nerves, it's just the fact that it's too early and he hasn't had enough sleep.

But better safe than sorry.

So he leaves John's room to go and wake Virgil, going straight to high alert. It's only luck that he happens to glance out the window, only anxiety that has him cast his eyes down to the sea, out over the terrace. And for all that he's not expecting to see him, it's somehow not really surprising that he spots his brother, sitting alone at the edge of the terrace, with very, very little between him and about a fifty foot fall.

Alan doesn't entirely know how to contend with the feeling that washes over him, then. The distant silhouette of his big brother, his best and favourite brother, outlined against the slowly lightening sky. John's home. John's finally home, after all these years and all this anguish, he's finally back, finally been run to ground. He's home and he's whole and he's safe and he's healing, and yet after all of it, after everything he's put himself through—to say nothing of his family and his friends and all the people who love him—he's still found himself another edge. Still put himself at the brink of it.

But it's not what it looks like. Somehow Alan knows that, even as he lets out a shaky deep breath and makes for the glass door out onto the terrace—this is nothing like the worst thing Alan could've caught his brother at. Because if the worst had been the case, he's pretty sure he wouldn't have caught John at all. John would just be gone.

But that isn't what this is. Even after everything he's been through, at the very lowest point in his life thus far, Alan knows John better than that. He's seen what it "killing himself" looks like on John, and it doesn't look like this.

Still, he can't quite help the first thing he says as he shoves open the terrace door and pads across the concrete in his bare feet. With the early morning breeze catching his voice, a little sharper, sterner than he means it to be, Alan snaps an order, "John, come away from there."

John hasn't heard him approach. Alan can tell by the way he starts and immediately turns away from the horizon, already pulling one of his legs up and back onto the solidity of the terrace. Maybe it's the light of morning, or something in the way he holds himself, or just the way he looks up like he's been caught at something—but for the first time since he's been home, at least to Alan, John looks alarmingly, arrestingly young.

And Alan's still not used to feeling like an adult in John's company. John, more than anyone else, has always made Alan feel as though he's still a bit of a child. Standing about ten feet back from his brother, still in his pajamas, with rocketships printed on his flannel pants and an old t-shirt of Gordon's with some inane nonsense all but faded from the front—suddenly all Alan wants is to be a little brother again.

So he doesn't wait for John to start the conversation, because John just doesn't, these days. Instead Alan crosses the few feet of distance between them, sits down next to his brother, and shoves the letter against his elbow, looking away as he does so. It takes a moment for John to realize he's expected to take it, and when he does, Alan doesn't say anything. Alan doesn't watch. He just listens as John pulls the letter out of its envelope, starts to read.

He's not sure if the rustle of paper he hears is the faint breeze, or a tremor in his brother's hand. He's not sure how quickly John reads, or how well he comprehends anything these days. It seems like a long, long time before John speaks, and his voice is soft, a little husky as he says, stating the obvious, "You got into MIT."

Alan nods, though John's not looking at him. "Yeah."

"When did you get this?"

The date's printed at the top, but Alan doesn't point that out, doesn't remember it offhand, anyway. "A while back. I dunno." He steals a glimpse of the page, and it's definitely a tremor in his brother's hand that makes it difficult to read the date John's missed. "April, I guess."

"April." The incredulity in his tone is a surprise, and Alan glances up, but John's still staring at the letter. This time Alan watches as his pale blue eyes skim over the text again, rapid. Faster than he'd expected, but then, he supposes John's always been a fast reader. "It's...I-I thought...thought this was—" Abruptly John pauses, swallows, and his voice has steadied slightly when he continues, "—mine. I thought it was mine. I had to check the name at the top. It reads exactly the same as the one I got. Ages ago. But...April? This April. April was..." he trails off, failing to find the word that Alan supplies for him—

"Before."

It's as good a word as any to represent the other side of the rent in John's life, the line that divides his now from her, then. It fails to encompass the magnitude of the after, but for now, before serves its purpose.

"...Yeah." John nods once, a quick, tight little gesture. He folds the letter back up, and his fingertips crease it sharply in thirds. He doesn't hand it back, continues to run his fingers around the edge of the folds, sharpening them further. It's a repetitive, anxious motion, from long, nervous fingers. He'll give himself a papercut if he's not careful, though it would probably hardly even be noticeable, amidst the scars that already crisscross the pads of his fingers. He seems distant, disconnected and almost confused, as he goes on, "But if...I-I mean—April? If it was all the way back in April, why didn't you say?"

Alan shrugs. Kicks his feet, hanging off the edge of the terrace, and admits the truth, though he worries it's only going to make his brother feel bad, "Wanted to tell you in person. But I couldn't figure out when I was gonna get to see you next. And then when I did—" It had been May. Alan shrugs again, pretends indifference to the memory of his brother, nearly suffocating in open space, the occasion that had brought Alan back into orbit, back to TB5. "Bad timing."

"...Oh."

Silence falls between them. John's still looking at the letter in his hands, but he's stopped turning it over and over, opened it back up again. The sky grows pale and the horizon glows a soft, ruddy gold. Soon the sun will rise and add another day to his big brother's one-day-at-a-time kind of a life. For a long few moments Alan stares down over the craggy cliffs and scrubby plant life and idly finds himself thinking about just how inhospitable the island is. It's rugged and beautiful, in its way, at the same time that it's raw and lonely and barren, a fortress in the middle of the sea.

But it's still home.

Although, proportionate to the amount of life they've all lived, the island's been home to Alan for longer than its been home to his brothers; ten years, over half his life. John, by contrast, had been seventeen when he started college, had gone straight from their home in Kansas to an off-campus apartment in Boston, where he'd lived alone until he was twenty-one. Then it had been to Houston, to train with the WWSA, and then into Low Earth Orbit, and Camp Hadfield. And after that, it had been up to TB5 itself, where his rotations used to be only three months long, and then a month off, at home on the island. And then Dad had vanished. And then John had left. And doing the math in his head, Alan's starting to realize that maybe Tracy Island has just never been home to John, the way it is for the rest of the family. Proportionate to the ten years for which Tracy Island has been home to the Tracy family, John's spent very, very few of them actually at home. All told, John probably spent more years in Boston than he has on the island.

So it's possible that he won't actually understand the reasons why, when Alan takes a deep breath, steels himself, and says, "I'm not gonna go."

He makes the decision in the same moment he says it; that he's not going. The timing's all wrong. Maybe spring. Maybe next autumn. But not now, there's no way he could do it now. Not with his big brother in the state he is, not like this. He should've let it stay a secret. He should've gotten rid of the letter entirely, pretended to himself that he'd never gotten it. He's not even sure why he's told John at all, it's not like John could possibly bring himself to actually care.

And all of this wants to come spilling out of him, but he doesn't say anything.

For a long time, John doesn't either. But then—

"Why not?"

Because I still don't think I actually even know if I really even want to. Because I only even applied at all because I wanted to make you proud. Because I don't know why I should, I'm already doing what I want. Because even when I try to be, I'm not like you, I'm scared of being all on my own. Because I don't wanna leave home and be gone for four whole years. Because you need me here. Because I'm not leaving you like this. Because I bailed on you once before, and everything fell apart.

"Lotsa reasons."

"You don't want to?"

Alan shrugs, shifts where he sits and lets his feet dangle, kicks them lightly in the open air. "I dunno."

"Is there somewhere else you were more interested in, or—"

"I only applied to MIT." It goes unsaid that if Alan's even interested in college at all, then he's only interested in the same one John had attended. "I just wanted to...I dunno, just wanted to see, I guess. It's all online. It was easy."

There's a funny sort of pause and then John's a little hesitant when he asks, "You had to know they'd take you?"

Alan's not sure why John's made that question sound rhetorical, as though it's an obviously foregone conclusion. It hadn't been, in Alan's mind. But the line of inquiry seems to be bringing out something like curiosity in his brother, like John's actually engaged. Maybe John might be grateful for a distraction. He looks up to find he's being regarded with something that might even be interest. He shrugs again and drops his gaze, embarrassed. "Maybe. I guess. I get good grades. I guess my SAT was pretty okay."

That sparks something, there's the faintest note of warmth in John's tone when he says, "Allie, you scored a 1580. That's fifty points better than I did."

Alan hadn't known that. He's heard John say it before—that there's empirical proof that Alan's the smarter out of the pair of them—but he'd always brushed it off as his big brother attempting to appeal to his ego whenever he felt like whining about school. "I only took it to make Virgil shut up about it. The adviser I emailed said the test scores aren't really that important."

"They're kind of important when they're only twenty points shy of perfect. That's not nothing, Alan."

There's an intensity to John now, and this is is starting to get a little surreal. This is the first time Alan's actually sat down and really talked to John, since he's been home, and they're talking about the same sort of thing they'd always talked about, before. If it weren't for the shadows beneath his eyes, the gauntness of his face, the fact that he's actually here and not a translucent blue hologram—things could almost be normal. They're not, but for a moment, Alan almost imagines that they could be. "Yeah, well. I'm your kid brother. I'm sure that went a long way."

"I'm almost positive it didn't."

"That'd be two whole Thunderbirds for their roster. That's probably all it was."

"That's not how colleges work."

"That's not what Gordon said. Suck it, Caltech."

John's laugh surprises both of them, a brief ghost of a sound, the sort of laugh that you'd barely know is a laugh at all, unless you're the sort of person who knows John well. Impulsively, sitting as close to each other as they are, Alan knocks his knee against his brother's, a brief, affectionate gesture, the both of them sitting together at the edge. The moment doesn't last, but it definitely existed. Alan didn't imagine that.

It makes the way John gets quiet again that much more poignant, only serves to make him sound so much more disappointed, when he says, "But you're not going."

Alan doesn't expect to feel as uncomfortable, as guilty as he does, as he hedges, "Well, I mean..."

Until recently, Alan's had good reason to believe that he knows John better than anyone else does; better than the rest of his brothers, for sure. The flip side of that coin is that John knows him equally well, if not better. Alan might be smarter on paper, but John's always had a certain way with people. His voice when he speaks next is soft, but certain, "I would really, really hate to be why you don't do this, Alan. Please, don't use me as an excuse."

Alan deflates at that, feels his shoulders drop and heaves a sigh. "It's not an excuse. It's a reason—a good reason. Dad's not here. Scott's not here. Virgil's been acting like an ass. And Gordon just left—"

John starts to cut him off, "—I don't mind about—"

"I do," Alan interrupts. "You're home. You're finally home—I've been waiting forever for you to just be home. And maybe you don't want anyone else to be here, and maybe the rest of them can just tell, and that's...I mean, that's whatever. We're your family, but whatever. I know everything's all fucked up, but you...you...I...just, god, John. When I found you, you were dying. I really didn't believe you were even gonna make it home. But now you're here, and you need help. So I'm not going anywhere."

The pause that follows is long enough that it's almost awkward, makes Alan feel like he's just said something stupid, the sort of naive, worthless platitude that won't make any difference, will only make things worse, somehow.

"No." There's not a lot of force in it, just a single syllable, simply stated. There's not even that much pain in John's voice, just an awful, hollow sort of honesty. "Alan, you can't help with this."

Silence falls again. That probably shouldn't hurt as much as it does. Maybe it only hurts because deep down Alan knows it's true—that there's nothing Alan can offer that's going to make this any easier. The only thing he'd been able to think of was his acceptance letter, meant to be tiny little bright spot; something to take John's mind off everything he's lost. Something to remind him of happier days.

And the idea hits him like a lightning strike.

It's such a sudden, abrupt sort of thought that he just blurts it out without even properly thinking about it— "Come with me."

It's nearly sunrise. That's the reason John's out here, to watch the sun come up. And he misunderstands, because Alan's straightened up and sat back from the edge of the terrace, like he means to get up and go. John shakes his head and keeps looking out towards the horizon. "Soon. I just...sorry, Alan, I didn't mean...I'm sorry. Just give me a few more minutes and I'll come inside, I just wanted—"

"No, I mean, I'll go if you come with me. To Boston, to MIT." In spite of himself, in spite of the circumstances, Alan's starting to get excited. "You can help me."

"Alan—"

John sounds so tired, suddenly, as though the very thought exhausts him. But Alan's seen a glimmer of hope at the core of the idea, and he presses on, anxiety mingling with excitement as he trips and stammers through the list of reasons why this could work, "It's...it's not just because of you that I don't wanna go; it's all of it. When you were it college, you always made it seem like it would be easy, and maybe for you it was—but it's hard, for me. It's leaving home and being away from everyone and everything—a-and I don't...I don't even know how any of this works. College. I...I don't wanna be the only one of us who doesn't go, but...I mean, I'm already doing what I want to be doing. Why would I even want to do anything else?"

"Alan, this is the only thing you've ever done. That's why you should go."

It's just the tiniest, barest indication of John's old self, a flicker of light in a deep dark well, manifested in the tendency to point out the obvious truths in Alan's life. "That's why it's hard, too, though."

There's an obvious truth here, waiting to be pointed out. John probably isn't quite together enough to realize that it's a baited trap, when he points out, "MIT isn't anywhere near the same league as some of the hardest things you've done, Allie."

And Alan probably shouldn't feel the little thrill of satisfaction that he does, managing to outmaneuver his older brother—John's hardly at his best, after all—but it's hard not to be a little bit proud of himself, when he says, "But I always had you, when I did those things."

John doesn't seem to have an answer for that, so Alan goes on, carefully now, having to find the words to speak around a truth that hurts so much, "Maybe I'm just being selfish, asking you to come with me—but if you really want me to go, I can't go without you. I'm just gonna be wherever you are. I know I'm not who you want, right now. I know you loved her and I know she loved you, and I wish she wasn't gone. But...John, you're my brother and I love you, too. I know I can't help you with this, but—I do know the last thing she told me was not to let you be alone. That's the last thing she wanted, so for now it's all I want. Maybe it'll help. Probably it won't. But it's just what I've gotta do."

The sun's almost risen. John hasn't taken his eyes from the horizon, and he still holds Alan's letter in his hands, though the tremor in them seems to have stopped. It's not to say that Alan's gotten desensitized to the sight of his brother with tears in his eyes, tracks of dawn light glistening on his cheeks—but it's no longer the internally world-ending event that it had been the first time. It's just John, and this is just what life is for John, right now.

What does surprise him is the way his big brother's arm falls around his shoulders, the way he gets pulled close, in a way he hasn't in years. It's just automatic to wrap his arms around John's torso, then, and to press his face against John's shoulder. It's not a "yes". It's not even a "maybe". But when his brother says, "Thank you," softly and with a hand gripping Alan's shoulder, in the same moment that the sun breaks over the horizon—for Alan, it's enough.