#instead hes aware in his mind of pokeys control

[pinazee]

Do you guys wanna hear something else ive been thinking too much about?

How did paul exist after he blew himself up? Did pokey somehow put him back together? Did he manage to only sustain damage to his torso and therefore hidden by his suit jacket? Did he purposely remain silent once he was rescued and no one questioned it? Were they all already in on it, and just pretended not to be just to fuck with emma because pokeys a dramatic bitch?

Personally i headcanon that pokey saw paul going for the grenade and purposely placed all his little zombie people to surround him in order to protect him from the blast, just so paul would have to live with his voice in his head and controlling him. And knowing that emma is important to him, because we know he can read minds to a degree thanks to alices song, fucked with him even more by torturing her- giving her hope and then taking it away. The ol’ two for one.

[mansion-of-haunts]

speculation on the tgwdlm pathogen

as someone who dearly misses his freshman year biology class and will be taking biochemistry in college i thought i would share my thoughts on what this thing is. speculative biology? maybe!

discussion of death, decomposition, and body controlling “zombie fungi” under the cut. putting the “horror” in “horror/comedy musical” /silly

on what kind of organism it is, i’m thinking the spores themselves are pokey’s sniggles. for how fast it works, i think they would need to be sentient to get to where they need to go so fast, as gastly is explained in the explaining every poison type video by lockstin and gnoggin.

there’s three separate modes of transmission that are seen in the show: oral, inhalation, and post mortem:

oral infection (the people who drink the coffee in cup of roasted coffee): about one minute after ingesting pathogen, victims start coughing violently. convulsions follow almost immediately after coughing starts (32:10-33:20 in the musical). almost immediately after convulsions stop and the victim “dies”, infected “reanimate” (33:36-33:53 in the musical).

respiratory infection (ted in america is great again, paul): there is no psuedo-death period, victims who inhale the pathogen skip immediately to the “reanimated” phase of infection. this method of infection may be less effective, since the only instance we see seems to be less under the influence of the pathogen as those who ingest it (ted is easily overpowered by emma, makes references to jokes he made while alive, and is still fucking gay for paul in the digital ticket version of let it out /silly; paul is able to fight against it for a bit).

postmortem infection (charlotte, bill, hidgens, paul): these seem to be the most under the influence of the pathogen, since it didn’t have to work to kill them first before “reanimating” them.

the infection works like ophiocordyceps unilateralis, the zombie ant fungus (or more well known as the inspiration for the last of us fungus), but buffed to withstand higher body temperatures and to deal with the more complex systems of the human body as opposed to an ant’s. o. unilateralis does not infect the ant’s brain at all, but puppets its body via the muscles and communication via hyphae. in the same vein, the individual spore sniggles are a hivemind of their own, and puppet the body itself instead of mind control. this is supported by charlotte’s line in join us and die, “your own body is your front row seat”. the infected are fully aware of their actions, yet are unable to control it, a captive audience in their own body.

researchers observed in infected ants that before they walked to their death would walk around randomly and have convulsions. this is what i’m using to explain the way the customers in cup of roasted/poisoned coffee fall to the floor after being infected; they’re not killed and reanimated, it’s convulsions that cause them to fall to the ground as the fungus takes over.

because my version of the fungus doesn’t kill its victims, the way they die is much closer to susan woodings from the walten files. those that are killed upon infection are the lucky ones. since those who survive apotheosis no longer have a say in what they do, their death is a slow one of starvation, after which pokey uses the corpse for as long as possible until he runs into the same problem ennard had, being which the human body tends to decompose.

on the same tangent, otho’s powers are slightly different (due to the splicing with human dna) in that he does control the mind, which is easier than a network of sniggles micromanaging the whole body. his minions are somewhat lucky in that he has them keep their body alive. i mean they’re still mind controlled but

as for the blue coloring of charlotte’s guts and sam’s brain, i think the spores have and release anthocyanins, which is the pigment in flowers that makes them blue. or it could be pokey keeping the blue theme going magically, since this is an alien fungus and doesn’t exactly play by our rules.

[foodieforthoughts]

When the ball drops

Summary: It's your third year in the Big Apple and you still haven't found your midnight kiss for when the ball drops, until tonight.

Pairing: Henry x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff!!!

A/N: Happy New Year to everyone! ✨ Watching the ball drop on New Year's Eve in Times Square is my ultimate bucket list! Also not beta read, so don't mind the errors, just had to get done in time before @infinite-shite celebrates New Year's before the rest of us! This baby deserves all the love in the world ❤️

*divider by @firefly-graphics

Title: When the ball drops

The cackle of people's laughter ringed through the pub as the hours ticked by. In contrast to the cold winter air of New York, the inside of the enclosed space felt warm. You quickly pulled on your apron and slid behind the bar, relieving your co-worker from their shift. He hugged you for the New Year that was to ring in about an hour later, happily weaving through the crowd towards the staff exit.

You sighed, grabbing the dish cloth to clean some glasses.

The excitement of coming to the Big Apple had quickly died down for you. You had dreamed of living in the city like the various shows potrayed, feeding lies that everything is magical and full of opportunities in this concrete jungle. But you could disagree with all the contradictions between facts and fictions and align them in a PowerPoint presentation. Not only were you yet to secure your dream job, you lived in a mediocre place with little to look forward to everyday.

Another sigh left your lips, your shoulders slumping despite the merriment around.

"That would be the second time you sigh." The crisp accented voice of a stranger sounded from across you. "What's the matter, love?"

You knew who he was. You ogled at his pictures on a regular basis, especially when he became Superman. But he looked nothing like the Henry Cavill you saw on the red carpets. Clad in a plain blue shirt, jaw sprinkled with the hint of a stubble and hair combed to perfection, Henry titled his head at you with a smile. You looked around at the other patrons, unsure if he was talking to you indeed.

Henry chuckled at your look of confusion. He took a seat at the barstool and grabbed the menu from the stand. With a dish cloth still inside the glass tumbler, you stared at the Hollywood heartthrob. The pub you worked at was frequented with celebs on a regular basis, the only downside being you usually worked for the day shift which meant by the time you rolled out of work, the big shots were only just waking up.

"Can I get-"

"Guinness?" You interrupted him. You meant to say it in your head but the word left your mouth before you could control your lips.

But Henry didn't flinch. He just smiled widely, the dimples in his chin dipping charmingly and his eyes shining like the brightest star under the flickering strobe lights. He slid the menu back towards you and clasped his hands together.

You blinked your eyes several times to rid yourself of the flutter in you belly as Henry smiled at you softly. He watched as you got him a glass and filled it up with his beer. Your hands trembled so much with the nervousness of serving an A list actor, who not only was doing well in industry but was exceptionally sexier in person, that you were worried the foam gathered at the top would dribbled down the sides. Noticing your struggle, Henry extended his hands and placed them over yours to secure his glass.

Electricity. In the most clichéd scenarios of romance movies, you felt a jolt of electricity when your hands touched his, the sparks travelling down your spine to your toes. Sucking in a sharp breath you handed him the glass, chiding yourself over your hyper aware mind.

"What is a pretty lady like you working in a bar at this hour?" He asked, sipping his fermented pint of alcohol.

"Coworker has plans with his girlfriend, like everyone tonight." You shrugged your shoulder, going over to another customer ordering drinks. You could feel Henry's eyes on you as you readied the customer's order. The sound of giggling girls pulled your attention just as the man left with his drink.

You walked back to where Henry sat, nursing his beer. "Anything to go with that?" you enquired, rearranging the shot glasses under the bar counter.

"I am still wondering how, in the world, a pretty woman like you, is stuck here."

You scoffed, more to yourself than him. "Because this supposed pretty woman is single as fuck." The mirth in your voice hid the sense of self pity edging at the corners of your mind. It had been three years since you had first arrived in the city with a possibility of reaching for the stars in both personal and professional life. You had been left disappointed with the jerks and assholes you ended up with, ultimately sitting at home and questioning your choices in men.

You noted the softness creasing at the corners of Henry's eyes. The last thing you wanted was to be seen as a miserable bartender at the end of the year, so you cleared your throat and smiled at him. "What is superman doing at a bar, in New York, alone?"

Henry chuckled. His gravelly thick laughter ringing louder than the music in your ears. "I was just stopping by the city, thought I'll stay to understand what the big deal is with the ball drop."

"Oh my God. Watching the ball drop and kissing at midnight is the most romantic thing you can do with your partner. You should be at Times Square!" Your excitement over the whole New Year's Eve shenanigan was flowing through in your speech.

"Too crowded." He shook his head, groaning and sipping his beer.

You rolled your eyes. "As opposed to this cramped pub?"

Henry chuckled again, throwing a wink at you. You felt the familiar flutter in your belly. You peered at him under your lashes, Henry seemed to be having his eyes only for you tonight. The giggling ladies were desperately trying to grab his attention while sipping on their Margheritas wearing their embellished dresses with low cuts and frills. You glanced down at yourself and frowned. Over the faded blue jeans and white t-shirt, you wore the black apron with the pub's insignia on the left breast. You suddenly became profoundly aware of how 'basic' you might look in comparison to the other ladies.

Self doubt clouded your mind. You politely smiled at Henry and hurried to the other side of the bar to serve the other customers. Maybe Henry only wanted someone to play the horizontal hokey-pokey with him for the night, or maybe he was bored and since you were obligated to talk nicely with him, he had pitched a conversation. Whatever the reason, you did not like how the multiple scenarios would end. You knew your feeble, fragile heart. You would get hurt, one way or another.

"Hi," Henry appeared again in front of you. He had his beer in his hand, his other elbow resting on the counter. "Did I offend you in some way?"

"No. But you are pretty much making me realize, how miserable my life is." Your voice sounded bleak against the booming voices. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you watched the couples snuggle up to each other. It had been ages since you had felt the loving embrace of a man, even longer since you had shared a meaningful kiss with someone special.

"What would you have been doing instead?" Henry's voice pulled you out of your desolated reverie.

"I would be in Times Square, with my significant other, which I don't have. We would get some drinks while standing on the outskirts of the crowd and watch the countdown."

There was a stir of activity in the pub as someone announced that there were only 90 seconds to the ball drop. You hadn't even realized that time had passed so quickly whilst you had juggled your conversation with Henry.

"Well, you have the drinks," Henry reached forward to grab a glass and poured half of his beer in the empty tumbler. "We are at the outskirts of the crowd since everyone is huddled near the TV." You nodded as you watched the couples gather near the enormous flat screen mounted on the wall. "We aren't at the Times Square, but we are in New York."

The countdown read 60 seconds with the red numbers counting backwards. Henry stood up and leaned forward on the counter. You watched with bated breath as he grabbed the strap of your apron and pulled you towards him.

His hand rested lightly on your cheek, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. The smell of beer, his perfume and musk enveloped you, bundling you in everything that signified him. You gazed into his cerulean eyes, the fleck of brown going dark against the blue ocean. Your hands hung by your side, flabbergasted by the surprising turn of events.

"I might not be your significant other," His breath washed over your heated face, his eyes transfixed on yours. "But we can perhaps change that."

"Happy New Year!"

Like the fireworks going off on the One Times Square Building, when your lips collided with his, there was a burst of colorful sparks celebrating the union of two people from across the pond. Henry pulled your face closer to his by grabbing behind your head, his fingers threading through your hair. You finally could think straight as you moaned into the kiss, holding onto the collar of his shirt as the pub erupted with loud cheers. In that moment, everything seemed perfect in the world. You felt your legs turn to jelly as Henry pulled back, breathing through his mouth, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth.

The smug smile on his face returned as he sat back on his barstool. You grabbed onto the counter for support as you gulped lungful of air.

"Did that count as something for when the ball drops?" He asked, sipping his beer and watching you from the brim of his glass.

You nodded. The heat on your cheeks traveled down to your chest, a grin spreading on your lips. Biting your lip you reached for the other glass of beer Henry had poured. "Happy new year to me." You announced before clinking your glass with Henry's.

✨HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS✨

[fallenfurther]

TAG Minibang 2021

I had the pleasure of being partnered with @godsliltippy for the @tagminibang.

Click here to see @godsliltippy's amazing picture which goes with this fic, in which Scott and Gordon spend some time together on Thunderbird Four. I had great fun putting these two in a confined space and I hope you enjoy what came about. Enjoy!

The Refresher

Scott slipped the box of food rations into the compartment next to a large unopened box of celery crunch bars. He rolled his eyes knowing there were more scattered throughout the craft. He wondered how many of the fresh supplies his brother would consume with his favourite alternative present. Virgil had expressed concern on more than one occasion about Gordon's diet on extended underwater expeditions, but Scott tried not to pry too much. The aquanaut never seemed to suffer any ill effects. The man in question strode into the submarine with a grin and air of authority, tapping the button to close the airlock without a backwards glance. The mechanism clicking into place, sealing them in.

"Ready to learn the ropes?" Gordon cheered, eagerly rubbing his gloved hands together.

"It's a refresher course with a small mapping expedition for the Environmental Agency added on."

"Trust me Scott, this baby is nothing like Thunderbird One. She handles better, is calmer and still nippy when required. I'll be taking her out first, I want to get her there on schedule and in one piece."

Scott sighed, wanting to quip back about how he was the one who always brought her back in pieces, but knew it was still too raw for his brother. Shutting the compartment, with a little more force than necessary, he followed Gordon into the cockpit and sat in the temporary seat behind the man. His eyes scanned the area and he was pleased to see no wrappers on the floor. Kayo had warned them about the mess after her last excursion in Thunderbird Four, however they were all aware of what Gordon was like. It was nice to see he had tidied up beforehand, so at least Scott would only have to deal with fresh mess. The aquanaut started running through the prelaunch checks, and Scott ticked each one off his mental checklist. The submarine jolted as the mechanism started to lower them into the water tank and the exit hatch came into view. The lock disengaged, the doors opened before them as the submarine's engines started to rumble behind them. The vibrations grew as the pitch changed and the machine propelled itself forward.

"Thunderbird Four is go!"

"FAB," John responded, "try not to kill him, Scott."

Scott grinned while Gordon feigned hurt, a hand leaving the controls to cover his heart. It was a running family joke, all of them having been cooped up with Gordon at some point. Although Alan swore blind their trip to Europa was the worst, but at least Thunderbird Three was large enough to have some mild privacy and space. Everything was pokey on Thunderbird Four, particularly the toilet. It thankfully had a privacy screen but there was barely enough room to stand up, let alone unzip their uniforms. It probably explained why John had been graced with Gordon's bottom on his last refresher. Why use a screen when you're the only one on board, was Gordon's response. When John had pointed out his own presence Gordon had said he was making John feel more at home by showing him the moon. John did report that Gordon had used the screen for the rest of their trip. Scott hoped he would be spared the same treatment. Sitting back, Scott observed his brother at the controls as they entered the open ocean. The sonar gently flashed to Gordon's left, relaying occasional glimpses of hazards and giving a reasonably detailed map of the sea bed. The little yellow arrow that indicated their craft stayed steady on the red line of the plotted course. It crossed Scott's mind that they would have been at their destination by now had they been on Thunderbird One. Rolling his shoulders, Scott sat back, stretched his feet out before him and tried to relax. It was going to be a long first day.

The morning was interspersed with sporadic bouts of chatter from Gordon. Scott smiled as he listened, making the right noises and offering his opinions when required. He didn't share his brother's enthusiasm for the sea, but had great respect for his knowledge and experience as Gordon identified the various creatures which passed the craft. With one of Four's tablets in his lap, Scott inputted the sightings into the database alongside the GPS coordinates, ready to be submitted after the trip was complete. There was no need to report them straight away and to do so would give away Thunderbird Four's position and possibly bring unwanted attention. John and EOS monitored many websites where enthusiasts shared their Thunderbird sightings, marking possible hot spots on maps and predicting flight paths. Apparently there had been many meetups, a few of which had successfully predicted a Thunderbird sighting. EOS was certain it was coincidental, but precautions were taken after a holidaying oceanographer tracked Thunderbird Four down using Gordon's data. International Rescue promptly stopped submitting data, instead switching between five umbrella accounts. This trip's data was being submitted by Dippy, the personal deep water submarine of Doctor R Yang. Scott hadn't been too impressed with Gordon's suggestion of Doctor Angry, but EOS had suggested Doctor R Yang as a suitable plausible alternative and assured him that would be unlikely to be questioned. Gordon also managed to wrangle a sea themed one as well, much to Scott's displeasure.

Scott retrieved lunch, eating his first before taking the helm. His hand slipped into the holds, his body shifting at the unfamiliarity of the position. Pulling on the controls the machine continued on. Scott's eyes were glued to the sonar, adjusting the propulsion when the craft deviated from course.

"Relax, Scott. You're making it harder on yourself. Small subtle adjustments is all you need." Gordon butted in after the seventh course correction in the ten minutes Scott had been piloting. "There are no flight paths to worry about. A little deviation from the line isn't going to hurt and EOS will even autocorrect it if you stray too far."

Scott loosened his grip on the controls, allowing the blood to run back into his white knuckles. His shoulders slumped. Why was it so different to pilot Thunderbird Four when on a rescue? He swore it was never this hard, or maybe he just never noticed how tense he was or the small things he was doing wrong. The memory of Gordon instructing him from Tracy Island when retrieving the escape pod came to mind. Taking a deep breath, Scott twisted the controls, taking a large arch to get back on course.

"I know you fly Thunderbird One blind, but you should be able to look up and out the window while steering Thunderbird Four. You'll be surprised by what you can see, especially on a leisure journey like this."

"This is a training exercise."

"Exactly, it's for practicing. There's no rush. We have time to get you feeling relaxed at the helm, to let you learn the way she feels and responds."

Scott sat back, making the most of the ergonomic seat, knowing that Gordon was right. Knowing he'd said the same thing when he'd been refreshing Gordon on Thunderbird One. Despite his carefree joking nature, Gordon knew when to be serious and he had tensed up at the controls of Thunderbird One. Virgil had pointed out later that night that just Scott's presence watching would have put Gordon off. Much like Alan tried to please, putting in his all to prove his worth, there were still times when Gordon wanted to impress his older brother and not let him down. Thankfully, a few hours in the sky, and some practice launching and descending had Gordon handling Thunderbird One with ease. Pride had filled Scott, seeing how well Gordon had recovered from his injuries and how easily he slipped back into International Rescue. His younger brother had a unique way of bouncing back and his resilience made him seem indestructible.

Scott flicked his attention back to the here and now. His hands still grasped the controls a little too firmly, but he started flicking his eyes between the projection and water around them. To his untrained eye, the lamps barely illuminated anything and there was nothing to see. Gordon however seemed to spot things he couldn't. By the end of the journey, Scott's arms were aching from the consistent outstretched position and was thankful when Gordon took over. Rolling his shoulders and stretching out his arms, he took the seat behind Gordon. In Thunderbird One there was no need for stamina as she was never in flight for long. Clicking his shoulder brought some relief.

"You'll get used to it," Gordon responded to the sound.

Scott rolled his eyes knowing too well he would never be in Thunderbird Four long enough to become used to it. It was one long training dive a year, with day refreshers as and when required. Gordon guided the craft towards the surface. Finally Scott could see clearly through the glass. Before them was a vast coastline that contained various caves that required remapping. They were a long way from the nearest city, though the nearest settlement wasn't much closer. Gordon guided the submarine along until they came to the buoy which marked the entrance to the caves. Submerging again, Gordon spiralled them around the buoy's line until they were fifteen meters down before clamping onto the metal cable. A light flashed green.

"All secure. Let's grab some grub before turning in. I know it's early but I know you barely slept thanks to that rescue."

Scott was about to complain when he yawned. Gordon was right, he had barely slept the night before, having run around after the rescue getting everything ready for this trip. Scott followed his brother out the back, ducking through the hatch.

"I bet times like these you wished Thunderbird Four was as spacious as Stingray."

Scott chanced the conversation. Since the hydrofoil accident Gordon had been less forthcoming with details about his time in WASP. It had bonded them at first, Scott's military service giving him an understanding about what Gordon was going through, with his younger brother messaging him for advice on occasion. It frizzled out towards the end as they both got busy, something Scott regretted. Gordon paused, but gave his brother a grin as he grabbed two ration packs from the box Scott had brought.

"Nah. Sure, you get your own room, but you also have to deal with Troy. I was right next to his room and his late night visitors weren't always quiet. I miss relaxing with the guys though. Marina and Phones were a blast. We had some good times together."

Scott only just caught the packet thrown his way, catching it by the edge between two fingers. Gordon chuckled as he headed to the hot water dispenser.

"I gotta keep you on your toes."

Scott followed the aquanaut, rubbing his hand through his brother's hair as he moved out the way.

"Hey!" Gordon squawked, cradling his food as he attempted to duck.

Scott ignored the complaint, filling his own pack and noting he'd been thrown beef bourguignon, mash and peas. He already knew Gordon would have Mac and Cheese without looking. Scott had deliberately only brought one along as well as removing the can of squirty cheese from its hiding place. There was only so much Scott could tolerate in a confined space and they were set to be down here a while. They sat in two of the rescue seats and ate off their laps. There was no need for formalities when living in confined quarters.

"This always reminds me of survival training. Eating out of packets perched on a rock or stump, though I'm glad Brains makes them taste better. We were always told that they are called survival rations, not gourmet food-to-go."

Gordon nodded, chewing his current mouthful. A smile crossed his face.

"I lost a bet with Troy during my …. second week on Stingray. He made me eat survival rations for a day. I didn't know they came in different flavours as he only gave me one choice; beef stew. Tasted like cardboard. I got him back though."

"Sounds familiar," Scott chuckled, scraping out the last of his meal. He threw the packet in the trash and grabbed the bag of cookies he'd stowed away. His brother's eyes lit up. Scott ripped it open and deposited two into his awaiting hand before taking two himself. He sealed them up and tucked them away, knowing they'd probably be gone by tomorrow night. He retrieved two hammocks and blankets from one of the underfloor storage holds and handed one of each to Gordon. Unravelling the strong yellow material, he clipped it to the holds in the ceiling before grabbing his wash bag and heading to the sink. He watched as Gordon sorted out his own hammock before joining Scott at the small sink. It was a little cramped, the two of them leaning down to make sure they actually spat into the bowl, but it worked. With no need to change clothes, being in such a small submarine required them to be ready for a leak at any point, so Scott climbed into his bed for the night. It took him a moment to get comfortable, his body not used to the feeling of being cradled by fabric. Beside him Gordon had hopped into his and was swinging gently.

"Like the sailors of old, we sleep in our hammocks and are rocked to sleep by the sea."

There was a crunch and Scott sighed. He had no idea where it had come from but it didn't matter. Brains had found celery crunch bars all over the craft during maintenance.

"Keep it to one. I don't want to be woken by you crunching throughout the night."

"Spoil sport," Gordon grumbled, before peeking over the yellow material at Scott with a grin. "Fancy a sea shanty?"

Scott groaned, hands grasping his head, as laughter filled the submarine. The main lights were turned off as Gordon started singing, a small light on his side of the submarine casting him in an eerie green glow. It was going to be a long week.

********

"Okay, we need to head down the left tunnel."

Gordon watched as Scott turned the controls. His brother was coping well considering Scott wasn't the most patient person and was used to making larger, brasher movements. His brother did have laser focus though, eyes glued to the sonar where a small version on the submarine was actively being projected in real time. Gordon has given up telling Scott to not rely on it solely, old habits dying hard. Granted, it was day three of their trip and they had just entered the deeper, smaller caverns having mapped the larger ones yesterday. The muscles beneath Scott's uniform were a mass of stiff tense knots as the man guided the machine around a tight bend. The caves weren't particularly small by his standards but for someone unused to the kind of manipulation required to transverse them, they were constricting. Brains had already mentioned to Gordon that he had plenty of fresh paint ready for when they got back. He had laughed at the engineer's lack of confidence, but had been grateful all the same. There were already a few spots on Thunderbird Four that needed a touch up, and by the way Scott was turning the craft, there was about to be another.

Gordon sat back, trying not to say anything and let his brother learn. He watched his brother make a small adjustment, a little overzealous increase in the starboard turbine impeller which tipped her nose a little too far to the left, making contact with rock inevitable. The submarine edged forward. Scott realised what was happening and tried to correct it. The nose rose away from the rock wall and towards the center of the tunnel. Gordon could see the tension in the man's jaw increase, which he didn’t think was possible. Just as Scott thought he'd saved it, there was the tell-tale clunk of rock hitting metal near the back of the craft and a thankfully short screech as it scratched the hull. Scott growled in frustration, twisting the controls and setting Thunderbird Four onto a straight course through the tunnel while turning off the engine. Instead he let the craft drift and put his head in his hands. Gordon gave his brother time, watching the man’s fingers twist and scrape their way through normally neat styled hair. Gordon reached out and placed a hand on Scott's shoulder.

"You're getting there. These aren't easy tunnels and they are unknown to you."

"I …" Scott's hand slipped down his face, "I should be able to do this. I'm sorry I've scratched her."

Gordon swallowed. Scott rarely showed vulnerability, and especially not to him. Despite having Dad back, his brother still shouldered too much, and this just showed how close to breaking point he had been. Maybe Scott needed this time away more than he'd like to admit.

"Scratches can be buffed out and painted over," Gordon spoke softly as he knelt beside his brother, "I've given her a fair few over the years."

Scott's hair was poking out of fists now and all Gordon could do was wrap his arms around the man and be there. He rested his chin against tense muscles and gazed into the corner of the cockpit. His eyes started picking out small details, like a smudge of oil at the bottom of the wall where Virgil had touched it during the last biannual maintenance. His brother often helped Brains if he was free and it had been quiet on the rescue front, and Brains wouldn't have let his hands get so dirty. There was a sliver of a celery crunch bar wrapper poking out from around the edge of the small storage compartment which also held a first aid kit. He could spot the grime he'd missed in the clean he'd done. Gordon felt the rise and fall of Scott's shoulders as he shifted his head so he could glimpse the sonar out the corner of his eye. They were still suspended in the middle of the tunnel, Thunderbird Four's buoyancy keeping her from sinking to the rocky floor. Gordon had no idea how long they were like that, and didn't care to know, but Scott finally took a deep breath and straightened up. There was a steely look in his eyes and a new resolve in the way he grasped the controls. Gordon sat back as Thunderbird Four's turbines started turning again.

"I'm only going to improve by keeping at it." There was conviction in the man voice, "I'll set some time aside on Tuesday to buff out all the scratches "

"I'm sure Brains will be happy to do it."

Scott opened and closed his mouth. They both knew Brains would be quicker and more efficient than Scott, who rarely had to buff anything out of Thunderbird One. The cockpit was silent as Scott concentrated, slowly making his way along the tunnels. Gordon gave the odd directional instruction, trying to leave the man to it. There had been a few more swear words during Scott's attempt to turn around at a dead end, having added a few more small scratches to the paintwork. He gradually became faster as his confidence slowly grew as they headed deeper into the system.

"Should we think about turning around?"

Gordon grabbed the tablet and compared their current section to the thirty two year old map produced on the last official excursion. There was only one more tunnel off of this section and he agreed they could probably call it a day. Scott was in need of some time away from the controls.

*******

Scott stretched as he vacated the seat and handed it over to Gordon. He had to bend to stretch his arms out completely, but he did so with a yawn. His body was stiff from being in the same position for so long. Without any guilt he left Gordon to turn the submarine around and headed out back to grab some water. He filled up his standard issue water bottle, a blue iR embossed metal canister, from the tap and greedily gulped half of it. After refilling it, he also filled Gordon's and headed back. As much as he wanted to lie down and try and ease the tension from his muscles, he didn't want to leave Gordon alone. His brother thrived with company, often resorting to telling jokes over the comm when he was alone. Scott placed the canister in its slot on the main seat before sitting down.

Gordon had pulled up the quickest route out the cavern system and had started to leave the tunnel Scott had just finished scanning. As they reached the main tunnel Thunderbird Four's pace increased, it was still slow for the craft but a fair bit faster than Scott had been comfortable to go when he was in control. Gordon didn't bat an eyelid, eyes focused on the rock that passed by the window. His brother's hands gripped the controls in a firm but relaxed manner, his movements were smooth, subtle and the submarine reacted similarly. She glided through the tunnels like she'd been traversing them for years, though Scott knew she hadn't. Gordon was confident at the helm, taking tight turns at speeds that worried Scott to the point he sat back in his seat and held on. It felt strange to be a lover of speed, getting a thrill from being forced back into his seat, yet being uncomfortable that they were going so fast while going so slow.

Thunderbird Four smoothly rounded a junction where Scott had scratched her, her frame tilting with the angle of the turn. Scott was mesmerized by his brother's faultless handling. Glancing at the map, Scott saw the dip coming up which narrowed considerably afterwards. Gordon wasn't perturbed, gliding into the dip and pulling her up with pace. The rock below was clearly visible in the light and the odd protrusion came so close Scott swore they would brush against it. They didn't. Thankfully Gordon reduced his speed as the tunnel narrowed, but at no point did worry or concern cross the man's face. He glided the Thunderbird through the tunnels as if it had been designed solely for the purpose. It had taken them the best part of seven hours to get to the point they had, granted they, he, had been taking it slow due to the nature of their task, however a mere forty minutes of skilled piloting later and they burst into the open ocean once again. Relief filled Scott who hadn't realised how much the close confines of the caves had been affecting him. Gordon took them up to the surface and bright sunlight burst through forcing Scott to cover his eyes.

"Thought we deserved a bit of fresh air."

Gordon gave Scott a cheeky grin as he started putting the submarine in standby. The waves sparkled as they lapped at the hull. Gordon activated the seat allowing him to do some acrobatics to get into the main compartment. Scott rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and followed him. Gordon opened up one of the compartments and started rummaging. Scott leant against the other side, crossed his arms and took in his brother. A proud smile spread across his face. They each had their own set of skills and he had just witnessed what a competent aquanaut could do. WASP must have been gutted when he hadn't returned after his recovery. Even if they didn't let him on Stingray, Gordon's skills would have still been a great addition to the force. Instead, he'd joined his brothers in their Dad's legacy, becoming their only aquanaut. Scott was proud of all his brothers but it was moments like this, when they unintentionally showed off how amazing they were, that made their sacrifices worth it.

Gordon turned around with an armful of snacks and fizzy drinks, and Scott couldn't help but laugh. His brother sauntered to the airlock and Scott hurried to open it, picking up the treat that had fallen to the floor. The fresh crisp sea air wafted in and Scott's lungs breathed deeply. There was land to their left and open water to their right. Gordon plonked himself down and dropped his legs into the water. Scott sat beside him, crossing his legs not wanting to spend the next few days with salt stuck to them. He playfully slapped Gordon on the head with the celery crunch bar he'd dropped before swapping it with a bottle of cola.

********

"Okay, with this next turn you have to glide in pointing towards the corner then pulling round as the front gets to the bend."

Scott set his eyes on the corner, trying to visualise the curve Gordon wanted him to take. After yesterday's disaster Scott was determined to reduce the amount of scratches Brains was going to need to buff out, and had swallowed his pride. There had been no jeering from his brother, instead just a nod. Under Gordon's clear guidance Scott had only given the submarine a minor scratch and he was starting to feel a little less stressed about how close the cavern walls were. Scott did as Gordon instructed, still going at a much slower pace than his brother would, and managed to clear the corner in a smooth motion with inches to spare. Scott was already scouting out the route ahead, eyes spending more time peering out the window than glued to the sonar, when John popped up in front of him.

"Sorry to interrupt your training trip, but we have a situation that requires Thunderbird Four."

Scott was up and out the chair in a flash. The pair swapped places as Gordon switched to the old map. Hands on the controls they started heading to a suitable turning point.

"Have Thunderbird Two ready outside for a pick up."

Scott grabbed the tablet from its holder. It lit up immediately as John sent the rescue details to the craft.

"Thunderbird Two is currently attached to a container ship in an attempt to stop its contents from spilling into the sea. Alan is in a submarine pod, but it just doesn't have enough power to keep the ship from sinking. It's only forty minutes from your current location. Thunderbird Two should just about be able to hold it until then."

"FAB, John."

Scott surveyed the map as Gordon weaved his way out the cave system with the same agility as yesterday, but with a little more haste. Once out, Scott flicked the route onto the aquanaut’s screen, who responded by hitting the throttle with enough force to push Scott back in his seat.

"I can make it in thirty five easily," Gordon gloated.

Scott nodded, eyes skimming over Thunderbird Two's statistics before opening up John's scans of the situation and the 'dash cam' of the green giant. The ship was tilted at an immense angle, but was currently stable, even as its cargo seemed on the verge of toppling. The cause for the problem wasn't obvious but that wasn't of concern right now. A small lifeboat was slowly leaving the vicinity of the vessel, which was a relief. With no life signs onboard they could resort to an abort if the risks were too high. They were primarily a rescue organisation, but in this case it would be detrimental to the environment if they let the cargo fall. If Thunderbird Four could stabilise it enough to allow Alan to get inflator bags attached then they could right it for long enough so the ship could get to the nearest port. The coastguard would sort that out with the help of the original crew.

Scott was relieved as they approached. Thunderbird Four was speedy for an underwater vessel, making the journey in thirty four minutes, but he was used to much, much faster speeds. Gordon slowed on the approach and headed immediately to the yellow blob that was the submarine pod. Alan gave a wave as he passed by. The craft's arms were extended and placed against the metal above the pod. The speed of the turbines increased slowly, and although there was very little improvement in the angle of the ship it meant the current angle could be maintained without Alan.

"You can let go now, Alan."

Scott got there before John, who was currently on the phone to the coast guard trying to ascertain how long it was going to take for them to reach the situation.

"Thanks Scott," Alan chimed cheerily

"Don't forget me! I'm the one doing the hard work."

"Sorry. Thank you Gordon."

"You're welcome."

Gordon grinned. Scott shook his head and let it go. The pair was either winding each other up or plotting something together. This was mild banter and he knew both his siblings were concentrating on their tasks. The smaller pod disappeared from beneath them. Scott tracked Alan's progress on the tablet, his little red dot heading back to the module and hopping across it to grab the large inflator bags from the back. They were going to need four according to John's calculations so he hoped Alan had the sense to drag them all out now so he didn't have to leave the pod again. The red icon eventually whizzed away from the module and towards the indicator on the stern end of the ship before heading straight back to grab the next bag. This one he attached to the bow end. When Alan was safely out the way, Scott selected the bags and activated them simultaneously. The added buoyancy lifted the ship higher in the water, taking Thunderbird Four with it. The video showed a vast improvement in the angle of the cargo and Thunderbird Two's engines were now able to pull the ship to its correct orientation with ease. Gordon released the ship with no adverse effects. He turned and sped towards the floating module. They burst above the surface with great theatre, spray sparkling like diamonds before returning to the sea. The arms that had previously braced against the ship grabbed the last inflator bag and pulled it into the water. They dived heading to the last placement indicator. Gordon waved as they passed Alan, who had been heading back for the last bag. After the bag was installed, Scott activated them and Virgil lowered Thunderbird Two putting slack in the lines. After a minute of stability, the lines were released and withdrawn. Gordon brought them back up to the surface, next to the submarine pod, before heading out the back. Gordon lept onto the module’s door to join a disgruntled looking Alan.

"You took my job!"

"You were taking too long."

"I so wasn't, and you know it."

Scott leapt across the water and joined them on the module's door. The sound of his siblings squabbling flowed over him. It happened frequently post rescue, particularly the less challenging ones where they sometimes stepped on each other's toes. Despite the noise, Scott was happy to see that the pair were in fact working together to get the pod out the water and into the module. Extending his arms above his head, he watched the pair while enjoying the feeling of stretching his legs. He hadn't been on land for four days and his body was itching for a run. The temptation to run circles around the module was sitting at the back of his mind, alongside all the teasing he'd get for doing so. When the pod was loaded the three of them congregated beside it. John had obviously been watching them as he immediately popped up on Scott's wrist and Virgil on Gordon's. Scott sidestepped so Alan could stand between Gordon and himself.

"The coastguard aren't coming, apparently they have something more urgent to deal with." Displeasure tainted the word urgent. "Virgil, the tanker should be able to keep afloat with the buoyancy aids attached, as long as they stick to 10 knots or less. The crew are making their way back to the ship and are aware of this. Considering the time it'll take for them to get to the nearest port it's not worth hanging around and the time saved would be negligible. It should be safe enough to head home and be on alert."

There were nods of agreement from everyone.

"Scott, if you're fed up with being confined with Gordon, I can give you a lift home."

"Hey!" Gordon exclaimed, "I'm not that bad."

"Has he been at the squirty cheese yet? That stuff smells so strong, and it's sticky."

The face Alan pulled was priceless.

"Thanks for the offer, Virgil, but I'm still in need of a little more practice."

"If you're sure, Scott."

"Let him go, Virgil. From the amount of scratches I saw on Thunderbird Four he needs it. He might even beat my record."

Laughter filled the air as every Tracy brother laughed. Scott ruffled Alan's hair as revenge, getting a glare from the teenager. With that he followed Gordon back to Thunderbird Four and jumped aboard. The airlock closed and they headed into the cockpit.

"Fancy getting us back?"

Scott threw his arm over his brother's shoulder and gave him a quick hug.

"How about you get us back while I make us some lunch? Anyway, I need to save myself for those tunnels. I can't embarrass International Rescue by scratching up our submarine on a rescue now, can I?"

Gordon laughed as they separated and slipped down into the driving seat. Scott resisted the urge to mess the man's hair up as he turned to leave. He could survive another four days in a submarine if it meant spending quality time with his brother.