#jeff Tracy

[sailing-on-a-puddle]

This whole thread is brilliant :D totally agree though there's no way he survived and if he did he'd be a smelly yeti

Just putting it out there - if at any point any of the awesome Thunderfam artists fancies recreating the family reunion with Jeff but where Jeff actually looks like he’s spent 8 years alone on a rock (where is the wild hair? the insane beard? The eyebrows determined to take over the known universe??) then… I would legit pay for that.

Also? Scotty, if there had ever been a moment to take off your helmet post rescue…

[lenle-g]

from this fic WIP by @mariashades, requested by @janetm74 <3

The engine of Lee’s little Piper PA-28 fixed wing roared into life and little Scotty, all of four years old, squealed in alarm and clapped his hands over his ears. Jeff, standing well back at the hangar, scooped Scott up and held him close until the plane had taxied over to the runway.  “Y’know, planes aren’t that scary,” he fondly said as soon as the plane was far enough away. “It’s just noise, nothing to be afraid of.”  “‘S not?” Scott asked, big eyes looking up at his father as he peeled his hands away from the sides of his head.  “Nope.” Jeff smiled. “Besides, we need the noise to fly, and that’s what we’re here to do, right?”  “Right.” Scott nodded, his little face so serious it made him go all gooey on the inside at the sight.  “So,” Jeff affected a serious mein (Lucy always called it his ‘Top Gun’ face), pulled his aviators out from where he’d hooked them on his shirt and put them on his nose. “Let’s saddle up, kiddo.”  Scott immediately put on his kiddie sized aviators (and Jeff went even gooier on the inside) and announced “Let’s saddle up!”  “Attaboy!” Jeff beamed as he walked over to his plane.

[laughing-moonlight]

more sillies <3

[pareidoliaonthemove]

They've just solved the mystery of what Jeff Tracy ate for EIGHT YEARS in the Oort Cloud!!!

[edutainer2022]

So it's done! The little story that tidied me over this week of missile hellfire and long stretches of power outages. Jeff is back from Oort Cloud and is forced to question his strengths and aptitudes when things go unexpectedly very, very wrong very fast. All boys get to feature, eventually, but Scotty is having the worst time of all. Many thanks to @janetm74 for cheering me on through brief patches of power going up.

GRAVITY

Some days were worse than others. Some days the heady rush of pure JOY and BLISS of being back with his beloved boys, his Ma, in his own home, back on his own PLANET, beneath the blue skies, breathing unprocessed air... were not enough to tide him over the bone deep weariness. Days, when the bustling world around was suddenly too much effort. Too much, period.

That morning he woke up, gruff and bleary, feeling every ounce of gravity amplified weight down to his marrow. He didn't remember sleeping a wink, but he knew he was late. The corner of the blanket peeled away, catching on his stubble, revealed a silhouette perched on the side of his bed. Scott. Already dressed to the nines in a suit that looked like it was shipped straight from the Milan runway. It probably had been. His son's aftershave was fancier and more expensive than he could ever afford or had any clue to choose at that same age. Predawn light was casting a grey hue over Scott's features, gleaming in silver highlights, making him look older. Tired. His eldest looked hauntingly like Jeff felt, sagging under the crashing weight, stretched thin, even put together all sharp like that, bright and early. The sudden heartache of that thought came out as a hoarse groan.

They were supposed to meet several executives first thing in the morning to get Jeff up to speed a bit more. To get the company brass reacquainted with the Tracy Patriarch too. There had been many new promotions and appointments over the past eight years. But Jeff could barely keep his eyes open. The thought of getting up and moving gave him a shiver, which, in turn, deepened the worried frown on Scott's face. The taut lines in the corners of his son's eyes and mouth became prominent. Much as the pallor and dark circles, belying a sleepless night. Scott took a call out in One, right off the roof of Tracy Tower. It was the fastest and most expedient option, regardless of Virgil's protests. That's how Jeff remembered most of his sleep being drained by nightmares - One screeching off and him spending eight endless years calculating and hoping (praying) the rocket plane made it out of the Zero-X launch blast radius in time, taking his son to safely far enough. He winced at the memory and squinted against a nauseating headache. Scott's worry was obviously reaching the red zone.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to press for the pulse. His boy's fingers were uncharacteristically cold, but maybe Jeff was just catching space chills.

"Dad, are you alright? I will cancel the morning! I'll get you to the hospital right now, then Virgil will fly Grandma in!"

The on the go plan was all IR Commander, but blue eyes blown up twice the usual size in panic was Scotty at any given time Dad was about to disappear. Again. He hated the treacherous frailty that got his unwavering boy so scared. As much as he hated the very idea of hospitals, enthusiastically shared by all his children.

"It's okay, Bluejay! No need to worry! Just one of those days. I'll sleep it off. You go ahead with the meeting and I'll rise and shine to have brunch with you, deal?"

Between the Zero-XL assembly under wraps, the possibly one-way mission to the middle of the galactic nowhere, and Jeff's subsequent laborious rehabilitation, the Tracy Industries senior executives really needed some quality face time with the Tracy-in-charge. So they would have it. Jeff was under no illusion he was in any shape to be that, anymore. Scott was, still. But that would have to change maybe sooner, than they both wished, if mornings like that became a recurrent thing.

Scott didn't appear entirely convinced and there was definitely a ping being sent up to Five to monitor Jeff's space-addled sleeping hunk extra closely. However, the anxious scowl softened into warm mirth as Scott smiled down at Dad's rugged face. Cool fingers moved from the pulse point to brush away the matted grey curls from Jeff's forehead. The gesture was definitely well practiced on any and all of the younger brothers, but in that moment all Jeff could see in the slight tilt of the head and a special, radiant fondness in the blue gaze, was the boys' mother. He nearly choked on a sob and covered his eyes, feigning a fit of cough. Scott moved immediately to give him a glass of water from the bedside table. Once done blinking away the stinging moisture, Jeff caught the tail end of a hastily covered wince in the boy's features. If he were operating at full capacity, he would have probably dug to the bottom of it with proper insistence. As it were, Jeff settled for a squeeze of the premium wool clad bicep:

"How're you holding up, son? Tough night?"

"I'm okay, Dad! You don't need to worry! A couple of bruises here and there. Mostly my ego, as I landed in a heap when the jetpack gave out. I'll never hear the end of it from everyone!"

The edges of Scott's "cheeky flyboy" smile were tighter than Jeff should have been placated with. But gravity was already pulling his lids down.

***

He marginally remembered a quick tender peck on his forehead, or maybe he dreamt it up, conflating the endless years of longing for his mother and for his wife even before that. The scent of his eldest's aftershave, laced with a familiar wiff of One's fumes, lingered and calmed him down. He came to think of it as home and hope over the past months. Jeff next woke up to an anxious face of a different son.

John's hologram practically vibrated with anguish, bouncing on the bedside comm unit. Eyes wide and wild, John looked all too much like an Alan Jeff last remembered - eight years old and left at the Warton boarding school for the very first time.

"Dad!!! What's going on!?!! Are you alright?!!!"

Jeff's headache still didn't agree with the yell, audible practically from orbit. He didn't master much but an incoherent grumble to that.

"Somebody called 911 to the TI Conference Room for Mr. Tracy! I can't get through to Scott's comm! You were supposed to have a meeting first thing today! Are you okay!?"

Words rushed and stumbled one over the other, so unlike John's usually impeccable, professionally honed articulation. It took an extra moment for John to compute Dad's state of underdress - a testament in and of itself of the ginger's distress.

"Dad? Are you still in bed?"

Awareness was catching up with him and with it the heavy drag of gravity and dread. His ginger spaceman was still faster on the uptake, his own overwhelming horror finally pinned on a name:

"SCOTT!!!"

The only Mr. Tracy at the TI Conference room at that moment. It all was coming to Jeff in bits of a disjointed puzzle - the overnight rescue, Scott's ashen paleness he chalked up to lack of sleep, the stifled painful grimace his son wasn't quick enough to hide. And Jeff wasn't there for him!

***

If the younger employees of Tracy Tower were secretly looking forward to meeting the Resurrected Space Outcast, Founder of Tracy Industries and International Rescue, Hero of the Century and a Living Legend - Jeff Tracy - it was probably not barefoot and clad in pink flamingo print pijamas, sporting a bedhead and an overnight shadow, stumbling his way down the hallway at an alarming speed with a formidable assistance of the wall and an occasional doorknob. Jeff practically flung himself into the Conference room and nearly toppled over several people in expensive suits, crowded over a prone body on the floor. He shoved somebody's shoulder aside with enough force and less ceremony than was maybe appropriate.

His knees hitting the floor gave a jaw-jiggling rattle and it remained to be seen if he'd be able to make it back up unassisted, but he didn't give a damn. Scott was still and sheet white against the navy blue of the carpeting. Somebody had the presence of mind to loosen his tie and unbutton the shirt. Scott's face and chest were wet as someone apparently tried to sprinkle water on him to ease the fainting. To obviously no effect. Jeff might have noticed a shadow of bruising on the toned torso, but his eyes were on the beloved yet lifeless waxy face. He cupped Scott's cheek and shifted the other hand to rub his sternum forcefully .

"C'mon, Bluejay! Give me those eyes! Time to wake up!"

Either the father's voice or the strenal rub had the effect - Scott eyelashes fluttered and a sliver of blue became visible. Jeff felt encouraged, thankful the baffled and paniced executives were giving him a wide berth.

"There you go, Scotty! Open them up for me, eh? Dad is here, Bluejay!"

Jeff moved his palm from Scott's chest to grab a cold limp hand and squeeze. His other hand never left the son's cheek, the thumb caressing cool clammy skin carefully. Give the boy a sensory anchor.

"Stay with me, kiddo! It's alright!"

Blue eyes were still cloudy and unfocused, eyelids heavy. Scott seemed to have just then noticed Dad's presence.

"Dad? Yu'came?"

Jeff's chest constricted. Of course, they were supposed to be in that meeting together. But Jeff succumbed to weakness and left Scott alone. Again.

"I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here!"

The pained, far-away gaze still didn't land on him.

"Yu'never come... Only Mom comes... I call'n'call an'yu'never come..."

He was feeling cold sweat and shivers raking his own body, his head was swimming from strain and fear, but he had to keep Scott conscious and talking.

"Dad is right here! I'm with you, Scotty! Just look at me! Can you do that for Dad?"

Scott seemed to have made an effort to look at him, the brilliant blue almost black with strain.

"Yu'never come when I'm dying..."

With that Scott's eyes rolled back into his head and a thin rivulet of blood trickled down the corner of his lips. Jeff couldn't tell if his son's skin went colder to his touch as his own hands went icy numb. There was a distant sound coming through the pounding in his ears - an animal-like wail of Scott's name in a voice Jeff didn't recognize as his own. Space shifted around him, bodies shuffling urgently as more people entered the room. Multiple hands were prying him away from Scott's unmoving body, but they would need a crowbar. Jeff was putting up a fight to stay latched to his son, or so he thought. In the middle of a vicious flail he was suddenly tipping sideways some distance away, Scott completely obscured from view by a wall off luminicent lined uniforms of paramedics. And Jeff's world went black.

***

[Lucy, please! I know you miss him, love! Oh my God, I KNOW, baby! I know you're all alone there! Please, don't take him! PLEASE! He hasn't lived yet! Our boy, Luce! I let him down so much! I'm so sorry! I asked so much of him, and he gave up everything! I screwed up! Take me, hon! If you absolutely must, take me instead! I'll watch over them all with you, dear! But you can't take him! You won't! I know you won't let him! He needs to live! Please, don't let him stay with you, Lucy! PLEASE!]

***

He started awake yet again with his eldest son's name on his lips, voice hoarse like he'd been shouting over the ocean surf, crashing on the island shore. Caramel eyes were startled by his roar that time. Gordon was quick to collect himself and put on a smile.

"Hey, Dad! You're awake!"

Not unlike Scott's early that morning (was it still the same day?), Gordon's grin was thin, taut, not bright enough to cover the shadows visible on tanned skin. Jeff tried again, putting a worth of questions into the name:

"Scott?"

Gordon's smile faltered and Jeff felt the heady rush of weightlessness, his mind slipping away from the tether of sanity.

"Scotty's in surgery, Dad! There was internal bleeding and he crashed in the Conference room. The paramedics said he coded there, but they got him to the hospital on time! They're working on him now!"

Coded. Scott died on his watch. Because Jeff wasn't there. He took a breather, let his boy take over his slack and his duty. Again. Scott was paying with his life when Jeff was unfit to deal. Again.

He shifted in what appeared to be a hospital bed, but the range of his movement was limited by the IV line, now pulling at his hand. Gordon stopped him from getting up, hands, weighing his shoulders back on the mattress, a lot stronger than he remembered.

"Whoa, Dad! Nah-uh! Stay put! Your BP tanked and you blacked out there too!"

That probably explained the dizziness and the hospital ward spinning slowly around him. Jeff took a cautious look around the room, but for the monitor tracing his vitals it was empty. Gordon read the question in his gaze.

"Allie got so worked up with worry - he threw up. John's with him, helping to clean up. Grandma's watching the surgery and consulting in the OR gallery. They actually let Virgil in the OR! Those puppy eyes are a menace! Or maybe Johnny-boy donated the hospital a research lab or something. Anyhow, they let him stay with the anesthesiologist - you know how Scooter's body eats through painkillers! Freakish metabolism and all! So they wouldn't want him wake up mid surgery,  and Virgie knows the dosage and his stats by heart. It's good, right? Scotty's not all alone in there!"

Gordon was rambling, not pausing for air, and Jeff knew that to be the boy's primary tell for intense anxiety. He reached for his second youngest hand to ground himself as much as to offer comfort.

The door hissed open and Alan waded in, followed by a mile of ginger topped blue. Allie's face was blotchy and ashen, fresh tear tracks marking the skin. John was gripping the boy's shoulder with one hand. He had a tablet clutched to his chest with the other.

"Dad!"

Alan sounded so young Jeff's heart ached. He lifted the IV bound arm and Alan was quick to tuck himself to Dad's side, lanky teen limbs curled into a ball. The boy was not bothering to be discrete about crying again. Gordon flopped over Jeff's legs, uncharacteristically lost for words and craving contact too. Jeff waited till John walked around and perched by his shoulder. The ginger was engrossed by the video feed on his tablet. The live stream from the OR Jeff was not sure the hospital authorized or even knew about. He didn't care. He was dying to ask how the surgery was going, for how long, but Jeff wasn't sure how much John had clued the Tinies in. So he craned his neck to better see the screen and waited. Silence stretched. Virgil's massive form in sterile scrubs, cap and mask was visible, hunched over Scott's face, his fingers drumming lightly over the brother's bare shoulder. Jeff couldn't tell if Virgil was tapping in Morse code or playing out a mute tune. Either way it was definitely a way to reach through to big brother and not to disrupt the doctors. The surgery site was a hustle of frantic activity Jeff didn't dare follow too closely. At some point John's eyes went almost sea-green dark and the grip on the tablet turned his knuckles white. Jeff squeezed his shut, hugging Alan's trembling shoulder closer.

[Please, Lucy! No! Please!]

Time stretched further without meaning in perfect silence. John finally shifted to get up and announced:

"They closed him up! He'll be wheeled to Critical Care now."

Turquoise met caramel across the ward and it occurred to Jeff the statement was addressed more Gordon's way, as the blond was on his feet immediately. There was a LOT of communication between his family going right over his head. Maybe they didn't trust his strength that day. Or maybe they were just too used to not factor him into the synergy of their tightly knit world. Either way, it hurt more than he could ever let them know.

Gordon got his cue and was peeling Alan up and away from Jeff's side.

"C'mon, Al! Let's go find Grandma before she instills fear of hell into the nurses! And maybe grab some snacks for everyone! On my word, Dad DOESN'T want the local variety of green jell-o!"

Alan, as well as everyone else in the room, knew it for what it was worth - a diversion tactics to get him away. Allie could be stubborn with the best of them, and he wasn't a kid anymore, despite a widely acknowledged belief, but he knew there would be no real talk of Scott's post op prospects with him around. Not right then at least. Besides, the boy looked veritably drained by fear and all the uncertainty, and could use a change of scenery.

Shortly after Gordon chaperoned Alan out the doors to Jeff's ward hissed again. Virgil appeared like a giant ghost, swaying on his feet. He shed the surgical mask, gloves and cap, but was still in the OR scrubs. Drenched through with sweat. John was by his brother's side in one long stride. The boys leaned into each other for a long moment, their foreheads touching. Jeff longed to envelope his sons into a massive hug and let them draw strength from their father, as should be. He longed to rush to Scott's side and hold on to him as tightly as he knew how, not letting the boy slip away. He longed to console the Tinies and shoo away the haunted desperation from their eyes. He longed to ascertain them all they were not loosing Scott. Because they couldn't. HE couldn't. But he was marooned by the stupid IV, bedridden by gravity, exhausted by dread and guilt, eating him alive. Not for the first time that day Jeff felt redundant and useless, a fragile husk rolling around, causing mere nuisance.

Virgil heaved a breath to center himself and John stepped around him to head out. But not before giving his brother another quick fierce hug. Virgil seemed to be gathering his bearings, his mind booting up, previously lost in whatever he saw and felt going on in that OR.

"John, wait! Scott is critical. They won't let you in!"

John's face was a chiseled mask, a shade paler yet, if it were at all possible.

"I just bought this hospital equipment enough to research immortality. I'm going to be with my brother!"

With that he was gone through the door. Virgil seemed lost for a moment, lonely in the middle of the room. Chocolate eyes landed on Dad and just like that - the dam broke. The tidal wave of years worth of fear and pain, and toll of anticipatory grief as well as the actual one, for reasons Jeff only began to piece together, breached through defenses and Virgil collapsed into his father's eager arms, sobbing.

***

Maybe it was fitting he only got to do his vigil bid by Scott's side after all his kids, and his Ma, had exhausted themselves. Maybe it was his turn to step up, finally. Or maybe he wasn't ready before. How could he be? No amount of bracing himself could prepare Jeff for seeing Scott in the Critical Care unit - translucent and perfectly still - machines doing breathing for him, pumping blood for him, doing all the living for him. Even after That Place there was more life in his son's body, more tangible reality beneath the gossamer skin. His son's spirit was nearly unmoored, yet Jeff felt like he was the one needing life support. A lifeline. So he reached for the one that had yanked him from the brink more than once, led him out of cosmic limbo, sure and true - his son's hand. And held fast.

***

[I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here! I never come when you're dying, because you're NOT! I'm right beside you! Mom will show you the way home! I'll be waiting right here, son! I'm not going anywhere, I promise!]

[scribbles97]

The Nightmare Come True - Part 2

Part One Looks like @loopstagirl and I are tag-teaming this! Part One of their fic is what started this whole thing, and Part Two links directly to this part also!

Jeff hated himself. 

Hated that he hadn’t found a way to do more. 

Hated that he hadn’t been there when it had mattered. 

Hated that he had hurt his son in so many ways. 

When Scott hadn’t responded to his calls along the hallway of cells, his heart had dropped straight through his stomach. There was already blood on his hands, but he was prepared to add to it if his eldest wasn’t to be found within the compound that they had broken into. For all Jeff was concerned, he would burn the entire world if it meant he got Scott home safe and alive. 

With every call of the kid’s name, alive had felt less and less likely. 

Until Kyrano had heard the voice that Jeff had longed to hear for months and pulled open one of the heavy metal doors further along the hallway.

It was only the voice the Jeff recognised when he had stepped into the cell.. 

Under scraps of fabric that could hardly be described as clothes, the man was skin and bone, any muscle that there had been was wasted away to nothing in favor of survival. He was small in the corner of the cell, curled up to make himself look like nothing. 

It had sent Jeff’s blood boiling, half of him ready to turn back and bring each of the bodies he had left on the ground back to life just so he could kill them all over again. Scott Tracy was not nothing, he was everything, and whoever had done this to him deserved nothing less than the very pits of Hell.

His son had needed him. 

It had taken a tortuous few minutes for there to be any kind of response when Jeff had spoken to him, and he hadn’t been sure if reaching out to touch him had been the right thing to do. 

Scott hadn’t been hearing him though, instead undoubtedly expecting his tormentors to have returned for more. 

So he had placed his hand in the overgrown hair, that Scott in his right mind would have hated, and murmured softly to his boy in a way he hadn’t done since he had been little. 

When Scott had finally looked up, even the blue of his eyes had been barely recognisable behind a haze that Jeff had seen in others but had hoped his son would never have to experience. 

“We need to move.” Kyrano had warned from the doorway all too soon, “Hugh says we’ve been made.” 

Jeff had hated to ask anything of his son in that moment, but he was going to get them out of there, and for that he knew he would need Scott’s cooperation.

“Can you walk, son?”

Scott had been slow to swallow and then gave the smallest of nods, “Yes, Sir.”

Jeff had helped him to his feet, had held onto him as he had stumbled and shifted the weight completely off of his left leg. He hadn’t asked if he was alright, it was obvious that he wasn’t, but he had waited, watching again for the subtlest of nods before they had moved. 

Together, they had made it as far as the edge of the compound before Scott had given out, his body trembling and each breath heaving with the exertion. Jeff had paused, hoping that a moment of rest would have been enough for him to make it back as far as the car. 

Hugh had evidently had other ideas. 

“Captain Tracy!” The Brit had ordered, “Move.” 

“Hugh.” Jeff had bitten in return, as Scott had sobbed once more that he had tried. 

“He needs to move, Jeff.” Hugh had growled, “Else we’ll all end up back in there.” 

Scott was still trembling against him, but Jeff could hear the shouts on the horizon and knew Hugh made a valid point. 

“Sorry, kid.” He uttered before hoisting Scott up and over his shoulder, his body no heavier than a sack of grain he had once carted about on the farm in Kansas. 

From there they had run the rest of the distance to the car. 

Scott had drifted in and out as Hugh had driven, barely there to recognise just what was happening or where they were going. Jeff had simply held on to him and watched the uneven rise and fall of his chest, had felt the racing pulse at his wrist, and prayed that they weren’t too late. 

None of them had spoken on the short journey to the base, not even when they had been escorted directly to the medical building. Hugh and Kyrano had wordlessly stood guard as Jeff had followed his son to a cot, blocking the crowd that had swarmed them as news had gotten around the camp. The medics had worked fast and efficient, stripping away cloths that barely counted as clothes and taking Jeff’s breath with them. 

He had felt sick at the sight of the marks that had littered Scott’s body.

Sickness had turned to anger as a pair of Colonel’s had stepped into the room. 

“Jeff Tracy, I thought you were retired.”

It had been automatic to stand to attention, to narrow his eyes at the pair that had seemed far too young to hold a title equal to his own. 

“Once a Colonel, always a Colonel.” He had countered, “Colonels are meant to make decisions for their Airmen, and I didn’t see anyone doing anything to pull out your remaining prisoners.” 

Both had straightened at his accusation, one that they all had known ran far deeper than face value. 

They had done nothing, and so they had contributed to the mess of Scott’s body behind him. 

“Sir,” One of the medics had interrupted, “Captain Tracy needs a hospital.” 

“We’ll take him to London once he’s stable.” 

“Whilst under the care of the US Air Force, Captain Tracy will be sent to our hospital in Paris.”

Jeff had had enough of other people making decisions for his family. All it had gotten him was a son that had been missing for six months, on the brink of death itself, holding on through sheer grit and determination to get home.

Paris was foreign. 

Whilst Scott was semi-fluent in the language, Jeff hadn’t doubted that he would hardly be in the mindset to try and translate anything when he woke up. He had wanted somewhere familiar for them both, somewhere that conversations wouldn’t have to go through any kind of filter to be understood. 

After everything, Scott deserved to have everything as easy as Jeff could make it for him. 

“I pulled him out.” He stated, keeping his voice low and firm, knowing that the medic would send them all away if he dared to shout, “I decide what happens next. You all lost the right the minute you left him behind.”

There hadn’t been any argument after that. 

The medic had chased the other two Colonels out. 

Jeff had sat at the side of his son’s cot and looked at him, cataloging him from head to toe. 

The hair and beard were about the only things he had been able to do anything about. Scott hated not being clean shaven, had always insisted upon it from the minute he had hit puberty. Jeff had remembered love and laughter as he had taught him to shave standing in the en-suite of the master bedroom in Kansas. Lucy had been there, had laughed with the pair and taken a photo when the lesson had ended in a shaving foam war. 

He had asked for a razor and set himself to work. 

It was really too little, too late. Why hadn’t he fought harder, sooner? He could have prevented it all, he could have saved his son from another trauma to add to the pile. 

Instead, he had left him. 

Jeff was no better than the big-wigs that had left him behind in that prison, he wouldn’t have blamed Scott if he never forgave him. 

He wasn’t sure he would ever forgive himself. 

“Don’t.” Hugh had stated as Kyrano had checked out the jet that would fly them to London, “I know that look in your eye, Jeff.”

He had shaken his head as they had watched the medics roll Scott across the tarmac.

“I still remember your call that day.” Hugh had continued, “Jeff Tracy is not a man that takes no for an answer.”

Jeff still hadn’t felt like it had been enough, not when he finally had Scott in front of him.

“What else would you have done, Jeff?”

Even three weeks later, he hadn’t found an answer to Hugh’s question. 

Three weeks of surgeries and tests, of sitting vigil and thinking through what-ifs, of answering questions from General’s he had long since stopped reporting to. Three weeks of assuring his family that, yes, Scott was alive but that there was always little else to tell whilst he was still in a coma. Three weeks of wanting to hold all five of his boys close and never let them go again. 

It must have been a cruel trick from the universe that Scott had woken right when Jeff had felt at his weakest. It had taken everything in him to be the calm and reassuring voice he had known his son needed to hear as he had fought against the tube in his throat. It had been all that he could say, that everything would be okay.

It was only when Jeff had woken to Scott’s eyes on him, finally gaining some of the clarity that should have been in their blue depths despite the cocktail of drugs, that he himself had finally started to believe that things would be alright. Scott would go home to his brothers, would get to live a life far away from the horrors he had faced. 

He had thought that he would have waited for questions, but it was a testament to his son’s strength that he had asked so soon for a timeframe. 

Jeff had felt nothing but shame as he had told him. 

It was all he could do to apologize, to be honest with the kid and tell him how he had tried. When Scott had broken down in front of him, Jeff knew it hadn’t been enough. Even as he had tried to comfort and calm him, he had known deep down that whilst Scott had fought every single day to live, he hadn’t fought hard enough to bring him home. 

Jeff had sworn years ago that he was going to do better, that he would let Scott be the kid that he had deserved to be, and he had let him down again. So, he had held him close and kissed his hair, and prayed that his son would find a way to forgive him and let him have another chance to be the father that his boys deserved to have. 

He had held on to him at every chance Scott had given, letting the man be the boy that needed his father, letting him cry and assuring him that he was enough and that Jeff was proud of him. 

He had held the Colonel’s and General’s at bay, refusing to let them near his son’s room until Scott was good and ready to talk to them. It had been luck that Kyrano had been with him at the time, his friend’s quiet but broad stature enough to help in intimidating the unwanted away. 

It was harder to keep the boys away. 

John had barely returned to American soil after spending the British summer with Hugh’s daughter, and had been plenty vocal about wanting to see his brother. The younger three had happily followed his lead and joined in begging to be allowed to see or speak to Scott. 

For all Jeff wanted them all together, he didn’t want them to overhear the same conversations that he had in the hospital hallways. He could still protect them from that part of the world, keep them far away from the kind of people that used other men as pawns in a game of chess that spanned entire continents. 

It was a relief that Scott seemed to share such a sentiment. 

Relief had only lasted for the briefest of moments, until Scott had next woken either unable or unwilling to speak. 

Jeff hadn’t been sure what he must have done wrong for his son to go silent, but there must have been something. They had been talking! Scott had given him a ghost of a smile as they had talked about his brothers. It hadn’t been much, but Jeff had been sure it had been small steps towards recovery from the mental scars. 

He had hovered outside the door when the doctors had asked him to leave, for all he had wanted to argue, he had known that they needed to assess Scott without him present to influence anything. He hadn’t been expecting Val’s call, but had been all the more grateful for it. 

“How is he?” The kid’s Godmother had asked straight off the bat. 

Jeff had scuffed his toe against the linoleum of the hallway and sighed heavily, feeling every one of the last six months heavy on his shoulders. 

“He woke up just before and Val… He-- I don’t-- He won’t, can’t, talk.”

Her voice had raised an octave as she had questioned him for the details, concern of new injuries making themselves know that perhaps the doctors had missed. He had been quick to assure her that it was more likely a trauma response, that had been what one nurse had mentioned as Jeff had left the room. 

“What if I caused it, Val? What if I told him too much too soon? We were talking about the boys, if he wanted to see them and now he just won’t--” 

“Jeff.” Vall had sighed, “This isn’t on you. His brain and his body are probably out of synch with everything that’s happened. Give him time.”

He had promised that he would. He would sit and talk to his son about anything he could, if only to let him know that he was there and ready to listen whenever Scott was ready to talk. Jeff was going to do everything in his power for him, he wasn’t going to fail him.

When the Colonel’s had come and Scott still hadn’t been talking, he had blocked them at the doorway and refused them entrance. If Scott wasn’t talking to Doctors or Nurses, there had been no doubt in Jeff’s mind that he hadn’t been ready to answer any sharp toned questions from the very men that had sent him to that hell hole. 

“You cannot delay this conversation inevitably, Colonel.” 

“I don’t wish to.” He had answered, fully aware of the importance of a debrief, “But I learned from my own men that they answer better when they’re in the right frame of mind. Right now my son is not and I will not have you hurt him further.”

He had left them at that, having heard Scott stirring in the room behind him he knew where his presence had been needed more. 

“They’re not coming to talk to you until you’re good and ready.” Jeff had told him when bleary blues had stared at the doorway for a moment too long, “You take as long as you need, son.”

He still hadn’t reached out to Jeff since he had woken up silent and withdrawn into himself, and Jeff didn’t try and reach out to him. It hurt to not be able to comfort him, but he understood. His captors and his squad had been the only people that had been near him for months, and both of their touches would have been entirely different from those that Jeff had been able to offer. 

“May we come in?” Val’s voice had been soft as she had opened the door a crack, Scott’s eyes instantly latching on to the sudden intruder. 

Jeff had looked to his son for his approval before waving Val into the room. A second figure had followed her, dressed in loose fitting pajamas, and hobbling in the same way Scott had when Jeff had pulled him out of the prison. 

“Jenny.” He had stood immediately when he had identified her, offering her his seat as Scott had watched her with wide eyes. 

She had moved slowly, eyes equally as locked on Scott as Val had helped her over to the chair. It had been like watching children who hadn’t seen each other in years, both equally unsure if what they were seeing had been truly real. 

Jenny had turned to Jeff suddenly, hands shaking as she reached out to him from the chair.

“Thank you.” She had whispered, “For...” She had trailed off as she looked to Scott, reaching out to take his splinted hand, having no such qualms in the way Jeff had.

He had understood her meaning though.

“There was never any doubt, Jen,” He nodded to his son, “And I wouldn’t have stopped looking until we had him home safe.”

Scott had looked up to him at that, something small flickering in his eyes before he had looked back to Jen’s hand over his own. 

“We’ll leave you two for a while.” Val had offered softly, “We’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

Jeff had paused, unsure about leaving when Scott had begged and he had promised that he would be there. 

After a long moment, the kid had nodded though, and Val had pulled him out the door to the uncomfortable plastic seats in the corridor. 

He had pressed his hands to his face, sucked in a slow shaky breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding onto, and tried to blink away the tears that threatened to fall. It wouldn’t do for him to break, not when his boy needed him to be strong, needed him to support him in ways that Jeff wasn’t quite sure how to do. 

Everyone had said to just be there for him, to wait and listen and eventually things would work themselves out. 

Jeff had never been one for sitting idle. 

“He’s strong, Jeff.” Val had murmured, her own eyes fixed on the door to Scott’s room, “Jenny told me a few things on our way over here. Scott saved them all.”

“At what cost?” He had found himself asking, understanding the implications of what Scott must have gone through as Captain in order to try and protect the others. 

Val would never give him details, such things were said in confidence and he hoped Scott would tell him right when he was good and ready. It hadn’t changed his want to know though, even if he knew the very picture that would be painted would turn his stomach and perhaps break him too. 

“He’s strong.” Val had repeated, “You remember what it used to be like when you went home after a deployment, shifting from Colonel to Dad.”

Jeff did remember, it had been hard some days, when the kids had been screaming and squealing in delight, when there had been shouting and running footsteps echoing across floorboards. There had always been a day or two when he had felt more on edge, ready for a disaster to strike and felt a need to be ready to act. 

Scott had been on defense for six months, had been constantly processing every waking moment as a Captain trying to protect his squad from hell. 

Six months of building up walls to protect both his men and himself, of being the one that couldn’t break for fear of what it would implicate to those he had been there with. 

Such walls never came down easily, Jeff knew from experience. 

Jeff also knew his son, and knew the sledgehammer he would have likely taken to those walls. 

It had been why he had asked so immediately about how long he’d been gone, about his crew, and had started to tell Jeff exactly what had happened. 

He’d broken down the walls quickly and efficiently with no way to protect himself from the flood they would release. 

Doing the same thing had led Jeff to throw himself into his work and drink after his wife’s death. 

He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, see Scott go the same way. 

“Just be with him, Jeff.” Val had sighed, “Stick with him and you’ll see him come right.” 

He had looked across to her, tired, and feeling the weight of his whole world heavy on his shoulders, “How do you know?”

She had smiled softly as she had reached across and clasped his shoulder, “Because I know you Tracy’s, and you’re fighters, but you all have a hell of a lot of love in you.”

He had only chuckled at her answer, knowing her point had been perfectly valid. 

Looking down, he had pulled out his phone, “I should talk to the boys.”

Val had leveled him with a look before assuring him that the pair in Scott’s room would likely be a while. She had been quick to chase him away with comments about needing a shower and a shave. It was only that she had offered to stand guard at the room which had finally convinced him to slip away.

It had felt all kinds of wrong to leave the hospital, for fear of what could happen whilst he was gone. Val had promised though if there was the slightest thing that she would call. Hugh’s estate was only fifteen minutes away, less if Parker drove him. 

So he had stepped out and called his boys back home, assuring them all that Scott was as well as could be expected but not quite fit enough to speak to them all. He had listened as Alan had talked about school and his new class, had taken the time to ask how he liked his teachers and if he had finished his homework. Then came how Gordon had done at training that morning, a new personal best in a different stroke, and how his coach had started talking about the next olympics. Finally, Virgil and John had put their heads together with a plan to get across the pond to see their big brother, a plot that Jeff had waited to discourage until the younger pair had been far enough out of ear shot. 

“He misses you all,” He had assured the pair, knowing it was fact even if Scott hadn’t actually been able to tell him as such, “but right now, he’s still… processing.” 

It had been enough to convince them, just for a while longer, that they were best keeping their distance and sending their support quietly through the filter of Jeff. He had known they would ignore him eventually, that it would likely be his own mother that would betray him and bring them halfway around the world to see Scott. 

As he had picked up the dog tags off of the dresser in his room, Jeff could only hope that by the time his brothers arrived, Scott would be in a better state of mind.

[lenfantdeverone]

THE SILLIEST BROS APPRECIATION POST!!!!!

[idontknowreallywhy]

I missed WIP Wednesday but am posting this most because I am amused that despite having a challenge to update TWELVE other fics what I really needed to do on the train this morning was start another one…

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

A sudden uptick in the vibrations woke him from an uneasy sleep and as usual his eyes opened on to complete darkness. He suppressed the urge to panic and threw out an arm to activate the cabin lights.

05:49am. Right.

He waited for his heart rate to adjust to the realisation he wasn’t, in fact, blind. After 2,900 days one would think he’d be used to that.

And yet.

The absolute darkness was the worst part.

After the silence. And the loneliness.

He hugged himself and drew a breath.

“It might be today. I need to be ready.”

It was the mantra he started every morning with. Not that there were real mornings, just the artificial 24 hour cycle he had imposed once he realised his circadian rhythm was drifting. It really wasn’t a survival priority that his cycle was 27 hours and increasing rapidly but once he’d realised it just became another symptom of his separation from everyone back on earth and he’d become rather fixated on correcting it. It was another connection, of sorts. He was still one of them.

He had kept himself tied to Tracy Island time. Knowing when the boys might be looking up at the stars, and imagining they could feel him looking back was important to his survival in a way none of the theoretical texts could have predicted or explained. Of course that was on the assumption that the faster than light leap hadn’t messed with the clocks in his comm and the Zero-X’s system. But they matched each other and so… he had decided it must be correct.

He needed it to be correct.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[lenle-g]

@mariashades said: maybe this from this story

He was still in the mud room and in the middle of getting his boots off when a voice piped up behind him. “Dad?” “Shh!” Jeff quickly got off his other boot and turned to see Scott and John standing behind him. How on Earth they’d slipped up so quietly, he’d never know. “Is your Mom home?” “No, why?” John asked. “I’ve got a little surprise for her. I’ve gotta hide it somewhere she won’t find it,” Jeff told them with a wry half smile. Hiding anything from Lucy was a mission in and of itself. “Wanna see?” “Yes!” both boys chorused and came closer. Jeff sat down on the step between the mudroom and the hallway, the boys draping themselves over his shoulders, and he pulled the bag out from inside his jacket. Delving into it, he pulled out a jeweller’s box and cracked it open to show them what lay inside: an oval green-gold gemstone pendant about a quarter the length of his thumb, slung on a golden chain. “Whadda ya think?” Jeff grinned. “Pretty. What is it?” John had his eyes fixed on the stone, fascinated by the play of light on the cut facets. “Olivine, and specifically, it’s pallasite meteorite olivine,” Jeff told them, well pleased by the ‘oooh’ from his eldest sons. “Think she’ll like it?” “Mom’s gonna love it!” Scott grinned. “Great, now, howsabout you two help me figure out where to hide it until her birthday?” “Yes!” They chorused, then scampered off to look for good hiding spots.

I could not get the shading on this to go right for the life of me, so here! Have the flats XD

[laughing-moonlight]

Tracy bros dress as each other for Halloween:

Scott is John

John is Virgil

Virgil is Gordon

Gordon is Alan

And Alan is Scott

Jeff turns around, sees his sons "not in costume" and thinks he's gone crazy

[call-me-casual]

Friendly reminder for everyone that Jeff Tracy is canonically gen z

You’re welcome

[edutainer2022]

An unassuming coincidence on a Friday night leads to an unforeseen chain of events. Jeff Tracy is badass. Teen Scott doesn't always follow Dad's orders to the letter. A kidnapping goes wrong. And I'm always intrigued by TAG Jeff up and packing his young sons into increasingly remote locations.

Many thanks to @janetm74 , as ever, for kind support!

ERGO PROPTER HOC

In hindsight, so many things aligned that day that normally wouldn't. His late evening conference call with the GDF Headquarters in a different time zone got rescheduled because of, ironically enough, a storm raging through Central Europe, that demanded consolidation of rescue and dispatch efforts. So that would mean he'd be home before his sons' bedtime (not that the elder three still pretended having one), for once. On a Friday. His mind drew a rather shameful blank, trying to remember the respective school and club schedules. Scott had been juggling the pick-ups and so much more since... well, for far too long.

Anyway, a call from his eldest's basketball coach settled the score - the boy sprained a wrist early into practice. The coach was following protocol and was more comfortable with sending Scott out to the hospital for a proper X-ray. Jeff's eldest son would never have called him at work if he could help it - unlike the father, he actually did remember the agenda for the week, and A LOT was riding on that GDF call. But the coach likely wanted to avoid liability for delay. It was too soon to break the practice up or to let Scott sit it out with an ice-pack and then bum a ride from one of his friends (or bargain with them to skip hospital altogether and give him a ride home, more like). The coach also wouldn't hand Jeff's underage son over to a stranger, a status in the Tracy wider social circle Kyrano was vehement to maintain. Anyhow, the stars aligned so that Jeff was available (and quite a bit worried by the time he got there). Which might have bumped the stars some more into giving him a flat tire.

They ended up taking Scott's car to save time, Jeff driving. The trip proved a breezy affair as there was no damage beyond a sprain. Nothing a brace, some cold, Ibuprofen and rest couldn't fix. Jeff saw how the latter might prove a problem, though, with the three year old Allie practically living in Scott's arms. But that was to be a problem for Dad Jeff to deal with later that evening. In the meantime, they had some much overdue quality time one on one, complete with some take-away burgers and a backseat full of stacked pizzas and other delicious goodies for the all-boys movie night at home.

Jeff's enjoyment of the afternoon was slightly marred by Scott apologizing up, down and backwards for interrupting Dad's workday. That, and the boy being obviously in more pain than he let on. But that too was an issue for Dad Jeff to tackle later. For the time being he let himself enjoy his eldest son's company.

***

The drive back to the farm was to be swift and uneventful. He could see Scott, paler than Jeff was strictly happy about, fighting off fatigue, and wondered if the movie night would quickly turn into a puppy pile sleepover. That thought might have twitched annoyance in his gut as he saw a two-car crash ahead, blocking an otherwise empty road. He didn't want any delays on the way to spend a Friday night with his kids.

Jeff was used to trusting his gut. It got him through tight fixes in a war, out in space, all the way on friggin' Mars. It helped him navigate the World Council and GDF convoluted politicking, and the cut-throat business scene. So now, when one of the drivers, engrossed in dispute, looked up at their approaching car - Scott's car - Jeff's gut was blaring a red alert.

An imperceptible shift in stance to reach for the weapons, the cold glimmer in the eyes, the vaguely familiar faces of Gaat's "assistants" launched Jeff's mind into a breakneck tumble. He assessed the situation and weighed the options. From the passenger seat big blue eyes were glancing up at him in worry as Dad's hands tightened at the wheel, his face momentarily hardened. Jeff made a move for the glove compartment, then remembered they were in Scott's car. No gun! The curse that followed had the blue eyes dilate wider, startled. He was scaring his son, which entirely defeated the purpose. Okay, new plan! The seatbelt clicked off.

"Bluejay! I need you to take the wheel now! Don't stop, drive off! Tell Kyrano to get you and the boys away at once! He'll know what to do!"

"Dad!!!"

The face of his young self was sheet white now, bright blue almost black with disbelief.

"Dad! What are you gonna do?! I CAN'T LEAVE YOU HERE! Dad, what's wrong!?!!"

They were approaching fast, he didn't take the foot off the pedal, hoping to give Scott momentum. And a chance to flee. The goons on the road were openly smirking now. He could see the sunset bounce off one of the gun barrels.

"I need you to do exactly as I say, son! It's an order! Don't stop, don't look back! GO!"

He didn't have time to placate a frightened child, even if the last thing he would see in life would be the horrified features of his son. He could think of worse ways to go. Smaller shaking hands, one in a brace, clasped the wheel. He knew Lord Hugh's "multitalanted valet" had taught Scott extreme driving, so he ought not to doubt the boy's ability to speed through. With one parting glance he opened the door and jumped, aiming to tackle one of the henchmen to the ground.

***

Whoever his erstwhile friend sent out, were certainly not expecting a combat hardened veteran with rigorous astronaut training under his belt. Nor a father determined to protect the most precious with his life. It nearly came down to that too, as they were no amateurs either. But they definitely didn't expect Belah Gaat's brother, skidding into the fray in Jeff's farm truck. Jeff didn't anticipate Kyrano as well, but couldn't turn down the much needed help. On second thought, it didn't surprise him Scott obviously disobeyed his order. The realization didn't add to his piece of mind one bit.

Leaving Kyrano to deal with the henchmen and with the police (in whichever order he saw fit), Jeff, though visibly worse for the wear, vehemently shot down the suggestion to wait to pop into a hospital and floored it home in the truck. He needed to hold his kids!

***

The house was dark and quiet to the point it seemed empty. Jeff could feel this heart pounding as he checked the sitting room, kitchen, the boys' bedrooms up on the second floor, and even the attic. Scott's car was haphazardly parked on the driveway, so they didn't leave. Logically, Jeff knew the kids could be hiding somewhere on the farm property, while Kyrano was dispatched to help him in a fix. There were no signs of struggle anywhere in the house. But logic eschewed his rational thinking till he hadn't spotted his sons - safe and sound. Jeff was about ready to expand the search perimeter to the barn, when he noticed the basement door locked. After the TV-21 sabotage and Belah's thinly veiled threats, the hurricane shelter was transformed into a fully stocked panic room, complete with a touch pad lock. Jeff promptly ran the scanner and made his way down an equally dark stairway. On his last steps down he was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. His eyes adjusted to a siluette of Scott, clutching the gun, usually stashed in a coded safe. The boy was visibly trembling, but held the weapon steady, level with Jeff's torso - the wrist in a brace supported by the uninjured hand. The flash of light couldn't hide the pallor and the thin line of Scott's lips, pursed tight against the pain. The other boys were huddled behind him - John and Virgil hugging the Tinies between them. John was brandishing a torch.

"Put the gun down, son! It's Dad!"

It took a moment for the scared minds to process his words and for the eyes to adjust and identify the intruder.

He let the breath out only having removed the gun from Scott's grasp and tucked it securely out of reach, once the safety clicked back on. The next instant the eldest boy nearly collapsed into him and he had his arms full all five sons. The ribs that took a significant battering protested, but Jeff didn't care. He took his time liberally distributing soothing hugs and kisses over each and every mop of hair. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises as well, but that would have to wait. He needed to feel his boys breathing, warm and alive, and close to him.

That day indeed ended in a puppy pile, albeit not the way anybody expected. He left the in the basement for the night - for his own peace of mind. He kept the gun tucked into his belt - for the same reason.

Once the boys settled down into uneasy sleep, including little Allie bursting into tears and Scott persuaded to take another painkiller, Jeff did another round of kisses on assorted brows, noses and temples, and made his way back up to the kitchen, trying not to wake them up with his own grunts. He needed to see about those injuries, finally. Gaat's crooks did a number on him.

He probably should have known better than to sneak away from his eldest. Sure enough, light steps soon followed him into the kitchen. Scott slipped from the basement and made a beeline to the medical cabinet. The movements of a slender teen's figure were sure even by the moonlight. Nible hands produced gauze, antiseptic cream, and cold packs with practiced precision. The boy's face was serious and wrought with concern. At some point the shadows shifted and Jeff nearly swayed on his perch by the kitchen isle - he had to blink hard, twice, to let the gossamer vision pass.

"How did you get the gun, Bluejay?"

Scott froze midstep to soak a clean washcloth for Dad's gushes. Jeff mentally kicked himself. That was relatively far removed on his priority list at the moment!

Angular shoulders, still in the team jersey, shrugged.

"John hacked the safe code way back - we needed Allie's birth certificate for daycare."

Jeff had to brace himself on the edge of the counter not to keel over and keen, like a kicked dog. Ashamed.

The boy shifted from foot to foot and visibly braced himself, ready for a reprimand. When he turned back to Jeff, blue eyes were silver with tears.

"Are you mad at me, Dad? I couldn't just leave you there!"

How could he be? The boy's disobedience and quick thinking, ultimately, saved his life. He beaconed Scott closer and draped an arm around the still bony frame.

"I know, Bluejay! I'm not mad. I just need to be sure you'll follow my lead when it's about you and your brothers' safety, deal?"

"Yes, sir."

The answer was barely above whisper - the teen was still notably trembling, exhausted and anxious. Jeff sealed the deal with a kiss to the side of the boy's head and gave them both a moment, cheek resting on the disheveled curls. The kid was chasing him in height so fast.

Scott shifted away, startled by a sudden thought.

"Dad! How did they know you'd be driving!?"

They didn't. The roadblock trap was set up to kidnap a teenager, driving alone late. Terrified eyes searched his face for an answer his son had already figured out. He shifted to adjust the embrace tighter with both arms and guided the boy's head into the crook of his neck. The soft half-sob, half-gasp nearly tore Jeff apart. Come dawn, he'd need to make arrangements to relocate the boys far away. Kyrano and Hiram would help him turn Gran Roca into an impenetrable fortress. To begin with. He'd spare no effort to keep his sons safe.

[loopstagirl]

Fractured Reflection, Ch 4

TW: Prisoner of war, torture

With many thanks to @scribbles97 for keeping me inspired!

Scott's POV 1 | Jeff's POV 1 | Scott's POV 2 | Jeff's POV 2 | Scott's POV 3 | Jeff's POV 3

Chapter 4 - Scott's POV

It took several days after the debriefing for Scott to find any semblance of balance again. Saying it out loud, putting that room into words, made it real and tangible. It seemed so close, like it was just down the corridor and if they decided they didn’t like his answers, that’s where he was going until he changed his story.

The nightmares got worse. A low-grade fever left him sweating and shaking as he struggled to deal with the shock of what they’d suggested.

Him. A traitor.

Captain Scott Tracy of the United States Air Force, decorated pilot, son of Jeff Tracy, a legendary hero, a traitor.

The worst part was that for a second, he wondered if it was true.

During the darkest moments, he couldn’t remember what he’d told them. He had bargained with them, forcing their attention on him to protect the rest of his team. He didn’t think he was stronger than them, far from it. But they were his squad. It was his duty, his responsibility, to keep them from harm.

The water boarding. The room. The beatings. The humiliation. Scott always believed his family had stopped him from losing his mind: those precious memories giving him a fragile grip on reality. But what if his mouth had betrayed him, betrayed his country, even as his mind drifted away with thoughts of his mother’s smiling face; his brothers’ laughing; his father’s strong arms keeping him safe?

His dad wasn’t enough this time. But by the time the fever broke and they got him back on solid foods again, a therapist had been lined up. The first session left him more wrung out than any of his recovery so far, but it had helped.

Deep down, he knew he hadn’t betrayed anyone, other than maybe himself. It hadn’t taken long for someone to help him reassert his self-belief and shake off the thoughts those Generals had planted in his head.

Of course, it helped that the Generals didn’t come back with any other questions. Scott had a feeling Colonel Casey had something to do with that. She’d been almost as furious as his father at what they’d been insinuating, and Scott knew his ‘aunt’ would’ve have given some higher-ups hell over it, regardless of rank.

But now, things had started looking up again. He’d had another session with the therapist. Then he’d been introduced to a different sort of therapist. Scott had been both looking forward to, and dreading, the start of physical therapy. He wanted to get back on his feet, wanted full motion back again. But he didn’t want to face his own weakness. Never mind his mouth; his body had certainly betrayed him.

It was both better and worse than he had anticipated. But there was one side effect he hadn’t considered.

It exhausted him. More than anything. In fact, it exhausted him so much he managed to sleep without nightmares tearing him from his new reality to his old one.

A week after the debriefing, Scott slowly opened his eyes. It was bright in the room, a natural light rather than the glow of the lamp he insisted was left on. Purely to help anyone coming and going, of course.

But for the first time, he’d slept the night through.

He felt it, too. The blanket was a warm weight rather than the suffocating restraint it had been previously. He hurt, but it wasn’t the agonising stab of memory, more the slightly unpleasant ache of pushing himself too far.

(Apparently, no one told this therapist they’d have a harder job slowing their new patient down than motivating them to take the next step).

Scott rolled his head to the side, and the memory of a smile touched his lips. It no longer surprised him to see his father in the chair by his bed. The man had told him he was going to stay by his side, and he’d stayed true to that. Scott knew he should tell him to go, find a proper bed, get a decent night. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Jeff was exhausted. Scott could tell by the way he didn’t immediately wake up as soon as his son moved. It gave him a moment to study the man, though. There was no doubt he’d aged in the time Scott had been missing, and dark circles ringed his eyes, making him look drawn and, well, old.

But as he looked, Scott’s gaze drifted to his dad’s hand. It was resting, palm up on his leg, his fingers loosely curled around something. It was obvious he’d been holding it tight, but sleep had made his grip soften. Scott caught a glimpse of something metal.

He shifted again, his whole body moving this time. It was enough to make his dad stir. He instantly sat up straighter, cracking his neck from side to side before smiling at his son.

“Good morning.”

Scott’s lips twitched. He wasn’t quite there yet; his muscles seemed to have forgotten how to form expressions other than fear and pain.

His dad stretched but Scott’s gaze was locked on his hand still. It had clenched as he moved.

“What’s that?” Scott gestured at his father’s hand.

His dad looked down at his closed fist. He went still, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened. For a moment, Scott didn’t think he was going to say anything. When he did, his voice was quiet but hoarse, as if his emotions were constricting him.

“It’s,” he stopped. Swallowed. Came forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. Scott shifted over to give him space, pleased when his body let him move with something that resembled ease.

“They’re yours,” his dad whispered. Slowly, his fist opened. Scott stared.

He remembered all too clearly the day he’d been presented with the tags. Five days in to his basic military training, queuing up with what would later become his squad: going through the process of registering his information and getting his fingerprints taken to give him an active record on the system. Being presented with the two small pieces of metal and the instructions to have them with him, always.

Scott hadn’t taken them off from that day onwards. Even when he was on leave, and his brothers had pestered to see them, he’d unhooked them from his shirt, let them hold the tags in their hands, warmed by the closed contact with his skin. But never once had he slipped the chain from around his neck.

He could remember all too well when he’d lost them as well.

It hadn’t been immediate. Their captors had let them keep them, let them cling on to their identities, for all the good it did them. As far as he could tell, the rest of the squad had been rescued with theirs still on. It was the only way their captors had let them keep any of their humanity.

But not Scott.

It had been that final time they’d dragged him to isolation. Once they’d got him away from the others, two men holding his arms even as they’d forced him to his knees, another soldier had stepped in front of him. With one sharp tug, he’d torn them from his neck. In that movement, he’d also torn away Scott’s sense of self, his hope, and his adamant belief he was going to see his family again.

He’d torn away what had made Scott Tracy the man he was.

“How-,” this time, it was his voice that was shaking. “How did you get them?”

He thought he knew, though. All along, there had been something missing. His father had refused to say how they’d provided proof of life, refused to comment on what had sparked off the rescue mission when everyone higher up the chain of command had written Scott off as lost.

“They sent them to me,” his dad murmured. “A small, unobtrusive package arrived at the office one day. They thought they were sending a ransom. While it was true that sending me your tags was enough to get my attention, they made a mistake. Sending me these was giving me my son back.”

Scott thought he understood. Until then, his dad hadn’t had a reason to believe he was alive. Sending the tags had given him hope, even as it had been taken away from Scott.

“Here.” His dad gently took his wrist, angling his hand until he could slip the tags onto Scott’s palm.

Scott froze. They were warm from the heat of his father’s skin. The engravings glinted in the warm light of the room, providing Scott with information he’d forgotten about himself in that place. All he could do was stare for a long moment.

A gentle hand covered his own, slowly folding his fingers around the tags. Scott let it happen, but he didn’t consciously move. When the hand disappeared, shifting to a soft grip on his shoulder, Scott made himself look up.

“Scotty?”

With a yell he didn’t know he had in him, Scott threw the tags across the room.

They stripped his identity from him when they’d taken those tags. But giving them back didn’t restore everything he’d lost.

“They’re not mine,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Scott, they are.”

“No.” Scott looked away. “That’s not me.”

The man those tags belonged to had been lost in that prison, trapped in the darkness begging for someone to come and save him. How could Scott take the tags back when he couldn’t go back to the man who’d worn them?

He kept his head turned as his father stood up. He heard him collect the tags from where they’d fallen. While Scott was grateful that his dad didn’t try and give them back, he also didn’t know what to do when the man placed them on the bedside table.

“No one is making you wear them,” he murmured in a soothing tone. “But don’t give up on them so easily.”

Don’t give up on yourself so easily is what Scott heard.

He was breathing heavily through his nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. He was so tired of feeling weak and vulnerable, his emotions getting the better of him after so long suppressing them. But there was something about those two small pieces of metal and the chain holding them together that was more of a painful reminder of what he’d lost than anything his dad could’ve said.

The bed dipped again under his father’s weight.

“You think that because of what you went through, you’re not the man you were? Well, you’re right. No one can undo what you experienced, although god knows I wish I could. No amount of therapy is going to get that man back, son. It’s changed you. But it’s up to you to figure out if that’s for better or worse.”

Scott couldn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the bedspread. It wasn’t a surprise when a hand cradled the back of his head and his father pressed a kiss to his forehead before he stood up. No doubt he was intending to give his son space to come to terms with his latest emotional rollercoaster.

“Dad?”

Scott found his voice just before his father walked out of the door. He stopped, looking back.

“Scott?”

Scott sat up straighter, forcing himself to meet his dad’s gaze.

“Help me shave?”

A grin split over Jeff’s face and he nodded.

“Of course. I’ll get what we need.”

He hurried out, as if Scott was going to change his mind in the few moments it took him to fetch everything. But all Scott did was force himself to sit up straighter, flexing his fingers. He wasn’t steady enough to hold the razor himself yet.

His father had made a good point. He couldn’t be the man he was before. But that didn’t mean he had to be the man that prison had made him, either.

Scott wasn’t naïve: it wasn’t as simple as a change in mindset. He was still haunted; still scarred, both physically and mentally.

But as he got ready to take back some control, he figured a change in his thoughts had to be a damn good starting point.

-x-

“Two more beads, then you’re done.”

Mal’s voice was warm and encouraging. Scott gritted his teeth, his hand, no, his entire arm, trembling, as he held the small bead between thumb and forefinger. With his other hand, he held the string as steady as he could, concentrating as he tried to thread the bead on.

It was his fifth physical therapy session, and if Mal was surprised by the strides his patient was taking, he was professional enough not to show it. He hadn’t needed any of his usual coaxing with Scott. Instead, he’d needed to remind the man what his body had gone through and pushing it wasn’t going to make him heal any faster, but the opposite.

Scott threaded one bead, then the second. He saw Mal shift out of the corner of his eye, no doubt prepared to take the equipment away. Before he could do so, Scott threaded a third bead.

“Alright, hot shot,” Mal laughed. “You proved your point.”

He took them away before Scott could do anymore. Scott sat back in the chair with a sharp exhale, surprised when he realised his forehead was damp with perspiration. It should’ve been such a simple task, but it took it out of him more than he cared to admit.

They’d set his fingers, straightening them out after they’d healed wrong from previous breaks. Improving his dexterity hadn’t been quite as straightforward, but Scott was adamant he would get it back. He might not be able to play the piano properly, but that had never been his forte anyway. As long as he would be able to fly, that was good enough for him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mal said. “We’ll hit the gym.”

Scott nodded. He liked his physical therapist. Mal didn’t treat him like he was broken; didn’t let Scott wallow in self-pity. He treated him like a buddy, challenging him in a friendly way that Scott couldn’t refuse even if he found it hard. He wondered what that said about his pride, whether it was as gone as he believed…

“Mr Tracy.”

“Mal.”

Scott looked up at the voice. As Mal left with a cheerful wave, his father came in with two coffees in his hand. Scott gave a small smile, the action gradually coming back to him with each day that passed. The medical staff had tried to warn him off the caffeine, before realising it was a far greater motivator to make him do as he was told than anything else.

He took the offered cup, but had to put it down. His muscles were trembling from the activity he’d just been doing.

His dad sat on the bed. He didn’t say anything: he’d learnt not to ask how the session had been as Scott would only focus on what he should’ve been able to do rather than what he’d managed.

“I was thinking we could get some fresh-,” he trailed off, frowning.

Scott heard it, too. The sound of a commotion coming from further down the hallway. He glanced at his dad, who shook his head: he didn’t know what was going on, either.

Scott shrank back. He didn’t mean to. But the last time he’d heard raised voices down a corridor, they’d been coming for him.

Whether his father had seen the action or was just curious himself, Scott didn’t know. But he leapt from the bed and stuck his head out of the door.

“Stay here,” he called back. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Scott didn’t point out he was exhausted after his therapy session: he couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to. But he did force himself to sit up straighter, refusing to be that scared little boy again.

But as the noise came closer, Scott straightened even more. He frowned. This wasn’t a threat. This was something familiar. He knew those voices. They’d got him through the worst moments of his life. Not his team, but people even closer to him than that…

Just as Scott intended to stand, the door opened. His dad appeared, a look Scott recognised from years gone by: half-exasperation, half-fondness.

Four very familiar figures crowded in the doorway. For a moment, there was a sharp intake of breath. Scott stared back just as intently as they were looking at him.

John: paling when he saw his big brother, but the smile uncurling making him look years younger.

Virgil: jaw set, head lifted as he refused to show what he thought about his brother’s appearance and instead trying to be strong.

Gordon: his jaw dropping when he saw Scott.

Alan: giving a small gasp, tears flooding his eyes and turning into John.

Scott didn’t know what to say. Even after weeks of the best care the military had to offer (plus a bit more, given Jeff’s refusal to leave and no one wanting to upset him), he knew he still looked like a mess.

He was wearing a zipped hoodie and tracksuit bottoms. But the exertion of the therapy had made him unzip the top, leaving his chest and torso exposed. Most of the wounds were well on their way to healing, but the scars were still puckered and raw. Scott jerked, quickly pulling the zipper back up.

“Well, fu-.”

“Gordon!” John’s hand shot out, cuffing him over the head.

“What?” Gordon protested, rubbing his head, and looking at John. “He’s not exactly Prince Charming right now.”

“He’s never been Prince Charming,” Virgil said in a distracted tone. His gaze was locked on Scott, his expression serious. Scott wondered if he even realised he’d spoken.

But Scott knew he’d seen what the others hadn’t. The slightest relaxation in his shoulders at Gordon’s words. It was better than pretending everything was fine and nothing amiss.

“That’s because Prince Charming is the boring one. I’d rather be Aladdin,” Gordon shot back.

“A thief?”

“At least he gets to have more adventures.”

“Doesn’t get to fight a dragon though,” John said.

Their dad was shaking his head at their antics. But Alan’s tears had dried up and colour had returned to John’s cheeks. Before Gordon could respond, there came another sound.

One that had been missing for a very long time. Longer than Scott had been gone. As even though he’d been in the hospital for several weeks now, he hadn’t realised he still had this in him. Listening to his brothers’ banter, their utterly ridiculous conversation given where they were standing and what they were faced with, there was only one thing Scott could do.

He laughed.

It didn’t last long but enough to see the startled look on his father’s face relaxing into a pleased smile. John and Gordon exchanged smug smirks and the four brothers made their way into the room.

Scott looked at his dad. “Help me?” he murmured softly.

The man helped him over to the bed, knowing what Scott wanted. Scott then pulled Alan up next to him, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. Virgil snagged the chair and dragged it over even as Gordon climbed on the bed, sitting cross-legged on the end. Virgil sat in the chair, also folding his legs up, while John leant against the wall.

Scott looked around at the four of them. Drank in the sight of them. The feeling of Alan in his arms, Gordon’s weight leaning against his foot, reaching out and touching Virgil’s arm, making sure they were all real, all truly here.

There was a lump in his throat, but this time, it was different to when emotions had previously overwhelmed him. This felt… Scott swallowed. This felt positive.

He thought he’d been starting to come to terms with what had happened to him and started to process the emotions that came with that. But this time, it felt like a leaden weight in his chest had moved from his heart to his throat, and was fighting to free itself. He didn’t currently know how to speak, what he was supposed to say, but he felt that maybe he could breathe properly for the first time since he’d woken up.

He couldn’t stop himself, looking from one to the other, mouth opening. He wanted to tell them what it meant to him that they were here, how hard he’d kept fighting to come back to them and how they’d kept him going. But his voice didn’t work and tears flooded his eyes instead.

They were here.

They were really here.

Apparently, his father thought the same thing.

“How did you get here?” There was a firm note in his voice, one that gave away he expected an answer. Virgil flushed, looking at John who was pointedly examining something on the far wall with far greater intensity than a blank white patch needed. Both Alan and Gordon looked at their big brothers. When no one spoke, Gordon did.

“Virgil flew,” he announced. Virgil gave him a betrayed look and Gordon pulled an apologetic face. “What? You did. John navigated and made all those calls about landing rights and flight paths or whatever he was talking about but Virgil was at the controls.”

“Thank you, Gordon,” their dad said in a clipped tone. “I just didn’t realise he owned a plane to bring the three of you over to the mainland.”

“We may have borrowed Tracy 2,” John confessed to the wall.

“And you knew our location how?”

They were in a military hospital, after all. It wasn’t widely known exactly whereabouts it was located. This time, it was John who flushed and nothing else needed to be said.

Their dad pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “So, you stole my plane and came to a classified military hospital whose location John dug out from somewhere he shouldn’t have access to. How did you get past the guards?”

This wasn’t the sort of place that anyone could just walk into. Not only because it was military, but because of the severity of both the physical and emotional injuries being treated here. Too many things were triggers for the men and women who’d been through hell.

“Oh, that was all Alan,” Virgil said, sounding proud.

“Please, sir,” Alan said in a high voice. His blue eyes went impossibly wide. “Both my daddy and big brother are in there. I have to see them; I just have to.”

“Then I told them I really needed the bathroom,” Gordon chimed in, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Scott couldn’t help it. He laughed again. In a way, he should’ve known. Only his brothers would take entering a restricted military hospital as a challenge and not let anything stop them.

“That’s not exactly how it went down,” a voice said from the door. All the Tracys looked up.

“Aunt Val!” Alan cried, excitedly.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“You think I didn’t know as soon as you four cleared the flight path? I guessed you were coming here, although I’m impressed that you made it that far. I warned the guards four tearaway kids would be arriving and to let them in.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Aunt Val,” John said. It had been a long time since anyone had called him a child.

“Are to me, kiddo,” Val said. She reached over and ruffled his hair, making John scowl and Gordon laugh. “Now, Gordon, Alan, how about you boys come and help me find some snacks.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Alan looked like he was going to protest but Gordon slipped off the bed, serious for once and knowing to do as he was told. She gestured them out in front of her, and Scott watched them leave.

“Alan’s grown,” he said quietly, “and Gordon’s got stronger.”

“He’s training hard,” his dad said. “Taking it seriously.”

“Good.”

Scott had been worried his brothers would give up their own dreams when he’d gone missing. He was glad to see that wasn’t the case, although he did wonder if Gordon had seen the pool as refuge rather than thinking about his career.

For a moment, there was silence. Scott looked up to see John and Virgil exchange glances heavy with unspoken meaning. He understood. For six months, the pair of them had been forced to deal with the idea that he was missing, captured behind enemy lines, and then presumed dead. They’d had to process a lot.

Now they were here and Scott knew he was hardly the brother who’d said goodbye to them last time he’d been home.

But with Alan and Gordon gone, he had some space. He shifted up on the bed, motioning for them to both come closer.

“I’m not going to break,” he told them.

Virgil had clearly been waiting for that. With a soft cry, he flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around his big brother. Scott returned the grip, and knew it was the strongest he’d held something in months.

“Don’t do that,” Virgil said against his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Scott said with a small smile. As John came closer, Scott lent his cheek against the top of Virgil’s head and allowed himself to smile.

[gumnut-logic]

Jeff leant on his cane and held his tongue.

His eldest was quietly juggling small talk as they waited for the assistant to bring out the finished product. Gordon and Alan were discussing something about a toy fish far too loudly to be polite, John was talking to Eos via his tablet and Virgil was eyeing Jeff with suspicion like he always was – as if his father might break if Virgil took those worried brown eyes off him.

An internal sigh.

It was a family day out. Well, it was supposed to be. A simple follow up trip to the tailors to collect and check the fitting of their suits. When he suggested they do this together, there had been a few odd expressions, but ultimately, his boys had jumped at the opportunity.

His mother had arched an eyebrow with enough angle to give Jeff the suspicion that this was very unusual. A quick question to her later that night, and his suspicions had been confirmed.

His boys hated shopping.

But this was a different kind of purchase. It was time to spend together as father and sons. Something he yearned for.

The fitting last month had gone really well. He had enjoyed spending time with his boys away from International Rescue. Getting to know each of them. Watching them interact as brothers.

If he was honest, the eldest boys hadn’t changed much in personality. Matured, yes. Taken on more responsibility, of course. But at their core, Scott was still the leader, the hovering, worried older brother. Virgil still had that touch of hero worship for Scott, and rounded up all the others, playing referee to all of them. John was the island he always was until one brother or another cycloned onto his shores and messed with him.

It was the younger two he needed to get to know better.

Something had happened to his little Gordy while he was away. Some things. There were scars on his body that hadn’t been there when Jeff left. His little fish had been through so much injury in his short life…Scott’s quiet voice reported while Virgil stood behind him, so much worry in those brown eyes.

Jeff had enough control not to react. Not until he was alone, late at night, when only Lucy heard his tears.

But there was a gold medal on Gordon’s wall. With the injuries came the triumphs, the list of lives saved.

Including his own.

He had nearly lost a son to Gaat.

Nearly.

He straightened where he stood and shifted his cane.

Of course, this just prompted Virgil to take a step closer, that familiar frown crumpling his brow.

“I’m okay, Virgil.”

The quiet statement interrupted Scott and his small talk. The commander flicked a glance between the two of them, narrowing on Virgil.

Jeff watched a silent communication bounce between them.

Virgil took a step back.

Scott turned back to the tailor, his gaze skipping over Jeff to focus back on the conversation.

Jeff swallowed.

Virgil was still watching.

Another internal sigh. His second eldest was a damned mind reader.

Okay, so he wasn’t feeling the best today. He had days like that. Days where gravity was too much. Days where people were too much. Days where memories were too much. He was getting used to tackling them and they were getting less frequent. Today wasn’t a particularly bad one and he was determined not to miss out this rare precious time with his boys.

“You okay, Dad?” Alan bounced beside him, as always, a ball of energy. His fingers brushed against Jeff’s arm, bright eyes peering up at him.

A half smile. “I’m okay, Allie. Just a little on the achy side today.”

In his peripheral vision, brown eyes across the room narrowed.

“You wanna sit down?” Alan pointed at one of the many chairs in the room.

“No, I’m better standing. Thank you, son.”

Alan eyed him sideways. “Virg, bugging you?”

That prompted a proper sigh. “He means well.”

“Well, if you ever need to hide, I know some good spots.”

“Alan!” Gordon shuffled over and poked him in the ribs. “That’s classified information.”

“Dad, needs our help, Gords.”

The aquanaut eyed his father suspiciously. “How do we know he won’t collude with the enemy in the future.”

Jeff arched an eyebrow. “Since when is Virgil ‘the enemy’?”

“See, that’s what I mean. Allie, you’re risking our security.”

“It sounds like the both of you have been risking your health and making your brother’s job harder.” He frowned at his two youngest sons. “Do you do the same to your grandmother?”

Both boys opened their mouths, but perhaps fortunately for them, they were interrupted by the tailor as the assistant brought out their six brand new suits.

Jeff eyed his youngest as Gordon poked him in the ribs again and whispered in his ear as they hurried off. Alan glared at his fish brother and got noogie for his efforts.

No, perhaps his boys may have matured, but they really weren’t that different.

He followed them into the dressing rooms, the tailor himself holding Jeff’s suit.

“Do you need any assistance, sir?”

“No, William, thank you. I can manage.” He shut the door and pushed the rest of the world out.

He needed a moment.

He threw himself into one of the two chairs in the small room.

The decor was on the opulent side. They paid top dollar for this service and the trappings reflected it. His mind threw up the first suit shop he had attended in Kansas. He had been looked up and down as a country hick. The price had been steep then, but was now less than pocket change.

He had come a long way.

Until eight years ago.

Then he was just a long way away.

He cut off that train of thought. Down that way lay depression and lost opportunities. They had no place here today.

Today was about his boys.

He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the ever present aches and focussed on dressing himself without falling on his face.

No doubt, Virgil, or even Scott, would be hovering outside his door shortly.

He made as quick work of the suit as possible. The dark grey material was soft and comfortable, the most subtle stripe emphasizing his shoulders and distracting from his drop in muscle tone.

A temporary thing.

He would get it back.

Eight years was a long time.

“Dad, you okay in there?”

He rolled his eyes. Scott this time. “Nearly done. I will be out shortly.”

It was like he was the child and Scott and Virgil were his parents.

His mother had just laughed when he mentioned it to her. “Honey, your sons are strong. They have become what they needed to be. Give them time to find their places again. Give yourself time.”

He sighed. Patience was something he had learnt while stranded.

Didn’t mean he had to like it.

He tied his shoes and stood up, grabbing his cursed walking stick.

The man in the mirror appeared professional, poised and, with the cane, a little regal.

The man inside felt anything but.

His eyes stared at him.

Haunted grey.

He shook himself. Focus.

With straight shoulders, he grabbed the door handle and strode out to face his children.

-o-o-o-

Who do you save, John?

[scribbles97]

The Nightmare Come True

A direct result of This Fic of @loopstagirl 's. I'm afraid to say it spiralled into something much larger than planned and there may or may not be a Part 2 lurking. TW: POW

“Daddy!” Alan’s wide blue eyes shone bright in the snowy landscape, “When’s Scotty comin’ home?”

Jeff gaped, trying to reach out for his youngest only to find he was just out of reach downhill from where he stood. 

“He’s not.” Virgil appeared, hunched up under a tree off to Jeff’s right, the snow mounded up all around him, “Dad sent him to the Air Force and he’s not coming home.”

“No,” He found himself answering, “I-- I didn’t.”

He hadn’t forced him to go, it had all been Scott’s choice. 

Hadn’t it?

To his left, Alan screamed, begging for Jeff to bring him back, for his Scotty to come home. 

To his right, Virgil continued to rant, “He just wanted to make you proud, he just wanted to do everything just like you, he just had to follow your footsteps.”

Jeff shook his head, unsure of which son to turn to first, which to beg more forgiveness of. He knew he hadn’t been there enough and had been trying to do better, to be the father they deserved. He had stepped up so Scott could step back and be the teenager he should have been. He’d taken the interest he should have in all of their hobbies, supported them in their aspirations, encouraged them to make their dream jobs a reality. 

He stumbled back as Virgil shoved him, falling back into the snow but not feeling the bite of its chill. 

“It’s your fault he’s gone!” Virgil yelled, “Just like Mom. It’s all your fault!”

Before he could speak, the hillside shifted to a mountain, a low threatening rumble filling his senses as he looked for both Virgil and Alan as the snow around him started to move. 

“No!”

He caught himself, the yell a gasp of breath on his lips. 

He was home, the farmhouse in Kansas familiar and warm as it always was in the summer months. 

His bedsheets were tangled around his feet, twisted in the way as they always were after the nightmare. 

Rubbing his face, Jeff forced his breath to slow, forced the racing beat of his heart to settle into something healthier. 

It was just a nightmare. 

The same nightmare he had been having for months, ever since the news had broken of the Bereznian war and he had known. 

He had known that Scott would be amongst the American Service Men and Women that would be deployed to the area in some capacity. There had been no doubt in Jeff’s mind that his eldest would face the same dangers as he had himself during the Global Conflict. 

There had been a handful of precious days before he had been deployed, Jeff had gotten John home from Oxford for the occasion, determined to have all of his boys together and in arms reach for just a moment. He had spoiled them all rotten, and if the eldest three had cottoned on to his reasoning, none of them had passed comment. Scott had laughed and joked as bright as any of them, beanpole arms and legs toned with muscle easily scooping up both youngest brothers, much to their delight. 

It had been on the kid’s last night that Jeff had pulled him aside to share a measure of whiskey out on the back porch, a memory that he clung to in the long minutes after his nightmares. He had held his son close and Scott had leant into him like he had done when there had been far fewer brothers around. They had talked about the Air Force and what likely came next for Scott after deployment and what challenges he would likely face. 

Then, when the drinks were finished and Scott had clung to his father for just a moment too long, he had promised Jeff one thing that neither knew he could guarantee. 

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

Jeff hadn’t corrected him, instead he had laughed and nodded, agreeing that the kid would be home for Christmas. 

The Holidays had been months ago, but at least had been accompanied by letters and holo-calls, even if the latter had been static-filled and intermittent. Scott had still been smiling, but Jeff had caught the weariness behind his eyes that not even the hologram could hide. He had wondered at the time if he had looked the same when calling his young family from far off lands. 

It had been after that that the nightmares had gotten more regular. Though only when John had gone back to College and Virgil had started spending more time in the library after school that his mind had started to trick him into believing that his sons were drifting out of his reach. 

He’d gone through enough psych evaluations as part of his NASA training to know it came from a deep rooted fear that he wasn’t enough for them. So he’d gone to his therapist and talked about his fears, and gone home and made sure his remaining four son’s knew he loved them and was there for them, whatever they wanted in life. 

It had been Virgil who had clocked on to Jeff’s sudden overtness, and who had gently called him out on the matter one afternoon whilst the pair had replaced a broken fence post on the driveway. Jeff had admitted as much as he had dared, not wanting to feed into the fear he knew the middle child held for his eldest brother. They had paused in their work long enough for Jeff to apologize for not being there sooner, for not being more and doing better, and Virgil had forgiven him. 

Yet still the nightmare had come. 

Life went on though and the family had adapted to their new normal, Scott’s holocalls becoming more infrequent until they had stopped altogether. Jeff had assured the rest of the family that it was simply signal issues, that a good old fashioned letter was undoubtedly in the post on its way to them to tell them as much as he could about his latest missions.

Jeff’s words had sounded hollow to his own ears as he had remembered his own most dire moments of the Global Conflict and how he had still found a way to get a message home to his family. Scott would have found a way. If there had been any possibility, Scott would have sent them something to let them know he was fine. 

The missions weren’t long, Bereznik wasn’t a large country, Scott himself had told them as much. A couple of days was usually the worst of it, newer rules of flying hours and rest periods forcing the Air Force’s hand in ensuring their people were well looked after. Jeff had tried to tell himself that they would hear something soon, that Scott was just busy and the storm system Jeff had watched sweep over the foreign country on the Weather Channel had knocked out comms. 

Then his nightmare had come true. 

It had been whilst the kids had all been away at school and Jeff himself had been in the middle of a business meeting. The incessant knocking at the door had been a mild irritation right up to the moment when he had identified the CAO. 

“No.” He had stated, stepping back from the doorway, “Tell me he’s not--”

“Captain Tracy’s Squadron has been MIA for a month.”

They had refused to tell him more, no matter how much he had yelled and how many times he had stated his rank in the same damned Air Force. Even when he had begged, finally clocking what day it was in April and using it as part of his reasoning, they had still given him nothing more to go on.

Val had been his first call, and then Kyrano. 

The third had been his mother. 

His brilliant mother who had never pulled her punches, had listened as he had berated himself for letting Scott follow his footsteps and enlist. Never once did she tell him that it would all be okay. 

Instead she had listened, patient as ever, despite her obvious horror at the thought of what could have happened to Scott. She had waited out Jeff’s rant and hugged him when he had finally burned himself out before she had asked what he was going to do about it. 

She had looked after the boys whilst Jeff had made calls to every contact he had. He had found the version of himself that had once been a Colonel and used it as the strength he needed to get through each of the calls when one after another ended in promises he knew would be empty. 

His demands had gotten him a story though, a squad on an aid mission to support a supply drop to civilians trapped in the mess of war. They had been shot down in enemy territory but had made contact from the village they had been trying to assist. There hadn’t been any further contact, too risky Jeff had been told, but when recovery crews had finally made it to the village three weeks later, the whole place had been razed to the ground. 

It was a sanitized version of events, Jeff knew that much from his own experience, but it was something to work off of.

So he had, throwing the business and his projects on the back-burner to focus everything he could on one tiny village in the center of Bereznik and the fact that nothing of the Air Force Squadron had been found there. 

As spring had turned into summer and new updates had gotten fewer and farther between, he had finally accepted a need to tell the boys. 

He had tried to explain that MIA was good news, it was better than the definitive alternative, it meant there was still hope. None of them had really seemed convinced by his reasoning, Alan screaming and begging in the same way that Jeff had pictured in his nightmares, Virgil staying solemnly quiet as he shed his own tears in a way that was entirely opposite to the reaction Jeff’s mind had conjured up. John and Gordon had both frozen, each wide eyed and horrified at what they were hearing, he had seen Gordon’s tears later when the kid had pulled himself out of the pool at training. 

As far as he knew, John had never cried. 

Despite their reactions, the nightmares had come the same as they always did. 

In his gut, Jeff hated himself. 

Even as he knew there was nothing more that he could do, not without something key in finding where Scott could have ended up. He hated that he was stuck, on the opposite side of the world, with nothing more to do than wait for one of the few that would help to call and tell him they’d found something. 

He knew he wouldn’t sleep for a while after the nightmare, the what-ifs too loud in his mind for him to shut off. So, as he always did, he pulled himself out of bed and slipped downstairs to the office, hoping to at least be productive with the few hours before he needed the boys up to get Gordon to training. 

It took him a moment to realize the vid-message icon was coming from his personal comm, not for business. 

He opened it quickly, knowing only a handful of people would leave a message for him overnight. 

Val’s hologram popped up, bathing the whole room in a soft blue as her pinched brow looked up to him.

“I’m not calling because I haven’t time.” She started, voice soft like she couldn’t afford to be heard, “So you’ll get this in the morning and maybe I’ll have more answers. The GDF have been called in to retrieve Prisoners of War from a base not far from the village. I’ll call you when I have answers.” 

His hand reached out instinctively to call her, needing something more after the long long months of nothing. 

The call didn’t connect. 

“Dammit, Val.” He uttered, rubbing his hand over the stubble that had begun to form along his jaw, “What am I meant to do with that?”

He was still too far away, needed to be closer than he was in that moment. He needed to be there. 

Jeff couldn’t go to Bereznik, but he could fly himself to London, that was only an hour from Paris, where he knew they had been taking the worst injured. 

A few phone calls later and the plan was set in motion, his mother would take the boys, he would fly himself to London and meet Hugh, an old friend he’d not caught up with in too long. 

What he hadn’t expected when he stepped out onto the tarmac into a gray London morning, was for Kyrano to be standing next to Hugh. Jeff hadn’t even been aware that the pair had known one another, let alone that Kyrano was in London. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Jeff.” Hugh had laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “Kyrano and I have been crossing paths since before you knew me.”

Jeff looked to the Malay, raising an eyebrow, “You have?”

Kyrano smiled in that soft, knowing way that betrayed the kind of man he really was, “You don’t know everything Jeff, even if you wish you did.”

He shook his head in admission as Hugh gestured towards a truck. Where it would take them, Jeff wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t doubt that the pair that had met him would have some kind of plan in place.

“Is there any news?” He asked as they pulled out of the airport.

“No.” Kyrano shook his head, from the passenger seat, “Val told you she would call.”

“Do we know why they’re releasing them?”

“Also, no.” Hugh answered, glancing back in the rear-view, “Though sources suggest it’s less of a release and more of a trade.” 

Jeff couldn’t say he particularly cared for the semantics of release versus trade, he needed to know the details, who and why and when. The Bereznian forces weren’t the sort to simply let people go, not without a valid reason or a high price. The opposition had to have had something that the other had desperately wanted.

“They’ve not taken people back this whole war, why now?” He murmured, “Who did we capture?”

“That, my friend, is what we’re going to find out.” Hugh answered without looking back, “Might as well get comfortable, it’s a couple of hours to Norfolk.”

Jeff took the hint, settling back in his seat and managing to doze for a brief time before the familiar roar of jet engines woke him. 

The base was familiar, likely one he himself had stayed at for a stint during the Global Conflict, though he knew he’d have been lying if the bases hadn’t all come to look the same over the years. 

Their car was waved through after Hugh had given the guard on the gate a few choice words, drawing Jeff straighter as they weaved through the buildings to one closer to the airfield itself. 

Hugh had ordered the pair to stay put as he had slipped out the car and strode towards the offices, pausing to salute the man on the door before vanishing inside. Neither had spoken as they had waited what felt like hours, both able to see the silhouettes of people arguing through the unshuttered windows. 

In all the months he had been waiting for news, he had never seen the action his friends had been taking in person. It had always been from a distance, vid-calls and messages that left out what they had all been doing behind the scenes for him and his son. 

He had always been grateful, but never more so than after seeing all they had been doing for him in action.

Hugh’s sigh was heavy as he got back into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary as he did so.

“I don’t know what new Colonel Casey is going to call you with later, but I wouldn’t expect it to be good news, Jeff.”

It hadn’t been good news. 

It hadn’t been until the next day that Val had called on a secure line, and after tutting when she had discovered he was in London, she had filled them in on everything she had known. 

A group of highly decorated Bereznian Soldiers had been caught by the Opposition on a takeover of a base close to the border, intel had suggested the loss had been devastating to the Bereznian army and left morale sinking quickly. It was no surprise that the country wanted them back, if only to boost the confidence of the young men in their forces and renew their efforts. A swap had been agreed, the handful of captured American and French soldiers were to be released in a man for man exchange.

Except the Oposition had refused to release a captured Colonel, and the Bereznian’s had accepted without argument. 

Scott’s squadron had been amongst the men and women released. 

Scott had not.

It had stunk of horseshit. 

Val had agreed as much. 

“They’re not in a good way, Jeff, but when I can I’ll try and get something out of them.” Val had promised before she had ended the call. 

So he had been left with nothing else to do, but wait. 

He was sick and tired of waiting. It had been months since he had heard his son’s voice, even longer since he had held him close and been able to tell him just how much he loved him. There had never been anything for him to do other than stand by and wait for others to make their move. 

Just where had that gotten him?

“We need to find out where that base is.” He had told Hugh and Kyrano over dinner, “I’m not waiting any more, I’m going to find my son.” 

Both had shared a look, one that Jeff knew as a question of if there was a son left to even save. 

Jeff didn’t want to think about that as a possibility. 

Hugh had eventually nodded and cleared his office though, setting up a map in place of the encyclopedias that had filled the desk space. Jeff had raised an eyebrow when the man had produced the copies so quickly, but Hugh had simply shrugged and told him how it was best to be prepared. 

They had plotted late into the night, and long into the next day. Jeff had caught catnaps as the other pair had discussed security protocols, and they had slept as he called in favors from old friends still in the forces in the hopes of someone letting slip of a location.

Time moved slowly, like the whole world around him was moving through molasses, everything just taking that much longer than he wanted it to. 

In the end, Val didn’t need to find out anything for him. 

It had come from his secretary in New York, an innocuous little box that Jeff had been too intrigued by to not open. Inside had been a letter with a number, and his son’s dog tags. 

It had been with Hugh and Kyrano at his back that he had made the call. 

“You have my attention.”

“How much does your Son mean to you, Jeff Tracy?”

“I don’t bargain for lives. Where is my son?” 

“We are not bargaining, and you are in no position to make orders of us.”

“What do you want?”

“A million of your American Dollars. A secure wire transfer.” 

“I want proof of life.” 

“Oh, we can arrange that, just listen.” 

Silence on the other end of the line for a moment before…

“Let me out! Please! Let me-- Let me out!”

Jeff’s heart stalled in his chest, a memory of his son being so much younger and getting himself trapped under the bed echoing with the cry of fear. His little boy, terrified of whatever happened next with nobody to come to his rescue.

Kyrano’s hand on his shoulder snapped him from the memory, a sharp nod as the man pointed to one of the maps where Hugh had drawn a big red circle. 

They’d gotten a location, the final piece they had needed. 

“It’ll take time to get that sort of money together.” He forced his voice to remain steady, “A week at least.” 

“We can wait that long. Let us hope your son can also.” 

And then the line was cut. 

Jeff had wanted to collapse in a heap, to sob and beg of someone to save his little boy and fix everything for him. 

“They didn’t bother about their Colonel because they need money more.” Hugh stated, “If you pay up, they’ll likely keep Scott and barter for the Colonel as well.”

Instead Jeff forced steel into his spine and cleared the lump from his throat. His heart restarted with a fire burning in its pit, anger at the players that had decided his boy wasn’t worth it, anger at the Bereznian’s that were hurting him, anger at the whole damned war for trying to take his son. 

They had confirmation, Scott was alive. They knew where he was. They had a plan to get to him. 

It all fell into motion perfectly quickly, the molasses cleared and everything suddenly running at double speed.

He had only paused long enough to visit his son’s rescued squadron when Val had finally given the all clear. Men and women, shells of their previous selves that Jeff had met in passing. Kids just like his son who had gone into the war thinking they could survive anything the world threw at them. 

Jenny, Scott’s co-pilot, once as quick witted and bold as his son had always been, had barely been recognisable, her cropped hair uneven in the way it had grown out, her cheeks hollow, and her eyes without the spark that Jeff had always seen when the crew had been on leave. She was small in the bed, a shadow, not the strong bold woman that had challenged his son. 

She had grasped onto Jeff’s hand the best she had been able with fingers that evidently hadn’t healed in the way that they should have, her voice barely above a whisper as she had told him how their superiors wouldn’t listen to a trio that would undoubtedly receive an Honourable Discharge in weeks to come. Jeff would have words about it later, once he had his son safe he would tear a new one to anyone who had considered it acceptable to leave a man behind.

“Scott’s alive.” Jenny had hissed, “Of that I’m certain, Colonel.”

“We’ll bring him home.” He had assured her, closing his hands over hers, hoping and praying that she was right. 

“He’s the strongest of us all.” She had nodded, the tiniest spark coming back to her features for a brief moment, “He’ll keep fighting, if not for us, then for his family.”

It was with that Jeff had left, his own hope quietly fanned from a spark into a smoulder. 

All that was left to do was arm themselves. 

In abstract, Jeff had always known Hugh had held an armory of sorts, though he had never seen or imagined just what such a place would contain. Never in a hundred years would he have pictured the secret room the Aristocrat had led them to, weapons old and new lining the walls on all three sides. 

Kyrano took free reign, but as Jeff reached out, Hugh stopped him. 

“You’re not coming that far, Jeff.” 

“What?” He had spun, thinking back to the plans they had made, and what they had agreed would happen once they touched down in a clearing just beyond the base.

Hugh had held both hands up, almost like an apology, “You’re too involved, too at risk yourself.”

Whilst it had been true, it wasn’t the biggest problem that Jeff had foreseen. He had a son to save, a son he was going to fight to get back, a son that he had left to face the world long before he had been drawn into a war. Jeff wasn’t going to leave him to struggle through on his own, not again.

Hugh and Kyrano of all people should have understood.

“You both have daughters,” He started, waiting until Kyrano had turned to look at him, “can you truthfully tell me you wouldn’t see the world burn for them?”

“The difference is, Jeff, we have.” Hugh shook his head, “That is a place we have both been to and a place neither of us would choose to send another parent to. We do not know your son’s status, and whatever we find there you will undoubtedly carry with you for the rest of your life.” 

Kyrano set the rifle down that he had been examining, “What Hugh means is, you might know what Prisoners of War go through and have seen the extent of Jenny and Gary’s wounds, but Jeff, that will not prepare you for whatever they might have done to your own son.”

Jeff held his hand out again for the gun Hugh had taken from him, “I’m coming with you.”

The pair had shared a look but hadn’t argued. 

Jeff had helped himself to whatever weapons he saw fit. 

Then they were there, the three of them and a car of Hugh’s own design tucked safely away in a clearing barely a mile from the base. Night had fallen and wordlessly they had moved, the plan working seamlessly as they had slipped in through a disused entrance. 

There hadn’t been as many guards as they had expected, and the reason for everything fell into place as Jeff had pulled a man he had knocked out into a small cell. Their uniforms were grubby, tattered and frayed at the edges, the men themselves skinnier than a soldier on home soil should have been. 

The country was bankrupt. 

That was why they wanted money. Why they had kept hold of Scott and used him to bargain. 

It was why the Oposition hadn’t bothered to bring Scott home, they must’ve believed that soon enough the war would be over ayway. 

All the while, his boy, his strong, brave boy, had been left to suffer. 

It was with anger in his heart that he no longer hesitated in pulling the trigger with each soldier that had come to face them. 

Jeff was finding his son and taking him home. 

And nobody was getting in his way.

[lenfantdeverone]

I think this one picture on Jeff's desk in the movie isn't talked about enough, it's so cute and silly and Jeff has the classic dad™️ pose