#scott tracy needs a hug

[edutainer2022]

With Jeff's return, there's a new dynamics of there now being two father figures on the island. And some unaddressed logistical and legal issues arise. This is a Jeff and Scott story. I'm always fascinated with them navigating things new and old, post Zero-XL.

As ever, many thanks to @janetm74 for support! Another night of bombings brings on a fic.

TWO FATHERS (TWO SONS)

Being dead was tedious, as it turned out. But not as tedious as coming back to life. The paperwork alone was threatening to swallow them whole. Jeff had a strong suspicion he hadn't even been privy to the worst of it - Scott handling the steel cage fights with the various red tapes across various countries, Tracy Legal, the TI Board, and the GDF. With a strong, if discrete, assistance of John's hacking and communication skills, he suspected (but never asked, for plausible deniability). He was more than greatful for that. His own energy was mostly channeled to gruelling rehabilitation and reacclimitization, and to not going insane from joy of being with his loved ones again. He was prepared to wrestle back every second the exile in deep space cut off his life expectancy. Truth be told, he'd be more than happy to let it all be and just stay on the island, basking in awe at his amazing boys and friends. But his sons were adamant the world got Jeff Tracy back, reinstated to his full glory - Scott's the strongest voice in the chorus. So he rolled with it. He could never again deny his eldest anything.

He might have kept to himself the increasing worry over the hue of grey pallor and deepened frowns exhaustion was casting over Scott's features those days. Every trip to the States or elsewhere to deal with the ever arising issues - an unseen struggle. Jeff's return was supposed to lift the burden off of his boy's shoulders, not add to it.

He was lounging on the couches that afternoon too, waiting for Scott to come up from the hangars. One just landed into the pool, heralding Scott's return from yet another trip to New York. In the meantime Jeff busied himself with going over more rescue logs. A habit he tried to dedicate whatever spare time he got to. Dear God, there were so MANY rescues over the past almost decade. So MANY close calls.

The elevator clicked and Scott came round the corner, his suit jacket already off, tie loosened. The young man's face looked wane, lost in thought. Jeff waited till Scott sat down next to him on one of the couches. He'd adopted another new habit - to ask how his boy's were openly and mean it. To process every word for concealed pain. But Scott was more or less an exhibit of how he felt - forehead pinched in a frown and eyes squeezed against a building headache. Jeff was half of a mind to skip chat (and possibly a nightcap) and altogether to order his son to bed, braving The Look. But Scott spoke first.

"Dad, I need to fly you in to see the lawyers and the judge next time. To transfer custody."

Oh... Jeff hadn't given it much thought, all the other priorities and sensations vying for his attention upon return. He just resumed being the boys' Dad - never for one second over the solitary years away had he stopped thinking of himself as such. But of course, Allie and Gordie having been orphaned minors, guardianship arrangements must have been made. It didn't surprise him one bit Scott had stepped up. As he did with everything else. If Jeff were honest with himself, his eldest did so a lot longer than eight years.

"Gordon aged out, but Allie's still a minor. I will need to forfeit guardianship and return parental rights to you."

There was a weariness in Scotty's voice, in his whole posture. An air of defeat. Jeff raised a hand to run a circle over the hunched back in a silk dress shirt, but his palm hovered millimeters shy of contact. It was supposed to be for the better! Their world was finally, painstakingly turning the right side up again. Scott was never supposed to be a father to the Tinies. If anything, Jeff had harbored tentative hopes his eldest might have started a family of his own by then. Yet he couldn't deny that for Gordon and even more so for young Alan - Scott was the one father figure they knew best. Allie was just a little kid when Jeff went missing, and now he was an incredible youth - brave, kind, smart, funny, exceptionally skilled and professional. He was growing up to be a remarkable man that Scott raised him. Jeff was still catching up on a decade worth of cultural trivia and technological updates, he couldn't presume to be making fully informed choices regarding the boy's future. He knew what he had to do. His hand landed on the son's shoulder finally and gave it a warm squeeze. Scott looked up, wrought with worry.

"I think we should leave it as is, Bluejay. Allie is gonna be eighteen soon, so the point is moot. This changes nothing for us here, at home. I'm your Dad. I will always be! But for the world of college funds, and insurances, and stock options - you're his parent."

Blue eyes regarded him with doubt. Scott drew in a breath to protest, but Jeff was not done.

"Allie will trust you with things he would never share with me as he grows older. Just you wait! For that you're his parent too. You have been for a while, son. I wish things were different, I wish I could lift that much weight off your shoulders. But I promise to be there every step of the way - for him and for you."

Scott's lips were moving to say something, but no sound followed. Damp blue gaze was searching Dad's face, astonished. But even despite welling tears, his son's features looked lighter. Calmer. Like an old ache got soothed. Maybe it had.

Jeff gave his elder boy's shoulder another soft squeeze and moved to stand up, having made up his mind.

"Fancy a nightcap, son? C'mon, I know you haven't worked through ALL of my good stuff. And then you're going straight to bed, Bluejay!"

He made a pointed gesture that probably resembled his own mother a bit too much. But he could indulge himself in mischief just that once. His failed attempt at a stern glare was met by a smile and mirth dancing in bright blue eyes. As Scott sprung up to follow him, sketching a salute, he could consider his goal accomplished as a father for the night.

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

A snippet of what is really a small pile of snippets of a one-shot conversation I imagine Jeff and Scott having post a wonderful scene by @edutainer2022 where Jeff tells Scott he is his hero on an interview and Scott is Shook.

Posting this but now because even tho I have way more WIPs than is healthy, I do want to finish this one and maybe publicly acknowledging it exists might nudge the brain into finishing it.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

“I thought you’d be disappointed…”

He felt rather than heard the words choked out into his clavicle.

Jeff couldn’t help muttering a word his mother would still not hesitate to clip his ear about and tightened his arms around the unfamiliar breadth of his eldest boy’s shoulders.

“Son, I’ve spent eight years wishing I’d taken more time to tell you all how proud I was. I swore that if I ever saw you again I would tell you every day. And…” he swore again and a Scott flinched slightly “I’ve already broken that vow. I’m sorry. But I never for a minute thought that you… that you didn’t KNOW.”

“Not your fault” came the mumbled reply. “M’sorry, I should have…”

“No!” The objection came out harder than he intended and watery blue eyes looked up at him in shock and, hell, that was definitely guilt.

“No, Scott. Don’t make this your fault.. don’t make excuses for me. You’ve done that for far, far too long.”

🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

[edutainer2022]

That's basically what they all work persistently towards with Scott. That he feels secure enough to NOT earn his presence in the lounge with "work". Scott's ultimate happy place is around his loved ones. They all know it. They all are more than happy to provide company and moderate white noise. If only Scott would just nap, get some chips, then sleep again - not shackle himself to The Desk. When the lounge is deserted (late rescues, other commitments, other leisures) - Scott doesn't stay there for long, either working from Dad's old study or from his own rooms. Home doesn't make sense to him without people he loves most in the world near.

Never knew what love really felt like until i moved in with my best friends and realized that i didn't like staying in my room all day, and id much rather take naps on the couch where one or both of them are in the same room, doing their own thing peacefully. They make fun of me for all my dad naps, but it's so peaceful and comforting to fall asleep around the people you love and know that they'll look out for you and/or wake you up if something happens. I spent all day Saturday asleep, literally woke up late, got breakfast, sat down on the couch, and konked out for an hour. Woke up, vacuumed, went back to sleep. Woke up to make some chips, went back to sleep. When they leave town without me i can't take my couch naps cause it's not as comfy without them there. Humans are made for communities. Humans are made for best friends. Humans are made for napping with someone nearby who loves you.

[edutainer2022]

A little thing riffing off the concept of Scott, probably, getting mistaken for Alan’s father quite often. It turned out sadder than I hoped.

DAD

The loose end of his scarf got tugged lightly and he swiped his hand low to catch baby brother's palm, without shifting attention from the rows of pasta on a stall. Allie had hop-skipped away to the end of the aisle, mumbling something about waffles for dinner, and now probably demanded his immediate input. His hand grasped nothing but thin air. A scarf, however, got another insistent tug.

The scarf was not an eye-wateringly expensive brand-name cashmere that would usually go with his coat and the "Tracy Industries appropriate" look, but was infinitely more precious. Long, blue, hand-knitted and a bit loopholed, it was a gift from Virgil his last Christmas on leave from WAF. It was rediscovered in one of Dad's drawers on the island, apparently a keepsake of the things the GDF returned to the family after Scott himself was lost in That Place. Now it was Scott's keepsake after Dad... A full circle.

Scott peripheral vision detected a movement of blond and skinny far down the aisle, as Allie was, it appeared, reaching up for his waffles. They were in NYC together. Not only the Tracy Industries Board demanded a piece of him for one reason or other, but Tracy Legal and the family private solicitor required tweaks in the custody documentation. Scott took the opportunity to show pre-Christmas NYC to Alan. The boy was only seven when they visited the last time, bar Dad's massive public memorial service Allie barely remembered, wrought with grief. Scott hardly remembered much of it himself through the blur of shock, pain, doubt, and a kind of fatalistic determination. Anyhow, it wasn't a ten years old Alan demanding his attention now. Scott looked down.

A pair of huge grey eyes regarded him from under a gigantic pink bow. A small hand was tugging his scarf again, like a doorbell string. Up from Scott's height the little girl seemed positively tiny. He folded himself down, not to intimidate the child. Even crouching, Scott was still towering over her.

"Hey, sweetheart! Are you lost?"

Attentive eyes regarded him, then a pink clad arm shot out to point at the general expance of the rest of the supermarket.

"Mommy 'der!"

In between Gordy and Allie, Scott was proficient enough in three year old speak. Johnny, it seemed, was communicating at AP English level all the way back at two, or not at all.

The little girl's mom was, obviously, "there" - but nowhere to be seen down the aisle and behind the shelves. Out of a years ingrained habit Scott kept half and eye on Alan, engrossed in comparative analysis of the various boxes of waffle mix. The prudent thing to do wound be to call a store employee - Scott was aware it would send an alarm if he, all of the imposing 6'4, Armani coat and a Young Jeff Tracy face of him, walked away with a little girl. But the nook of the store was empty of anyone in telltale uniform. Huge grey eyes kept regarding him in expectation of some effective Mom-finding action. An idea occurred. Scott bent down some more and made sure to smile.

"Is it okay if I pick you up, sweetie?"

The child gave it a moment's thought and nodded. Scott sprung up easily, the girl securely in his hold, and propped her up on his shoulder. Tiny pink shoes kicked the air (and his ribs a bit) excitedly. There was some enthusiastic waving going on above Scott's head, well above the shelves, and even more delighted squeeing:

"Mommy! Mommy! Look'er! Mommy!"

That produced a young woman with a shopping basket AND Alan, running to him from the opposite side of the isle. He transferred the eager girl into her mother's arms in a fluid motion and reached out without looking again, to stop Allie from colliding with him full force. Alan bounced in place and looked up at him quizzically. Scott put an arm around the boy's shoulders. He saw the mother's eyes widen in surprise, once she was done thanking him for helping out a lost Polly.

"Oh, is he yours? So big already!"

Scott's hand tightened on Alan’s skinny shoulder on instinct. He could see the boy's face shift from curiosity to confusion. And it could be a matter of seconds before confusion gave way to anger or worse - tears.

Scott himself was used to that. He was getting those questions ever since Mom was gone and he had to pick Allie up from nursery after his own classes. Tall for his age, athletic and marred by grief and way too many worries - he was definitely spawning a "teen Dad" rumor among the pick up line Moms and babysitters more than once. He didn't have the energy to explain to anyone not in the know back then, no more than he had the energy to explain their whole situation now.

"Um... Alan is ten. You have a Merry Christmas, Polly! Don't get lost again!"

He could see the math recalculated in an instant behind the young woman's eyes, as she counted silver threads at his temples, stark in supermarket lights, and dark circles under his eyes towards a higher age bracket she thought he was. He wasn't. Dad's explosion in Zero-X and everything that followed added to the silver That Place wove into his hair. And he hadn't been doing much sleeping anymore. He didn't think he ever would again. Before the conversation could lead any further down those lines, he offered another polite smile and steered Alan away toward the exit.

Scott managed to order a hovercab without breaking a stride. The original plan was to walk back to Tracy Tower, maybe look at some Christmas window exhibits. They spent the afternoon gift shopping for everyone back at home and Scott could tell Alan was getting tired. But the boy seemed exited for their special time together, even if part of it was spent in the boring opulence of the family law-firm. Scott promised to cook dinner, not wanting to foster with baby brother his own habit of take-away Tai and more work crunched through the night.

Now, pressed to the window of the cab, small frame leaning away from Scott (a fact that was sending sharp pangs through his chest), Allie was quiet and listless.

"Are you my Dad now?"

Alan was still looking outside the window.

Scott was seriously dreading that conversation, but the incident at the store, apparently, accelerated the inevitable.

He reached a hand to ruffle soft blond hair. Then landed his palm between hunched little shoulderblades. Alan didn't flinch, which was maybe a good sign.

"Allie! Dad is always Dad. But I am your guardian now, and I will do EVERYTHING to protect you! Just as always!"

Small bony shoulders shifted in a sigh. Alan was puffing fog on the glass and drawing shapes with his finger. The hovercab stopped by the entrance to Tracy Tower, but Scott made no move to break the moment and leave just yet.

"Can I call you Dad sometimes? I told Nikky you were my Dad, back in Kansas. Mom didn't come to pick me up, so I didn't want to not have Dad pick me up too, so I told him you were Dad. Is it okay?"

The words came out a bit jumbled and interlaced with pending tears. Huge blue eyes turned to look at Scott finally, anxious and glistening. His own eyes were burning. So was his heart. His very soul.

"Oh, Allie... Of course it's okay! Always!"

His arms opened invitingly and were instantly filled with a crying child. He leaned down to press a kiss on the top of blond head and hug the boy closer, wrapping his coat around a little trembling body. It took a moment to conquer his own heaving sobs, but he still didn't trust his voice at full volume.

"I love you so much, kiddo! I've got you!"

Scott ended up just carrying Alan, quiet by then, but firmly clinging to him, to the penthouse, while a concerned head of security shift helped out with the shopping bags. Allie was probably feigning sleep - Scott didn't care. He toed off his own shoes, shrugged off the coat, settled against his headrest, the child still in his arms, and shifted to tighten his hold. There would be no sleep for him that night either, but that was just as well. He had been watching over little Allie (and little Gordy) since he was born and a tenfold that after they lost Mom. No name or legal capacity could change much about that, till Scott was breathing.

He wasn't anyone's son, though. Not anymore. Not ever. And that made breathing so much harder.

[idontknowreallywhy]

A particularly lovely chord progression somehow ended up with me driving a wedge between Earth and Sky and I promised I’d try to fix it.

Super long car journey today presented an opportunity but events got away from me and I accidentally made it worse. Oops… um… I’m sorry? Apologies to @ajpendragon @alexthefly @astranite @janetm74 @sofasurf and anyone else who asked for a fix and will remain disappointed for now…

Piano Angst - the aftermath

It had been nearly a week and Scott felt like he was missing a limb.

Virgil was definitely avoiding him.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen each other - they’d worked together perfectly normally on several rescues. They’d both joined in the usual banter over mealtimes. There had even been a family film night - albeit, instead of joining Scott on their usual couch, Virgil had squeezed in with the Tinies and spent the evening competing with Gordon as to who could wind up Alan the most about his movie choice.

But they’d not been alone in the same room. At least, not for more than the few seconds it took for Virgil to make some excuse and leave it.

He’d even apparently conscripted Gordon into constantly keeping him company whilst he did maintenance on Two. Despite all Scott’s loitering around the hangar, the Fish never seemed to get the hint to make himself scarce. Except that one time when Scott had hinted at the availability of leftover pizza in the kitchen but then Virgil had raced off hot on Gordon’s heels. Which would not have been of any note whatsoever if it hadn’t been for that momentary flash of panic Scott was sure had crossed Virgil’s face as Gordon jumped to his feet.

It wasn’t just the lost chance to really TALK to his brother either. There was a physical distance too which was almost more painful. It turned out that Virgil’s elbow nudges at dinner, his arm across Scott’s shoulders as they walked across the lounge, his habit of stretching out and throwing his feet over big brother’s legs when they had a moment to chill together on the couch… these felt as natural and as essential to Scott as eating or drinking and he missed it more than he could have explained. It made his jaw hurt.

He had figured he just had to give Virgil time and be available when he was ready. So he’d made a conscious effort to *not* be working whenever they had downtime, hovering in the communal areas and looking un-busy. He rushed through the paperwork later, once everyone was in bed and then stayed up for hours each night studying the last couple of month’s worth of mission logs and recordings, desperately trying to work out what had triggered… whatever it was… the other day.

He’d been lying, Scott was certain of that. Ironically that certainty had made him very uncertain of everything else - Virgil never lied to him. He was awful at it. Honesty usually shone out of his big puppy-like brown eyes. When he was withholding something they were clouded with guilt.

But to invoke their mother’s memory as a cover-up?

It must have been serious.

His research efforts turned up nothing at all out of the ordinary other than it had actually been a pretty successful run of rescues, a bit of a reprieve from the average. He couldn’t find any aspect of the scenarios they’d faced that seemed like it might have particularly upset his brother.

It had to have something to do with him. Virgil was acting perfectly normally with everyone else. He re-listened to every interaction they’d had over the comm. Had he been too brusque in directing the rescues recently? Was his tone wrong? He didn’t think he sounded any different although after a while his own voice really began to grate on him. Virgil’s responses seemed normal and he didn’t appear to react to anything in a negative way. Perhaps his brother was maybe a little quieter on the comm than usual… should he have noticed that sooner?

Or had he embarrassed him by making it clear he’d noticed him getting carried away that afternoon? But Virgil had never seemed to be worried about Scott witnessing his piano binges before - most of the worst more-recovery-than-rescue missions had been thrashed out on the piano over the years… No. The only way to find out was to ask him directly.

He hovered at the door of the hangar, took a couple of breaths to slow his galloping heart rate and pushed it ajar. He could hear Gordon talking at a mile a minute about something to do with aquaculture and Virgil was leaning up against a pod module with a politely interested look on his face. His eyes flicked briefly over to his eldest brother but didn’t linger, instead focussing firmly back on little brother with renewed focus.

Scott felt rather like he’d taken a grapple to the chest and backed out, closing the door softly behind him. He ignored the elevator and elected for the long slow trudge up the stairwell. By the time he made it to the lounge his vision was blurry and he had reached the limit of what he could bear. He found a sheet of notepaper from the desk drawer and scribbled a note. He folded it precisely in half, opened it again and checked it, then refolded it, running a shaking thumb along the edge. He tucked it underneath the door to his brother’s bedroom on the way to his own.

Virgil, I’ve upset you and I can’t for the life of me work out when or how it was in order to apologise properly - but please know I am so sorry.

I’ll be on my balcony the rest of the evening if you want to talk.

I miss you. S x

[edutainer2022]

Many thanks to @janetm74 for her deeply moving and insightful story Grief: The Compass, and for putting up with my ramblings about the symbolism of Grandpa's compass and its meaning to Scott, as well as to Scott and Virgil going forward (especially after the revelations of Recharge). I had this little dream-like sequence in mind since the very early days of my return to TAG fandom as a intro to a larger story. Scott Tracy is, of course, very much not okay. It might not be obvious from the start, but it's true. He needs to find his way.

TRUE NORTH

The wind was ruffling early blossoms in the trees and his hair, as he jogged eagerly across the front yard to the farmhouse. Soft spring grass was tickling his bare feet. Mom was inside, he knew. He was so excited to see her.

The quiet hallway was filled with a soothing scent of cinamon and ripe late summer apples. Mom was probably in the kitchen, baking an apple pie. His favorite. He followed the wiffs of delicious smells, but the kitchen was empty. Each utensil in its place, exactly as Mom liked it. He needed to find Mom. The sense of urgency increased, as he passed the sunlit kitchen to the backdoor, out onto the porch and across the backyard. He shivered once, then twice, as a gust of vicious wind threw a handful of fallen leaves into his face. Golden and red, just like Mom's hair. Mom wasn't out back either and he was anxious now. On instinct, he followed the well-worn path to the meadow, stretching behind their old farmhouse in Kansas. Rough edges of pebbles dug into his feet so they were probably bleeding, but he kept going. He needed to find Mom!

His frantic paces came to a halt at the very edge of the meadow, though. As far as eye could see was cast in a swathe of pristine white. Snow. He knew deep down in his soul Mom was across that expanse of white. But he had no clue which way to go. Where to start. He stood at a loss, shivering, at the very edge of ice, licking his bare toes, the freezing numbness creeping up from the ground to his heart.

Then he remembered! Grandpa's old compass that Virgil made a point to give him for the duration of a rescue, would show the way. Ever since their heart to heart in the Arctic, Virgil would  give him the compass before each mission so he would find his way home safely. Just like that day. He was home now, but Mom wasn't there. He dug into a pocket, and, sure enough, his fingers curled around a solid cool weight of the antique gadget. Grandpa's compass would show him the way to Mom! But something odd was happening. As soon as he opened the lid, the arrow went haywire, turning in place, never resting on any one point. Despair and exhaustion nearly choked him and his knees were ready to give. He couldn't get to Mom no matter how much he longed to! No matter how much he missed her!

He was about ready to step into the unforgiving snow and take his chances, when heavy hands landed on his shoulders, pinning him in place.

"It's not yet time, Bluejay!"

The husky whisper was close to his ear. Dad!

"It's too soon, kiddo! You have to let me go first. You can then follow in my footsteps, but not just yet! Not for a long, long time. How about we go home now, son, eh?"

He wanted to protest. Mom was there, all alone, across the field of snow. He could find her, even if the stupid compass was not helping! He needed to be with Mom! But the voice failed him, caught up on a blinding pain in his chest. Strong arms were already steering him back to face the farmhouse again.

Even from afar, he could see all his brothers standing on the back porch, watching him. Allie seemed so scared, baby blue eyes wide and full of tears, clutching the railing. Gordon was standing apart, hunched over, his face dark and lost - he appeared so small and so young. John was ghostly pale, his eyes a green sea of pain. Scott could swear his ginger brother was swaying with each gust of wind. But it was Virgil who made him gasp. Standing one step down the porch stairs, his best friend was glaring daggers at him - the always soft face contorted with fury and anguish, kind brown eyes brimming with liquid fire. What made Virgil so angry? Had he done something stupid? He hadn't lost Grandpa's Compass! Right! The Compass! He looked down at his hand, still clutching the brass shell, and the arrow had miraculously settled, pointing due North. At the center of the porch of their home. At Virgil.

He felt an insistent nudge to start moving, as the voice by his ear spoke again, soft, but urgent.

"Let's go home now, Bluejay! Just like that, one step at a time! Your brothers are waiting."

He tried once more to twist and catch the sight of Dad, but thought better of it as a sharp pain pierced through his torso again. He still needed to make it home and give Virgil back the compass, so Virgil wouldn't be so angry with him. So Virgil wouldn't go looking for him all the way by the desolate cold white meadow. He also needed to find out what made John so upset, and he certainly needed to hug the Tinies. He sneaked a peek at the compass again - it was pointing firmly Home.

[edutainer2022]

'COTTY'NUGGLE

It wasn't common for John to be clingy. 'John' and 'clingy' seldom even occurred in the same sentence. John and physical contact was a rare occasion enough, so the death grip their ginger spaceman had on the biggest brother, both sprawled on the couch after a dodgy debrief, was hard to miss. Something happened on the last space mission. Something that wouldn't make it into their report. Something that had John tag along back to the island in Three, leaving Alan up in Five to man the comms. Something that now had John clutching a perplexed and visibly exhausted Scott to his chest, turquoise eyes daring anyone to pry big brother away. Nobody challenged John's claim.

Virgil was concerned, but kept to the piano, in the orbit of the shaken brothers, but giving John a berth he obviously needed. The medical scans checked out green. Whatever happened was not a physical injury. A silent thanks to Mom went up for that. Virgil could bide his time and wait till the brothers were ready to talk. Or not.

Soft sounds of piano music was accentuated by the slap of bare feet from the general vicinity of the kitchen deck. Unlike Virgil, Gordon took the pile of brothers as an open invitation and all but bounced in place, excited:

"We're doing the ''cotty'nuggle'!"

Along came an expert dive on the couch and a mild "omph!" from Scott. His arms went instinctively to tighten around the swimmer's back as Gordon wriggled and settled more comfortably. John's hand shifted to clasp Scott's on top of the Hawaiian shirt. His other hand moved up to shield Scott's eyes from the overhead lights.

Virgil smiled to himself as he regarded the scene. "Cotty'nuggle" as part of Tracy lingo originated with him, that's all an 18-month old Virgil ever wanted to do - snuggle his big brother. Snuggling Scotty was a refuge, a solace, a grounding reassurance in a whirl of life that kept taking so much. Virgil was beginning to feel left out, so closed the piano lid and drifted to the far end of an already crowded couch. John was being positively squashed by the combined weight of solid lean muscle. Virgil opted to perch himself on the armrest, lifting Scott's long, long legs into his lap. John met his gaze over the side of Scott's head, cradled on his shoulder, but said nothing. Gordon was apparently beginning to drift into snoozeville, blissed out by the brothers' warmth and light circles over his shoulderblades. The birdy-blinder trick, however, wasn't working for Scott as John expected. Biggest brother was awake and leaned his head closer, so a breath above whisper could be heard.

"You good, Jay? Gords and I are heavy, we're crushing you."

John reacted by tightening a hold on Scott's hand and shifting his palm from the brother's eyes to card through untamed curls. Scott showered after the mission and didn't come up to the lounge put together to the nines, as always - a clear signal something was very much off. There was a brief pause before John answered, as if considering the weight of the living, breathing body against him.

"You're here. I'm good."

Virgil caught the forlorn turquoise gaze again at that, but John closed his eyes quickly. Not yet, then. Later he'd get to the bottom of it. For now he let John enjoy the one perk of gravity he probably didn't mind at all - the real warm weight of a snuggled brother in his arms. Alive.

[edutainer2022]

I have part two in my, so technically it's a Wednesday WIP. Things take place some time after Hyperspeed. Scott is rather popular with all creatures large and nerds. Sometimes Earth has some insights to share about the Sky and celestial objects.

HELIOCENTRIC

He didn't look down from the sketchbook when a chestnut head hit his thigh as a lanky figure folded itself on the sand next to him, by the edge of the small palm grove. An exasperated grunt and an oomf followed. Virgil knew better than to ask. Partly because John had already clued him in, in broad strokes. Partly because he was engrossed in a particularly intricate shading. But mostly because if Scott had hunted him down on the beach, having barely parked Thunderbirds One after the trip to CERN, he would talk. Or maybe not. Either way, if Scott needed comfortable company and a friendly ear - Virgil was both. There was no need for extra prying. Not that time, anyway.

"Brains hates me!"

"No, he doesn't."

Virgil response was as automatic as it was nonchalant. It went without saying - Brains deeply appreciated and admired Scott. Just like all of them.

A powerful huff from the general vicinity of the ground ruffled the edge of the page. Virgil glanced down only to be faced with brilliant blue, welling with desperation. If he didn't abhor the idea of biggest brother in any sort of distress, he would find the whole situation highly amusing.

"Well, he's mad at me, at least! He was so eager to meet Tycho Reeves in person - IR was his moment to shine! Now he thinks I stole his thunder!"

The painful grimace that followed the diatribe was so full of misery, Virgil finally put away the sketchbook and reached to ruffle dark brown curls.

Dr. Tycho Reeves had professed undying friendship with one Scott Tracy after the Hyper-reel misadventure - and did so urbi et orbi. Definitely to the latter's equal befuddlement. From what Virgil gleaned out of John's quick heads up - the Tracy Industries visit to Dr. Reeve's lab in New Geneva earlier that day was met with excitement and enthusiasm that resulted in some significant damage to reasonably good china, a coffemaker, a suit that could bankroll the economy of a medium-size country, several holodiscs of cutting edge equipment blueprints, brought in for consult. And Brains' pride, apparently.

Virgil peered down again at his brother's face, still contorted by a frown. His other hand joined the task force and administered an obviously needed reassuring shoulder squeeze.

"So, you did the thing. Big deal! Brains won't hold a grudge!"

Confusion darkened the edges of the blue.

"The thing?"

"Your thing. The Scott thing. You are the gravity center of every gathering in every room you're ever in. Or a light source, more like!"

Virgil smiled at his own metaphor. He definitely liked that idea more.

"Yep, that's right! You're the sun, Scooter. We all orbit you."

If he hoped to lighten the mood and put biggest brother's mind at ease - that wasn't the achieved effect. Dark brows furrowed even more. Scott even lifted his head from the comfy, jeans clad cushion, and nearly yelled:

"That's not true!"

Virgil was beginning to feel entertained.

"Oh, yes it is! Everyone gets under the spell one way or another, Scoots. That's just the way it is!"

Virgil's large palm gave the now disheveled brunet head a pointed push back on its perch on the brother's thigh and added a soothing rake through the curls to boot. A quieter protest followed.

"I don't want that!"

Virgil hummed, fully amused now.

"Well, tough! You're just THAT awesome, brother."

The almost whisper that chased Virgil's cheeky comment switched him on high alert again. Trust Scotty to find ever more fault with himself.

"Dad was the sun. I'm not."

[I'm not him.]

He had a good hunch Scott would genuinely believe that, but it hurt just as well to see up close how little biggest brother thought of himself. Virgil gave it a pause, then made sure to catch the blue gaze, now deepened by ever ready rue.

"No. He wasn't. Dad was thunder and lightning. Mom was the light. Then you."

He stopped the depreciating shake of the head with a flex of his wrist, before it could gain momentum.

"You really don't get it, do you? You were Dad's light! You cheered him on and you supported his every endeavor, you stood by him and you made him believe he could do anything! Even after Mom. Even after TV-21. And you're ours! You let us flourish and you champion the best selves we could ever be!"

He had to gulp down what had to follow next - "and you gave up everything to burn yourself for us all!"

Bright wide-eyed blue, staring up at him, was brilliant with disbelief and barely contained tears. So Virgil didn't hesitate to shift operations into the territory he knew best how to navigate - with a tug on the sleeve he enveloped big brother into a tight hug.

TBC

[edutainer2022]

This was inspired partially by this whump prompt about bed sharing. Besides, I had advertised to @janetm74, @astranite and @idontknowreallywhy a sprained ankle for Scott after my own recent injury. This is one go at it of several I have in mind. A harmless late night conversation between Dad and Scott over the latter's bum foot leads into a wormhole of unexpected deeper anguish. Jeff has a lot of emotional revelations ambushing him upon return from Oort Cloud. But it all gets better. Jeff loves his eldest boy so, so much.

SLEEPLESS

He was miserable and in pain. But mostly stupid. His body burned through the painkillers, Virgil made sure he took for his sprained ankle, somewhere halfway through the movie. He didn't want to take more to be out of commission the next day. They were grounding him anyway, of course. Dad was taking over several conference calls with TI at The Desk as well, because apparently Scott was now only good for lounging on the couch cushions, his foot propped up. Dad's firm stare made that part non-negotiable.

Virgil and Alan were sound asleep after the movie, so they decided to leave them be, tucked in together with a throw blanket. Gordon had his hands full, literally, with a still wobbly from orbit and now sleepy John, helping him along to his rooms, and was likely to crash there too. Scott didn't want to worry Dad more with needing an anesthetic cream, so made his best to hide a wince, a gasp, and a limp, before making it upstairs and bidding Dad good night. A detour to the bathroom to rumage through his own med-kit seemed like too much trouble. He's been through worse pain. He'd be fine.

So now Scott was wide awake in bed, every minute move, twist or tug of his foot - a pure liquid fire of agony on pulled and inflamed tendons. A bathroom with the coveted anesthetic now seemed a whole world away. He felt miserable and stupid, and lonely, and maybe wanted to cry a little. And for someone to come over and help, but he wouldn't ever dare worry them or take away from their rest. He opted for a grunt and some angry squinting against treacherous tears. He'd glare daggers at someone, but he would need a mirror for that.

In answer to his thoughts a door hissed open. From the size of the silhouette Scott first thought it was Virgil, checking up on him. But the steps of the visitor were heavier. Slower. Dad!

Jeff wasn't using his cane for the short trip to his son's room. He had a tube of sports anti-inflammatory gel in one hand, likely, from his own medical kit on hand. Dad perched carefully at the foot of Scott's bed and yanked the cover up, pulling the bruised and swollen foot into his lap. All without a single word. Scott tried to squawk in protest.

"Dad! I'm fine! You don't have to!"

The soothing gel was cool on the skin. Dad's hands cool too, careful and daft.

"C'mon, Bluejay, you should know better by now. I haven't been around lately, but I've been doing this a while, son. I KNOW when you're in pain!"

"How did you know I wasn't asleep, Dad?"

Jeff chuckled at that, giving the injured ankle another gentle pass and a knead with his fingers.

"Dad-radar. A bit rusty but ever true!"

Scott exhaled in relief as the applied anesthetic was already taking the edge off, and relaxed against his pillow. It felt so good to have Dad so casually take care of him. It felt so safe and comforting, he immediately felt guilty. He should be the one taking care of Dad, exhausted by his ordeal and still recovering. He should be putting up an unwavering front, not a wobbly bum foot.

Jeff considered his handywork, gave Scott's knee a pat for good measure and tucked the covers back, but not before shifting Scott's foot carefully on a couch throw pillow, installed in his bed by Gordon the day before, for elevation. Dad put the cream away on the bedside table and loomed over Scott again.

"Now, kiddo, I can give you another pill for the night. I know your system burns through them like Thunderbird One through fuel. But just one."

Dad's posture went tense, his eyes darker, even in the shadows. Scott's heart constricted as a sudden guess occurred - a memory of him nearly overdosing that one time his body (and mind) was so stressed and he was so desperate to just GET BETTER ALREADY after THAT PLACE, was probably a lot fresher for Dad than for himself or his brothers after... everything. It WAS an accident, but maybe Dad never quite shook the shadow of a horrific doubt.

Scott shook his head. No pills.

"I'm good! Thanks, Dad."

The last part came out small. Timid.

Dad's features relaxed and he moved to sit back down on the bed and lean on the headrest.

"OK! Now scoot over, Bluejay!"

A pillow was yanked from beneath Scott's head and rested on Dad's lap. Jeff patted it, inviting Scott to relocate. Scott tried to protest again, but large hands were already guiding his head and shoulders onto the pillow. Fingers automatically raked through his ungelled hair. Dad's other hand landed on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles. Scott shifted carefully not to pull his ankle again and curled into a ball, like a giant cat in Dad's lap. He felt so snug. So safe. Of course the ugly mug of shame reared again.

"Dad! You need to rest!"

"And I do rest. See? No prancing around."

Dad wiggled his toes in garish neon green socks with alien head prints, now perched on Scott's comforter, comically. There was a smile in his voice. But the palm on Scott's shoulder tightened in a soft, but pointed squeeze.

"You need to rest too, Bluejay. Or you can tell me why you haven't been sleeping, if you want."

Scott's whole frame froze for a moment. He tried to deflect with a quip - that hardly failed.

"My foot hurts!"

Jeff rubbed his palm up and down his son's arm for comfort.

"I know, kiddo. But you haven't been sleeping for some time before that. That's why you got a cramp on your run, that's why your leg gave, and you twisted and sprained that ankle."

Scott coiled tighter on himself, facing away from Dad, eager to spring and run. Run away from that conversation - bum foot or not.

Jeff sensed the son's tension and shifted his ministrations to small circles over the young man's upper back.

"I told you I've been doing this a while, son. Your sleepless tells are kinda my forte since you were two days old."

Silence stretched. What Jeff missed through Scott's childhood, he certainly compensated a thousandfold after Scott was retrieved from THAT PLACE and could barely make it through an hour of sleep, plauged by nightmares and memories. Eight years stranded in space didn't dull Dad's instincts - Scott, indeed, hadn't been sleeping, unless passed out with exhaustion, ever since the Zero-XL mission came back. How could he?!

A rugged breath came out with barely audible words:

"I was late."

Jeff's hand hovered over his shoulder.

"Come again?"

Scott squeezed his eyes shut and drew in more air.

"I was late to save you! The planetoid was already falling apart, and you weren't there! I was late! I failed you! I should have come sooner! I should have never stopped looking! I should have..."

Eventually he was heaving dry sobs, close to hyperventilating, blurring disjointed apologies out.

Dad was now clutching him with both arms, rocking in cadence with Scott's full body shivers. Arms, treacherously weakened by years in low gravity, struggled to pull the lean muscle mass of the son's body close to his chest. Jeff settled for tugging gently at Scott's upper arm to coax him to look up at the father.

"Can you look at me, Bluejay? Please! Look at Dad!"

Jeff's voice was hoarse, toned down in a long forgotten habit not to startle. He also didn't quite trust it not to quiver, shellshocked by the boy's anguish.

A blue eye, clouded with tears, finally peeked up at him. Then Scott reluctantly uncurled from a ball and twisted sideways to face Dad. That was a win.

"Look at me, Bluejay! Stay with me! Good. Good! Where am I?"

Scott blinked owlishly once, twice, processing the question. When understanding hit the pain flared up again. He tried to hide it beneath lowered lashes, but Jeff was relentless.

"Where am I right now, Scotty? Indulge me!"

Scott sighed.

"You're here, Dad."

"And how did I get here, son?"

Jeff took a moment to grab a sleeve of his hoodie - Scott's old hoodie, to be precise, now almost swamping his father's frame - and wipe the tears from his son's cheeks and chin.

Another sigh was accompanied by a dismissive flail.

"It's not... I was LATE, Dad! I promised Alan and I couldn't bring you back! I nearly lost you!"

"That's not quite how I remember it, Bluejay. You were tumbling past me into the void among all those boulders."

That certainly topped the charts of the vivid images that kept the father up at nights quite often. The fact that Scott stayed behind alone in the danger zone, having sent Allie away, against all protocols, would have to be a conversation for a different time. For a different time of the day, for sure. For now he had a different matter at hand.

"Scotty, there's no scenario, universe or timeline, where I would choose my own life over yours! Or your brothers'. I'm here. I'm home. You got me here, because you stayed strong and true. You kept IR going. You kept our family going. You kept the company going. You spared no effort or expense to build Zero-XL. You led your brothers and you saved me. Dad's right here! I've got you, son! I love you so much! You can rest now!"

That too would have to be a far longer and even more emotionally wrought conversation, once the sun was up. It might need to involve Dr. Ross, the family psychologist, who'd already wondered tentatively if Scott wanted to resume therapy after Jeff's return, or if Jeff would consider father-son sessions to work through their new dynamics. But that too would have to wait till dawn.

For now the interim goal was almost accomplished. Scott's blinking became slower, his breathing more even. Jeff rejoiced when he managed to cradle the boy's head against his chest, as Scott folded into a cuddle after some careful prodding. Broad shoulders going limp in Dad's firm hold heralded him finally succumbing to slumber after weeks, possibly months of guilt-infused insomnia. But a father had too much on his mind to sleep just yet.

[gumnut-logic]

It hadn’t been his best plan, he had to admit it. But the idea sprung up and he had been at his wits end with a head full of…stuff…and he needed a distraction.

He was pretty sure he could explain a motorised spinning clothesline. After all, wasn’t that what the washing machine did anyway? A few basic laws of applied physics couldn’t do anything but help get clothing dry in the tropics.

Could it?

Of course, he was bullshitting himself and every human in a hundred kilometre radius and he knew it in some dark, deep corner of his soul, but yesterday had been hell and he needed to DO SOMETHING.

Scott had banned him from the hangars due to injury.

Injury, sminjury, so he had a sprained wrist. He could still do stuff.

Even if it hurt to play the piano and the thought of holding a brush up wasn’t pleasant.

Now you’re just a hypocrite.

Oh, shut up!

So, Virgil Tracy grabbed his toolkit and a few important bits and pieces from his workshop…he went in the back way so he didn’t go through the hangars, so there, Scott! And, carrying them in his good hand lest he be arrested on the way back up, snuck…okay, he was sneaking, but that was because a certain brother was a worry wart!...out onto the lawn and crouched down by the clothesline.

What followed was several lovely hours of tinkering away and experimenting and playing, yes, playing, and he had a good time which was much better than sitting on his ass in his bedroom pouting.

He had to admit that by the time he had the solar panel assembled and the motor suspended at the right place, his wrist was hurting a bit more than it should be and the medic in the back of his head was having conniptions, but the mental health value of the exercise certainly outweighed anything else.

That was until standing back and admiring his work, he realised he had an audience.

Of two.

Aw, crap.

“Whatcha doin’, Virg?”

“Mind your business.”

“Ooooh, touchy. Need some coffee?”

Gordon was standing with his arms crossed beside Alan. While Alan had some actual interest in his eyes, Gordon was channelling a combination of sprung older brother and mischief.

“What do you want, Gordon?”

“I see you have motorised the clothesline.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“How fast does it go?”

Virgil eyed his brother. The smirk was practically acidic and started eating Virgil’s eyeballs. This was going to hurt, wasn’t it.

“Fast enough.”

“Round and round? Like a turbo charged merry-go-round, possibly?”

“Gordon…”

But Alan reacted to that. “Woah, that sounds like fun.”

Virgil rubbed his face and was punished for using the wrong hand. Maybe he could claim short term breakdown of his logic centres? An addiction to tinkering?

Why the hell did he need a motorised clothesline at all? They had a dryer for that exact reason.

Did sprained wrists reduce mental capacity? Or was it just that he had known this would happen and he needed it as much as his little brothers did?

Yesterday had been hell.

Screw the excuses, they now had a motorised clothesline and all that implied.

Part of him was aghast at what he had done, the other part was too busy grinning as both Gordon and Alan hurried past and examined his creation.

Everything was loud in his head, but at least he wasn’t sad anymore.

Of course, that was the point where Gordon found the On switch and with a whirring sound and a pair of squawks, launched both himself and Alan into a high speed orbit of the metal and concrete axis of the contraption.

In other words, they started the merry-go-round and clung to the metal bars of the clothesline while it swung them around at a speed high enough for physics to lift them almost horizontal.

It was at this point Virgil realised the complete lack of safety mechanisms.

It was also the point where Scott ambled out onto the patio and exclaimed in horror.

Scott really did know how to meet just the right pitch to communicate terror where his brothers were concerned.

Ever wanting to protect Scott and his brothers from absolutely everything, Virgil jumped into kill the power on the spinning contraption.

The switch was beneath the clothesline and he had to dart in under the pair of screaming brothers - either joy or terror – neither younger brother was as clear as Scott in communication – as they spun around and around.

Killing the motor was easy, but seeing the expression on Scott’s face as he came running towards them, only had Virgil panicking enough to leap up and try to catch his brothers and slow them down faster – fix the problem at speed.

He was a Tracy and Tracys love speed.

Unfortunately, that expression on his brother’s face was enough to short circuit Virgil’s brain regarding his own safety – wasn’t the first time, likely wouldn’t be the last – he had a sprained wrist for exactly that reason, after all, and it was a major component of why he had to DO SOMETHING this morning or go out of his mind.

So, without thinking of the logical consequences, Virgil stepped into the path of his spinning brothers, intending on using heavy-lifting muscles to catch them and slow them down.

Instead, he got kicked in the head twice and went down for the count in a lovely wave of darkness.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil, what the hell were you thinking?”

It was a tired Scott voice. One that spoke of insane brothers driving him around the bend and into his grave.

Virgil opened his eyes expecting to see a terrible two lined up for discipline. But the room – Virgil’s room – was empty except for one older brother rubbing his eyes.

It was very bright and Virgil’s head complained.

“Virg? You with me?”

A grunt was all he managed.

“When I said ‘no working’ did I really have to include the clothesline?”

Virgil scrunched up his face. “You didn’t say anything about it specifically.”

Scott’s sigh of exasperation was enough. “Brains has declared it a breakthrough by the way. Apparently, you got more power out of those solar cells versus however fast you got that thing to go than should have been theoretically possible.”

“Oh?”

“He says it was a logical step on from the project the two of you were working on in the HANGARS.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Was Scott gritting his teeth? “You even have John excited due to some physics rule you broke in the process. He has Eos analysing our CLOTHESLINE.”

Virgil winced. “Please don’t yell.”

“I don’t possibly see how I can’t yell. You are the responsible one. Did you break something yesterday that you have failed to declare or have you always been this way?”

Virgil glared at his brother and tried to ignore how much frowning hurt his eyebrows. “You know the answer to that.”

It was Scott’s turn to grunt. “Don’t do it again. Gordon and Alan do not need encouragement. They have enough stuff to kill themselves with already.”

Virgil had to grunt at that as well.

“Sorry.”

Another disgruntled murmur was all Scott said after that.

But he did stay with Virgil and kept and eye on him and as time proved that there was no lasting damage from being kicked in the head by two brothers swinging from a clothesline, the holoprojector may have been switched on, Scott may have joined him on the bed and there may even have been some popcorn acquired.

At one point there was an enquiry from the door, but apparently Scott had locked it and Eos was the one who answered…for some reason in an English accent that said ‘Bugger off and leave them alone!”

Virgil just hoped it hadn’t been Grandma outside the door.

But for the moment, his mind was settled, his headache fading and he was quite happy sitting beside the brother he had sprained his wrist for by pulling him out of the air the previous day, and watching trash TV they could both poke fun at.

After all, who needed to tinker when he had all that?

-o-o-o-

[edutainer2022]

@janetm74, I did a little thing for this prompt:

"I'll come quietly. Just don't hurt them."

***

Scott didn't know about coding and cybersecurity nowhere nearly as much as John or Brains did (or Alan, for that matter), but he knew enough to understand John didn't know about these files. The folder miraculously slipped past Eos, John approved and Kayo vetted firewalls, and materialized on the desktop in his private study. He used it far less frequently than Dad's desk or even Dad's old office, but sometimes insomnia struck when his batteries were running low and going down to get some work done was too much effort.

That meant he couldn't really know how long the folder had been there, which made his insides run cold. What made his hands numb, to boot, were the latest photos in the unnamed folder - pictures of his brothers on the latest rescue. Up close and from a distance. The pictures were not scrambled by their tech. Another batch were from Alan’s recent school trip to Melbourne. From Virgil and Gordon's night on the town. Maybe most unnerving of all - from INSIDE Five and a training hangar on Gran Roca. 

Scott swallowed hard, though his throat went instantly dry, and clicked on the last file - a candid photo of himself in the Tracy Tower penthouse, tying a tie, smiling at a hologram off screen, likely talking to a brother before a day of meetings. The file was uncharacteristically heavy so, just as he suspected, there was a hidden attachment, riding on it. Several more files popped up. Realistically, he should have gotten Kayo and John on the case by then, middle of the night or not, but Scott was frozen in place by the sheer magnitude of morbid implications.

One of the files featured four DNA sequences, neatly labeled Virgil through Allie. Nothing more, nothing less. Scott's vision swam. The threat was as conspicuous as it was cruel - spanning anything from customized targeted neurotoxins or viruses, nanobots masked in a bloodstream, carrying explosives to heart or brain, to a smart bullet, programmed to follow the target DNA like a bloodhound.

Their family had access to almost unlimited research resources and brainpower to counter even something that sophisticated, but Scott wouldn't ever take a chance the assault on his brothers wouldn't have an instant lethal effect. Since his own DNA was not on the list of targets, Scott had a pretty good idea what could be in the next file. It wasn't a sum - of course it wouldn't be that easy. When was it ever! It wasn't even a list of Tracy Industries or IR tech they wanted specs for. It was an instruction he needed to follow on his way. The destination he'd receive upon confirmation of being... cooperative. Whoever they were - wanted him to show up in person.

The next file was a cloaked, heavily encrypted chatbot where Scott typed in his response. Kayo would have his head for going through with it, heavily backed up by John and Penelope, but he couldn't risk his... everything. The only life he would willingly ever give up was his own. He typed in a quick message.

The response, likely pregenerated and tracable, biped almost immediately. No sarcastic niceties or eery foreboding of the consequences of Scott sharing any details of this arrangement with anyone, least of all his family or the GDF. Just a geotag. Scott had to catch himself from slumping sideways on the edge of the desk, as his vision went black for a moment.

The next thing he did after getting his breathing under control and passably certain not to keel over in the middle of his bedroom, was a beeline to his walk-in closet, the palm print activated safe in the far nook of it. His fingers hovered briefly over the cold shape of the gun he kept there, but moved on. Weapons, comms and trackers would be the first things stripped off of him, before he'd be moved to a different location, no doubt. He reached for a secure, strictly offline tablet, stashed in the safe. It held his will - updated frequently to include the ever expanding assets and charities he personally oversaw, in his line of work and lifestyle he left little to chance. He wouldn't have his family go through the same legal hoops Dad's unforeseen demise put himself through. Joint guardianship documents for Alan and Gordon. Gordie was turning 20 in several months, but Allie was still firmly a minor in any jurisdiction, and Grandma wasn't getting any younger since they had to do it the first time around. The consensus, Scott knew nobody wanted to think about ever since the first draft of his will after IR went operational again, was to name Virgil as Alan’s next-in-line guardian. Virgil, his trusted SIC and deputy biggest brother  - Allie would be taken care of. They all would. Scott could see deep brown eyes darken with pain and betrayal in the shadows of the closet - Scott trusted Virgil with his life and with absolutely everything important in his life, but not with THIS. He couldn't.

The tablet also hosted security codes and off the books protocols for IR operations and the island. That was for John. Some of them Casey, Lord Hugh and Kyrano read him into, no other family members present, after the search for Dad had been called off. Some were on an encrypted thumb drive kept in an indefinitely rented deposit box in the bowels of a Swiss bank, with instructions from Dad to transfer to him exclusively or to destroy. The instructions were clearly devised to be put in action decades later than they were and it hurt like hell to touch that thought. Some of the directives not even John knew about by now. That was about to change, soon. If Scott knew his ginger brother, he could be sure at least Virgil or the Tinies would never know.

His whole being ached to make one last round of the villa and check up on his loved ones - he harbored no illusions of ever seeing them again. But he couldn't risk missing the window of John's sleep cycle and not slipping out at least somewhat undetected. Eos and Kayo's sensors would flag him leaving the island in a private jet, not One, but he knew enough to not raise alarm and cover his tracks with a bogus errand in Warsaw at one of TI recent acquisitions. That was as far as he could take the traceable jet. But with Brains' reinforced engines, hopefully, he'd touch down and be on his way, before his absence would be noticed around Gordon's morning swim. As late as breakfast on the island, if he were lucky and they thought he were working some issues out on a long run.

***

A ring of lights changed from default white to orange - something John had come to recognize as a perplexed frown. A hurricane he had been keeping tabs on shifted from yellow to red and the alert woke him up earlier than he estimated. But the hurricane wasn't the source of confusion for his protégé.

"What is it, Eos?"

"I'm detecting a discrepancy in Scott Tracy's schedule and itinerary. He hadn't been due at any of the Tracy Industries subsidiaries this week or the next."

It was John's turn to frown. Scott business meetings and engagements schedule was guarded with what John was sure his PA's life and strictly need to know with any on site security teams. Unbeknownst to Scott himself, since his recent loosing round with exhaustion, hypoglycemia and dehydration, about two thirds of the "matters that urgently required Mr. Tracy's attention", be it Tracy Industries or GDF, hell or high water, were rerouted through Five and screened first by John himself, then Virgil, Grandma or Kayo, depending on the occasion. An ad hoc meeting at a new, fairly minor, Eastern European subsidiary would certainly NEVER slip past the carefully erected firewall around their favorite overworked idiot. Yet the lit up line on the holomap clearly outlined the flight path of Tracy S - Scott's personal jet, almost as fast as Shadow, but rarely taken out for a spin these past years.

John moved to enhance the map and shuddered. He'd probably faint if he were not in zero G already - the destination dot flashed over an abandoned airfield in Poland, in the grey zone now, 5 miles of a forest track shy of the Bereznik border.

A red alert clackson blared over the still sleepy island...

TBC?

[edutainer2022]

@sofasurf Oh no... it wouldn't be good! At all... But Thunderbirds have a remote override (if not HABITUALLY turned off by a hotshot flyboy, of course).

What's gonna be even better is drinking half a bottle of off-brand Coke, offered by a kindly local volunteer, in one go and heading back into the danger zone. An about to collapse building, perhaps? A mine? Virgil and Gordon are busy with evacuating the area elsewhere. Alan and Kayo are on debris clearing duty in pods. But Scott and his grapple packs are needed inside. John is kinda worried since Scott's suit readings are all over the place - pulse is racing, oxigination dropping into orange. Truth be told, Scott is also kinda dizzy and his eyesight swims out of focus. He's sweating a bucket. If he didn't know better he'd say he was having a heart attack. Maybe he SHOULD know better because after each wayward stunt Virgil usually recites stats of strokes and heart attacks under 30 at him. He also maybe shouldn't have quipped about it to John now. A John who's very blurry around the edges. Must be interference with his comms. He's also deep inside the guts of the disaster site, there're people needing his help - so his premature cardiac episode can wait till he's done his job. John's miniholo is going positively GREY. He's not only dizzy now but nauseous. About to throw up, more like. Which is a BAD idea in a helmet. So the helmet has to come off. Vomiting brings him to his knees, which is... a bummer. He shouldn't have passed up that protein bar Virgil offered how many hours ago? An attempt to get up brings him further down. There's an echo of John's voice in his helmet that clattered to the side. MiniJohn is gesticulating wildly on his wrist comm, but he can't answer. He can't move. He's so very tired. John's voice is soon joined by a yelling baritone. Virgil is pissed at him. Figures! He finally worked himself into a heart attack. But he's taking a rest now, right? Someone else is screaming too, wailing for him to GET UP AND GET OUT! But the voices are drowned out by the roar of collapsing stone, as the ground and the walls shake and shift, and fold all around him.

Poison list

While it's important to approach writing with creativity and imagination, it's crucial to prioritize responsible and ethical storytelling. That being said, if you're looking for information on poisons for the purpose of writing fiction, it's essential to handle the subject matter with care and accuracy. Here is a list of some common poisons that you can use in your stories:

Hemlock: Hemlock is a highly poisonous plant that has been used as a poison in various works of literature. It can cause paralysis and respiratory failure.

Arsenic: Arsenic is a toxic element that has been historically used as a poison. It can be lethal in high doses and can cause symptoms such as vomiting, abdominal pain, and organ failure.

Cyanide: Cyanide is a fast-acting poison that affects the body's ability to use oxygen. It can cause rapid loss of consciousness and cardiac arrest.

Nightshade: Nightshade plants, such as Belladonna or Deadly Nightshade, contain toxic compounds that can cause hallucinations, respiratory distress, blurred vision, dizziness, an increased heart rate, and even death when ingested.

Ricin: Ricin is a potent poison derived from the castor bean plant. It can cause organ failure and has been used as a plot device in various fictional works.

Strychnine: Strychnine is a highly toxic alkaloid that affects the nervous system, leading to muscle spasms, convulsions, and respiratory failure.

Snake Venom: Various snake venoms can be used in fiction as deadly poisons. Different snake species have different types of venom, each with its own effects on the body.

Digitalis: Digitalis, derived from the foxglove plant, contains cardiac glycosides. It has been historically used to treat heart conditions, but in high doses, it can be toxic. Overdosing on digitalis can cause irregular heart rhythms, nausea, vomiting, and visual disturbances.

Lead: Lead poisoning, often resulting from the ingestion or inhalation of lead-based substances, has been a concern throughout history. Lead is a heavy metal that can affect the nervous system, leading to symptoms such as abdominal pain, cognitive impairment, anemia, and developmental issues, particularly in children.

Mercury: Mercury is a toxic heavy metal that has been used in various forms throughout history. Ingesting or inhaling mercury vapors can lead to mercury poisoning, causing symptoms like neurological impairment, kidney damage, respiratory issues, and gastrointestinal problems.

Aconite: Also known as Wolfsbane or Monkshood, aconite is a highly toxic plant. Its roots and leaves contain aconitine alkaloids, which can affect the heart and nervous system. Ingesting aconite can lead to symptoms like numbness, tingling, paralysis, cardiac arrhythmias, and respiratory failure.

Thallium: Thallium is a toxic heavy metal that can cause severe poisoning. It has been used as a poison due to its tastelessness and ability to mimic other substances. Thallium poisoning can lead to symptoms like hair loss, neurological issues, gastrointestinal disturbances, and damage to the kidneys and liver.

When incorporating poisons into your writing, it is essential to research and accurately portray the effects and symptoms associated with them. Additionally, be mindful of the potential impact your writing may have on readers and the importance of providing appropriate context and warnings if necessary.

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[idontknowreallywhy]

[gumnut-logic]

Virgil hugs came in many flavours.

So, okay, Scott was the eldest and technically speaking, he was the least likely to need any hugs from his younger brother. In fact, Scott took pride in branding his own big brother hugs because, let’s face it, he was the eldest and nobody wanted to knock him off that throne. Virgil had been quite adamant about it on several occasions.

So only Scott could give the eldest brother hugs and they were very useful for distressed younger brothers, sad younger brothers and even on those occasions where the hug turned into something that could more be considered strangling younger brothers.

Scott wielded his hugs just like any other tool in his arsenal. Expertly and precisely. But it had long been declared that Virgil gave the best brother hugs and if he was honest, Scott was quite happy not to compete.

What exactly made Virgil hugs better than any other Tracy hugs had yet to be determined. The fact that Virgil was the biggest brother probably helped. Not the tallest. Scott and John were still discussing that title. No, his sheer mass enabled the biggest, warmest, softest, cosiest hugs of them all. Virgil was just buff and meaty.

Scott groaned. Meaty. That was a Gordonism, a subject that required a whole other essay to discuss. His fish brother had a way with words that sometimes curdled the stomach.

But hugs, yes, Virgil with his well worn ever so soft flannel and big meaty…Scott groaned again…arms gave the best hugs.

But, as stated previously, they came in many flavours.

The most common was the fond hug. An arm would snake around the victim brother and literally drag him into Virgil’s embrace. You could be standing alongside him, politely minding your own business and for some reason the engineer would just reach out and grab. Occasionally the arm wouldn’t make it all the way around and Virgil would clamp onto a body part and yank. Arms, chunks of uniform or clothing, a random ribcage. There was the time Virgil had actually pulled Gordon out of the pool by one leg. Possibly in revenge. But after Scott had suffered a cardiac arrest, Gordon had somehow ended up sprawled on top of Virgil on the grass. It had cumulated in laughter and a pile of noogie to Gordon’s hair, grins all round.

Yes, his brother had a hug zone around him and if you stepped into it at the wrong time, you were toast.

One of Scott’s favourites was the ones that defied gravity. Those big arms were strong and, on occasion, a little over enthusiastic. Ribcages creaked, hoarse voices begged to breathe, and feet left the ground.

Yes, even Scott had been tackle hugged and picked up off the ground and spun around. It had been after a particularly long deployment in the Airforce. He had been out of contact with his family for a long time. The day he finally got home, Virgil had barrelled into him in the farmhouse hallway, grabbing and lifting both him and his bags off the floor in an excited embrace that spun them around almost twice.

Scott had dropped his bags in surprise and squawked. His uniform bunched up against the ribbons on his chest and the world went around.

“Virg, my god!”

Dropped to his feet once more, he found himself wrapped in a brother who seemed much bigger than he had been when he left.

And he was clinging.

“Virgil?”

His brother cleared his throat, face buried in Scott’s jacket. “Missed you.”

Scott had returned the embrace wholeheartedly.

No words were possible after that as the two youngest realised their biggest brother was home and all hell broke loose as they and the rest of the family congregated.

But the genuine love in Virgil’s eyes as he stepped back to let the ratbags in on the party had stayed with Scott for a very long time.

Of course, there were other hugs that were much less joyous. Ones where everything was dark and hurting and Virgil would pick it up like he had radar or something. Could be linked to his legendary medic-sense. After all, mental health was exactly that. Just another form of health.

There was the time Alan vanished. Up and completely disappeared. This is a somewhat challenging thing to do on a rather singular rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Scott had been on the verge of calling John for a location, but a hand had landed on Scott’s tense shoulder and squeezed gently. They had been standing out on the balcony. Virgil gestured quietly and, looking up, Scott saw the tiny figure of his littlest brother curled up on the cliff just below the roundhouse.

There had followed a mad rush up the peak to make sure Alan was safe, find out what was wrong…because something was definitely wrong…and fix it.

Turned out some asshole online had been bullying Scott’s little brother, ruining the game contest he had been so excited about three days earlier.

Scott saw red and deployed John. The culprit had been found and eliminated.

Very eliminated.

John particularly hated online predators.

But after that conversation, Scott had turned around to find Alan curled up in Virgil’s arms sobbing.

Jammed up against the wall of the roundhouse, Virgil himself had wet eyes and was combing his fingers through Alan’s hair. As Scott sat down beside them on the floor, Virgil pulled Alan in a little tighter. The engineer buried his face in his little brother’s hair and closed his eyes.

In those moments it was like his brother was bleeding something of himself into the person he was hugging. His expression almost willing comfort into Alan.

Of course, Alan eventually dove in for a Scott hug as well, the thirteen-year-old dragging both of his brothers into a comforting pile that was able to push away the nasty experience and eventually bring back their confident little brother. But it was Virgil who performed the hugging first aid while Scott hunted down the person responsible – whether it be via John or other means.

It seemed to be their roles in the family.

And it wasn’t limited to family.

Out in the field it was more caring hands and reassuring touches and words, but it was Virgil’s way of comforting the injured. If he had time, he would talk with the rescuees. Warm and kind words asking gentle questions about their lives, distracting them from the bleeding, the screaming and the horror.

And ultimately holding those they couldn’t save, giving parts of himself to make those last minutes a little less terrifying.

It was after those rescues, those moments, when Scott would have to hunt Virgil down. Sometimes he would find him at the piano pounding emotion into the keys. Other times locked in his studio.

They had a running tally of how many times Virgil had had to replace the lock on that door. Scott rarely took ‘no’ for an answer when he knew a brother was in distress.

But the worst times often led Scott on a hunt across the Island to a remote beach, cliff or other lonely landform. Thunderbird Five’s scanners had been used several times. Times where Virgil was determined to be alone to suffer by himself.

Sure, Scott could respect that…if that was what Virgil needed.

It wasn’t.

Because the hug machine that was his brother needed hugs in return.

Sure, he had methods to refuel other ways, but honestly, these were the times Scott felt a direct transfer of energy was warranted.

Those were the days he would hunt his brother down, grab him and hold him until the trembling stopped. He would sit with Virgil staring out across the ocean either just being quietly beside him, or answering the raging questions of injustice.

Those were days he would drag him back to the couch and they would fall asleep together in front of a movie neither of them was watching. A hand or an arm continually in contact.

Those were the days where touch was needed to give back what was so freely offered at all other times.

Scott’s hugs may be tactical but they were no less full of love.

And love his brother, he did.

Ever so much.

-o-o-o-

[edutainer2022]

A cold, vicious cyclone caught me unawares in the middle of the city the other day, right as I decided it was too hot for the coat. So, naturally, Scott gets under the weather in NYC, quite literally (and is being a stubborn doofus about it). It's an Earth and Sky fluff, but in the end, John decided he wanted in, so Earth and Star have a good hearty chat too. Virgil and John are being very good brothers. Absolutely nothing hurts. A greatful boop to @idontknowreallywhy, @astranite and @janetm74 for soft fabrics and Top Gun featuring.

UNDER THE WEATHER

The perks of living on a tropical island included not only it being remote, secluded and perfect to house a state-of-the-art rescue operation. It was also the whole being TROPICAL deal. Whenever one stepped out - it was reliably warm. The downside of living on a remote tropical island was losing the habit to navigate the regular four-seasons weather. Or the fickle New York City climate.

Truthfully, Scott didn't miss it much. Of course, he'd be fondly nostalgic about Kansas and snow slides, or, would occasionally get caught up in the inherent wistful mood of early NYC fall. But he definitely didn't miss THIS - being caught up in the icy torrent and orange warning winds two blocks away from the Tracy Tower. In nothing but his dress shirt and slacks.

They were at Tracy Industries headquarters with Virgil for the better half of the week. Virgil was involved in pre-screening the latest batch of R&D pitches, before they would move on to Brains and John for the final approval and production. Scott was held hostage by the Department of Finance for budget amendments and redistribution.

When the opportunity presented itself, well into the afternoon, to escape his own untimely death by paperwork or premeditated murder of a high ranking employee, Scott ran for the hills, slipping expertly beneath the radar of Kayo's handpicked security detail.

His underlying motive was quite noble - to walk to that coffe-shop Virgil liked and get his brother and himself some decent coffee. Virgil loved coffee and Scott loved Virgil - the rationale for his sortie was ironclad. Of course, pursuing exclusively immaculate fraternal care didn't provide for ditching his earpiece and wrist com. The hasty retreat also meant his designer (and more importantly in his current predicament - woolen) jacket got left hanging on the back of his chair by the bay window. He forgot this wasn't Tracy Island, the sun outside the window and climate control in the offices and their penthouse at the top of the Tracy Tower lulled his vigilance. And now, without a comm to get a timely warning from Eos or to call a cab (or the security SUV with a profound apology, or One from the landing pad on the roof), Scott was caught in the sudden onslaught of a cyclone.

The prudent thing to do would be to go back to the Tower. So, of course, Scott decided in favor of the opposite and broke into a run for the rest of the distance to the coffee place. The relentless laws of physics - speed and resistance - made sure he was soaked through the very last thread of clothing on his body and chilled to the bone by the time he got there.

His hair plastered to the forhead, the supershiny gel having lost the round with the freezing downpour, rivers of water drained down from the top of his head all the way past the suit slacks and dress shoes splashed in muck. There were poodles of water INSIDE his shoes. His socks were wet. His shirt was drenched. The squelching of the fabric as he walked up to the counter suggested he was wet EVERYWHERE. Yuk! That, at least, he didn't know as he was getting numb all over from the cold.

Scott was aware he probably looked like a wet stray cat. It was that or his shirt became see-through in the rain - as a barrista with a cute smile tried to waive his fee for the coffee. Unacceptable! He paid for two extra large, extra strong brews,  and rushed out, stifling a sneeze. Must have been the shirt, since one of the take-away cups had a phone number scrolled on the side. Which was a small consolation, as he broke into a jog again, making his way back through the raging elements.

***

The Tracy Industries front desk in the lobby, thankfully, didn't detain him, so he snuck into the elevator, not making eye contact with anyone. It was getting increasingly hard to hold the coffee cups - his hands were numb and shaking, and his teeth were clattering in time with full body shivers. Scott was sure he had hit the executive floor button, but the elevator made no stop, gliding all the way up to the private penthouse. Figures. He'd probably earned himself a lecture not only from the on site security team, but from John as well.

The door slid open on his approach across an antechember and he was welcomed in the hallway by a wall of flannel presided by furrowed black brows. Scott brandished the procured coffee cups like a shield, instinctively. He would sound more nonchalant if he were not stuttering from the cold.

"Hey, Virg, I got your favorite coffee!"

His face muscles were too frozen for a smile.

Virgil was holding a massive towel, or maybe a full body length terrycloth sheet, like an unfurled banner, and appeared completely unmoved by Scott's heroic endeavor.

"How very kind of you! Now step on the rug and strip. I'm not mopping after you!"

Scott looked down and found himself standing, indeed, on one of Gordon's old bright pool towels. It was already soaked halfway through with all the water Scott was dripping. He felt marginally ashamed as the elevator likely sported poodles too. But it was hard to maintain several self-deprecating emotions at once, being that cold and miserable.

The styrofoam cups were tentatively deposited on the glove table. Scott peeled off his soaked dress shirt and shed the trousers more than eagerly, toed off wet (and probably ruined too) shoes. Francesco the designer would bite his head off. But that could wait. He needed something warm off the rack now! A move off the towel was aborted, however, by the reappearance of the Eyebrows over the terrycloth edge.

"Uh-uh! Everything, Scooter! You're NOT wedging your undies behind the shower stall. Again!"

Scott sighed. That was ONE TIME! He was sneaking back past the curfew and tried to conceal evidence. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out. The moment the last wet cloth on him joined the pile on the floor, he was wrapped head to ankles in the sea of soft blue fabric and steered in the general direction of the shower.

"You know the drill! Try to warm up under hot water as long as you can. If you feel lightheaded - yell, I'll be right here."

The scolding shower helped somewhat. He could still feel the freezing grip around his ribs, but his extremities were not as numb anymore, at least. There was a stack of warm sleepwear waiting for him as he stepped out in the cloud of fog. Scott smiled - it was a motley assembly of his own clean trunks and sweatpants, a well-worn soft flannel shirt and a Denver Engineering hoodie, that swapmed his frame. Hair toweled off and curling every which way, he was mostly ready to venture back out into the colder world, but felt dead tired.

There was a nest of throw pillows and a blanket, assembled on the couch, unfolded to full length, in the living room. Scott made an immediate beeline for it and tugged the blanket around his shoulders, trying to fold his feet beneath as well. The shivers were crawling back. Virgil emerged from a door that was decidedly neither Scott's nor his own room, carrying a pair of fluffy bright orange socks and an extra comforter.

***

After some gentle, yet determined, coaxing, the orange socks were tugged onto Scott's icy cold feet and a second blanket was tucked snuggly around him. Virgil settled by his side against a couple of snatched pillows, pondering idly that they would need to get a spare weighted blanket for the penthouse too. They would also owe John more socks. The Scott-sized frozen burrito shuffled closer and Virgil wrapped an arm around his wayward big brother, offering more of his body warmth. The chills worried Virgil. Scott was fit and healthy, but he was chronically exhausted and hadn't been exposed to cyclones without IR-grade water-proof gear, or at least a raincoat, in a while.

"So... you wanna watch Top Gun?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Scott's face immediately shot up, beaming with a thousand suns. He also did an enthusiastic giant caterpillar wiggle, blanket and all. Virgil thought in that moment his core memory was probably Scott, all bright eyes, gap-teeth smile and dimples, bouncing with excitement and unbridled energy. He wished he got to revisit it more often.

The opening frames rolled on the holoscreen to the sound of the all too familiar Anthem. Virgil finally reached for so hard earned cup of coffee, now reheated, and couldn't contain a snort.

"Aw, Scooter, you actually scored a number for your troubles?"

It was obvious Scott wasn't going to last through the movie - his eyes were droopping and voice slurred, mostly muffled by plaid flannel.

"M'dashin'!"

A smaller hologram appeared at that exact moment on Virgil's comm. John looked way too amused:

"Actually, that's the number of a homeless shelter around the corner from the coffee shop."

Virgil's laughter full on rumbled at that. He raised a hand to ruffle the back of big brother's head:

"Oh yeah, you're a dashing idiot."

"M'cold."

The muffled complain was exemplified by a full body shiver.

"Sure, Scotty! You're a cold, wet, dashing idiot."

There was no protest to that, just a soft, slightly stuffed snore. Virgil adjusted the hold on the now sound asleep biggest brother to snuggle him closer.

***

The F-14A Tomcat was playing chicken with a MiG-28 on the screen. John's hologram lingered. Virgil could tell the space ginger was concerned more than he let on. John finally spoke.

"Is he gonna be alright? Should I cancel his Friday?"

Untamed by the gel, the now dry and fluffy ringlets made it difficult to reach Scott's forhead, but the back of Virgil's hand found the way, careful not to disturb. The skin was cool to his touch, no signs of fever.

"He'll be alright. He just needs to warm up and sleep it off."

He moved to rub a soothing circle over Scott's back as the big brother relaxed deeper into sleep. It was sorely tempting to clear Scott's schedule for the next day and mandate more rest. But Virgil was aware it would pose a risk of Scott, not held down by a cold, hairing off to the island in One, insisting to be back on the roster, if not on TI business. That would be a shame, as a big part of the weekend, Virgil had been looking forward to, was going to see Tosca at the Metropolitan Opera with biggest brother.

John  was still hovering, unconvinced. Virgil siged, but smiled:

"Well, Johnny, unless you want to come down from orbit and join me at the box, I'd rather our reservation to a sold out six months in advance opera didn't fall through."

John looked appropriately appalled and quite earnest:

"I love you more than my life, brother, but I do draw a line at too many people doing too many loud things in a confined space. Call me Johnny and see how often I come down from orbit!"

Virgil stifled a huff of laughter, as Scott shuddered and groaned quietly, but, thankfully, didn't wake up. The warm-up circles over his back and shoulders resumed. Virgil hugged him closer. John shifted attention to the swaddled biggest brother in fond amusement.

"What did you bribe him with, anyway?"

Virgil didn't have the energy to protest.

"Apfelschtrudel from that place Gordon found. And he can preview the R&D projects I selected for Brains, if he gets bored. No call-outs, no reports, no work mail though."

The gazed Virgil fixed on John was full of fair warning. It was John's turn to smile.

"Don't worry. You love watching opera and Scott loves watching us doing what we love. He'll be fine. And locked out of his work accounts, for good measure."

Silence stretched for several moments, interrupted only by Scott's soft snoring.

Virgil looked down on the slumbering brother in his arms, then back at John.

"I wish he did more of what he loves. Just Scott. For himself - not for us, or for the company, or the world."

That wasn't an issue easily solved in a casual conversation through an impromptu movie night. If at all. John knew that too, all too well. The brother in orbit chewed on his lip, lost in thought.

"You could sugget he get coffee in that place again. She's a Hudson Uni postgraduate. Cultural Anthropology."

Virgil was mostly used to John's the Resident Genius thoughts veering in unexpected directions, but the ginger thoroughly lost him there.

"Huh? Who's a postgrad where?"

John rolled his eyes in exasperation commonly reserved to explaining things to the bristling rescuees and a five year old Gordon.

"The barrista that gave Scott a shelter number today. She works part time and volunteers there often. One time she even volunteered at the IR disaster site. Remember, the sinkhole? She seems nice."

Top Gun closing scenes were replaced by assorted social media pages and university profile pages. Virgil gulped.

"John! You can't go doxxing random people!"

John's hologram up in orbit shrugged:

"I have Eos run background checks automatically on anyone who comes in contact with you guys. We can't take any chances!"

There was sound and, sadly, field proved reasoning behind what nearly cost them barely averted tragedy on several occasions. But still... Virgil kept staring at a pretty blond smiling from the holoscreen.

"That gotta be illegal!"

"Only if I get caught."

Turquoise eyes twinkled in nothing remotely resembling remorse. He still didn't cut off the call.

"Do you wanna come down here for the weekend?"

Virgil suddenly felt the need to have more brothers accounted for and within reach. There was hope in the way John actually gave it a thought.

"Only if you don't make me go to the opera. I ordered you pizza, by the way."

A wave of warmth washed over Virgil and he tightened the grip on Scott's frame instinctively.

"You're my favoretest brother not asleep at the moment!"

He was graced with another eyeroll.

"You spend entirely too much time around Gordon. I'll have Eos screen the calls and land the elevator on the Tower tomorrow evening, your time, if there's no major catastrophe."

Virgil resisted the urge to fistpupm in the air. Definitely too much time around Gordon. Another thought occurred to him as he remembered a detail John mentioned when vetting the unsuspecting compassionate barrista.

"Hey, John! Could you..."

"Right ahead of you, brother. An anonymous donation was made to the homeless shelter and free kitchen an hour ago."

And they said Virgil and Scott were uncanny telepathic. Then again, it was to be expected. Anyone who was genuinely kind and considerate to their favorite Idiot, or attempted to course-correct his destruction path, inadvertently gained a lifelong ally in every one of them. Maybe he really needed to nudge Scott to go get more of the good coffee tomorrow. Equipped with an umbrella that time around.

[edutainer2022]

@janetm74, oh, definitely! But maybe it's not always straightforward or optimistic.

Maybe it hits him at a random moment. At a moment that should be light and endearing.

He stopped being fun sometime after Mom. He stopped being Scott sometime after Dad. Maybe earlier, after That Place. He doesn't do hobbies, because he can't let himself channel energy into anything that's not Dad's legacy. He doesn't do downtime, because he hasn't earned rest, having not saved Dad.

One day Gordon would say "you should really try having a personality" and Scott would snap.

Because Gordie is fourth down the line. Scott made damn sure his only concern was being himself and doing what brings him joy.

Scott sees Virgil drift away - spending more time with Gordon, sharing hobbies and time on the beach. Scott gets it. Gordon is Scott before... everything happened to Scott. Virgil misses THAT best friend. Not whatever boring neurotic mess Scott turned out to be. It hurts, though... It hurts so bad...Virgil would probably die if he knew Scott thinks that.

Maybe it's John, who gets it. John actually sees his brothers quite well, as much as he doesn't do people-ing. Virgil knows how to be a brother that makes Gordon feel safe and happy. He has no idea how to be that brother to Scott now - between the Hood, the Mechanic, the Chaos Crew, and Scott burying himself deeper into work - Virgil's scared he's not enough as a best friend.

I love when the whumpee has to reinvent themself. No, you will never be the past you again, they are permanently changed by the trauma, but that does not mean death. You just have to find you again. The people who care about you might mourn, you might as well, but getting to know each other again can be quite interesting.