#vgtracyfic

[vgtracy]

What season are you grateful for?

“You do know that Santa doesn’t tend to frown that much?”

I couldn’t help smile just a little. Scott looked absolutely hilarious. The strips of glittery cotton tacked onto his eyebrows were so low they almost covered his eyes.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“Because you love our little brother and you are a fantastic CEO.” I swallowed. “And because Dad used to do it.”

The frown crumpled.

I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Why does Scott have to be so damned tall?

“Hey, you’ll do great. Dad would be proud.”

Those shoulders relaxed. “I look like an idiot.”

I turned him around to face me, putting my other hand on his opposite shoulder. “No. You look like a caring CEO who is willing to take that extra step for his company’s children. Just like Dad.”

The shoulders dropped further. “I’m not Dad.”

I pulled him closer. “No, you’re not.” I straightened my shoulders. “You are better.”

“Virg, c’mon…”

“No.” I shook my head. “Better.” I stepped back and peered at him. “Though Mrs Claus hasn’t been feeding you enough.” I grabbed the pillow that was a Santa belly fill-in and took a little glee in shoving it up my big brother’s shirt and tying it into place. “There, Santa Tracy is ready to give out the pile of gifts he has been personally angsting over for the last month.”

I dropped my hands onto his shoulders and caught his eyes. “You are the best big brother I could ever have. You are a great CEO. You can do this.” I cleared my throat. “And if it makes you feel any better, be thankful you’re not wearing these tights. They ride up.” I shifted where I stood.

The line did exactly what I wanted it to and Scott broke out into a grin. “You look great, Virg. Your costume emphasises…” He looked me up and down. “…well, everything.” The grin became totally smart ass and my self sacrifice was complete.

I glared at him, grabbed the massive bag of presents and lobbed them in his direction. A little heavy lifting was required and Scott grunted as I let him take all the weight.

Heheh, a little revenge is always sweet.

I grabbed my couple of bags and threw them over my shoulder, knocking the silly striped hat askew and almost taking out a pointed ear.

That only prompted more laughter.

But I could take it.

I could.

“Okay, Santa, Thunderbirds are go and all that, get your butt out there and show those kids how much you love them.”

He grumbled at me, but there was a glint in those blue eyes that told the truth.

And his lips curled around his ‘F.A.B.”

-o-o-o-

[vgtracy]

What food are you most grateful for?

In this house? Are you kidding? Anything that I can get that won’t destroy my stomach lining. It can be a free for all here. Anything edible is fair game, no matter who put their name on it.

Okay, I admit, that is not entirely true. Scott will lay down the law from time to time, especially if one of us is ill. Big brother won’t stand for thoughtlessness.

::sigh:: But then none of us is truly thoughtless. It’s just that there are five of us, plus a terrifying Kayo. It has always been a bit rough and tumble at the table.

Not in manners, Dad was always strict about that and Grandma is always good at keeping us in line. But more over getting your fair share, you know? We’ve all been voracious eaters at one point of another. Alan still is. Though, come to think of it, John was less animal than the rest of us. Gordon may have been all about swimming and calories, but he could certainly shove the good stuff down.

And I know, I eat quite a bit. ::pause:: Okay, I eat a lot, but then there is a lot of me to feed. ::points at left bicep:: These need fuel as much as the rest of my equipment.

::blinks a moment and blushes slightly::

Anyway, I’m grateful for any good food that I can get my hands on.

VT.

[vgtracy]

What colour are you grateful for?

::a smile and a soft snort:: Just one? Really, I’m not sure that is possible.

Okay, green. I’m well known for my greens. It was Mom’s favourite colour. ::a small, fond smile:: She definitely biased me on that one.

But hey, I like a bit of red, I certainly don’t mind blue, and with those two in the equation, I’ve pretty much covered the entire spectrum.

You see, I believe no colour stands alone. Each reacts with the others surrounding it like some cascade of alteration. A Mexican wave of colour with several billion aspects of hue, value and chroma.

So how can I narrow it down to just one?

It is all about balance, combination and moment.

And I have to say that in the moment Four surfaces safely, my favourite colour is yellow. When One slides smoothly back into the pool back from a mission with her pilot in one piece, the red of her nose cone is my favourite colour.

Don’t tell John, but his eyes are the perfect shade of turquoise and the first thing I look for when he steps off his elevator.

Purple makes me happy. Bright blue eyes with bouncing blond hair. Deeper blue eyes with greying dark hair. They are happiness itself.

Gordon smiles yellow sunshine much like his shirt and his ‘bird. But don’t tell him that. I wouldn’t put it past him to locate some yellow lipstick to prove the point and the thought breaks my brain.

Honestly, as you can see, the colours are only part of the equation.

::another small smile::

But really green is the coolest. 

::goofy grin::

VT.

[vgtracy]

What touch are you grateful for today?

I’m lying out on a pool lounge. Scott helped me out here earlier.

He’s gone back inside for the moment so I’m taking this opportunity to put down my thoughts.

The breeze is gentle in the darkness. I can feel it touching my hair.

I’ve always thought of the wind to be like fingers, reaching out to touch and play with all the life on the surface of the planet. As if the planet itself is exploring what is living on it.

It tantalises senses.

And it brings scents. The sea mostly. Gordon would appreciate the salt in the air. I wonder if he realises he breathes in ocean with every breath here on this island?

Of course, if he catches on to that concept, I bet he would gag the next time the wind shifts enough to bring the not so pleasant scent of the petrel colony on Mateo. The thought has me grinning.

Gotta love the Fish.

But today the breeze is coming from the south east. Cool air, from the southern latitudes. It’s got strength, but no violence, more a gentle insistence that is, no doubt, tossing up tiny white caps across the ocean around the island.

It is pre-dawn. I know that much. I’ve been having trouble sleeping and Scott found me fumbling in the hallway. The worry wart immediately made me his responsibility, of course.

I love the man, but he is such a smotherhen.

No doubt he will come back with food and some beverage other than coffee. How he expects me to function without caffeine, I have no idea.

I can probably con one out of Gordon later.

Maybe.

::dictation stops for a moment::

I felt it. I swear. The first rays of the sun.

They hit the pool deck every morning and….god, it’s beautiful. So warm, so reassuring.

If I ignore the obvious.

But I can feel it gaining in strength. Its fiery brightness caressing my skin.

The Island reacts. Birds squawk and squabble. The villa behind me creaks. Sound shifts in the air as it warms. I can hear the effect of the light as it touches everything.

So beautiful…

And I can hear Scott approaching, his footsteps ever on a mission.

“Okay, Virg, I’m putting a table on your left with a chocolate milk and some fresh toast.” He reaches down and gently takes my hand, guiding it to the mug.

My fingers curl around the cool piece of crockery.

Cold chocolate milk.

Still not venturing into hot beverages, apparently.

Smotherhen.

But his touch is ever so warm. Ever so dependable.

Ever so loving.

“Thank you, Scott.”

“Any time. You be okay? Gordon’s up and planning to be out here in a minute.”

“I’m fine. I won’t fall in the pool, I promise.”

He squeezes my shoulder gently, but doesn’t comment on that. “I’ll be back in about half an hour.”

“Go, Scott. I’ll be fine.”

He grumbles, but I hear him trot off into the distance.

The wind tickles my hair and the sun warms my skin.

I can’t see them, but I can.

VT.

[vgtracy]

What in nature are you grateful for?

I live in a wildlife park.

::holds up a hand:: And before you accuse my brothers of being that wildlife…yes, I know they can be feral sometimes, but they are loveable…most of the time…I’m not referring to them.

Tracy Island is located just north of the Kermadec Ocean Sanctuary, a project both Tracy Industries and our family personally have contributed to considerably.

If you’re feeling bored, just ask Gordon to list the crab species on and around the Island. Take a chair. He’s very enthusiastic.

I am grateful for all the beauty our location gives us every day. The forests, the birds, the ocean, all the life and ecosystem around us.

Okay, so I could have done with the unedited wildlife documentary over breakfast last week when Gordon’s pet shark Hilda decided a couple of petrels were on the menu. I really hadn’t had enough coffee to process that little event.

You don’t realise exactly how much is edited out of those films until you’re there on the spot in full view and your breakfast tries to come back up.

But anyway, I live in a wildlife park and I’m grateful for it.

But there is something else in nature I am even more grateful for.

Have you ever approached an intersection in a hurry and begged the lights to stay green? Or its threatening rain and you need to get to your car without getting soaked?

I’m thankful for whatever it is that makes that light stay green or the rain hold out just that little bit longer.

Because for me, it is a little less mundane than that.

It’s the wind direction en route to a rescue. Its that extra large or extra small ocean wave when deploying the module. The rock that falls this way and not that. The building that holds its structure just that moment longer…

Or not.

The after shock that doesn’t come or comes early.

It’s chance or its not. It’s physics or the simple power of hope.

It is the nature of things.

And for all those times it goes right and not wrong, I am ever grateful for the lives it saves, for my brothers’ lives, and my own.

Because nature can be cruel, I know it, I have seen it, and I am ever thankful when it chooses not to be.

-o-o-o-

[vgtracy]

What knowledge are you grateful for?

All my brothers have tells.

For Alan, it is his eyebrows. They droop just a little at the edges when he is being strong. His eyes fade just a little as if their blue is being tapped for energy needed elsewhere.

He’s good at hiding fevers, scraped knees and sheer exhaustion. John is the obvious target for several space ailments, but we can’t forget that Allie floats up there, too. And there are times where the return of gravity has those eyebrows drooping as he smiles.

John is different. John is always different on most fronts, but that is just his unique gift to the world. The first clue is whether he is voice only on comms. He seems to have this delusion that if I can’t see him, I won’t know about those eighteen-hour non-stop shifts or that time he only ate a single bagel in forty-eight hours.

Let me tell you, if I hadn’t been just as busy I would have climbed that elevator cable myself to prevent what happened after that little venture. As it was, I dragged him out of orbit and wouldn’t let him go back for a month.

And do you know how I knew?

His accent.

It shifts when he is tired. Not always in the same direction considering how many languages my brother speaks, but his clarity drops just a little.

One of these days he is going to work out that sound is as much my speciality as it is his.

Gordon, on the other hand, is very hard to tell. My little fish brother is a ball of energy straight out of the sun and knows how to hide everything.

Because he has had far too much practice.

He could be bleeding to death and still be grinning and cracking jokes. Actually, come to think of it, he once tried that on me.

That is a memory I could easily do without.

But you see, I was there during the formation of that skill set. I watched him take the most terrifying steps of his life. Gordon has shown parts of himself to me that no other creature alive has ever seen.

So I can usually tell…usually.

The lay of his hair. The curl of his top lip. The shadow in his eyes.

Scott, in comparison is easy. Decibel level will show.

In the field he is always professional, but the words become clipped, his brow furrows and the blue of his eyes dull. His voice hollows with the necessities and the grief.

And he will try to use work to hide it all.

There have been many times I’ve had to corner him at crazy late o’clock and talk him down. Or shout him down, if necessary.

Scott thinks he hides it well, but he is an open book.

And then there are the worse case scenarios. When one of my brothers goes completely silent. Where they give up hiding anything and are exposed to the bare bones of their souls because they simply have nothing left.

Those moments are terrifying.

But the tiny tells, the subtle hints as to who needs help, or is hurt or just simply needs a hug, I know them all.

It’s not magic or even science. It’s knowledge.

And if I’m being totally honest, love.

No matter how much they complain.

VT.

[vgtracy]

What memory are you grateful for?

(Her hands reach out and wrap around mine. Her long fingers splay out and gently nudge each digit onto the correct key.

“This one.” She presses my fingers down and the piano makes a single glorious sound. “And then this one.” She moves my fingers into a different pattern that will one day be attached to the word ‘chord’ but for the moment is just pudgy fingers trying to stretch between keys.

The sound of the piano is pure memory.)

Mom taught me the piano. I was very little when she started. I remember climbing onto the piano stool and trying to play like she did.

I remember her quiet laughter, her hug and she came to sit down beside me and the scent of her perfume.

Her fingers were magic.

They could make music.

::a rueful smile:: Youth blinds us to the effects of experience. There is this illusion that those who are so talented and skilled were just born that way. Perhaps that concept was beyond a four year old, but older me knows better.

::a sigh:: I remember the frustration of not being able to play like my mother. How she was able to make the instrument make music and not the series of mangled sounds which were all I could seem to get out of it.

::looks down:: She was ever so gentle with me. Encouraging. I loved the music and I wanted to make it, but it took practice.

Lots of practice.

::a snort:: Have you ever seen Scott when he is waiting for something? Ever see that tension in his eyes, in the tapping of his foot?

Well, we obviously share some DNA because I was so impatient. I swear if Mom hadn’t been Mom, hadn’t been who she was, I probably would have spontaneously combusted multiple times.

She always knew what to do. Always knew how to calm me down and make things right.

I remember her hands on mine. Her gentle words…she could sing, you know. That’s where Johnny gets his beautiful voice… the one he refuses to sing with. ::another sigh and he looks away::

I’m grateful for every memory I have of my mother. She is often eclipsed by my father, but she is never forgotten, not as long as I live.

::eyes grow distant:: I just wish…

::but he doesn’t finish::

VT.

[vgtracy]

Who in your life are you grateful for?

My family.

Ever, ever so grateful.

We have faced so much, but we have always faced it together.

My earliest memories are of my mother, father, big brother and little Johnny. I have always had their company and I know for that at least I am blessed. The terrible two came along a little later and turned our world upside down one by one, but I don’t love them any less.

::clears his throat and looks down::

Time has taken a lot. Mom. Dad. But we have also gained Kayo and Brains.

Mom and Dad…they may not be with us anymore, but they are in here…::thumps his breastbone with two fingers::

::that hand forms a fist as his eyes look down a little and grow distant:: I carry them with me.

::looks up again:: But I am grateful for the time I did have with them. Nothing can take those moments from me.

I have my family. We have each other.

And I am ever so grateful for that.

-o-o-o-

[vgtracy]

What holiday are you grateful for?

Any holiday.

Though, admittedly the one where Scott gets to wear the beard and the red suit is kinda hilarious. Who knew Santa could frown so hard?

Easter is always a laugh. Gordon coordinates the egg hunt and I have to say that I admire his creativity, if not his memory for the unfound ones. I managed to stumble across one just the other day.

In one of the holes in the pool table.

Goes to show how often we play these days since it is nearly December.

Thanksgiving is always special. Because of Kayo. She particularly loves that holiday and goes all out to celebrate. She even dresses up.

It doesn’t hurt that she does a lot of the cooking…and can she cook?

My god, yes! Reminds me of her Dad every time. Not that we would expect her to cook an entire meal for all of us, that would be ridiculously selfish on our part. So we all pitch in if we can – except Grandma – it’s the spirit of the season really.

Kayo claims she is gifting Grandma for all the work she does. We all know it is a defensive measure.

But really, I fear at the reason for her love for that holiday. I fear Kayo uses Thanksgiving as her chance to thank all of us. I don’t agree with it. She owes us nothing, but I feel that she might think she does.

There have been other signs. She works so hard to be the best at what she does, and she is, but I don’t think she realises that she doesn’t have to be the best, she doesn’t have to do anything to be part of this family.

But she always seems to be wanting to earn it somehow.

I really wish she could understand that we will love her anyway, that family is more than blood.

But then considering her past, this reaction is understandable.

::his lips thin and he shifts his feet::

But anyway, I’m out of time…

I’m grateful for all the holidays we manage. I’m grateful for kind time spent with my family and the moments to just rest and listen to the birds.

Even that annoying tui Gordon taught to say my name, over and over again.

And over again.

::a fond sigh::

VT.

[vgtracy]

What smell are you grateful for today?

You know, if you ask any of my brothers, the answer will be ‘coffee’. And sure, I will admit, I’m quite fond of the aroma, especially in the mornings. It has a warmth and a familiarity.

But if I am being honest, and I usually am, it also has an overtone of rushed mornings and the urgency of a rescue. I am grateful for it, because without it, rescues would be an all new kind of hell, but there are other smells that I am grateful for as well. Many that are linked to so many memories.

One is the smell of the wood of my piano. It was Mom’s piano before mine and sitting at the keys…I can drift back and almost hear her encouragement, sitting beside me on that same seat.

Nowadays, the scent is overlaid with the sea breeze. Tracy Island has its own scentscape, if that is a word. On the surface, there is the sea, the petrels on Mateo (Gordon just loves that smell ::snort:: not a fan of sky candy at all), the palm trees and the pohutukawa blossom. Occasionally there will be a whiff of Thunderbird One’s exhaust. That always brings the image of Scott to my mind’s eye and a fond smile.

In the hangars, there is that cool, cave feel and the smell of the Thunderbirds at rest.

Two smells familiar and safe most days, but sometimes she can smell of failure. Those days I’d rather smell something else.

Four smells like fish ::grin:: Or at least that’s what I like to tell Gords. Gets him going every time. I have this urge to actually stash some days-old seafood in her one day just to prove the point. ::more grinning::

One smells of speed. She gets hot at the velocities she reaches and comes home scorching the air around her. Sleek and fast, yet overlaid with strength and, well, Scott. One is her pilot as much as he is her.

Three smells of cold and stark, no matter how hot red she is. She is Alan, though, through and through, despite that, but she also has an echo of her previous pilots, both John and Dad.

And that is what the smells of Tracy Island really do remind me of the most…Dad. He’s here in these rocks. His mark has been left. I will admit there have been days where I’ve walked down the hallway and thought I’d smelt his aftershave. None of us use the same brand. I know I couldn’t bear it and I doubt Scott could either.

But yeah, Tracy Island smells remind me of Dad.

For that I am forever grateful. They help me to not forget.

Oh, I haven’t yet mentioned Five.

Five is a special place. You would think it would smell like chemicals and plastic but it doesn’t. Sure, there can be a tang in the recycled air, Three has the same problem, but Five is different. John lives there and, like Dad has left his traces on Tracy Island, John has made Five his own.

It is John’s aftershave that drifts on the air, his last dinner, the faint smell of the infuser he shouldn’t have up there, but does anyway. He always uses the same scent and I suspect it means something special to him. I haven’t asked and he hasn’t offered. It’s pleasant and gives Five that slice of Earth so far above us.

I like to think John has a bit of home up there with him that isn’t just the stars, but more a piece of us, you know?

So yeah, I’m thankful for the smells and the vibrant array of memories they trigger. They give the world more depth and colour.

VT.

[vgtracy]

What piece of art are you grateful for?

“It looks like a duck.”

“How can it look like a duck? It has four legs.”

“You’re calling them legs? They look more like flippers.”

“Hey, it was you who said it was a duck. Ducks don’t have four flippers.” I could hear Gordon frowning at Alan and rolled my eyes. They were obviously arguing about something. Gordon should be going to bed. We’d been out most of the day, in the rain and the mud and I swear I hadn’t gotten it all out of my hair yet. And I’d kept my helmet on the entire time.

There was a chance I was hallucinating mud, but honestly, there had been so much.

“It’s a turtle, Alan.”

As I rounded the entrance into the comms room, I came across the terrible two over by Dad’s desk, huddled over something.

The sun shining through the open windows was far too bright than it had any right to be, since Gordon and I had been up all night on the other side of the planet. The cool breeze tangled in my still damp hair, making me shiver.

“Don’t you mean tortoise? Its neck is too long for a turtle.”

Even I could see Gordon’s incredulity as he stared at his little brother. “What do you know about tortoises?”

“I know what a tortoise is! And that is a long-necked tortoise, not a turtle.”

“It doesn’t have a head, Allie.”

“Turtles have heads, Gords.”

“So do tortoises.”

It was at this point I realised they were huddled over Gordon’s phone, some kind of image on the screen.

I peered over their shoulders.

“Whoa, Virg! What the hell?” The fish jumped away from me. “Personal space much?” He stared. “You turning ninja or something?”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise and looked down at my bare feet. “Uh, no?” So it wasn’t often I wandered around without my boots, but I was in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt and I really was beyond caring. “You need to go to bed, Gordon. We could get another callout.”

His shoulders dropped. “I know, I know. I was gonna go and then my search pinged me.” He held up his phone, but didn’t hold it still enough for me to see anything.

I closed my eyes. “Gords…”

“You know, the search that automatically pulls up mentions of us.”

I blinked slowly at him. “Eos manages that.”

“Noooo, I have a special search. Just for us. You know Two, you and me.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Curious. Anyway…” And this time he did hold up the phone still enough to actually see. “We got a complaint.”

It was my turn to drop my shoulders. “Another one?”

Gordon snorted. “What’s life without bitching about it?”

I groaned and turned around to head up to my rooms again. I’d only come down to check on the fish. He has a tendency to get distracted.

May I present exhibit A.

“I don’t have the energy for this. Let Jack handle it.” Jack Dunning our lawyer, a man and a firm we kept far too busy.

Mostly because some people sucked.

“But this is art, Virg. Just look at it.”

I blinked, but, of course, he had piqued my curiosity. I turned back to find him holding up his phone again.

On it was an image taken from the sky, probably a drone, of a burnt and muddy spot on a lawn.

It took me a moment to connect the dots, but it was obvious Gordon saw the moment I did.

“We made art, Virg. Look, we made a turtle.”

Alan grumbled. “I still think it is a tortoise.”

I ignored him, and, reaching out, took the phone from Gordon’s hand.

There was a headline. ‘International Rescue destroys $100,000 worth of landscaping…again.”

I arched an eyebrow. How does a chunk of lawn outside a collapsed conservatory cost $100,000? You’d think they’d have more to worry about off screen where the massive sinkhole had eaten half the building and the museum next to it.

Yet they were complaining about the front lawn?

“Virg?” Gordon was frowning at me. “You’re not taking it seriously are you?” A hand landed on my shoulder as he leant in to gesture at the photo. “This is art, bro. You drew a turtle.”

I was obviously too tired to understand what the hell he was talking about.

So he showed me.

“See, four VTOL burn marks for flippers. Landing strut prints for legs. Module deployment indent for its body. She sunk down quit a bit - that was a lot of wet soil. Ramp indent and pod tracks for the neck. Turtle.”

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could hear the grin in his voice.

I turned the phone around to get the image from another angle. “It doesn’t have a head.”

“Abstraction is one of your specialities, Virg, go with the flow.”

“You think we drew a beheaded turtle.” He could kinda see it.

“It’s a tortoise.” Alan folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

“It doesn’t matter. It is art. I bet I could sell this and make money for charity.”

“It’s not your photo.” Why was I even discussing this?

“Okay, I’ll pull one from our footage. I bet we have one and probably others. I could sell several. Get some money flowing for the people affected by the sinkhole.”

I blinked again. It had truly been a shit rescue and there were a lot of people in pain. “Tomorrow, Gords. You need sleep and so do I. Speak to John in the morning. Maybe ask Eos to tolerate you for the second it will take her to retrieve the footage.”

Gordon held up his hands. “Fine, fine. Will do. But I am going to do it, Virg. Virgil Tracy original art. The Flying Turtle Lands. Or The Landing of the Flying Turtle.” He frowned. “Do Turtles roost?”

Oh god. I turned away and headed out of the room fast. I was going to go to bed and face this later, hopefully after a bucket of coffee, or maybe not at all.

Hopefully.

I went to bed and I did sleep, long and well.

And by the time I had drunk enough coffee to become coherent the next morning, Gordon had raised 3.6 million by selling Flying Turtle prints online.

VT.

[vgtracy]

What sight are you grateful for today?

Alan is just across from me on the opposite side of the lounge.

He knows I’m here, I’m hard to miss, and he keeps looking in my direction as if he is expecting me to say or do something.

I’m fake reading.

Well, it was actual reading. Tycho has just announced the launch of the new hypercar design that he and Brains spent the last year working on in the latest edition of my favourite engineering periodical.

But that was before Alan wandered in far too innocently carrying a handful of Sharpies.

It wouldn’t be a concern, but you see, Gordon is also on the other side of the lounge.

Asleep.

Today had been a long one and the Fish passed out before I could argue him to bed, despite the fact it is actually mid-afternoon.

We had been up all night.

I’m tired myself, but I wanted to keep an eye on him.

Alan, on the other hand, has been schooling all day and just got off classes.

And considering the prank Gordon pulled on Alan last week that left his hair a faint shade of pink, I have some understanding of what is likely going to happen.

So, I’m staying put waiting for the inevitable explosion and to hopefully prevent any permanent injury.

Also, it wouldn’t hurt to run interference on Scott. He tends to take these things a touch too seriously.

Alan glances at me and inadvertently reveals the flower he has drawn on Gordon’s cheek in fluorescent paint.

Hmm, I didn’t see that paint marker in his hand on the way in…hey, that’s my paint marker!

I bite my lip.

Okay, so that explains the furtive looks a bit better. There may be a few words later regarding borrowing Two’s emergency marking equipment.

But that is a decent flower. He has outlined it really well. Even tackled a little tonal work.

I wonder if he’s realised that Gordon is actually awake yet?

This? This is going to be amusing.

VT.

[vgtracy]

What texture are you grateful for?

Have you ever touched cold cahelium?

It has a chill to it. It is not smooth, but has the finest of bumps on its surface, almost like the recorded music on a vinyl record without the grooves.

Emphasized by the paint covering it.

Ever so green.

Of course, it is not always cold.

Often she is warm. Never too warm, though. One of the properties of cahelium beyond strength is the fact it is not a conductor and instead is an insulator.

It keeps her cool when she should be burning up.

Cahelium’s structure is permeable enough to support a metal and carbon-fibre composite between its bonds. Like a molecular lattice, it draws up other compounds and provides strength and protection where before there was vulnerability.

Two is built like a tank with the weight of a bird.

All because of cahelium.

And she feels alive.

Two has a heart, deep in her power core. It beats with a rhythm that I can feel in the music of her skin, countering my own pulse.

Silent, but there.

When she is in flight, that beat becomes a thrum that roars though her yoke. She talks to me and I know her very being.

The touch of the sky.

The caress of the clouds.

Our gloves take away most textures, but this is one that I can translate through silicon rubber.

But late at night, when it is just me and her and a repair schedule, my hands are bare and I can reach out and touch.

She sings through my skin.

And if I thank her for all she has done during that day, it is only out of respect and acknowledgement of what is.

As my fingers trace over that ever so unique texture.

Cool under my fingertips.

VT.

[vgtracy]

What abilities are you grateful for?

We Tracys are a bunch of high achievers.

Given that most of us had a great start and eventually money that gave us an extra step up, we still are considered a very brainy bunch.

After all, how many can claim to have three astronauts, two engineers, an aquanaut and the world’s best military pilot as their nuclear family? And that is just listing our day jobs.

I am certainly thankful for all of that.

But I have to say that I am grateful for one in particular and that is Scott’s ability to keep us together.

Silver spoons and all, this family has weathered a lot of challenges. Some better than others. Some shattering. Some chronically dangerous. And, of course, some that took family from us.

::hangs his head a moment before clearing his throat and continuing::

But through it all Scott has been there. Been there in whatever capacity we have needed him.

Little Allie sees him almost as his father, for goodness sake, even before Dad went missing, Scott was the one who was there.

Gordon and Scott fight…pretty regularly. Its frustrating. :: a sigh::  And loud. But oddly, I think they both need that sounding board. Hell, you should see those two on the spar mat.

Scott has the military background to take Gordon on at his worst and he does. I should know. I do the patching up. ::another sigh::

John and Scott are like mutually orbiting satellites, forever rotating around each other, never quite meeting, but respecting and loving  the other with all their being.

I think they admire each other in their own way. Hell, we all admire each other, but those two are just the same enough, but just different enough to strike a balance.

And me…

::shifts his feet and hangs his head a moment before looking up hesitantly::

Scott is my best friend. Has been from day one. ::a tentative and fond smile:: He knows things about me I’ve never told a soul and I trust him more than I trust myself.

::shifts his feet again, looking down:: He gives me direction.

But anyway, through everything he has been there. He is a born leader and he has used that ability to keep us together. We work as a team, but that is only because we have a great captain.

And I am ever so proud to call him my brother.

VT.

[vgtracy]

Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self

If you could, what would be the one thing you’d tell your past self?

Virgil was last back as always, but it hadn’t been a strenuous rescue and he was feeling good. It was late on Tracy Island, but he was naturally a night owl, so two am was pretty much the norm.

The Island was little more than a shadow on the ocean lit by navigational lights to welcome him home.

John was silent on comms, but Virgil knew he was watching. He wouldn’t go to bed until he confirmed Virgil had made it home safe. Unnecessary, but he did it anyway.

Two coasted in up from the south, banking around in a loose arc above the open ocean, keeping his engine noise as distant from the villa as possible. He triggered the palm trees, lined her up with her runway, and brought her down to a smooth landing.

She coasted into her hangar, spun on her turntable, and settled into rest.

Virgil let his shoulders drop with a sigh.

A run through post-flight and he was climbing out of his seat and heading for the locker room. It hadn’t been a hard rescue, but it would be good to get into something more comfortable, grab food and relax.

A shower brightened him up and an old t-shirt and shorts accompanied him down to the kitchen. Poking through the refrigerator produced some chocolate cake, of all things. It even had his name on it and a threat to anyone else who might take it.

He smiled at Scott’s handwriting.

Going for an all-out chocolate fest, he made a mug of chilled chocolate milk, and grabbing the cake, climbed back up the stairs to the lounge.

The villa was ever so quiet. He liked this time of night. It allowed for rest, contemplation and time to himself.

He activated the main glass doors and they opened slowly and quietly, letting the night in.

The cool breeze caressed his cheeks.

Depositing his load on a side table next to a lounger, he dumped himself on the lounger itself. He closed his eyes with a sigh and let every bone and muscle in his body relax.

His breath escaped slowly with a sigh.

This could be it. He could just stay right here for the rest of his life and simply not move.

Except for the cyclones, maybe.

And One. She may be ecologically sound but her exhaust stuck at the back of his throat and gah.

Okay, so not perhaps for the rest of his life, but for a long moment, right now.

He let himself drift.

Most of the birds were asleep on the Island at this time of night, so there was little to interrupt the waves and the breeze. The soundscape was ever so lulling and he felt himself slipping into sleep.

But chocolate cake! He had chocolate cake. That only had a life span equating to how early Alan woke up.

Admittedly, that wasn’t really that early, but still…

Chocolate cake.

He forced his eyes open and grabbed at the plate. The scent of cacao was wonderful.

The cake was demolished quickly and far too efficiently.

So, perhaps he was hungrier than he thought.

Lunch had been a long time ago.

A contented sigh, he took a sip of his milk and lay back to stare up at the stars.

They twinkled back at him.

All except for the bright point of light that was his brother’s ‘bird.

He was suddenly struck at the absurdity of exactly where he was and what he was looking at.

A Kansas boy sitting in the middle of the night in the middle of the ocean staring up at a technological marvel too far off to see that kept and orbiting brother safe.

Who could have thought this would be his life?

Looking back at his younger self…dreams of piano and art triumphs, the day he pulled Grandpa’s tractor apart and couldn’t put it back together, watching his father take to the sky and then to space and marvelling at how he did it, yet never even conceiving that he would be doing both himself as an adult.

The horror of losing a parent.

A sip of chocolate milk and the scars on his arm were just shadows in the moonlight.

Times. Difficult times. Difficult memories. Sad, heart-destroying thoughts that never abated, had no light at the end of the tunnel. So long ago.

John had a constellation for their mother. Virgil could barely see it on this side of the planet, but he could see John’s constellation for Dad.

It included Five as a wandering element, the hope his little brother refused to let go.

Virgil shifted where he lay, shaking off sad thoughts and wondering why he was suddenly beset by them.

Because things had changed now.

Yes, their mother was gone forever. She could never be recovered and he would never see her again. He would always cherish her memory and her love and all the moments he had with her.

But Dad…

It had been a long shot. One hell of a long shot. One that endangered everything they had.

Everything.

But the Tracy luck had won out.

And now, upstairs, safe in bed and on the mend, their father was home.

Virgil’s heart clenched.

After so long.

After so many tears, arguments, terror that he would lose Scott….so many terrors…his big brother… His breath hitched.

God, Scott.

And it had all worked. They were all safe. Dad and Scott included.

How?

How, after those eight years, had it all worked out?

All the calm and beauty of the night vanished, eaten by memory. Virgil put down the remains of his chocolate milk and rubbed his face. Maybe he was more tired than he thought.

Memories could eat him alive.

C’mon, they had made it. The worry was over. Dad was safe. All his brothers, his sister and his grandmother were all safe in bed, even Brains.

Why was he thinking like this right now?

He let out a breath and counted to ten.

Memories.

Perhaps if he had been able to travel back in time and tell his younger self, tell a younger and terrified Scott that things would be okay, that they would all work out and everyone would be safe…

Could he?

Should he?

His brain dissolved into logistical time warp intricacies as to whether that knowledge could have influenced the outcome.

Yeah, he was more tired than he thought.

The breeze brushed his cheek as if to shake him awake.

But having that knowledge back when everything was…bad.

This was why he followed Scott. Without Scott there was no direction, no determination, no impetus to keep going.

He swallowed.

Maybe.

Now he was examining his reasons for doing what he did.

The hour was moving on towards three. He was tired and his thoughts maudlin.

He pushed himself off the lounger and shoved his thoughts away. This time of the morning was not a good time for thinking, apparently.

Grabbing his mug and plate he strode back inside, back to the kitchen and dumped them on the sink.

The clatter was loud in the silence.

He ignored it and bounced back up the stairs. Perhaps a bit of a read before bed, to distract his thoughts.

The residential levels were as quiet as expected.

Scott’s door beckoned as he approached it. He wanted to go in and check on him, but if he did, chances were he would wake his brother. Scott slept so lightly.

He bit his lip and kept walking.

-o-o-o-

[vgtracy]

Chrysalism: The amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

It was an exquisite moment.

The storm had rolled in shortly after John arrived down from Five. No doubt timed perfectly by his brother.

The villa weather sensors activated level one precautions the moment the first drops landed on the balcony and the great glass doors closed smoothly to protect their home. Should the pressure drop dramatically or the wind or rain pick up, the storm shutters would roll down and secure the building against possible cyclonic weather.

But today it was only a squall, bringing rain to the rainforest on the Island. It wasn’t nasty or violent, almost gentle except for the occasional flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder so reminiscent of the ‘birds in their hangars below.

Virgil stood staring at the water drops running down the glass doors, his eyes tracking the rivulets as they split and merged on their voyage towards the decking.

Behind him a holographic fire was lit in the centre of the comms room. Gordon’s doing, no doubt, but despite its oddness, it did provide that subtle crackle and flicker of light giving just that hint of psychological warmth.

Even though it was a good twenty-one degrees celcius in the room anyway. Rain or no, it was still a tropical island.

Gordon and Alan were playing cards next to the ‘fire’. This was always an event. An event in that it always dissolved into an argument regarding who was cheating and what the rules were. Though they had been at this game a good fifteen minutes without a single complaint. Might be some kind of record.

John was reading.

It was amazing to have him down. It had taken a little talking on Virgil’s part, but he was here, and Virgil was ever so happy to see him.

The book was one of Virgil’s. Tycho had recently published and it was a great read on both the scientific level and humorous. Doctor Reeves had quite the wit.

Brains was mentioned on page 253.

Brains may have had his copy framed. It was certainly signed.

Virgil couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

The engineer, of course, was in his lab. Not working, for a change, but playing. Something about Tycho and pyroclastic jello.

Virgil hadn’t been game to enquire further, so had left him to it.

Rain splattered against glass, nudged by the wind.

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted up from the kitchen.

Kayo was cooking.

She didn’t cook very often, so when she did it was cherished.

Because Kayo had inherited her father’s skill with cuisine. She enjoyed it, but like all of them, International Rescue came first and time was finite.

Today she was baking.

And Virgil’s stomach was grumbling.

Grandma was on a call with an old friend from Kansas. She was sitting in the far corner near the pool table, talking quietly to her tablet. Every now and again she would laugh a little and it was a lovely sound.

At the moment she was talking about Alan and what he did yesterday in orbit. The pride in her voice was blatant and Virgil found himself smiling.

The same fully-qualified astronaut squawked on the other side of the room as Gordon flew a paper plane made out of a playing card into Alan’s hair.

Virgil rolled his eyes. He knew it couldn’t last.

A hand landed gently on his shoulder as a long arm wrapped around him. “Hey, whatcha doing?”

Virgil’s lips curled into another smile as Scott stepped up beside him, a bottle of beer in his hand. He appeared relaxed and there was a sparkle in his eyes reminiscent of the lightning that timed it perfectly to flash through the raindrops.

“Just enjoying the moment.”

His big brother glanced about the room as Alan flicked playing cards in Gordon’s face, Grandma laughed at her tablet, and John peered over the top of his book, frowning at the two youngest.

Scott turned back to Virgil and arched an eyebrow.

Virgil couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing.

The eyebrow dipped into a frown.

The laugh quietened into a fond smile as Virgil snaked an arm around his brother in return, leant his head against his shoulder, and went back to staring at the raindrops playing on the glass.

Just a beautiful moment.

-o-o-o-