Fanfics mostly

Frequently Asked Questions:

Q: Where can I find the prompts list?

A: @whumperless-whump-event on Tumblr.

Q: How are the prompts divided?

A: Each day has a "title" or a vague theme, followed by two tropes and one dialogue prompt.

Q: Can I use the title as a prompt?

A: Absolutely.

Q: Do I have to use all of the prompts?

A: Not at all.

Q: Can I use all the prompts?

A: Absolutely.

Q: If I'm writing a chronological story, can I swap days to fit the timeline?

A: Yes, just make sure you tag your days and prompts appropriately. If you're writing for day 6, but you post it on day 12, tag day 6, not day 12.

Q: Can I have early or late entries?

A: Yes. This is a very laid back event, and meant mainly to inspire lots of whumperless whump. It's not a strict writing challenge.

Q: Is there an Ao3 collection?

A: Yes! This year's collection is linked here. The parent collection also includes 2024 and 2025--make sure you select 2026.

Q: Can I write [insert anything here]?

A: Yes. However, this blog will not reblog certain topics (ex. nsfw or suicide), so please tag your works appropriately, so anyone can filter out anything they don't want to see.

Q: Can I use AI?

A: No.

Q: Can a whumper be included in the prompt fill?

A: The short answer is no. The long answer is that you cannot have the role of whumper in your prompt fill (aka: no whumper-on-whumpee); however, if the character you want to be a whumpee or a caretaker happens to be a whumper, then as long as they are not fulfilling the role of whumper, it's fine. Also, if there is a whumper, it must be totally impersonal and faceless. Here are some examples for clarification:

A character's drink is spiked at a party. OKAY: The whumper who spiked the drink is never mentioned and is completely faceless, and the story is directly about whumpee recovering. NOT WHUMPERLESS: The whumper who spiked the drink kidnaps the whumpee.

A character is left alone in a storm. OKAY: The character is stranded or lost. NOT WHUMPERLESS: Whumper tied them to a post and left them in the storm.

A character is mugged on the street. OKAY: The whumper is a stranger, faceless, and the focus is on Whumpee. NOT WHUMPERLESS: The whumper is a stalker and there to kidnap Whumpee.

All in all, if your goal is to fulfill the event, then try to avoid a whumper. If you're using the prompts elsewhere, then ignore this, but in the spirit of the event, no whumper roles please.

Q: How do I tag my posts?

A: Tag with #whumperless whump event, #wwevent 2026 and #wwevent day [x](Don't just tag wwe, that's wresting.) Make sure to tag the fill type (art, fic, music, etc) with #fic, #art, #et cetera. Then, tag triggers and content warnings. Please put these first in the tag order! It just makes it easier to reblog.

Q: How do I get reblogged?

A: Mention this blog in your post! It's the easiest way for me to find you. Otherwise, I won't reblog it. (This also means if you do not want your post reblogged to the event, just don't mention the blog, and it'll stay private.)

Q: I disagree with something/have an issue with a prompt/want to address a problem. How should I do it?

A: Send me an ask and we can fix it. I am more than willing to work through any problems--I am human, and not without fault.

I think that's about it. That's a lot, so if you've got any other questions that aren't on the list, feel free to shoot me an ask. I'm happy to help!

Plain Text:

Like a Baby Seal to Water: Fishtailing / Near drowning / "I thought I was going to die."

Somebody's Gotta Do It: Unexpected caretaker / Touch starvation / "You don't have to hide from me."

A Lull in the Chaos: Bedside vigil / Checking vitals / "Can you… sing? Until I fall asleep?"

How Are You So Oblivious: Unknowingly feverish / Falling asleep at work / "Can you drink some water for me?"

Wilderness Experts: Poisoned / Caught in a trap / "I don't know where we are."

Down The Wrong Pipe: Choking / Seizures / "Call an ambulance, tell 'em they're not breathing."

Wrong Place, Wrong Time: Panic attack / Overstimulated / "Get me out of here."

Are You Sure This Is Normal: Natural disasters / Scared of thunder / "We're safe in here, okay? I think."

Dropping Like Flies: Multiple whumpees / Caretaking while sick or injured / "I'll get some rest soon, I promise."

A Warm Welcome: Coming home from the hospital / Cuddle piles / "You scared me so badly…"

Bodily Betrayal: Stomach sick / Carried to bed / "…Yeah. I can call in sick for you."

You Make Me Lose My Breath: Wheezing / Altitude sickness / "You're not making sense."

Waking In A Cold Sweat: Midnight hospital visit / Allergic reaction / "I thought you were getting better."

The Final Straw: Grief / Mental breakdown / "You don't need to be okay right now."

Caught Off-Kilter: Earthquake / Claustrophobia / "We're here! Help!"

Listen Very Carefully: Medic whumpee / Coaching through first aid / "I'm going to scream. You have to keep going."

We All Make Mistakes: Injury while cooking / Soft wound tending / "Let me take care of you this time."

Losing Your Sealegs: Too dizzy to stand / Motion sickness / "Can… can we pull over?"

Out of This World: Magical exhaustion / Cursed / "We'll fix this, I promise."

Here Comes Bad News: Scary diagnosis / Distress calls / "I'll be right here the whole time."

Hold Your Tongue: Fighting with a friend / Parting words regret / "I'm sorry, I'm just… not thinking right."

Oh So Inconvenient: Trapped inside by weather / Worsening infection / "I didn't know where else to go."

All Hands On Deck: Multiple caretakers / Travelling while injured / "Hold on a little longer."

Uncharacteristic Behavior: Clinginess / Falling asleep on Caretaker / "Are you… feeling okay?"

Respiratory Distress: Coughing up blood / Sick and injured / "Don't make me laugh, it hurts."

In Hot Water: Hurt while on the run / Bystander caretaker / "You can turn me in. Just help them. Please."

Break the Surface: Coma / Retrograde Amnesia / "You were in an accident."

When The Night's Out To Get You: Nightmares / Chronic insomnia / "I'll stay awake, you can sleep."

Too Hot (Hot Damn): Wildfire / Heatstroke / "This isn't how I thought tonight would go."

Don't Lose Your Head: Inexperienced caretaker / Severe concussion / "I don't know what to do."

With a Little Help (From My Friends): Waking a caretaker for help / Delirious confession / "Why didn't you say something?"

Alternative Prompts:

Last Chances: Scouting for a healer / Field medicine / "You can scream. It's safe now."

Literally Biting You: Animal attack / Venom / "Someone get a medic!"

Tick Tock: Losing track of time / Dissociating / "Look at me, please. There you go."

That's a Lot of Blood: Hypovolemic shock / Nosebleeds / "Please don't pass out on me."

Even Gordon had been a little put out by Penny’s insistence but she stuck to her guns and now Scott and Penny were on a train travelling through Europe on a train with various security services in attendance and quite a target.

A target for all kinds of terrorist organisations and for her uncle.

If her Uncle got his hands on Scott…

She paused at the desk and jabbed at the comm button. Again.

‘Anything, John?’ ‘Not in the 90 seconds since you last asked.’

Kayo sighed and resumed pacing faster.

~

In the carriage set aside for Penny she and Scott were deep in conversation about the variety of delegates present.

‘So we have Spectrum, WASP and the GDF represented.’ ‘Yes. There were a few people there I didn’t recognise but I noticed you did.’ ‘I did, Scott. From several intelligence agencies as a matter of fact.’ ‘Anyone we need to take a closer look at?’ ‘There’s only one person I have no knowledge of. I’ve already put some feelers out on Captain Foster. I can’t put my finger on it but there’s something odd about her.’ ‘Fair enough. Are we going to ask John to look into her?’ ‘Parker is looking, if he doesn’t turn up anything then we’ll ask John. Now, have you seen who Colonel Gray and Commander Shore have brought with them?’ ‘Yes. I know Atlanta, obviously, but I don’t know the Colour Captain with Charles.’ ‘Two. Two Colour Captains, if I’m not mistaken. One with the Colonel and one in the background.’ ‘Makes sense. I didn’t see anyone else from WASP I know but Unc…Sam Shore will probably have someone else here. In fact, almost everyone seems to have two escorts.’

Penny nodded. They had been over everything in depth. It was time to retire for the night and start again in the morning. They’d agreed to talk to John in the morning before breakfast.

With a hug and forehead kiss Scott left Penny for his own bunk.

~

‘Well, Dad, what do your sea legs say?’

Shore laughed. He always appreciated his daughter’s wicked sense of humour, and Atlanta wielded that power ruthlessly whenever he needed it.

‘This is an odd assortment of people our World President has invited onto this train.’ ‘I agree.’ ‘I’m sure that you’ve seen our mutual friends?’ ‘I have. Haven’t had the chance to talk to either of them yet but I intend to talk to Scott before we leave.’ ‘Good. We should have him and his brothers over once this is done.’ ‘I’d like that, Dad.’

Sam grinned impishly.

‘I’ll make sure Troy isn’t anywhere around…’

It was Atlanta’s turn to laugh. She kissed her father goodnight.

~

Weston sighed.

Seeing Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward had thrown him. FAB and WIN had a fractious relationship. Ostentatiously they operated in the same circles but they didn’t work well together.

President Younger had thought about folding both agencies into the GDF but had been persuaded that keeping the peacekeeping force separate from the intelligence forces would be better. It hadn’t stopped him from snapping up certain officers from all agencies into the new one he set up, creating lasting animosity from all agencies towards Spectrum.

Sam himself was a little…jealous. He’d have loved to have been asked to move to Spectrum but he had not been selected. Unlike everyone else Weston had not brought a co-worker with him. He hadn’t felt the need to and his boss hadn’t offered.

Now he knew why.

He wasn’t really here to represent WIN. He was here to support the Lady. She’d once been head of FAB at a very young age. Not many knew that but he did. WIN did.

So he read through his notes and put them away and went to bed.

If Lady Penelope wanted to share intel with him she knew where he was.

~

Val Casey pinched her nose to try and ease the growing tension headache.

Rigby had given her a concise report of all the delegates and Foster had agreed with everything he’d said but, while there was no one untoward on the train, she worried.

There was so much that could go wrong…

Eventually she called it a night and sent Rigby and Foster to their own sleeping quarters before rereading all the notes and finally settling down for the night.

Something was going to go wrong. She could feel it.

~

Rigby went straight to sleep in the top bunk but Foster lay back, hands under her head. She grinned and waited for her bunkmate’s snoring to even out before soundlessly getting up.

This was going to be…lucrative.

~

Captains Ochre and Blue had delivered their reports and Charles had dismissed them for the night. Or should he say early morning…

It was closer to two in the morning and Charles was feeling restless. They had been told that they had the run of the main carriages but not the personal ones – which was fair enough and a rule Charles was thankful for – so he made his way through to the dining car. There was tea and coffee available in their quarters but Charles was craving something different, sweeter.

Something to help him sleep. He shouldn’t really be going where he was without letting his Captains know, but for some reason Charles needed to be there.

When he entered the dining car he wasn’t really surprised to see someone else already sitting at the bar nursing exactly what he was after. He sat down beside the man.

‘Uncle Charlie.’ ‘Scooter.’ ‘Ha. I forgot you used to call me that.’ ‘I think it’s about time you called me Charles, Scott. You have more than earned the right.’ ‘I’d like that, Charles. Thank you.’ ‘What can I get you, Sir?’ ‘I’ll have a hot chocolate too, please.’

The waiter placed a tall glass of hot chocolate on the counter and discreetly withdrew.

The two men didn’t say anything for a moment, just took a sip and put their glasses down in unison.

And turned when a third person entered the carriage.

Captain Foster cursed the presence of Colonel White and Scott Tracy – trust those two to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were spoiling her plans! But she couldn’t very well carry on now – they would be suspicious if she did. So she nodded to them, asked the waiter for a bottle of sparkling water and returned the way she had come. There would be plenty of time to do what she had planned…

Scott frowned as the Captain left and opened his mouth to say something when the train started shaking more than a top-of-the-range train should do…

But before he could hit his comm to call John the lights went out and they were both thrown to the floor.

~

‘John!’ ‘EOS?’ ‘There has been an earthquake.’

John’s fingers flew as he pulled up the data, paling when he saw what…or rather where this was happening. He hit the emergency klaxon and was gratified as always when his brothers and sister were ready and waiting in seconds.

‘Guys, we have a situation.’ ‘What is it, John?’ ‘Earthquake in Switzerland. The Alps to be exact.’ ‘The Alps…’ ‘Yes. The train that Scott is on is in the epicentre of the quake. EOS is trying to raise him but by my calculations they would be in the Gotthard Base Tunnel and that alone would create communication difficulties without the earthquake.’ ‘How large is it?’ ‘As earthquakes go it isn’t the biggest but it has combined with extra snowfall after a wet summer…Alan, you have One.’ ‘FAB. We’re on our way, John. Keep trying to get through to Scott. Thunderbirds are go.’

It took One less than an hour to get to the epicentre. It was an hour too long.

Alan circled the area, taking aerial images for Five and Two, and he had a lump in his throat the entire time.

Where the mountainside should be, where the Gotthard tunnel ran through…was just a pile of debris and snow.

The flight to Tracy Island was blessedly uneventful, and the family were mostly silent as they contemplated how much their lives had just changed in less than a week. The SPJ was brought in to gently land on Two’s runway and International Rescue were exceedingly grateful that when everything was offloaded and stacked under a palm tree, Scarlet announced “we’ll help get this inside, then Blue and I are going to Auckland to take care of some things. We’ll be back in four days with your exit paperwork and to start collecting anything you’ve found.” 

“Thank you, Paul.” Scott hoisted the first of the bags into his arms and turned towards the massive rock wall that hid Two’s hangar. “C’mon, we’ll give you guys the nickel tour when you come back, but the civvie hangar is this way, it connects up to Two’s and that hangar’s got the cargo lift. Easiest way into the house from here.” 

“S.I.G.” Blue nodded, striding forward and seizing a box that Virgil was reaching for. “Nuh uh, you’ve got all that to deal with,” he said, nodding towards the corner of the Villa that could just be seen peeking over the rugged landscape. “Let us help with this.” 

“...yeah, okay.” Though his first instinct was to get stuck in and start hauling, Virgil capitulated without argument. He hated to admit it, but even though he felt so much better for having had an enforced rest, he needed to ration himself. They had a great deal of work ahead of them.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Alan grinned sharply as he came up to corner his older brother, “I’m gonna make sure he sits this out.” A turn of his head and a loud “that means you too!” was aimed at John, mid-reach for a bag and just as reluctant to let others shoulder the burden in front of him, but the youngest Tracy was not one to be deterred.

While Alan made sure John and Virgil rested as much as possible, the others moved everything into Two’s hangar and in short order they had the large freight elevator loaded with Gordon and Scott’s belongings. 

That task completed, while Adam warmed up the SPJ for the next leg of their journey, Paul went looking for Scott - he needed to sort out some final details. Ducking back into the cool dark of Two’s hangar, Paul came around the corner of a massive storage module and froze in its shadow. 

Near the wall of the hangar stood Scott and Kayo in an embrace. She brought her hand up to cup his face but he captured it and placed a kiss on her palm with an expression of such rapturous joy, that Paul would have been less embarrassed if he’d found them naked. He was never so glad of his stealth skills as he slipped back into the lee of the module. He leaned back against the metal, pleased beyond words that he hadn’t disturbed a very private moment between the couple.

Wait, couple? He thought back to every interaction he’d witnessed between Scott and Kayo. Scott kissing Kayo’s hair in the kitchen. How more times than not they ended up sitting together, or had just a bit more contact than was strictly necessary. How Scott teased and flirted with the Angels but how it never went beyond the lightest of those. Kayo’s reactions to anything that could or did injure Scott. He also remembered Gordon saying, ‘He’s only got eyes for one woman and Symphony’s not her.’

Paul mentally kicked himself, the clues had all been there but he hadn’t put them together. They were very good at hiding in plain sight. Paul’s heart also ached a little for them. How many years had they needed to keep to the shadows? How much time had they been denied because of Jeff Tracy and his selfish, self-centered evil? If the man wasn’t already dead, and in one of the most ignoble ways possible, this might have been the last straw to shatter the chains Paul kept on himself to be a good person.

He crouched down to peer around the module’s edge. The couple was still in an embrace, eyes closed as they just got to be in each other’s arms. Paul slipped back, he and Dianne had probably worn that same look a few times. They did make a wonderful couple, just on the visual aspect alone. They fitted together like stones of the Great Pyramid; with great precision and nearly seamlessly. As Thunderbirds One and Shadow, they’d saved countless people and even the world several times. 

‘I’ll leave them to it,’ he decided, and slipped away as quietly as he’d arrived. His question could wait and they could sort out the rest later. This moment was much, much more important.

T H U N D E R F A L L 

Not long after, the SPJ was a diminishing speck amidst the fragments of clouds and the eight of them were gathered in Two’s hangar. 

A pause to gather strength, to take that deep breath before the proverbial plunge, and Scott set his shoulders. “Let’s do this.” 

With Scott in the lead and Gordon bringing up the tail, they ascended through the levels of the house. 

They filed through the back area of the hangar and the workshops, past half-finished projects waiting patiently on benches and tables for the return of the person responsible for them. Up the internal stairs that opened into the lowest level of the Villa and into the kitchen, where flies buzzed over cups left abandoned in the sink and someone’s half-eaten breakfast. A final climb up the last set of stairs and they were into the lounge, where they gathered in a loose huddle, silent as they surveyed the sun-drenched room that so much of their lives had revolved around.

Alan was the one to break the silence.

“Huh… it’s like I never left,” he commented, “aside from, well, y’know, that.” He waved towards the wall of agent portraits. 

The statement was made casually, but something about it made everyone suddenly stop and look at their surroundings with new eyes. 

Ever since the Zero-X mission the main areas of the villa had remained frozen in time, a tableau preserved in a waxen, museum-like state. This was the way that he had liked things, and because this was the way that he had liked it, it was the way it was going to stay. When they’d found the message in the Calypso data it’d reinforced their decision as the correct one to make, and everything was kept as it was in anticipation of him coming back to reclaim his rightful place in their lives.

But now…now he wasn’t going to come back. Ever.

Scott was the first one to move. 

Striding around the conversation pit and over to the desk, he picked up one of the books stacked on the corner: an original, signed copy of ‘The Art of the Deal’, left where that man had put it down. Looking thoughtful, he weighed it in his hand, then turned to the group.

“I’ve always hated this book, but before… all I could do was put it away.” Scott looked down at the book, then up at his family, and this time his expression was one of resolve. “Now… now I can get rid of it.”   

The announcement… the revelation…  it had them look at each other, then at the room around them, tallying up all of the items that they only had because he had wanted them there - books, decorations, furniture - the stamp marks of his personality, his ownership of their shared space.

Things could change now.

Things would change.

From this moment on things were going to be different.

“Y’know what would be nice tonight?” Gordon asked the group. “A bonfire at the beach.” 

“Fire is a cleanser,” was Kayo’s comment as she lithely turned. “I’ll find some boxes.” 

“I’ll start weeding the bookcases,” Alan volunteered. 

Brains marched up to the desk with a certain determination in his eye, MAX trundling up behind him. “M-MAX, m-my tools, please.” 

“What about the bedroom and office?” John asked. “And there’s Lee’s things to deal with too.”

“I’ll handle the bedroom and office, that’s the priority task,” Scott decided as he picked up the other books and put them on the floor, out of Brains’ way. “Brains, set aside anything you and MAX find in a secret compartment or something.” 

The ‘R.A.D’ was a distracted one as Brains hunted out the right screwdriver. 

“We’ll handle the bedroom and office,” Gordon corrected him, gesturing at Scott, himself and John. “You’re not tackling that by yourself.”

“I’ll pack up Lee’s room,” Virgil said. He started heading off, stopped, and turned back to the wall of portraits. “...actually, I need to do something first. Brains, can I borrow a Phillips #3? John, can you go get…?”

The astronaut was already striding off. “F.A.B.”  

“C-catch!” The tool was lobbed across the room and everyone paused to watch as Virgil snatched the tool out of the air and set to unscrewing the frame holding Jeff’s portrait to the wall. Disconnecting the projector and wiring behind the picture was simplicity in itself, but the soft thud as Virgil set it down had a note of finality that no one expected, an underline to the statement that reinforced what they knew: Jefferson Grant Tracy really was gone, and he was never coming back. When John returned with Scott, Gordon, Kayo and Alan’s portraits and Penelope’s small picture in his arms, that point was underscored again. 

Jeff Tracy was gone, but the gaping hole left by his previous absence had already been filled. 

While John placed Penelope’s picture back where it belonged, Virgil attended to the wall portraits. Three deft movements got the projector hooked up to the back of Scott’s portrait, then, with John’s help to hold the frame just so, it was fixed back where it belonged. For now  Gordon’s portrait was attached to the left, where Kyrano’s used to hang, and Kayo’s was hung beside it. The projectors and wiring would come later. A few steps to the right and Lee’s portrait was removed, swapped out for Alan. “I’m gonna rearrange everyone and update this one later,” Virgil said as he stepped back from Alan’s picture and dusted off his hands, the screwdriver tucked into his back pocket, “but this looks just fine for now.” 

“I agree.” John placed one hand on Virgil’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Gordon said, waving down towards the office. “We’ll start there.” 

T H U N D E R F A L L 

After gathering up a number of boxes, totes, and crates, the three of them stood in the doorway of the office for a moment to let feelings and memories crash over and through them like a wave at high tide. The office itself was slightly disorganized, reflecting how rapid the decampment had been, but like the rest of the house, it’d barely changed from the day it’d been first set up. 

Gordon wrinkled his nose as the faint hint of vetiver and bergamot that tickled it. "Blergh. We're going to have to take this place down to the studs to get that smell out." He strode forward with all the authority of a colour officer of Spectrum and dropped his arm load of unbuilt boxes on the high end office chair that had been one of his first purchases when he returned. 

It was enough to shake Scott and John out of their reverie. "We need to do this systematically," John said crisply. "A group for iR, a group for TI, one for personal stuff, and - "

"One for Spectrum." Scott set his arm load down by the door and assembled a box with a few flicks of his wrists. "Five, please sort through the computer files. Make sure there are no little surprises waiting for the unwary. Xanthic take the bookcases and any physical files, I'll work on the desk itself. Keep an eye out for hidden compartments. The colonel told me that Copper found several in the CEO's office and in the penthouse." "Well, I know of at least one." John went over to a low bookcase, put his hand inside it, and looked satisfied at a barely there 'click'. Then he pulled open a hidden compartment in the side and removed a sheaf of papers. "How the HELL did you know about that?" Gordon just stared. 

John set the papers down on the desk. "Virgil and I did our best to get as much information as we could to Spectrum." Scott wrapped his nearest brother into a hug. He had some suspicions about what the two of them might have gone through, but he was afraid to ask. With everything they’d already gone though, he wasn’t sure about his ability to carry the weight of any more of UnNamed’s sins right now.

Though it was with regret, John pulled free after a moment. Melting into the hug would have been so nice, but it would just keep things from progressing. "Let's get to work." 

They set to their task, though Gordon did open the one window and switched the fan to ‘high’ to help air the room out before he tackled his section. They worked in the easy quiet of people who had worked together for a long time, broken only by the 'hmm', 'oh', the occasional swear word, and sounds of boxes being assembled and labeled.

"Uh…guys?" Gordon was kneeling next to the low banquette that doubled as a bar and filing cabinet, a thick sheaf of papers in his hands. "I think this is some of Mom's stuff."

"What!" John left the bookcase and Scott vaulted over the desk as the fastest route. They both looked over Gordon's shoulders at the incredibly precise printing of a technical engineer on the paper. Scott reached out and touched the words with a gentle finger. There were very few relics of their mother, mostly memories and vids. So something tangible, something she'd actually touched and used was even more special.

"Look at the date on this." John pointed. "This is from just before - "

"Just before she died." It was Cobalt that bit the words out. 

John picked the sheet up and narrowed his eyes at it. "Scott, can you check the math on this?"

For a moment Scott was both horrified and enraged that John would question anything their mother had done. Cobalt shoved that emotion to the back and took the paper to read the math. Then his eyes got wide, and he looked the equations over again. "They look right. I'd need to get with you, Virg, Brains, and EOS, but I think they're right. Why the HELL would he sit on this!?"

"Waiting for the right time to pull another rabbit out of the hat. He just got sent to the Oort Cloud first. I think he forgot it even existed." "Um, hello?” Gordon waved his hands at them. “Confused squid here, what are you talking about?" Scott placed the paper on the rest with reverence. "If the math is right, it's an improvement on the magnetic pinch bottle" 

Gordon's month opened and closed several times, then he shook his head, and looked at the amount of paper in his hands. "I wonder what else is in here." 

"That, little brother, is a very good question."

"And one that will have to wait until later." John straightened and rolled his neck, gravity still sucked. "I'll mark a box 'Mom' and put anything she did in it to look at later. We can't afford to get sidetracked." He looked over the state of the room, they’d made progress, but they still had a way to go. 

"Yeah, that's fair." Gordon aligned the paper with care. "But why keep it here? Why not in a firebox or something?" "Because UnNamed liked to gloat over his wins and trophies." Scott gave the desk a narrow look. "I'm going to get some tools and take that thing apart." He stalked out of the room. 

"Is he going to be okay?" John gazed after their brother. Gordon tapped on John's leg. "Box for this, please? As for being okay? None of us are okay. Well, maybe Sherbert is, but the rest of us aren't, but I think we might be on course to be okay, eventually." 

"When did you get so insightful?" John's mouth twitched in amusement.

"Always have been. I just haven't needed to show it off before," he shrugged. "Well, not until Koala base and joining Spectrum. Now, I still need a box for this, so I can see what else is in here." 

"F.A.B!"

T H U N D E R F A L L 

They all knew that the purge of the house would be a matter of days or even weeks, not hours, as they dug through the accumulations of a lifetime and sifted their findings, but it was a start and already things looked different, and that was what they needed right now: something different, a fresh page to write the first chapter of their future on. 

After disassembling the desk (and finding a hidden cache in the process) Brains, MAX, and EOS set to unlocking the Thunderbirds and clearing their operating systems of any other unwelcome surprises. Virgil stripped Lee’s room of everything and dragged the mattress out into the hallway to be recycled later, then collared Alan and took him downstairs to clean up the kitchen and make enough food to see them through until daybreak. Their work resulted in a refrigerator full of sandwiches, wraps, bowls of fruit and yoghurt, and small dishes of cooked proteins, vegetables, and carbs that could be easily reheated and eaten as hunger set in. Cooling trays of cookies joined the prepared foods as Alan fixed up some sweet treats to fill in the edges, and Kayo joined John, Scott, and Gordon in clearing the office. When that was as empty as they could make it for now, they moved on to the bedroom, Virgil pitching in as well to help with the sorting and packing.

In the late afternoon, the high-pitched whine of a finely tuned engine heralded Grandma, her little purple jet alighting on the runway with practiced grace. She was welcomed with many hugs and would have been installed in a chair with a cup of tea but at her insistence she instead helped Brains and MAX move out of his ‘quarters’ near the lab and back into his room in the main Villa, then took armloads of bedding and other things to Kayo’s room - which had lain empty since she left - and to the spare rooms in the Round House to make up the beds there for Scott, Gordon and Alan. Wayne, Dosela, and Lee had been given the boys’ rooms and there would be a swap around and reshuffle of rooms when everything had been cleared out and cleansed, but the guest quarters would do for now. 

The sun was five knuckles above the horizon when the family at last began trekking down to the beach, each dropping their first load of burnable stuff next to the stack of firewood Gordon had started collecting from the forest below the villa before going back for more.

At the site picked for the bonfire, Kayo took advantage of a moment when it was just the two of them and put a hand on Scott's arm to keep him from leaving for more boxes. "Can I ask a favour?"

He took her hand and kissed it lightly. "For you, <beloved> anything within my power."

She grinned at him, they were both a little drunk with the idea that it didn't matter who saw them. She tugged his hand to her lips and returned the affection. "I want to borrow One."

He blinked at that. "Sure, but -" "I want to bring my Father here." Her eyes locked on the vee of his shirt. "He took wounds from him that I didn't find out until recently."

He used his free hand to nudge her chin up. "Of course, <beloved>." His thumb ran along her jaw. "Healing isn't a straight line, in anything." His smile was soft. "I'd be thrilled to see your Father again, he's been sorely missed."

“Thank you.” She kissed him, holding his face with both hands, then she was gone, bounding up towards the Villa as if she was afraid this chance would slip out of her fingers. Scott watched her go, and a few minutes later the island shook as the members of International had the rare opportunity to watch a launch of Thunderbird One from the outside.

Alan, who’d just come down with an armload of things to burn, turned to Scott, who was gazing after One with an unreadable expression. "If you're here, who's flying One?"

"Kayo. She's going to get her father."

A deep furrow appeared between Alan's eyebrows. "He left just after the Zero-X, didn't he?"

Scott nodded, finally turning away from trying to watch the now vanished One. "I thought it had something to do with guilt at the time - " he rubbed his face, "but now I'm not so sure."

"Huh." Alan looked around, counting heads and comparing the tally to the number of bedrooms they had. "Where are we going to put him? I mean, there's S.D.'s room -" "No!" Scott slashed a hand through the air. "I don't want anyone sleeping in there until we clean it. Too big a chance of nightmares."

"Or ghosts." Alan shivered in the sunlight."So have him bunk with us?"

Scott watched One's contrail get feathered by the trade winds. "Again no, that's where he and Kayo lived before UnNamed died. We can put him in Kayo's room and she can bunk with us."

"Bunk with you, you mean." Alan smirked.

Scott blanked his face as he fought down the ice cold punch to his heart. Then he took a deep breath. 'It's okay, it doesn't matter anymore. Not among family anyway. Good grief, this is going to be a hard habit to break.' "Only if she wants to. If not, I'll take the couch in the library."

Alan blinked at the bland acceptance, and tried re-route away from the planned brotherly teasing. "Sure your old bones can take that?"

'Brat. He wants to play hard ball, does he? Sorry beloved.' "Haven't had any complaints so far." He thumped Alan on the arm as the younger choked. "Com'n, let's make sure that her room is made up and ready to go."

“Yeah, yeah, fine, eugh.” Alan rolled his eyes and muttered something about ‘TMI’, and Scott chuckled and let it go as they both made their way back up to the house: his family was coming together once again. 

T H U N D E R F A L L 

Within the hour, the whole villa rumbled when the automatic sensors closed all the doors and windows as Thunderbird One made her way back into her hangar. It had been a long time since Scott had watched One land. A long time and probably the only one where he had not been in a drug induced haze. He dithered about whether to take the chute down and meet Kyrano at the unloading platform or wait until he and Kayo came up, shifting towards and away from the chute until Grandma threatened to sit on him. "Give him a chance to breathe,” a firm look accompanied the order, “I suspect this isn't easy for him either." "Yes'm." Lacking anything else to do, Scott started cleaning up the mess from taking things apart and pulling books.  So engrossed in sweeping, that the soft 'thunk' of the seats coming back to position startled him. He set aside the broom, turned, and slammed every mask up he had. He hadn't seen Kyrano in over ten years, yet the older man was unchanged in Scott's memory. The man in front of him now was very different. The grey and black hair was now fully silver and went very well with the ultra formal long sleeved shirt and pants in emerald with a brilliant silver wrap around his waist that reached past his knees. 

"Selamat petang Kyrano, saya gembira dapat berjumpa dengan anda lagi." Scott bowed his head, it wasn't necessary, but it felt right.

"I am happy to see you as well, Mister Scott." He took a step forward and looked around. "There have been many changes since we last met."

"Scott is just fine, Kyrano." He held his hand out, but let it drop when he noticed the thick book in Kyrano's right hand. "A lot," he agreed, "and hopefully with more to come. Better, happier ones."

Kyrano inclined his head slightly. "We can but hope for that,  - Scott."

"Kyrano!" Grandma hurried up from the kitchen, wiping her hands. "It's so wonderful to see you again!" She enveloped him in a hug.

Scott circled around the other way to where Kayo was watching. "He's going to stay?" He nodded at the suitcase next to her leg. "Tonight and tomorrow. After that, he wants to go back." Her brow was furrowed.

"As long or as little as he wants." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you good?"

She sighed. "As good as I can be right now." She picked up the bag. "So, where do I take this?" "Your room. I was pretty sure he didn't want to deal with Gordon and Alan snoring." He took the bag from her. "Oh really." She raised an eyebrow at him, "And where will I sleep?" "My bed in the Round House, my presence is optional."

Her eyes gleamed as she stepped into his personal space. "You are never optional," and kissed him fiercely.

He returned the gesture, ignoring the pleased sound from Grandma, and looked at Kyrano. “I’ll take care of your bag, Kyrano.” 

“And I’ll take care of you!” Grandma stepped in before Kyrano could object. Taking his arm, she turned him towards the stairs. “Look at you! You look like you haven’t had a good meal in far too long, come along now.” 

Everyone could hear the faint smile in Kyrano’s voice as he graciously acquiesced to the fussing with a fond “Yes, Grandma Tracy,” and permitted himself to be guided down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

T H U N D E R F A L L

After having a decent meal from the stockpile of cooking that Alan and Virgil had done, Kyrano eventually freed himself from Grandma Tracy with the promise of sitting down to have tea and cookies outside. ('Not mine, for goodness sake, Alan has turned into quite the baker.') He headed out to the patio, only to pause, his gaze drawn to a faint path in the surrounding greenery. He slipped down it and looked over what had once been his refuge and joy.

The vegetables had vanished under the herbs and flowers that had been allowed to run riot. But he could still make out, or possibly remember, the paths between the beds. The ones that let him soothe his restless heart, for even a few moments, and soothe the grief that still pricked at him.

There was a soft scuff behind him and he smiled slightly at the caution he was still granted. "I'm sorry, Kyrano, I tried."

He brought his gaze to the slim profile that came to a stop next him. "I'm sure you did, Mister Gordon." He turned back to the once garden.

"Too many things and not enough hours in the day." Gordon's mouth twisted. 

"I am certain that Mister Tracy ensured that." Kyrano was also certain that Mister Gordon hadn't been around to tend to it either. Even in his exile, he'd tried to stay current on all things International Rescue. He had seen how busy these young men had been, and that was only what the media had been privy to. He was quite certain that the actual number of rescues was much, much higher.

"Heh, just wasn't him." Gordon rubbed the back of his head. "I let other things take precedence, I told myself I'd get to it 'sometime', but there was always something else." He kicked at the ground, shame staining his cheeks. "I did stay on top of the watering system though. Nothing died because of that."

"Then it is still a garden, it merely wants cleaning and repair to show its beauty again," Kyrano told him.

"There are a lot of things that need repairing, but we're working on that." 

Kyrano nodded. "The task of a lifetime, Mister Gordon." He turned to the younger man.

"You can stop with the 'Mister' stuff. That UnNamed's power trip. I'm just Gordon."

"Very well,  - Gordon." Kyrano inclined his head. "Your grandmother told me that there was a bonfire in the offing?" He hefted the book in his right hand. "I have something I wish to add to that." 

Gordon looked at the book for a moment, then Kyrano, and gave a sharp nod. "Down at the beach. Can I show you the way?"

"I would like that very much."

“Hey, Gordo, where are you?” 

Both of them turned in the direction of the call. Kyrano looked at the young man striding up the footpath and it took him far longer than it should have for him to realize that this was Master Alan. 

Gordon cracked a broad grin. "Hey Al! Look who showed up."

Blond brows knotted over piercing eyes in arctic blue, then they warmed to the blue of the summer sky. "Kyrano!"

Kyrano found himself lifted off his feet in an all-enveloping hug. "Oh! It is so good to see you again!"

He wrapped his free arm around broad shoulders to steady himself. "I would like to see you as well - Mister Alan." He was gently set down and found his face searched by those summer sky eyes.

"I wasn't Master Alan then, and I'm not Mister Alan now. I'll answer to Alan or Al, feel free to use either." 

"I will - Alan." He looked the younger man over. There were still hints of the boy, if you knew where to look, but he was much more a man. Part of Kyrano mourned for that boy, but he rejoiced for the man in front of him. This was a Tracy he would never have to worry about again. "Gordon was showing me to the beach. There have been many changes since I was last here." 

"I bet. John and Virg are on the beach, I'm sure they'll be glad to see you too." Alan marched back down the path. "You can keep an eye on them and make sure they aren't overworking."

Kyrano raised an eyebrow at that. The chances of keeping a Tracy from overworking were zero, but he followed along with Gordon at his side. 

Down at the beach, the last two Tracys were sorting through boxes and making piles of like items. "Guys! Look who Kayo brought back." 

Two heads, one red and one black, turned toward them and board grins broke out. "Kyrano!" was called out in happy voices.

Kyrano was glad of his own training at that moment. If he had not been told these men were John and Virgil, he would not have recognized either. His hand tightened on his shame as they both came forward. It would seem that Scott was not the only one to suffer from Mister Tracy's deliberate cruelty. 

"Oh, it's good to see you." Virgil came in for a hug.

Kyrano was sure the grip on his shame was white with the effort it took to control himself. Virgil was like holding a baby bird. "It is good to see you as well, Virgil." There, he was better about that. Once he had been let loose from Virgil, he held his hand out for John. Only to be pulled into another hug. He couldn't remember if he'd ever been hugged by John before. It was brief, but it would seem that he was not the only one learning new things. “Please,” he smiled as he found a spot alongside the brothers, “tell me how I can assist.” 

T H U N D E R F A L L

The sun was hovering over the horizon as the family finally gathered together on the rocky beach below the houses with the last of their burdens. A gentle breeze blew up from the sea, the tips of the waves were gilded with gold, and the sea birds shrilled and shrieked as they dipped and wove over those lapping waves. 

Picking a spot on the salt-crusted line that marked the highest of tides, Gordon immediately set to building a ‘log cabin’ of kindling and torn up paper while Scott, Virgil, and Alan stacked rocks to make a firepit. Bits of the desks, stacks of books, and boxes of papers, sheafs of newspaper clippings and printed articles, magazines, and other miscellanea waited in haphazard piles to be purged out of their lives. Grandma found herself a place to sit, using a flat rock as an impromptu table for a collection of thermos flasks of hot chocolate and coffee, and a small army of cups, and someone else had brought down some food, although no one felt particularly hungry right now. Everything was readied by the time the edge of the sun touched the horizon, but the finality of it all made everyone hesitate for a beat, a hesitancy that was broken as Alan girded himself and strode forward.

“We need a fire-starter.” Alan ignored the can of lighter fluid that MAX offered him and hunted through the boxes instead. He picked one out of the collection and pulled out the contents: roughly a dozen bottles of cologne, either gifts that he’d been given or indulgences he’d bought for himself. All expensive and oversized, for the most part they were familiar brands but the kind of product only made for the cream of society, made with details like semi-precious or precious stones, lead crystal, and actual gold embellishments. 

Alan selected a bottle at random and pulled off the ornate top, intending to pour it over the prepared wood, but found himself temporarily stymied by the limiter that kept the contents from gushing out of the mouth of the bottle when it was tipped over. That road block lasted only as long as it took him to pull the small folding knife from his pocket. He looked at it for a moment, his expression carefully blank, then shrugged, flicked it open, wedged the blade under the lip of the limiter and prised it off. When he poured the contents over the nest of paper, wood shavings, and the dense pieces of desk, the smell of it threatened to overwhelm them, but the breeze off the sea was just strong enough to keep the air relatively clear. One by one, the different bottles were emptied out and lined up beside the firepit like a row of silent sentinels, and the resulting stink from the combined scents was almost a physical presence. 

It was a pretty decent metaphor for the man they were here to expunge from their lives. 

“Good idea,” Gordon said when it was all done. “Scott?” He dug into his pocket and produced one of the long-necked lighters they kept for the BBQ. 

“Yeah.” His eyes on the prepared bonfire, Scott reached out and accepted the device, his fingers closing around the handle with deliberate intent. Three steps got his back to the wind to shield the flame and he crouched down well clear of it - Alan had just poured a lot of ethanol on a lot of flammable material. A stretch had the nozzle of the lighter in amidst the crumpled paper. One click of the trigger, two clicks, then the flame sprung out of the end and immediately caught the fumes with a soft ‘whoomph’. Blue fire immediately started dancing over the offered kindling, the smell burned away into smoke, paper blackened and crackled, wood shavings became rimed with orange embers that left trails of charcoal, then the fire caught properly as the twigs and branches gave in to entropy accelerated by energy. A couple of bigger chunks of wood, another section of desk, then the bonfire was burning well. 

Gordon stepped up first, a piece of fabric clutched in his fist. Scott immediately recognised the pink flamingo shirt that he’d worn sometimes, especially when he was playing the part of ‘goofy dad out to lovingly embarrass his kids’. Three quick movements got it knotted into a ball, a good squirt of lighter fluid ensured it’d be destroyed, and a toss got it launched into the hottest part of the fire to quickly be crisped away into ashes and smoke. 

Moving with a level of care because of the lingering injuries from his emergency landing, his overall condition, and pushing himself with the work of the day, John sat down on a convenient rock and dragged over a medium-sized box. With a certain clinical detachment, he started pulling out certificates, awards, commendations, diplomas, newspaper and magazine articles and covers, printed photos of him with persons of note, programs from conferences where he’d been a keynote speaker, the lists of achievements and accolades he’d received, and all the other things he’d used to illustrate how wonderful he was. One by one, John very deliberately twisted and crumpled those things between his long fingers and tossed them into the bonfire to be erased from the physical record. 

He was only partway through the box when Alan sat down beside him with his own box: some of the cullings of the library and bookcases. This one had all the autobiographies,  handbooks, advice books, guidebooks, and how-tos that were well-thumbed by his hands, pages marked up with notes in the margins, and sections underlined or marked with faded highlighter. The noises of the night - the shh-shh of waves against the pebbled beach, the sea birds, the rustle of leaves, and the crackling fire - were punctuated by the sound of bindings ripping as Alan tore the paperbacks into manageable sections and used his knife to cut apart the hardcover books. The mangled chunks were silently stacked between himself and John for the elder to toss in once he’d emptied his box. Pebbles crunched under feet and wheels as Brains and MAX came up to flank the two astronauts and help them toss those chunks into the flames.

On the other side of the fire, Virgil stared down at three boxes and their contents for a long moment, his hands clenching and unclenching. These boxes were full of mementos. Little carvings, paintings, pictures, and figurines from markets and gift shops across the world, collected on the trips he’d taken them on to maintain the fiction of a happy, healthy family life. Artworks that had been gifted to him. Knickknacks, curios and other things that had caught his eye as items worthy of decorating the spaces he lived in. There were a lot more of course, but these were the ones that could be burned. The rest - jewellery, shells, minerals, clothing, anything ceramic or porcelain - was either consigned to being recycled or boxed away to deal with later. A lot of it had monetary value, if not for the materials themselves then for the work put into them by artisans and masters of their craft, but they were all contaminated by being valued by him. 

A reach into the closest box and Virgil pulled out a rosewood statuette of a bald eagle on a branch, staring out into the distance with a fierce eye. The length of his forearm, it was beautiful, finely made and detailed, but it had been made for him, and him alone. Virgil crouched, stretched out and placed it into the fire to be consumed, using a handy stick of driftwood to push it deep into the orange embers. 

There was a small lull in the items being fed to the fire as new boxes were brought forward, it was into this that Kyrano stepped. The firelight cast shadows on his face, hiding the emotions as he looked at the book in his hands. Kayo moved to stand next to him, her hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and threw the book into the heart of the blaze with startling violence, where it landed with a shower of sparks that danced in the updraft. Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and watched as the flames consumed this offering. 

Piece by piece, the boxes were emptied, and the dancing firelight pushed back the darkness of the deepening night. The moon was high in the sky by the time the last box was stacked with the rest, ready to be filled again, and the fire had started to ebb on its bed of ashes and coals.  

Virgil stared into the flames for a long minute, then picked up something from beside his spot, got up with a grunt of effort, and brought it over to where Scott was standing with his arm looped around Kayo’s waist. 

“You should be the one to burn this.” Virgil said as he handed the item to the eldest: the two agent portraits, already stripped from the stretchers that used to hold them taut and rolled up into a tube. 

It was inside out and it looked bigger and felt thicker and heavier than he expected, so Scott uncurled it a little and took a quick peek before rolling it back up. It wasn’t just the two expected wall portraits, it was also the oversized, half-finished portrait that Virgil had been working on while they were testing Brains’ T-drive engine. 

“Yeah… I should…” Holding the paintings in both hands, Scott stood beside the fire for a long moment. 

This was, in a very real sense, a funeral pyre for the man that their father should have been, the man he wanted the world to think he was: the loving husband, the doting father, the brilliant designer, the intrepid adventurer, the canny businessman, the selfless philanthropist. ‘And that’s what I’m going to mourn,” Scott decided, “what could have been, what should have been, but wasn’t. It wasn’t my fault. I was a kid. He was the adult. He chose to do those things to me and to Mom and to everyone else. He had so many chances to not do those things, to actually be what he wanted the world to think he was. But every time he chose to not be that man. I choose to be better.’ With that, Scott crouched down, shoved the roll into the hottest part of the embers, picked up the last piece of the desk, and used it to weigh down the canvases so they wouldn’t unfurl. That task done, he stood up and stepped back, silently curling his arm around Kayo’s shoulders as they watched it burn.

The fire pounced on the new source of fuel, greedily consuming the oil paint, linseed, and cotton. A tongue of fire shot out of the end like a candle, casting a bright light over everything. The canvases steadily blackened and cracked over the next handful of minutes, charring and burning down into foul-smelling smoke and delicate ashes, then the chunk of desk caught fire too, ensuring that no trace remained of the images, only memories that could now be put away and left to fade. 

“Well, that’s that then.” Grandma dusted off her hands as she stood. “Gordon, Alan, get the buckets and douse this, then we all need to get up to bed.” 

“I will take care of that,” Kyrano gently interjected. “You have all had a long and trying day, go and rest.” 

“Yeah… yeah, we will,” Scott nodded slowly. He half-turned, then turned back. “Kyrano… you’ll still be here in the morning? We’ve all missed you.” 

A beat, then a small smile creased the older man’s weathered face. “I will.” 

She gave him a look, or at least, tried to; it was somewhat undermined by the fact her cheek was still pressed to his jacket.

“Do not be smug.”

“Too late.”

“Mmh.” Her free hand smoothed over his lapel, slow and appreciative. “Very handsome.”

Gordon’s grin softened helplessly. It was unfair, really. Penelope sober could undo him with one glance but Penelope warm and affectionate and entirely without her usual defences thanks to a bottle of Château Margaux was a direct attack.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said.

She sighed. “I am spectacular.”

“You are.”

And yet,” Penelope continued, with great solemnity, “it is kind of you to notice.”

“Any time, your ladyship.” He tucked her closer as they walked. “Anyone ever told you that you’re dangerous after red wine?”

“Darling, I am dangerous before red wine.”

“Fair point. More dangerous when wine drunk.”

Penelope let out a soft gasp, prodding at him with one perfectly manicured finger. “Gordon Tracy, how very dare you. A lady does not get drunk.”

It was difficult to keep the amusement out of the smirk he wore, the tease evident in it. She never missed a beat, even after several glasses of very good Bordeaux. “Alright, not drunk. Tipsy.”

“And just when I was about to say I liked you tonight,” Penelope huffed as she stepped around a puddle, causing Gordon to blink, then laugh, low and fond.

“You liked me tonight?”

“Very much., as it happens”

“Well, thank God for that, it might’ve been awkward otherwise. Any other nights or is this just a one off?”

“Occasionally.”

“High praise.”

“Do not become unbearable.”

“That ship sailed somewhere around ‘very handsome’.”

She hummed, conceding nothing, the sound soft against his sleeve. They walked a little farther beneath the wet glitter of the streetlights, the city folding itself around them, the world narrowing to the warmth of her beside him and the light pressure of her hand in his.

Then Penelope sighed, contented and unthinking.

“I like being loved by you.”

And that made Gordon stop.

Penelope took another half step before noticing, their joined hands pulled gently between them and she turned back, brows lifting in faint surprise.

“What?”

He stared at her, without a word.

The streetlight above them caught in the loosened strands of her hair, turning them pale gold. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and the cold, her eyes brighter than usual and entirely, ruinously honest and for a moment, he couldn’t find a single thing to say.

“Oh,” she said after a beat, reading him with unfair ease. “Was that one of the things I usually keep in my head?”

“Yeah,” Gordon managed. His voice had gone rougher than he meant it to. “I think so.”

Penelope looked down at their joined hands. “I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes.” She took a dignified breath, which would have been more convincing if she hadn’t then leaned very slightly into him. “The wine has betrayed me.”

“Right.”

“Darling, you are suddenly very quiet.”

“Pen, you can’t just say a thing like that and not expect a guy to take a minute.”

“What? That I like being loved by you?”

His throat tightened.

“Yeah. That.”

“Yes. Well, it is the truth.” She leaned into his hand with an honesty she would probably be furious about in the morning. “It feels… safe. Which is irritating, because I have spent a great deal of time being perfectly capable without you.”

Gordon smiled, though it came out a little uneven.

“You’re terrifyingly capable without me. Probably more so.”

“I know.”

“Spectacular, even.”

“That too.”

She looked pleased for half a second, before her expression softened into something quieter.

“But,” Gordon prompted gently, and Penelope looked at him for a long moment.

“But I do rather like not having to be,” she said, “all the time.”

And there it was; the soft underbelly of the thing. Not weakness, never that - after all, Penelope had never been fragile, not in the ways people mistook for softness, not in the ways that mattered.

This was trust.

Offered without ceremony on a rain-bright London pavement after too much wine, her fingers warm in his, her pride softened but not gone, and Gordon felt it land somewhere deep in his chest.

Carefully, because some things deserved reverence even when they arrived disguised as tipsy honesty, he lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Well… I’m glad. That you feel that way.”

Penelope watched him do it, her eyes softening, before she gave a soft sigh.

“That was all very dramatic.”

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Too much?”

“No.” She considered this with great seriousness. “Appropriate, I think.”

“Good to know.”

“Possibly even charming.”

“Possibly?”

His moment of meditation was cut short though.

“How the hell did that get there?” He sat up with a jolt, causing the chair to flip forward. There on what should have been a pristine glass ceiling, maintained by a small army of external cleaning bots, was a bright yellow. Scott squinted to be sure, but there was absolutely no mistaking it.

Leaning down to grab an orange off the end of a sun lounger, tossing it up in the air and catching it once before launching it at the splash of colour darting the length of the pool. There was a “plunk” noise and the sun kissed head disappeared under the water. Scott would have been concerned if the same head hadn’t bobbed back up almost instantly like a cork from a bottle. 

“What was that for?” a waterlogged voice asked, not exactly offended, more a request for clarification. A cynical soul would suggest that he was trying to find out exactly which particular crime he was currently being tried for.

Scott simply pointed to the sloping roof of the main living area.

Gordon wiped the wet hair away from his face and peered up at the roofline.

“Huh?”

Another empathic pointing finger, now with added eyebrow raise.

Gordon doggy paddled over to the poolside, and crossed his arms over the sun warmed stone.

“Ok, so is it a book, a film, a song? How many syllables?”

Scott folded his arms.

“Maybe a TV show?”

“On the roof, Gordon, why is it on the roof?”

“Genuinely, I have zero clue what you are talking about right now. Are you feeling ok there bro? Is the stress getting to you? Not feeling dizzy or smelling burnt toast are you?”

Scott stopped abruptly in the middle of the hardwood floor, and pointed skyward.

“That!” he said, all punctuation audible.

Gordon shielded his eyes with one hand to peer upward, towel valiantly clasped at his waist with the other hand.

“Is that…?”

“Yes. And I want to know why!?” Scott had folded his arms again.

“Yeah, why is that up there?”

“Thats what I’d like to know!”

“Oh great, well, you know, let me know when you find out, cos that’s weird.”

“Gordon, they are your swim shorts, that’s why I am asking you! Why are they up there?”

“Me? Why would I put them up there?” Gordon gave Scott a blank look.

“I Don't Know! But it's hardly out of character.” Scott practically spat out between gritted teeth.

“That is derogatory stereotyping Scott, I’m surprised at you, I expected better!”

“Gordon….!” was all but growled.

“I promise you Scott, I have no idea how my trunks ended up on the roof.” Gordon held one palm up to underline his oath

Scott raised one doubting eyebrow.

“I Promise! But, if you’re offering to crack out the jet pack or the grapple packs to go up and investigate, I’d quite like them back, they’re my favorites. Thanks!” Gordon clapped Scott on the shoulder and strolled back to the pool.

It's a slow blur transition so watch patiently.😅