Beep Beep I'm a... Mareep?

“Not piranhas?” Blue asked curiously as he put a splash of milk into his cup. 

“That one's an urban myth.” 

“So why's it cruel to the hagfish, they're scavengers, aren't they?” Blue asked as he came back with his coffee. “UnNamed would be a perfect meal for them.” 

“UnNamed is so toxic he might give ‘em food poisoning,” was Ochre's answer, delivered with a tight grin. 

“We know he’s in contact with Bereznik, a treasonous action. We could always go for a traditional punishment for treason,” was Scarlet’s chilling suggestion. “Hanged, drawn and quartered.” 

“...do I want to know?” was Magenta’s wary question. 

“Hang him until he's half dead, cut him down and open his belly to draw out his innards, which may or may not involve putting his intestines on a brazier while he's still alive, castration, and/or cutting his heart out in front of him. When he's dead, quartering - chopping his body into pieces for display. The head goes on a pike over the city gates, then the torso is cut into four parts and the limbs are dispatched for display elsewhere.” 

Magenta shuddered. “Nasty. I like it, but is it nasty enough?” 

“We could stake him out on a fire ant nest,” Blue suggested. “I’ve been bitten by those before, that was nasty.” 

“Bullet ants are worse,” Grey opinioned. 

“Wasn’t it army ants in that old Indiana Jones movie?” Magenta asked, getting up to make himself another cup of coffee. “We could toss him to some of them.”

“Army ants don’t have nests in the ground, they bivouac in clusters,” Blue replied, once again a font of obscure knowledge. “Indiana’s an archaeologist, not an entomologist, he got it wrong.”  

Grey listened for a bit as the debate turned into a revisit of their favourite group topic of movies and their inconsistencies and errors, (with a comment of ‘wait, we don’t want to give fish food poisoning but we’re okay to give ants food poisoning?’ from Ochre), well pleased to hear that everyone was well on their way through processing the initial shock of the broadcast. He lingered a little longer, just to be sure everyone was more or less okay, then finished his coffee and put the cup in the dishwasher. 

He had a Guppy to find.   

T H U N D E R F A L L 

When he woke up, it took Brains a moment to remember where he was. 

Sleeping in was very unusual, a deviation from his usual routine, ‘But evidently I required a longer rest than my norm,’ Brains realised as he fumbled for his glasses, put them on and sat up, feeling several muscles protest movement after the rigours of the previous day. ‘Yesterday was… eventful.’ 

MAX was at his side instantly, trilling happily as he gave a general update on things and that breakfast would be delivered and what would he like to have?

“B-bagles, please, M-Max, toasted, with butter, and tea, English Breakfast with milk,” Brains said as he carefully got up and assessed his surroundings. He hadn’t really cared too much about the room when he’d been shown to it by… Captain Grey, yes, that was the right name, but he could see that it was comfortable, even luxurious. 

He pottered about the room - that was the only accurate term for it really - examining fixtures and features that he hadn’t had time or inclination to investigate when he’d arrived. A shower was accomplished, and MAX had kindly stored a full change of clothes for him in his back pod so he was able to dress while waiting for his laundry to be cleaned and returned to him, then he sat himself at the small table and… stopped. For the first time in… an extended amount of time… he did not have a list of tasks to complete, objectives to achieve, KPIs to maintain, and targets to meet. There were no alarms, no emergencies requiring his input and analysis. He could simply… be. The sensation was… unfamiliar. 

A chime at the intercom startled him out of his reverie. “Sir, breakfast,” an unfamiliar but cheery voice floated through the speaker. 

MAX responded before he could, whipping the short distance across the room to open the door and claim the tray, bringing it across with a happy trill and placing it before him. 

“T-thank you, MAX.” Brains smiled as he examined the contents of the tray and decided to start with the tea. It seemed to be sufficiently brewed so he poured it into the heavy, white ceramic mug and added a splash of milk. Picking it up with both hands, he let the warmth seep into his fingers, a pleasant sensation that was remarkably grounding and soothing as he permitted his mind to continue to drift. He had nothing driving him to jump from task to task, the opportunity to rest was one he was going to take full advantage of. It was unfamiliar, and the feeling of ‘missing something’ was threatening to become quite disconcerting… and that was when revelation struck and shifted all of his parameters.

“...oh…” Brains almost dropped the mug as his thoughts linked up into a cohesive whole, data points and information neatly slotting into place alongside experiences and memories. He could hear EOS’ voice in his ear as clear as that day all those years ago when she uttered the words ‘I feel a lack of urgency’. 

Just as clear was John’s huffed laugh as he replied ‘Me too, it’s called ‘relief’.’ 

Relief. 

He was no longer keeping an ear or eye on his surroundings, constantly attentive and attuned to the chirp of an email or incoming comms call, the sound of footsteps, smell of cologne, or other signs particular to an approaching Mister Tracy. He was no longer spending mental and emotional energy on watching his back, prepared to leap up with the appropriate expressions and phrases to welcome Mister Tracy and respond to whatever Mister Tracy’s emotional state was this time. He was no longer anticipating the man, readying himself to bend himself into whatever format was required to appease him.

Oh. This was what Mark had tried to impress on him all those months ago. 

His Fight, Flight, Freeze and Fawn response, carefully programmed and shaped to optimise his own survival, as all instincts were, was currently unneeded. 

Brains set down the mug before he could drop it and sank into the embrace of the chair, letting the softness of the padding and upholstery hold him up because the rest of him was not fit for the task. 

Closing his eyes, Brains ignored the tears of relief that rolled down his cheeks and let MAX shove his head under his hand, the faithful robot warbling softly in comfort and reassurance. 

He was free.

He was safe.  

T H U N D E R F A L L

‘Well, guess this is a new one to add to the list.’ Brad kept his footsteps on the louder side of things, not loud enough to be disruptive, but just enough to let his quarry know he was coming. He’d either called ahead or hunted through all the usual spots - the pool, the starboard observation tube, the Amber Room, and Guppy’s quarters - to finally track him down here, to the Chapel. It was mid morning and the light was slanting up, through the windows. Gordon was in his civvies, seated on the floor on the left side of the room, half-hidden by a potted fern. “Hey Guppy.” He kept his voice down as he sat beside the younger man and offered him one of the insulated cups he carried: bulletproof coffee. The perfect thing when you needed fuel but eating was too difficult. 

"Hey Salt." Gordon took the cup. "Thanks." He sniffed at the cup. "Oh… yeah, food." 

"Drink." "Yes'sir." Several long swallows later, he brought the cup down and turned back to the stunning vista outside the window. Brad waited, words were hard right now.. But after draining his own cup, he knew he had to make the first move. "Talk to me, Guppy." 

"About what? That I'm the get of a man that nearly killed two brothers and - " Fingers flexed on the cup. "And?"

"Made my youngest brother, my little brother, kill." 

“Deep waters there, Guppy.” Brad slowly rolled the now empty cup between his palms. “His sins are his, you know that, right?” 

Silence that burned like acid was the only answer, and he could feel Gordon hunching, pulling in on himself like a neutron star collapsing under its own weight. 

‘Oh… yeah, I’ve seen this before.’ Brad picked his next words with care. The only thing more destructive than the Tracy Temper was the Tracy Guilt. All directed inwards, silent and vicious, it would consume a Tracy from the inside out unless someone went in and pulled him out of that pit of his own making. “Regretting listening to Scott two years ago?” was what he settled on. 

The quiet was very deep before a small ‘yes’ was uttered. It felt apologetic, almost guilty, and soaked with pain that was years deep. 

"It wouldn't have changed anything."

Gordon seemed to pull even more inward. "I know that, or at least my head knows that. My heart… " he shook his head. "It's the Squirt. We've tried to keep him from making that choice, of being in the situation that he needed to make the choice in."

“And you did the best you could. You exhausted every option you had.” He nudged Gordon with his shoulder, a gentle, barely there touch. “You and your family kept him from having to make that choice for, what, twenty years? Considering who you’ve been up against, that’s an achievement all of its own.”  

Gordon snorted. "Well, the first five were the hardest." He drank more of the coffee. "It's not just that. It's - John and Virgil too. He nearly worked them both to death. And I'm pretty sure it was deliberate. Wayne and Dosela got time off, his pet lapdog got time off, but not John and sure as hell not Virg." There was a deep breath. "I ran away. I went with Scott and Alan, and I left them behind with UnNamed. I - I should have done something." 

“You were under enemy fire.” Brad kept his voice clinical, almost but not quite the elocution of an officer in a briefing. “Your vessel was holed and critical systems were down, you had to retreat and regroup, and they chose to stay on the beach. It’s an ugly truth, but they chose to stay there. If you’d run an evac in that moment, they’d have fought you, and in yours’ and Scott’s condition, they’d have dragged you under.” Brad put down his cup and slung an arm around Gordon’s shoulders. “They had to be ready to be rescued.” 

"I know. Head-heart thing again. John likes to say the impossible is always optional with us, but this time…" he sighed, "this time impossible wasn't." He leaned on the older man. "I keep telling myself that if I stayed I could have done something, but I'd be just as bad off as they were - are."

“Yup.” Brad held him, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath to fend off his own moments when he could have - should have - made a different choice, acted a little faster, said something else, done something differently. “Does it help to remember we’ve all got those moments? That you’re not the only one to have decisions you regret?” 

A bitter laugh. “Yeah. Brain knows it, but not the rest of me.” 

“Noted.” Brad gave Gordon’s shoulder a little squeeze. “So, does iR have a time machine somewhere down in the guts of the island?” 

"With Brains, anything is possible, but I don't think he's gotten into temporal physics. At least not yet." Gordon freed a hand to scrub at his face. "I get your point. Can't change the past, we can only affect the future. But - it's hard sometimes. Hell, it's hard most of the time. But when it's family, it's even harder." 

“Yup.” Brad paused to order his words. “So I’m betting you got the same spiel I did in the WASP spinal ward.” 

Gordon snorted. “Which spiel? There were like, six of them.” 

“At least.” Brad cracked a half-smile. “The ‘one at a time’ one.” 

“Oh yeah, that one.” Gordon let his head hang back and hit the wall with a muffled thud. “ ‘How do you eat an elephant seal? One bite at a time. How do you strengthen your body? One movement at a time. How do you move forward? One step at a time.’” 

“‘ How do you heal? One day at a time.’ ” Brad finished the litany they’d both heard time and again from the nurses, doctors, physios and specialists. “You’ve got lots of shoulders to lean on, you know that, right?” He reached over with his free hand to poke Gordon in the side. “That’s half the point of Koala, teaching a pack of half-wild, barely housebroken specialists from all across the world to lean on each other and to hold each other up.”

"Excuse you! Scott and I were fully housebroken." He straightened a little. "I know I've got shoulders, I'm talking to you, aren't I? It's still hard. Even if it's one bite at a time, some of those bites taste pretty bad." He let out a breath and seemed to uncurl without moving. "It's hard, it's nasty, but once it's done, it's done and you're on to the next bite and hopefully it's a better one." 

“Exactly.” Brad jerked a thumb to point behind them. “Like my Salt used to say, we can’t go back to fix the past. So we can either sit here and stew in it, or, ” he pointed in front of them, “we can go forwards. I’m not going to let you sit and stew in your misplaced Tracy Guilt, so I’m gonna drag you over that way until your family’s got things together enough to take over and keep dragging you along with them. Eventually, all of you dragging each other along will get you over this mountain and back into the sunlight.”

"Heh… It's more us dragging Scott, but yeah, we usually drag ourselves." He gave Brad a sideways look. "Sort of like all the Colour Captains. Yeah?"

“Exactly like that.” Brad sighed. “You weren’t here after the start of the War, but it was bad. If it wasn’t for the Old Man pointing us in the right direction and dragging us along with him, I think we might have imploded. But he got us moving and kept us moving until it became enough of a habit we were able to keep moving under our own steam. He’s good like that.” 

“Yeah, he is.” Gordon looked out at the clouds again. "So what's the course now?"

"We sit here, talk, and when you're ready, we go drag our brothers along with us." 

Gordon cracked a half-smile. It was weary and worn, but still a smile, and crucially it was one that touched his eyes. “That sounds like a good plan to me.” 

T H U N D E R F A L L 

Lying on the floor of their assigned guest quarters, Wayne stared at the ceiling and focused on his breathing as his phone buzzed for what seemed the millionth time. Beside him, Dosela was also sprawled on the floor and doing the same.

He and Dosela had watched the expose and spent a good half hour inventing swear words to distract themselves from the guilt of ‘how did we not see all of this?’. By mutual agreement they’d both put out the one message to their respective family/friends group chats to reassure the people who needed to know that they were okay. Dosela had been told about the ‘#IbelieveScottTracy’ tag by one of her cousins so they’d both reblogged it on their own, barely-used socials, then they hadn’t touched their phones since.   

“...so…” Dosela rolled her head over and looked at him. “Done enough moping?” 

“Yep.” Wayne had an idea of what was coming next and sat up with a grunt. “Phone calls?” 

“Phone calls, texts, emails, everything,” Dosela grinned as she lunged up and grabbed her phone before lying back down. “You’ve got the update for Colonel Casey?” 

“F.A.B.” Wayne had his phone in hand and was scrolling through the contact list, and he paused long enough to cant a sharp smile at Dosela. “Betcha the GDF gossip chain is worse than WASP’s.” 

Dosela was already typing up something and he could see enough to make out she was writing ‘#IbelieveScottTracy’ again. “Prove it, flyboy.” 

“Oh, I will.” 

T H U N D E R F A L L 

Alan woke up to the sound of two of his brothers' laughter. 

“Now that's one to remember!” Virgil chuckled. 

“I agree!” a woman answered him. 

Alan tensed and ran the numbers. He didn't recognise her voice, but they were on Cloudbase and Virgil and John were laughing. Odds were good she was on their side. 

“Three?” 

How on earth Virgil always knew when he wasn’t as asleep as he pretended to be, he’d never know. Since the jig was up, Alan cracked his eyes open, was glad the room was still pretty dim, and stretched as much as he could, squeezed in as he was between the space noodle and the family bear. He didn’t have as much room as last time, back at New Haven, but he still had too much room! A scrub of his face induced some wakefulness, and Alan quickly tallied up the contents of the room. Him, John and Virgil - who were still attached to IVs and ‘bot nurses - no Kayo, Scott or Gordon, and an older woman with a Gordon-esk fashion sense. 

“Hello,” she smiled at him. “I’m Doctor Orchid, the base psychologist.” 

“She’s been helping me with some stuff,” Virgil filled in the pertinent details. “She came to check in and learn some new swear words from Five. Xanthic, Shadow, and Cobalt should be back later.” 

“Hi.” Alan wormed his way up into a sitting position as he quickly tabulated the briefing and slotted Orchid into the web of people around them and where she fitted in the trust spectrum. Virgil trusted her enough to debrief with her, but she hadn’t been given names yet, so she was somewhere in the middle.  

Doctor Orchid, Cloud’s deep voice filled the room, there is an urgent call for you. 

“Thank you Cloud, I’ll take it in my office,” Orchid briskly nodded to the camera in the corner as she rose. “Two, when you are ready for a session, Cloud or one of the nurses can help you with a booking, but my schedule is very flexible - including zero-dark-thirty appointments - and the offer is open to all of you.”

“Will do, Doctor, thank you,” Virgil smiled back.  

“You’re welcome,” she replied, then opened the door and swept out with a rustle of her long skirt. 

“I like her,” was Alan’s softly voiced conclusion as he leaned into Virgil’s side. Both his brothers were still so underweight! ‘As soon as I get access to a kitchen, I’m making a feast,’ he decided. He was already planning the menu when the intercom chimed for attention.

“Hello, it’s Scarlet. I have nurse-approved contraband, may I come in?”   

John was the first to get to the intercom button on the wall beside his bed. “What’s the contraband?” 

“Whittaker’s specialty chocolate blocks, but not the coffee one sadly, that got taken off me and claimed as the nursing staff’s ‘cut’.” The captain mock t’sked. “I tell you, it’s downright criminal the percentage the nurses are taking to permit contraband for Medical’s inmates.”  

“Did you get the pear and honey one past them?” 

“I’ll have you know I had to wrestle James for it.” 

That got a soft laugh out of all three of them and a ‘come on in’. 

Scarlet was in uniform as he came inside and immediately handed a paper bag over to Virgil with the comment of “I’ll trust you with the distribution.” 

“Are you on duty?” Virgil asked as he rummaged around in the bag, found the pear and honey chocolate block and handed it over to John. 

“Yes, on standby,” Scarlet clarified. “The colonel prefers that we stay in our ready room, but as long as we can respond he doesn't mind us going for a little leg stretch.”

“Keeps you all from climbing the walls?” Alan guessed. 

“Indeed.” Scarlet gave him a quick smile. “Speaking of going for a leg stretch, Three, if you feel up to it, I can take you for a walk down to the Promenade garden after lunch. Five can attest to it being quite the lovely spot.” He looked at the older Tracy brothers. “If you two continue to behave and agree to hover chairs, I've secured permission to take you there after dinner, and you're welcome to come again as well, Three.” 

“How did you manage that?” John asked curiously. “Fawn's been pretty strict on keeping us here.” 

“I asked Burgundy, not Fawn,” Scarlet replied, then added, “I also traded three packets of speculaas biscuits and a promise of exemplary behaviour on my next stay. I know how the walls close in when you're stuck here.”

Alan glanced at his brothers, got their permission to venture out, then nodded to Scarlet. “Yeah, that'd be good,” he murmured in a quiet voice. “These okay to go outside in?” He plucked at his scrubs. 

“It will be fine, they’ve all seen me running around in the ugly scrubs Fawn puts me in when he thinks I’m going to be a flight risk.” Scarlet grinned, and the sheer impishness of the expression made Three’s mouth twitch in an involuntary flicker of a smile in return. 

There are suitable civilian clothes available at the base shop, if you prefer, Cloud helpfully suggested. 

“Perfect idea, Cloud,” Scarlet nodded to the camera in the corner. “Would you help Three with the order? It can go on my account, and I'll pick it up after lunch.” 

I will take care of the cost. I will also make the offer to the other Thunderbirds. Cloud declared. EOS, may I borrow your projector to assist Three with placing his order? 

Yes, you may, EOS replied, her icon blinking out to be replaced by an online order screen already set to ‘clothing’. 

“I’ll be back at 1330,” Scarlet told them, and ducked out to leave them to it. 

True to his word, he was back at half past one to deliver a paper shopping bag. The captain was off duty this time, wearing comfortably broken-in jeans, a red tee shirt with ‘In my defence I was left unsupervised’ across the front, and black gym shoes. After ducking into a patient bathroom with the bag, Alan came out in tan cargo pants, a black tee shirt, and blue sneakers. 

“Not my most fashionable outfit,” Alan tried to joke as he dumped the scrubs into a dirty linens bag, “but it's better than scrubs.” 

“Much better,” Paul nodded. “This way.” 

He shepherded Alan past the nurses’ station, had a quick word with them and promised to bring him back, then after picking up cups of hot chocolate from Medical's kitchen they were into the maze of hallways that threaded the base. 

When they approached the wide doors to the Promenade, Alan wasn't quite sure what to expect, this was a military base after all, and those weren't really known for their interior decorating. Headquarters yes, where all the higher-ups did their thing, but not the bases where the work got done.

He absolutely did not expect a lush, sun-drenched, sub-tropical garden.  

Flowering bromeliads were having a colouring competition with hibiscus bushes, the little white stars of jasmine perfumed the air, spindly yucca plants and snake plants stretched up to the high ceiling, climbing roses wove through trellis walls, and a dozen other plants spilled from planters, pots and garden beds. Clusters of chairs, loungers and benches were here and there, and the floor to ceiling windows gave him a perspective on the world that he hadn't seen in… far too long. 

“Quite the view, isn't it?” Paul asked, sounding well pleased with having pleasantly surprised him. 

“...it is.” The expanse outside pulled on him like a magnet and he leaned against the window frame to drink it in, slowly sipping from the warm cup in his hands as he let the drifting clouds draw his eyes and soothe the turmoil in his soul.

Alan was aware of Paul moving to sit on a chair between him and the door, guarding his back. It was something he appreciated in a way that he couldn't put into words just yet. His family would have been all over him - talking to him, fussing over him, holding him - but Paul was giving him space - both physical and emotional - and time to try and come to grips with things inside his own head. 

The mug was empty and the dregs were stone cold by the time he felt sort-of ready to talk to the older man, and a glance told Alan that Paul was still sitting there, his own empty cup in his hands, quietly waiting for him to make the next move.

Turning to face him, Alan gathered his words and the courage to use them. “Paul… can… can I talk to you about what happened at the Manor? Confidentially?” 

“Of course. Let’s go over here, it’s a good spot for confidential conversations.” Paul got up and waved him towards an out of the way spot in a corner, behind a trellis wall thick with yellow and white climbing roses. 

Once they were both settled on some floor cushions, Alan drew in a deep breath and began to speak. In halting words he made his report, describing the kitchen, the attack, and his own actions, and waited for judgement to be pronounced. Yeah, Scott said he'd keep loving him, but that was Scott. This was someone with a different perspective, someone who wasn't a brother, wasn’t family, and didn’t have an obligation to like him, much less love him. Paul was way more objective than his kin and not someone to beat around the bush. Whatever he’d say, whatever judgement he pronounced… Alan knew he could trust it.

Scarlet put his cup down and sat up straight, giving his answer due consideration. “I think,” he said at last, “you made the only choice you could live with. Don't forget, everyone else had made their choices as well. UnNamed decided to put out the job. The mercenary boss accepted the job. The first wave of mercenaries chose to make their attack, and they chose to kick Sherbet along the way. The second wave of mercenaries chose to press on despite two of their number being disabled, and they chose to keep advancing on you and Lillian when they should have retreated.”  

“When you were in the hallway behind the kitchen, you had four choices available to you: flee and leave Lillian behind, evade, surrender, and fight. To flee and abandon a friend is something you are constitutionally incapable of. If it had just been yourself, I think you would have led them on a merry chase and escaped, but Lillian would not have been able to keep up with you and the two of you would have eventually been cornered, so evasion was not an option, especially as they had already stated what they would do to Lillian, which also made surrender an untenable option. The only choice you had left was to fight. They kept choosing to continue that fight, to press on instead of falling back, and because losing would have cost Lillian’s life and most likely the lives of Sherbet, Parker, Lady Penelope and Miss Kayo, you not only had to fight, you had to win. You were the only one in that house that the mercenaries could not kill, which gave you a tactical advantage that you used to save your friends and family.” Alan fiddled with the cup as he absorbed what Paul had said. It would seem that the habit of needing something to do their hands while thinking or talking over hard subjects was a family trait.

The cup stilled and Alan looked up. "So, I made the best of bad choices?"

"Yes." There was no doubt in Paul's reply. "If those had been my options, I would have made the same decision."

Alan went back to playing with the cup and Paul shifted his attention to the clouds outside the windows. He knew all too well how hard it was to find the right words and have the courage to use them. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before Alan spoke again. "How do you live with it?"

Paul hid the wince at the grief in that question. "In my case, training. Lots and lots of training. Special Operations soldiers need to have a very specific mindset and world view. In yours, having someone you can talk to that's trained and not family I think would help the most. As for living with it..." It was Paul's turn to look for the right words. "It's also the cost I pay to keep my friends, family, and the rest of the world safe, which helps. But it's never an easy choice, nor should it be. Your choices were taken from you by others, so you made the best one you could in the moment."

Alan nodded without looking up. "Is there someone here you could suggest? Not Juniper, he's got Scott to deal with and that's more than enough Tracy for one person." 

Paul gave a small chuckle. "I'll agree with that." He thought for a moment. "If you don't mind talking to a woman, I suggest Rabbi Azure. I think she would understand the most." 

"I don't mind a woman." Alan's head came back up. "Why would she understand the most?"

"Because before she took her twenty and out, she was a sniper in the WAAF. She understands choices and making the best of bad options." 

“I'd like that.” 

Without seeming to think about it, Alan leaned his shoulder up against Paul's. Recognising the behaviour from Scott and Gordon, Paul immediately answered the unspoken question and slung his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. Simple repetition and the tactile nature of the Tracys had made him a lot more comfortable with offering comfort like this. 

“You are a good man, Alan Tracy,” Paul found himself saying. “And these questions you're asking prove it.” 

The ‘thank you’ was so soft he was almost sure he’d imagined it. 

They stayed there for at least an hour before an apologetic Cloud informed them that Alan’s presence was requested back at Medical: Fawn wanted to check on him and Scarlet had promised to bring him back. 

If anyone noticed the protective arm that Paul kept around the young man’s shoulders as he returned him to his brothers, no one mentioned it. 

T H U N D E R F A L L 

Hours later the doors to the Promenade swished open once again to reveal a different, but still glorious vista.

“Oh wow….” 

From his hover chair, John smiled as he saw Virgil's hands do the ‘Artist wanna Art’ twitch, as Gordon had once called it. 

He didn't blame him one bit. 

Scarlet and Alan parked the two of them within arm's reach of the Promenade windows and the view was spectacular. The sun was sinking towards the sea, and the towering pillars of clouds were being dyed all the shades of pink and gold, slowly bleeding into reds and oranges as night crept in to draw its blue-black blanket over the world. 

“The Old Man never admits it,” Paul revealed, “but if he can, he likes to point the Promenade in the direction that gets the best view.” 

“I can see why!” Virgil already had his notebook open on his knee, setting to work with his crayons and the packet of colouring pencils that Scarlet had slipped him as soon as they were out of Medical. 

The swish of the door opening again caught John's attention. 

“Great minds think alike!” Gordon chirped as he, Lillian, Parker and Penelope came in to join them, Parker pushing Penny’s hoverchair and Sherbert in Penny's lap. 

“What an astounding view!” Penelope exclaimed. Sherbert squirmed to be put down and as soon as Penny obliged him he was off like a shot, sniffing everything. 

The door had barely shut when it opened again to admit more familiar faces: Scott, Kayo, Brains, MAX, Rigby and Dosela. 

Paul quietly removed himself from the immediate area as the reunion started - and especially as Gordon and Scott took special care to talk to Brains and reassure the engineer that he was still part of their family. 

A little touch at his leg made him look down to see Sherbet, the pug looking up at him with the same soulful expression that Bos used when he wanted some attention. 

“Hullo there,” Paul crouched and let Bertie sniff his hand, then scooped him up for some fussing. “I'm told you are a very good boy, Sherbert,” he said as he found the right spot behind Sherbert's ears and gave him a good scratch, resulting in an ecstatic dog immediately demanding more. (He ignored the mutter of ‘maybe we can leave th’ mutt ‘ere’ from Parker and the immediate swat and ‘now you take that back!’ from Lillian.)