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character b is laying down, burning with fever. character c comes and frowns. “They’re getting worse,” they murmur, gently placing a cool, wet rag on character b’s forehead. Character b whimpers, not liking the feeling. It burns. They reach up a shaky hand, trying to push the rag off, but character a grabs their hand. “Leave it, kiddo,” they say. “You need it, it’s helping. Don’t touch.”
Inspired by this post. With thanks to @edutainer2022
~
Blue eyes flashed, hard and as unforgiving as a glacier, but Virgil was made of sterner stuff and he merely folded his arms, raised an eyebrow and waited.
The hatred in the eyes didn’t diminish but the body sagged and he knew he’d won this round…
Virgil picked up the syringe and moved closer, trying to ignore the flinch as Scott reacted to the needle. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t going into his brother’s arm but into the IV port, the deep-seated fear was still the same.
‘I hate you.’
It was quietly said but no less vehement, and Virgil tried his hardest not to react to the venom in that beloved voice. Instead he tried to make light of the situation.
‘Don’t try sweet talk your way out of taking your meds, Scotty.’
The glare deepened.
‘Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that!’
The voice was hoarse but still Scott managed to shout the last few words before relapsing into a coughing fit.
He fought against Virgil’s help with the last of his strength before sagging back into the bed and drifting asleep as the mild sedative action of the antibiotic took effect alongside the flare of activity.
Once Scott was asleep fully it was Virgil’s turn to sag, abs he wiped his face of the tears he refused to let his brother see.
‘You know he doesn’t mean it.’
‘I know, John. I just hate having to put him through this.’
‘It’s this or the hospital. We both know what a spectacularly bad idea that would be.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, best of a bad situation and all that.’
‘I can take over, let you get some rest.’
‘Thanks, John, but it’s probably best Scott only sees me until his fever is under control.’
The rest is unsaid but the words still hang there.
Until Scott stops hallucinating that he’s back there, that Virgil is trying to kill him…
OOOH! I think I sensed a fever fic and had to pop in to see! Poor Virgil. Por Scott - POOR EVERYONE. Of course VIrgil wants to shield everyone! Hopefully Scott will have no memory of this once the fever breaks...
why is it always a male character going mad avenging his dead wife and never a female character cradling her dying pure of heart husband in her arms then dragging the whole world down with her
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Story so far (index post for the whole story inc fanart etc)
(From 34 for the story of what’s going on right now and this particular day out they are having)
Previous Chapter 39
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There was jam on the tip of Scott Tracy's nose.
Bumblee's Finest whortleberry jam to be precise, although Estera had yet to persuade the man not to refer to it as jelly. She had however informed him that this was a hill on which she was willing to die and thus the war was far, far from over.
The small table between them was a chaotic battleground of crumbs, dollops of clotted cream and sticky ramekins. An industrial sized cafetière loomed over the scene, having been quickly traded for the laughably miniature 'coffee for two' pot.
They'd only been in the cafe forty minutes before the hastily suppressed widening of the waiter’s eyes confirmed Estera's suspicion that the two of them had prompted a sudden behind-the-counter reappraisal of the 'bottomless artisanal tea or coffee' deal that had accompanied the Ultimate Cream Tea for two.
If, in fact, Scott's innocently literal interpretation of unlimited cream and jam refills hadn't already pushed Sidmouth's fanciest cafe to the brink of bankruptcy.
She would leave a good tip.
In any event, the kitchen staff had given up on refilling the perfectly formed little dishes and just sent out the jars, the waitress visibly dissolving into goo at his enthusiastic thanks and apparently too distracted by dimples to notice the dollop of purple decorating his beaming face.
It was right there, how could he not feel it?
Surely he could actually see it?
Estera had to restrain herself from getting out the wet wipes again. There were plenty of brightly coloured napkins on the table and he'd realise in a minute. He wasn't some child that needed looking after. So she had spent the last five minutes at least trying to pretend she hadn't noticed but found herself slightly mesmerised by how the sticky substance caught the light as he moved and highlighted how animated his face became when he got talking about something he found interesting.
The gentleman in question currently appeared to be having an existential crisis at being unable to wholeheartedly commit to a favourite:
"It should be the wild blackberry and apple." He stuck his little finger into the dish in question and studied it with all the intensity of a connoisseur. "It's perfectly balanced and while it doesn't have the kick of the blackcurrant and sloe gin jelly…"
"Jam"
"… jelly, it's got this lovely… mm… " Scott licked his finger then cast his eyes to the ceiling for a moment as if the adjective he was grasping for would be revealed amidst the faux grape vines that were artfully twined between the ancient oak beams "… appley flavour".
"That'd be the apple I presume."
The raised pinky of deep contemplation was smoothly replaced with finger guns of approval. Then a good humoured eye roll.
"Which is yours?"
Estera tapped the whortleberry jar without hesitation.
"I can't even give you a good reason, it's just… different to anything I had before I came here."
He hummed in agreement. "I'm inclined to agree. Although I do feel kinda guilty for betraying the apple one… Gordon would claim I had been body swapped.“
"Ah it's bound to be mostly blackberry." A grin stole across her face "I'm sure the World Confederation of Apple-Based Dessert Artisans and Appreciators will probably let you off with a caution… what? Don't tell me that really exists?"
"No… well I never heard of one anyhow. I was just thinkin' I should set one up."
The sparkle in his eyes made her laugh, sudden and enthusiastic
"And why not? If anyone could pull it off it'd be you! You could have expert committees for pies and pastries and crumbles."
"And jelly"
"Jam"
"Apple jelly research committee, confirmed. You can chair it."
"I'd lead the Apple Jam Research Committee with pride."
"Jelly. Oh we could give out awards…"
"Jam. You absolutely could! And you know what else?”
Estera leaned across the table to poke him gently in the shoulder "If you were in charge then you could choose your own Board!"
Scott's eyes shot up to meet the challenge in her own, then softened slightly as he inclined his head and accepted her unsubtle point with a quiet chuckle.
"Imagine that, huh?"
"Yes imagine! You could pick people who were not only experts in their field but who shared your vision and values. The kind of people you trust to challenge you when you need it, who raise complexities you might not have thought of but don't just… well… don’t just block new ideas and make your life difficult because they think someone else might have done it differently. The kind of people who are proud to be working with you. Scott. Right now, in 2062, not some idiots clinging to their ideal of the past… people who see you not him. A real team! Because you need a team not a… not an examining board! A team like you have with your brothers. You deserve that. More than anyone! And I really do think…"
The mild reminder from her lungs that they required regular top ups of oxygen came far too late and Estera flushed with embarrassment as she finally paused for breath and her sense of propriety and self-awareness staggered back on to the scene.
Scott had leaned back in his chair, absently rubbing the tip of his nose with the side of a curled finger. The jam was finally gone but so was the excitable sparkle - replaced instead by a cooler blue, sharper, more analytical.
As if he’d come to some kind of a conclusion and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
The skin across her cheeks burned deeper even as her blood ran cold.
Jak śmiesz…
You dare?
"I'm so sorry… it's not my... Really. I know nothing about any of this… rude of me to… I just thought…”
You don't get to think, girl.
The room pitched sideways at the edge of her field of vision and Estera pressed the back of her knee hard into the seat of the chair until it hurt, seeking to ground herself with the pain. Not now. Not now! Change the subject, quickly!
“I… uh… anyway…”
You don’t get to speak.
Bez nudged her leg and whined softly. Scott's scrutiny had shifted to wide eyed concern and he leaned forward again, but not before her body overruled her mind and obeyed the ever-present command:
RUN.
"Excuse me..." with a frantic wave in the direction of the toilets and a sharper but more subtle gesture to Bez to stay put, Estera all but threw herself out of the room.
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Scott had been watching her, appraisingly. Estera was still an enigma in many ways, for all they had talked a lot it was mostly by instant message, or voice only call as she didn't have a holocall enabled device. They hadn't spent a great deal of time in each other's physical company and often there were other people to take account of then too.
So where he felt he had a fairly good grip on the nuances of her tone of voice these days, her visual tells were still novel. He didn’t often get the chance to really figure someone out and was enjoying the challenge.
On the surface calm, never unfriendly with people, far from it, but while she spoke warmly there was often a sense that she was… guarded. That she didn't want to impose. Occasionally a phrase seemed almost rehearsed - perhaps that might be normal for someone speaking a second language, he wasn't sure. She certainly didn't refrain from giving her opinion from what he’d seen, but she listened and assessed and chose her words carefully. Words which usually seemed hand-picked to encourage and to cheer, even to cheerlead. You can take the teacher out of the classroom…
He’d started deliberately trying to wind her up to nudge away that mask. To extract the snappy comeback before it met the filter. He was reasonably good at that - years of irritating a genuine response out his more reticent brothers meant the muscle was well trained.
And yet.
Those few times she properly let her guard down and spoke passionately, when her words flooded out uncontrollably about something… it was always a surprise.
A tension in her face he’d never have said was there was missing, she blinked more, her jaw moved far more… in those brief hesitations where she was searching for the best English equivalent of the word she wanted to use he rather fancied he could see her brain tearing through the linguistic options, before the infinitesimal glint in her eye revealed she'd hit on the very one she wanted.
She fizzed.
And the bubbles were kind of intoxicating… he couldn't help but feel they could carry him too.
Right now she was saying nothing John and Virgil hadn't repeated a hundred times before. But somehow it felt new. Because his brothers were supposed to encourage him, they always had. They genuinely believed in him because they loved him which made it difficult for them to see the truth of it. They had never really understood why things were different for him - why it was right they had the choice to be themselves and do things their own way but that he could not.
What none of them seemed to appreciate was that TI wasn't his. At least it wasn't supposed to be. Tracy Industries was Jeff Tracy Industries and while the world had obviously expected that at some distant point the great man might step back a little and let whichever of his offspring had the inclination take the reins, it was never supposed to happen the way it did. Scott had never been handed those reins nor the authority to make real change, after all. He just just snatched them up, kept everything going and fiddled at rhe edges.
Yes, Scott had expanded TI… massively in fact, although mostly, he hoped, in a way his father would have approved of, even if the Board did not. The awful planet-destroying, employee-mistreating companies they'd acquired via hostile takeovers were never going to be balance sheet winners but manoeuvring things such that those factories and labs could have a positive impact on their communities instead, even if under a slightly different name… well that made the world a better place and Dad always said that was more important than the money…
At least that was what he'd told his teenage son. Maybe he said different to the proper business people at work.
It had been a long long time since he'd been a teenage son though… maybe so long that Scott now counted as proper business people too? Estera seemed to assume as much. Maybe the rest of the world might too. The ones who didn’t know.
Perhaps it was that simple after all? It was a dangerous thought…. That perhaps he could start to believe he even had the right… that he could even reverse a few decisions Dad himself had made before he left.
The thought made him shiver.
In any event he suddenly found himself less certain that the dead end he kept pushing his face up against was the only route available to him.
Perhaps… perhaps as someone totally independent… someone who didn’t even know Dad… she might be a good sounding board for a couple of the ideas he hadn't dared to allow himself to really flesh out… wouldn’t hurt to try…
His train of thought was interrupted by the bubbles collapsing, Estera staring at him in horror like he'd pointed a gun to her chest and leaping to her feet to disappear mid-whispered sentence.
Sometimes a situation changed too fast even for Scott Tracy to keep up.
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"More coffee for the ansum American and the dog lady."
Estera froze as she left the bathroom, torn between being seen and retreating to face the curious elderly lady who had walked in on her trying to fix her wet hair and t-shirt under the unnecessarily aggressive hand dryer.
The shock of cold water had done its job for once but she hadn't had the coordination to be careful. She'd smiled wryly and nodded at the sympathetic "ooh that jam's a devil to get out isn't it dear" but hadn't quite regained control of her voice and thus so firmly declined the offer of assistance, the lady had looked a little offended.
No, no going back but she couldn't possibly walk past the tiny kitchen now, they'd know she'd overheard and that poor waiter would be so embarrassed… instead she shuffled sideways to examine the shelf of toys and games the cafe had collected for customers to enjoy. Maybe she and Scott could play something to restrain her from running her mouth again.
"Tha'tun be the sweetest o' maids but 'ow she catched such a bey as ee…"
Oh no. Please no. Not today.
"’S real cracker. They Americans love an English accent though."
"She's naw even gaht un ye gurt noodle, she be from…"
"Ah that I did know."
"Tarbul cawtch. Tarbul."
Estera tried to regain her composure by focussing on a mental note to look that one up again. She knew it wasn't the same as the similar-sounding Welsh word but the exact meaning was beyond the reach of her recall…
"She's a dear thing, due a bit of luck."
"Ah tis. An 'er ulkin' dug, ee's a real duck. Our Edith were tellin'…"
The roar of the coffee grinder saved her from revelation of her neighbour's opinion. Grabbing a random pack of cards she strode past and collected her expression into a bright smile as Scott looked up and swiped away whatever he was reading on his wrist comm. More than a hint of concern creased his forehead
"Sorry about that!" She forestalled the question but realised he wouldn't be satisfied unless she added a little grain of truth to make it believable "Just a little… dizzy moment, I get them sometimes but it's nothing to worry about."
He raised an eyebrow and she beamed her most convincing smile back and him.
“Are you sure? You looked kinda…”
"Just a… a girl thing.” She hoped the guilt that lie reeked of might be interpreted as old fashioned embarrassment. “I’m One hundred percent tickety boo, I promise."
The bait worked at least temporarily
"Tickety… come on that one's definitely not real?”
Taking her chair and the last gulp of cold coffee from the mug, she reached down to reassure Bez whose trembling effort at ignoring his instincts in order to obey her stay command was making the floor vibrate. He sniffed at the cardboard box in her hand and she dropped it on the table "Oh I picked this up, thought it might be fun to play a game or something unless you have to head straight back?”
Keeping her eyes locked on Bez for a final few seconds of gathering herself, Estera was pulled from counting down by an amused cackle from her friend.
“Bold move, E. Possibly crazy. But bold.”
Belatedly, she dragged her eyes the seemingly infinite distance upwards to behold the jarring typography typical of turn of the century budget game design. Sometimes the universe had a
Aaaaaaahhhh!!! Oh he’s wonderful! Look at him! Ha oh yes there will not often be anything taller than him 🤣🤣 (Scott and he have that surprise in common 🤣 ever seen how Scott looks at the Mechanic? Should be illegal to be taller!)
His little bow tie!!! His little soft expression!
@sofasurf look! Looook! It’s our Bez 🥹
Fun fact! His surname is Hermaszewski because some Polish surnames (including this one) adjust for gender - it’s essentially “son of Herman” or “daughter of Herman” and I picked it for two reasons: Herman means “warrior” which fits Estera in a number of ways which will become apparent if I ever get writing her story properly again. But mainly because Mirosław Hermaszewski was the first Polish cosmonaut and given Estera means star… it seemed to fit :) Did I go down a rabbit hole with the names? Why, naturally… 😁
I cannot express how happy this made me when I woke up this morning - thank you!!!
Alan strolled across the main living room, all his focus on the snack that would soon be his, just so long as…
“- Hey Alan! Have you got a minute?”
There it was, right on cue, there was always something. But being always ready was kinda part of the deal in this family. So he spun on his heels, making the soles squeal on the hardwood floor.
“Sure Virgil, what is it?”
Virgil was sitting on the piano stool, but strangely it wasn’t the piano that appeared to have his brother's attention, he had an acoustic guitar resting on his knees and a frown on his face.
“Could you help me with this bit on the guitar?”
Alan rolled his eyes, meddling brothers were obvious a mile away.
“Have you been talking to Scott?” Alan threw it down more like a statement than a question.
Virgil’s head bobbed back up, eyes full of suspicious innocence. “No. Is he playing again?” There was something so hopeful about the way he said it.
“What? No, Scott doesn't play the guitar.” Alan clung to the confidence of his assertion.
Virgil didn’t notice any wavering in conviction though, as he was back regarding the strings critically. “He used to though, he was good too. You knew that though.” This had to be genuine, Virgil couldn’t lie this well, everyone knew that, didn’t they? But then Alan was starting to question what he knew. Scott hadn’t said, had he?
“You’re kidding,” Alan challenged, mostly because he felt it ought to.
Virgil looked up again and the frown was back, “Why?” he looked confused, like a joke had been told and he was waiting for it to make sense, and praying he wasn’t about to be the butt of the joke. “It’s not like it was a secret.” Virgil flipped the guitar over in his hands, cradling the neck with his broad palms. It was an old and rather basic instrument that had seen plenty of life.
“This used to be his,” and there it was, ‘S.TRACY’ scrawled in permanent marker on the back. “He gave it to me when he got a nicer one, once he didn’t have to leave it in the school music room during class.” He flipped it back over and strummed one mellow cord, with the kind of sentimental smile on his face that made Alan want to roll his eyes again.
But that was missing the point, what had John always taught him, gather all the information first, emotions later.
Trying to play it casual, Alan leaned one hip against the side of the piano. “Was he any good?”
Virgil’s eyes went wide in amazement. “Was he good? Did you genuinely not know? He was fantastic, like proper acoustic classical stuff too. Not just the sing along cords. It was awesome.”
Virgil strummed another lazy cord, eyes intent on his fingering. “It was nice hearing you play the other night, it reminded me of the stuff he used to play I guess. It’s been stuck in my head ever since. But I just can’t do it justice.” He picked out a paired back version of the opening melody that Alan was so familiar with. Then the sound trailed off as Virgil leaned over to the piano and picked out the same stretch, but again it faded out before it got any way into the piece. “I think my brain is wired for piano, but I can’t get a grip on it either way”. Virgil offered up an apologetic smile.
If it had been anyone else Alan would have suspected a lie. Virgil could play anything, everyone knew that! Didn’t they? Was it really a fact, or an assumed one? Because Virgil could get a tune out of most things, but that wasn’t necessarily the same as living and breathing it in quite the same way he did the piano. It was a strange repositioning of his thinking for Alan, one previously rigid data point reexamined had tilted the rest of the assumptions.
Virgil was left there, apologetic grin still in place, while all this shot through Alan's brain at a rate that explained why they let him pilot a rocket through space debris.
He circled back to the facts. 1. Virgil had asked for help. 2. Virgil appeared to be genuine in his request. 3.There was no obvious malicious motivation behind the request. 4. Scott knew more than he was letting on (and that should probably be a fixed universal truth in any argument).
Deciding to park point 4 for later, that left only one clear course of action. Alan made grabby hands for the battered guitar until it was relinquished into his care, then he shuffled himself around until Virgil was forced to make space for him on the piano bench, or risk being sat on. Once comfortably parked to his own satisfaction, Alan picked out a few disconnected notes, letting the sound reverberate up towards the glass ceiling. Then, as the notes faded into nothing, Alan threw himself into the piece that had been stumping Virgil.
“Was it that bit you were stuck on?” Alan asked, as he abruptly stopped after the fiddly refrain.
Virgil was beaming, “yeah! That bit! I wanna be able to do that bit, where it goes all twiddly." And he wiggled his fingers in the air which only went to prove that he really was wired for piano first and foremost. Virgil spun on the bench seat, so he was facing the keys, and this time his fingers didn’t pause at the complicated passage, they danced over it. A little more fluid, a little loose with the timing, but still recognisable. “Like that?”
Alan played the section again, “almost,” Virgil’s next attempt was much closer, and Alan shoved down the miniscule bubble of jealousy at his brother's ability to catch the tune and reproduce it without even a glimpse of sheet music.
“Ok, but how the hell do you do THAT on the guitar?” Virgil pointed at the guitar in a way that would have been justified if the guitar had personally insulted his ancestors.
Alan couldn’t hold back the laugh that tumbled out. This time Alan played it much slower, pulling out each segment and over emphasizing the finger positions, until Virgil was nodding along in comprehension.
“Now you try.” Alan handed the instrument over.
At least this time Alan was able to stifle the impending laugh, when Virgil all but fell over his fingers trying to copy what Alan had shown him.
“Maybe start a little slower?” Alan was startled by how much his own voice sounded like Johns’ or Scotts’or even Virgils’, all those times when they had calmly talked him through something that just didn’t want to click. It made him appreciate the barely restrained eye-roll he received in return, as Virgil dutifully attempted the tune at half speed.
Over the following 40 minutes Alan led Virgil through the music, pointing out ways he could make certain bits easier for himself or where he needed to shift his grip slightly. The piano may have given Virgil the octave plus reach, but nothing could help combat his stockier fingers which seemed determined to get in each other's way, despite having easily negotiated scales at breakneck speed on the piano keys. Again, Alan would have been suspicious that it was being put on as any act, if not for the genuine frustration written across every inch of Virgil's features. Also, the rather convincing swearing, which only came out when Virgil was nearing his limit. Eventually, however, they managed to get it to stick, and soon Virgil's fingers traced the tune competently if not confidently, even if he did threaten to restrict his playing of string instruments to a four stringed ukulele in future. He did swing an arm over Alan's shoulders for a half hug and a heartfelt thanks as they called it a day.
Alan propped the battered guitar up next to the piano, the light streaming in the glass doors highlighting every bump and scratch it had received over the years.
A wicked smile spread across Alan’s face, “Hey Virgil, aren't you tempted to replace this for a newer model?”
The shock was instantaneous as expected. “How could you suggest such a thing,” Virgil snatched the guitar up into his arms, holding it tight. “Don’t listen to him Betty*, I would never!” conforming to the sentimental stereotype as always.
“Betty?” Alan laughed.
“Don’t look at me, I didn’t name her.” Virgil replied, still not loosening his grip on the instrument.
This is going ever so slowly, but here, have some more.
I hope you enjoy it.
-o-o-o-
Virgil’s heart was weeping.
With both grief and terror.
The night air was bone cold and sucked the heat from his body through the many layers he had piled on, but fortunately the wind had died down leaving the darkness calm.
Dá’s massive wing strokes were reassuring in their steady strength as she supported her glide towards the beaches.
On their left, Scott was silent and almost invisible in the dark. Óen’s flight was ever silent, the lack of moon leaving the frail starlight inadequate to outline the night fury.
His brother shouldn’t be here. He should be in bed. But Virgil didn’t bother to waste his breath because he knew that Scott had to be there.
They all had to be there, for good or ill.
This was why John on Cóic, equally silent on his right, held young Alan, dressed in warm flight leathers far too big for him. Unlike Óen, Cóic caught all the starlight and reflected it back into the night, every feather glittering, her vast wings dwarfing both Dá and Óen.
But it was Virgil and Dá who carried the most precious and fragile burden.
Gordon was wrapped in healer’s cloth and sheep’s skin, strapped to Virgil’s strength. In the darkness, his mortally wounded little brother was more ghost than alive.
Virgil treasured every breath against his neck. There was terror that Gordon wouldn’t make it to the beaches. There was terror that he would.
There was no changing Scott’s mind. The injured and newly made Flaithri was steadfast and willing to do anything to save their little brother. John had been reassuring, Cóic warbling encouragement to Virgil at his questions.
There had been an answer. One of the sea had answered and it was wildly appropriate and felt determined by fate considering Gordon’s love of the water.
But the sacrifice was an unknown that terrified Virgil. A dragon willing to give its life force to heal another was fantastic myth and made a great story around the evening fires. But those myths all ended in tragedy and loss.
But what choice did they have?
Scott’s voice had been pain itself.
Dá warbled quietly and banked to the right, gliding down towards the waves. She back-winged ever so elegantly and touched down softly on fine pebbles.
The sea hissed at them.
Cóic landed at a distance, giving them room, while Óen did the opposite, expertly diving in close, likely to save his rider from walking too far.
Virgil and Óen had a long-standing agreement where the dragon’s rider was concerned, and Virgil couldn’t help but love the night fury for it.
So, of course, it was Scott who reached up to help Virgil dismount with his burden.
Virgil grit his teeth but didn’t say anything. He did his best to not place strain on his eldest brother, yet dismount without hurting his cherished burden.
Fortunately, John soon arrived, taking over from their limping brother.
The slice in Scott’s thigh was the only reason he wasn’t holding Gordon. Every screwed up muscle in the man’s face begged to bear his little brother’s weight in this, but Virgil wouldn’t allow it.
Scott wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to lose any more family.
Once Virgil had both boots on the ground, Scott stepped in close and peeled back the healer’s cloth from Gordon’s face.
Even in the darkness, the burns scarred their little brother’s visage. Each breath was strained. He was mercifully unconscious and limp in Virgil’s arms, the contrast between his active and boisterous self ever so heartbreaking, emphasising the reality of what they could, were likely, to lose.
Scott’s forehead briefly touched Virgil’s.
“There is hope.” It was whispered.
Please, let the gods be merciful to his little brother.
So it was Virgil, with his brothers beside him, who stood holding Gordon to his chest and confronted the unending waves as Cóic bellowed a call into the darkness.
The description of the dragons in flight, the terror of the brothers. I actually loved the image of John holding a too small Alan- it just emphasised the response to the threat, they unite to face Gordon's fate together.
Gordon unconscious and the hope from the sea but the price...Nutty!! What is the price????
This is going ever so slowly, but here, have some more.
I hope you enjoy it.
-o-o-o-
Virgil’s heart was weeping.
With both grief and terror.
The night air was bone cold and sucked the heat from his body through the many layers he had piled on, but fortunately the wind had died down leaving the darkness calm.
Dá’s massive wing strokes were reassuring in their steady strength as she supported her glide towards the beaches.
On their left, Scott was silent and almost invisible in the dark. Óen’s flight was ever silent, the lack of moon leaving the frail starlight inadequate to outline the night fury.
His brother shouldn’t be here. He should be in bed. But Virgil didn’t bother to waste his breath because he knew that Scott had to be there.
They all had to be there, for good or ill.
This was why John on Cóic, equally silent on his right, held young Alan, dressed in warm flight leathers far too big for him. Unlike Óen, Cóic caught all the starlight and reflected it back into the night, every feather glittering, her vast wings dwarfing both Dá and Óen.
But it was Virgil and Dá who carried the most precious and fragile burden.
Gordon was wrapped in healer’s cloth and sheep’s skin, strapped to Virgil’s strength. In the darkness, his mortally wounded little brother was more ghost than alive.
Virgil treasured every breath against his neck. There was terror that Gordon wouldn’t make it to the beaches. There was terror that he would.
There was no changing Scott’s mind. The injured and newly made Flaithri was steadfast and willing to do anything to save their little brother. John had been reassuring, Cóic warbling encouragement to Virgil at his questions.
There had been an answer. One of the sea had answered and it was wildly appropriate and felt determined by fate considering Gordon’s love of the water.
But the sacrifice was an unknown that terrified Virgil. A dragon willing to give its life force to heal another was fantastic myth and made a great story around the evening fires. But those myths all ended in tragedy and loss.
But what choice did they have?
Scott’s voice had been pain itself.
Dá warbled quietly and banked to the right, gliding down towards the waves. She back-winged ever so elegantly and touched down softly on fine pebbles.
The sea hissed at them.
Cóic landed at a distance, giving them room, while Óen did the opposite, expertly diving in close, likely to save his rider from walking too far.
Virgil and Óen had a long-standing agreement where the dragon’s rider was concerned, and Virgil couldn’t help but love the night fury for it.
So, of course, it was Scott who reached up to help Virgil dismount with his burden.
Virgil grit his teeth but didn’t say anything. He did his best to not place strain on his eldest brother, yet dismount without hurting his cherished burden.
Fortunately, John soon arrived, taking over from their limping brother.
The slice in Scott’s thigh was the only reason he wasn’t holding Gordon. Every screwed up muscle in the man’s face begged to bear his little brother’s weight in this, but Virgil wouldn’t allow it.
Scott wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to lose any more family.
Once Virgil had both boots on the ground, Scott stepped in close and peeled back the healer’s cloth from Gordon’s face.
Even in the darkness, the burns scarred their little brother’s visage. Each breath was strained. He was mercifully unconscious and limp in Virgil’s arms, the contrast between his active and boisterous self ever so heartbreaking, emphasising the reality of what they could, were likely, to lose.
Scott’s forehead briefly touched Virgil’s.
“There is hope.” It was whispered.
Please, let the gods be merciful to his little brother.
So it was Virgil, with his brothers beside him, who stood holding Gordon to his chest and confronted the unending waves as Cóic bellowed a call into the darkness.
The description of the dragons in flight, the terror of the brothers. I actually loved the image of John holding a too small Alan- it just emphasised the response to the threat, they unite to face Gordon's fate together.
Gordon unconscious and the hope from the sea but the price...Nutty!! What is the price????
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A first line that just popped into my head a while ago. You know I like to write weird things on occasion so here it is. You can let me know what you think. Its another one where I am not really sure which brother it is. Whump but not really angst? Maybe. Who knows!!??
The ending has given me grief but it's there now and is a good as my mushy brain can get it.
Physics
The explosion, he mused, probably shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.
It was always going to happen, a matter of when not if. They had hoped to have more time but it would appear that was not to be.
Still, it would have been nice to have enough time to get clear. Nice to have had a sporting chance to not be caught like this. He thought some words would have made Grandma cuff his ears.
It was a pretty impressive explosion, not that he could see it, but he could feel it. It definitely had some force behind it. Again not a surprise given the components that had made the evacuation from the accident so urgent.
His brothers were clear. He knew that much, they'd been in front of him.
Safe.
That was good. Knowing they were safe helped.
Although, that meant they were currently all yelling in his ear; but then again he was pretty sure he was yelling too, so that could be forgiven. Not that he could really be sure of anything he was hearing, what with the roaring explosion and all. He wished it would all shut up so he could think, but actually his body seemed to be reacting all on its own as instincts and the very annoying laws of physics took over. His mind was just along for the ride.
He tightened his grip on the precious bundle, curling instinctively about the child shielding her with his body as the heat at his back burned hotter despite his uniform. He felt his feet lifting off the ground as the full force of the shock wave hit.
Great.
Not his preferred way to fly and the landing was going to be...suboptimal... now there was a word would get him mocked by the brotherhood; a thought that made him grin. Clearly he had time in his hands. Keep it together, Tracy the voice in his head chided him. He was not going to admit who that sounded like.
Think.
Newton's first law was really not his favourite in situations such as this. There was no way to prevent what was going to happen next though. Every part of his body was screaming at him as the force ripped through the space where, mere milieconds before he had been running. It was intent on tossing him high and far. It was almost, he thought, as if he was a third party observer, watching it all occur.
If, he supposed, it was a special effect for a movie it would look AMAZING! But then again he thought, if he were a stunt man in a movie he'd have rehearsed this and there would be a lovely soft landing waiting for him. Maybe even a pretty makeup girl to pat his sweaty brow between takes. He could totally be a stunt man. He had enough real life experience.
Had it only been seconds since the shouted warning?
Time was, in this instant, definitely relative.
Now there was a conversation for the next campfire on the beach. Physics always led to passionate discussion. They all had their expertise and opinions on this phenomenon. More than enough experiences of this... clarity. Far more than anyone should, they really should consider their life choices. They could all be stuntman.
The weight of the child shifted and he tightened his grip. Nah, their life choices were just fine thank you very much. Every life saved, any life saved... for mom... and now for dad too.
Maybe it was true what they said about the moments before you died. Maybe he'd get to watch his life back in glorious technicolour. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Too short a reel, thank you very much. Not today. Not if he could help it. He been in worse situations. Objectively that was a lie but like Kirk he didn't believe in no win scenarios. Now there was the next movie night choice.
But he needed to focus. His breath was screaming in his lungs.
Gravity was going to do its thing.
He thought of mom, begged her to protect the little one he held and without thought curled tighter, twisting in such a way he knew, hoped- prayed would absorb the impact; cushioning her with his body. She needed to survive. After that... well. . He was a big boy and he'd made his life choices after all.
The edges of his vision were beginning to white out, this was going to hurt but his brothers would get to him, they always did.
The heat intensified, the sound became uhearably loud. The moment was over. Time to pay the piper or, maybe physics. Ha! He liked that.
And just like that time restarted and the ground leapt up to meet him.
....................
As solid and lasting as certain laws of physics appeared they were not as lasting or solid as certain laws of the Tracys. One of the most important being that any brother in a hospital bed would not wake alone.
That law held true.
Surrounded by brothers, he blinked back into consciousness. Reassured of the little girl's survival he drifted on a cloud of the good drugs.
It was a testimony to another Tracy law, that brothers in pain meds were often loopy, that meant no one batted an eye when he announced loudly that he wanted them all to become stunt men.
@tikatu oh wow! I hadn't seen this but YES! That's what I was imagining. I also don't really know which brother it is but it did feel Johnesque when I re-read it there!
A character seeing another injured and freaking out, heedless of all reason and surroundings, with a single-minded need to treat the injury, protect their companion, stop the bleeding, their companion's life is at stake- and it's not until their companion's voice and its litany of reassurances finally filters through their haze of abject laser-focused panic that they realise it's not quite so bad as they initially thought.
Ok so this happened. Written really quickly so consider the typos a gift.
Panic
“Noooooo!”
Alan wasn’t even aware it was him screaming, “Nooooooo- Scott!”
Everything else vanished around him; the terror of being held at gunpoint; the pain in his head; the shouts of his own name over comms.
“No! Scott!”
He half ran, half fell the rest of the way down the hill where his brother's prone body had rolled lifeless seconds before; minutes after the man and the shouting; seconds after the gunshot had shattered the silence.
He crashed to his knees beside his brother’s still form. There was blood on his uniform.
“No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No!” He never broke his panicked chant. His hands were still bound in front of him but loosely enough to allow him to scrabble at the rip in his brothers uniform. There was blood, Alan felt his panic mount even further as he desperately fumbled to press on the wound.
“No! No. No. No. No. No. No!”
“Alan!” a large warm hand closed over his as they desperately tugged and pawed at his fallen brother. He hit it away, finally seeing the graze along the flesh of Scott's stomach, blood sluggish leaking. He had to stop the bleeding. He had to!
“Alan!” the larger warm hand returned, trying to interfere and he practically snarled at the interference and the hand withdrew.
“Allie,” the voice was so gentle and so familiar Alan faltered slightly pausing but not lifting his eyes from the bleeding wound.
“No. No, no! No, no!” the related refrain barely a whisper now.
“Alan, Allie, I'm ok. Squirt, look at me!” The larger hands returned, one stilling Alan’s shaking ministrations while the other gently caught the astronaut’s chin tilting his head. “Allie, I'm ok. It's a graze. It's ok. Look at me.”
Glazed and hazy blue eyes finally turn and meet those of his oldest brother.
“Scotty?”
“There you are! Hi, Squirt. Are you hurt? Your head must be sore.”
“You're... you fell... there's... there's blood.”
“I'm ok! It's a graze.” His hand tightened its grip as Alan’s focus threatened to slither away.
“Admittedly I'm bruised and Virgil is gonna be annoying but, I swear I'm fine,” he kept a hold of Alan's chin, his thumb stroking soothing circles on his cheek while his blue eyes assess his youngest brother. Clearly the lunatic bent on stealing a Thunderbird had hit him much harder than they'd feared. Definitely concussed. The GDF had better have the man in protective custody.
“I think we can add a pretty impressive concussion to today's injuries,” his voice was gentle and soothing. “You win, Gordon’s prize for injury if the month. Virgil and his finger will be devastated.”
“Scotty... you fell... blood.”
“Shhh, Allie. I'm ok. It's ok. You're safe.”
Both brothers looked up at the unmistakable sound of Thunderbird 2.
“Scotty?”
“Come here, Squirt. It's all ok.” Finally that Scott was ok seemed to get through to the teen and he crumpled.
Strong arms pulled him in tight as Alan started to sob against Scott's chest, his hands twisting into the material of his brother’s flight suit. How many times had Scotty held him like this in the past, when everything got too much. He'd got much bigger than then.
“Scotty,” he managed to choke out.
“I'm ok, Squirt. It's ok.”
Scott held his youngest brother tight, rubbing soothing patterns on his back and whispering reassurances, ignoring the niggle of pain from where the bullet had grazed him. His hand cradled the blond head, careful to avoid the lump he felt there.
“Scott?” Virgil's voice was gentle, assessing both of his brothers his medical scanner flashing. Scott gave the medic a grim smile, his eyes suspiciously bright.
“Hey, Vee. We're ok. We're both ok. Come on, Squirt-a-saurus. Help me up and let's go home.”
Right, this is a little gift for @idontknowreallywhy and @sofasurf as it nudges itself into their series. This comes just after Scott finds out that John and Virgil have been speculating about his love life, or lack of. which you can find here . This part is just a snippet of slapstick no tricky subject matter, but the rest of the fic comes with its own Trigger warnings for post traumatic stress, so have a care of the tags if you go back through the rest of the story.
--------------------------
John looked at Virgil.
Virgil looked at John.
There was a split second pause then virgil moved. Like a coiled spring he vaulted over the back of the battered old leather couch that lived in his studio. As he leaped he grabbed the ratty multicoloured cushion that was leaning dejectedly against the arm rest. It was a garish mismatch of crocheted scraps that Gordon had cobbled together early in his yarncraft phase. He had decided that it was so ugly that Virgil could keep it in his studio without fear of spoiling it. It had been languishing there ever since, gaining the occasional paint splatter, waiting for its moment to shine. It soared through the air, spinning slightly until it smacked into Johns stomach with surprising force.
“Ooof”
John, who had been twisting on fluffy sock clad feet ready to make good his own escape, was knocked off balance and had to grab wildly at the couch to save himself from crashing to the floorboards. He glared a Virgil, who was already part way to the door.
“Every man for himself!” Virgil called back as he ran out the door, grabbing the door frame to help with the cornering. John could hear his brothers feet thundering down the hallway, well that would keep Scott busy. Work smarter not harder.
Righting himself, John calmly looked around then after some careful consideration, climbed out of the window. A little free climbing and John had tucked himself safely away on a secluded half roof with enough dappled shade to make for the perfect spot for a nap.
Far below, Alan watched in amusement as John scaled the outside of the main villa. He leaned over and prodded Gordon, who was laid out on the sun lounger next to him.
“What do you think thats all about?” he pointed towards the house with his sunglasses.
Gordon nudge his own sunnies down his nose to look where Alan was pointing.
“No idea, do you think its got anything to do with that?” and gestured towards the open glass doors of the lounge where Virgil could just be seen sprinting across at full speed.
“Could be, could be.” Alan nodded sagely.
“Wanna go see?”
“Sure, why not” Alan unfolded himself from the lounger and the pair of them jogged off in the direction Virgil had disappeared.
Grandma had no idea what had got into the boys, but as she sat enjoying the late afternoon sun, she couldn't help but feel like she was trapped in a scooby doo cartoon, as running feet and slapping doors echoed around the house. Even Max seemed to have got swept up in it, beeping away merrily. She was sure she could hear Scott cackling away from one of the open upper floor windows, and truly that was enough for her to overlook the potential damage to the door frames. She took a sip of her drink, and then her eye was caught by the sight of John shimmying down the outside of the building. Yep, that was where she drew the line.
“JOHN! Get your feet off those glass doors!” she had to stifle a laugh when his descent became far less coordinated and terminated with John landing in a bush.
Just a one shot that popped into my head today. Not my finest. Some Scott dad feels.
🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛🍛
The sound of sniffing and a muffled cough floated across the lounge. Scott set down his data pad and looked down at the miserable heap of blankets that shuffled into view, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings onto one of the couches.
Sighing Scott set the pile of reports aside. They would keep. The invalid had been shuffling wraithlike around the villa all morning. He needed to sleep or at least sit still for a moment. With the others away on a rescue, Scott was prepared to bring out the big guns.
The open comms of the routine rescue Thunderbird Two and Four were attending was being relayed quietly, background noise, John would alert him if he was needed.
He made his way into the kitchen where he put the kettle on and dug around in the fridge and cupboards gathering the ingredients needed and pulling out the big pot they kept for such occasions.
He pulled open the drawer and lifted the battered tin up onto the counter almost reverentially. It was a small box, the picture of the puppies on the front almost gone, grown shiny from years of use.
He gently ghosted his hand across the lid and then ficking it open pulled out the stained and dog-eared piece of card in the top.
Technically Scott didn't need to check the recipe, he had memorised it a long time ago, they probably all had; but the little card with mum's handwriting was a precious part of the ritual. He remembered dad teasing her as she sat copying recipes onto the cards to keep in the tin. She claimed it was part of the process and there were little changes she’d made or would make that were easier recorded by hand than on a data pad. Besides the collection had been started by her grandmother so she would continue as she was, “Thank you very much, Mister Hi-Tech-Must-Be-Better.” Dad had just laughed and kissed the top of her head.
Scott put the stock on to boil adding the other ingredients as he chopped and crushed them. The smell filled the kitchen and floated out into the rest of the villa. Leaving it to boil he grabbed a bottle of water and the flu meds Virgil had left on the counter and went to find his patient.
The blanket pile had moved to the loungers by the pool, and Scott sighed. While he was the one with the reputation for being most restless when ill, unfairly he felt, his second youngest brother was almost as bad.
“You in there, Gordo?” Scott gently peeled back the blanket covering the blond head.
There was a moan and a sneeze and glassy red rimmed eyes met his. Pushing sweaty hair back from his little brother’s forehead Scott grimaced at the heat radiating from the aquanaut.
“Come on, Squid let's get you comfy.”
Ignoring the muffled complaints Scott helped his brother to his feet, steadying him as he wobbled slightly.
Getting him settled on the couch, meds and bottle of water administered took less time than Scott had feared, though he made a pitiful sound when Scott moved away. A sick Gordon needed company.
“I'll be back in a minute, promise.”
Scott returned to the kitchen and finding the soup ready, filled two bowls and carried them back to the lounge.
Gordon's eyes widened, “You made the soup?”
“I made the soup, think you can manage some?”
Scott ruffled the his hair as Gordon reached for the bowl then lifting the second once, sat down beside him. Their shoulders touching. They sat in companionable silence, each lost in the memories the aroma from their food evoked.
The soup had been mom’s go to whenever any of them had been unwell or having a bad time at school. Scott remembered her gentle hand checking his temperature, kisses and cuddles making him feel better then later, helping her make it for the little ones; Gordon's memories were more impressionistic, a gentle voice and warm arms and feeling safe.
Gordon's head began to nod and Scott rescued his bowl before the aquanaut dropped it. Setting them aside he gently pulled Gordon's head down to a pillow on his lap. Finally Gordon fell asleep.
Scott flicked up the holograms showing where his other brother’s were and listened to them as they gathered their gear, gently stroking Gordon's hair as he mumbled something in his sleep. Thunderbird two launched for home. They would be cold and hungry and Scott thought with some satisfaction to the pleasure they would get from the soup when they returned. Maybe it might even be enough to lure John home for the evening. Yes, he thought, feeling his own eyes growing heavy. The reports would still be there tomorrow and hopefully by then Gordon's fever would not.
If you squint I am claiming 'smirk' in the fluffember prompts. It's a little shoehorned but I hope you will induldge. It's very silly🫣
I wrote this when I was sick in bed and it's a present for @idontknowreallywhy a soft furnishings fan and because she really helped hold my hand through writing Recrudescence. *Hugs tight*
@womble1 it's not strictly whump fluff but I hope you'll appreciate the soft furnishings reference!
Anyway, even responsible brothers sometimes aren't... Gordon to the rescue?
Adulting
"Grandma's gonna to kill us!"
"Us! I'm denying all knowledge of this." There were sounds of dragging, a thump and, was that a giggle?
"Shhh! Your fingerprints are all over this too, Spaceman."
Gordon paused in the hallway just out of sight of the approaching voices. Normally at this time of the morning the only people awake would be himself and Scott for their respective morning workouts. He moved so he could get a glimpse of the speakers. His three older brothers were making their way crab-like along the hallway hanging onto each other as if gravity was a problem. Granted it frequently was for John, but the other two?
Interesting.
Gordon moved into the shadows unseen, to better observe, always good to collect more data before proceeding.
"Guys, guys, s'all good," Scott declared before pitching face first towards the wooden floor. He would have slammed into it at speed if the other two hadn't been holding him up. As it was his sudden shift in position sent them ricocheting, pin ball like across the hall in an ungainly flailing of limbs. Miraculously they stayed upright though John collided with the wall.
"Oof"
"Steady there, Scooter"
'Scooter' just giggled manically, "m' fine."
"If you were 'fine'" a pause while Virgil employed dramatic air quotes letting his grip of Scott go, "this wouldn't be a problem," Scott waivered dangerously without the support while John frantically tried to compensate. Virgil, realising the imminent peril, hefted his brothers weight more fully onto his shoulder again and they resumed their forward shuffle.
This, thought Gordon, might be the greatest thing he'd ever witnessed.
"What's the plan, Batman?" Ok so John was clearly not completely sober either. It was often hard to tell with John, he had annoying good control even when three sheets to the wind.
"I love Batman," Scott's enthusiasm was unexpected, "s'got cool.. You know," he batted at Virgil's chest with the back of his hand as if willing the sentence to finish itself, "whotsit... Stuff."
"You just like the playboy millionaire thing." John commented dryly.
Another manic chuckle from the eldest.
"I like ironman. He's cool," Virgil's brow furrows, "I can't believe they killed him off."
"Another playboy billionaire," John pointed out raising one eyebrow, "With an exosuit."
"Virgil, you are Ironman!" Scott clicked his fingers and then dissolved into even more uncontrollable laughter. There was a pause the other two struggling to hold what was now 6ft 4 of wiggling muscle.
Gordon considered going to help but was finding the struggle too amusing.
Virgil laughed then sighed philosophically, "...I think Allie would be Spiderman."
"Nah, Gordo. Allie's s'not..." Here Scott again seemed to lose words, "snarky enough. Squid would do all the," here there was another thud, this time Virgil bumped the wall as Scott flailed his arms to indicate acrobatics, "and say the thing, you know, that's funny but makes the bad guy want to kill him even more." More giggles at that and in his hiding place Gordon smirked. Good to have your strengths recognised.
Scott's voice again, "We have the money." Then a huffed sigh, "and the tragic backstory." Gordon could see Virgil and John share a glance, even tipsy their Scott radar was sensitive.
Enough of that then, let's not ruin this moment by getting maudlin. Gordon decided to make his presence known. He'd give them a sporting chance so began whistling in the obnoxiously cheery way he had cultivated for such moments, giving them a few seconds warning before he stepped out of the shadows to observe their reactions.
There was a muttered curse another thump as the three men assumed natural positions. -Where were Virgil's air quotes when needed, Gordon smiled to himself.
John had perched a hip on the small table in the wall space between his and Virgil's rooms, the small vase behind him wobbled dangerously. He was looking at his nails in an attempt to appear unconcerned.
Scott, who was showing remarkable will power in remaining upright, was propped in the doorway to Virgil's room where Virgil had obviously tossed him on Gordon's approach; while Virgil himself, one hand just above Scott's shoulder was leaning in a staged casual pose as if the three were doing the most natural thing in the world hanging out in the hallway at 5.47am.
"Gentlemen," Gordon slung his towel over his shoulder. He moved slowly enjoying very much the discomfort of his supposed role models. They all had the serious soberness of the truly inebriated. He nodded to each in turn.
"Virgil."
"Gordon."
"John"
"Gordon"
They might almost have made it too, Gordon mused, if Scott hadn't taken that moment to start humming the old Spider-Man theme tune, which sent Virgil into spasms of laughter and had John rolling his eyes, albeit with a grin on his face. The gig was up.
"Okay, Gordon. Name your price," John cut straight to the chase catching the vase before gravity, his nemesis could claim another victim.
"Oh I would never.." Gordon feigned innocence, the dark look he received from two of his brothers prevented his finishing the sentence. No messing around, good that made things simpler.
"Ok. Next time Grandma makes curry, one of you will bring me pizza from that place in Rome" there was a grudging nod of consent but Gordon hadn't finished, "No laundry duty for a month.." a slight sound of protest from John but Gordon kept going "And..." pausing for effect, "I get to fly two for the next supply run..."
A dangerous growl escaped Virgil and Gordon stepped back
At that moment however Scott simply slid down the doorway to the ground. Three pairs of eyes watched his progress. Gordon looked up at Virgil again, clearing his throat pointedly.
A defeated sigh, "Fine, Brat! But you better go make some strong coffee and bring it to Scott's room ASAP. He's that big meeting at 9.30. And..."
He was interrupted by the sound of whooshy web shooter noises from the man on the floor, at least Gordon assumed that's what they were. Again three sets of eyes observed their fallen leader in silence. Even Gordon was stunned, he'd never seen his oldest brother and sometime legal guardian like this, well, how had one of Penny's friends once phrased it? Pissed as a newt.
"You broke Scotty! What did you do to him?" He asked, unable to keep an note of awe from his voice. Getting Scott to relax was hard; getting Scott to relax and let his guard down enough to take more than one drink was almost impossible. This, well, this was next level stuff.
Virgil took on the look of a guilty school boy whose tiny innocent experiment had surprisingly taken out the entire school building, "s an accident." He looked at John, "His fault!"
John put up both hands in the classic, nothing-to-do-with-me pose.
Gordon's mouth opened then closed, then he tried again, "Riigghht," he gestured the prone commander who was now grinning up at them in a cute puppy way, "You need to fix him, he's beginning to freak me out."
"We're activating 'Sober Up Protocol Delta.'" Virgil said seriously.
"You're what now?"
Virgil seemed to forget the urgency again, "John's idea. You know how he likes to name things."
"Hey!"
"And what does it involve?" Gordon looked at the space brother not liking that the role of responsible adult appeared to be moving towards him.
"Not sure yet but we'll think of something." Failure is not," at this point he yawned widely, "an option."
"Grandma's going to kill you all." And then because he couldn't resist, "Hardly very responsible behaviour, what an example!"
He easily sidestepped the attempted cuff round the head from Virgil. "Fine, I'll bring the coffee."
He set off down the hallway towards the kitchen. Giving a thumbs up in acknowledgement to John's, "Bring bagels too.'
Sighing as they watched their younger brother go, the allegedly responsible two began the process of wrestling their fallen comrade off the floor.
"We've got the secret lair thing going on already," John pointed out neatly picking up where they'd left off before the interruption.
"Yes!" Scott immediately warmed to that idea, "I think you'd be a cool supervillain Johnny."
"He's right. You've the cool secret satellite. I mean," Virgil again let go his grip on Scott to use his hand to highlight his thoughts. "All the best supervillains have secret satellites!"
"You wouldn't have to be evil, Johnny." Scott seemed to feel John needed reassurance.
"Thanks," John's tone was dry, "and don't call me Johnny." Another grunt, "Stop that Scott! If we don't get you sobered up quick we're all for it."
"Ha! So you admit involvement," Virgil was quick to jump on the inferred admission of guilt.
"Shut up and move!"
***
Gordon dutifully gathered supplies, adding Scott's favourite cereal and a protein shake to the coffee and Bagels. He was very intrigued to see how this was going to play out.
Idiots.
Maybe if he spoke nicely to Eos there was recorded evidence.
He really needed to learn not to underestimate his elders, wherever they had been up to he was impressed. He was glad to see those three cut loose, was this what it felt like to be a proud father?
He loaded a tray confident that no one else would be moving for at least another hour so concealment wasn't an issue. Well, maybe Kayo was about, but she only interfered in such matters as a last resort or to prevent death and injury. Neither seemed likely here.
They had had a tough enough couple of months especially with Scott's bout of Malaria and the various cans of worms that had opened. He sighed. John in particular had been a little uptight after that debacle. Shutting down a too serious train of thought for such an early hour he added some saltines and a Celery Crunch bar to the pile. Best to be prepared.
What he actually expected to find when he reached Scott's room he wasn't sure but for it to appear totally deserted was definitely not it.
He allowed his bare feet to sink into the soft blue carpet that Scott insisted was more necessity than luxury and looked around the empty space. His brother favoured military neatness and understated opulence.
The large bed was custom made as were the soft sheets, their thread count some ridiculously high number he'd teased Scott about at the time. He left the loaded tray on the corner of the bed, the desk too far away in his opinion, and backed out into the corridor. Where else could they have gone? Scott's private balcony was likewise empty.
He was just about to widen his search parameters when a strange noise led him to open the ensuite door.
They each had their own ensuite and had them fitted to their own preferences. Scott's was straight out of the billionaire's fantasy dream book. There was a glass ceiling allowing uninterrupted views of the sky, the constant natural light making the tiny flecks of blue and silver in the cream tiles sparkle. He had underfloor heating which Gordon considered overkill for a tropical island home, but he had to admit at times it was pleasant not to have cold tiles underfoot. But it was his shower, a full walk in cascading multi jetted wonderland that pulled and held Gordon's gaze in this moment.
"What are you..." he trailed off as three sets of eyes, well two Scott appeared unconscious, looked at him. They were all in the shower fully clothed; correction, Virgil seemed to have managed to take off his shirt though both trainers remained on his feet. They were attempting to manhandle Scott out of his jeans.
"He fell asleep so we're helping."
There was a slight moan from Scott as John, kneeling on one side of him, prised one of his socks off and pinged the damp item at Virgil who kneeling on the other side, swatted it away only to overbalance and fall backwards against the tiles.
"They're helping, Gordo. S' fine." Scott was now peering at him. His normally perfect hair was plastered flat against his head, almost covering his eyes. He was propped at a half hazard angle against the back wall the water clearly not having the sobering effect they'd hoped for. "S like being in Waterfall."
Gordon rubbed a hand through his hair in a gesture more usually seen in a frustrated Scott and appealed to his allegedly more sober brothers, "For goodness sake why did you put him in there?"
"He missed the rain on his face." Virgil answered as if it should have been obvious, "But then John figured he'd fall over and kill himself if we didn't help."
"Safely first," John said as Scott wagged a finger of endorsement, the teachable moment interrupted by a squawk as Virgil grabbed the legs of Scott's jeans and yanked hard, getting them free but catapulting himself onto the ground one direction while Scott was tossed the other, banging his head on the tiles. "Ouch!"
John started laughing at this, before overbalancing also adding to the heap of limbs. The three were laughing hysterically,
"Careful! Don't! You'll break him! Seriously, you guys are idiots!" He was faced with three uncomprehending looks. Scott finally taking the opportunity of the others distraction to coordinate his own motor skills and attempt to pull his wet t shirt over his head. He failed. "Help, I'm stuck!" He failed pathetically.
Virgil and John both scrambled to assist and Scott was freed from danger. International Rescue at its finest.
Gordon watched speechless, caught between delight and despair.
"You're right Gordon. We'll be careful. Nearly done." Virgil once again took charge. "John help him with his boxers."
"I am not helping him with his boxers."
"He is not helping me with my boxers"
Both statements were spoken in unison. And Virgil once more doubled up laughing. Scott sobered up considerably staring darkly at his nearest brother.
He then looked around owlishly, "Wait. Are we in my shower? Why are we in my shower?"
Oh good grief. Gordon took charge. Someome had to.
"John, help him up. Virgil, turn off the water... Not that one." More squawks as the water turned icy. "Here, one each." He tossed each idiot a towel from the heated towel rail in the corner that was liberally stocked with them. They spoke of high quality luxury.
"Hey, those are my new towels!"
"They are very nice, Scotty." Gordon said as if placating a small child and not the adult before him.
"Lovely and soft." Scott was gazing at his towel with adoration.
"I like the stripes," John chimed in helpfully. Gordon shot him a look and he held his hands out again in what Gordon felt was becoming his trade mark gesture of the day.
"They are a good size. I like a large towel." Virgil smiled goofily.
"Right?" Scott sighed contentedly and looked like he was about to sit down on the tiles again.
Gordon felt a surge of affection for the three doofus idly discussing soft furnishings in various states of sodden undress. Three of the most intelligent people he knew and they were basically morons. Things certainly got surreal around here fast.
Ok. This situation needed a grown up, he did his best Grandma impression, "Don't sit down! Scott! Come here."
Scott looked offended, "Leave my boxers alone." He muttered darkly.
"For pities sake! Believe me no one wants to interfere with your boxers. You and you- out! You are supposed to be the adults around here!" A chastened John and Virgil shuffled past, Virgil's trainers making a damp squelch with each step.
"And you!" He was delighted to see Scott pulling himself up to parade rest under his glare, he'd have to try that tone more often. "Get out of the wet stuff," which was now only one wet sock and the much discussed boxers, "put on something dry and drink this!" he tossed a bottle of water, which in defence to Scott's excellent reflexes he managed to catch even though he was seeing double. "If you're quick you can have two whole hours of sleep before you need to get up and regret your life choices."
Gordon turned on his heel and left him to it, smirking at the thud and loud curse that occurred behind him as Scott tried and failed to remove the sock and remain upright.
Virgil was already asleep in the middle of Scott's bed. While there was still plenty of room for Scott, the drunkard hadn't removed his wet clothes. Sighing Gordon pulled the sodden trainers from the feet that stuck over the edge of the mattress and covered the sleeping form with one of the cashmere throws Scott kept for such occasions. Virgil mumbled something, rolled over onto his back, and began to snore.
John, clutching one of the mugs of coffee and a bagel was already ensconced on the recliner in the corner. He seemed to be dry at least, sporting one of Scott's sweatshirts and a pair of ill fitting joggers. Accepting Gordon's appraising stare he raised the beverage in mock salute. Gordon wondered if he should chase him to bed but figured he'd used all his older brother wrangling powers for one day. Still, he'd check John actually got some sleep later.
Satisfied all was as good as it could get, he lifted the laden tray still miraculously on the bed where he'd left it, and set it on the floor, the desk still too far in his opinion. No doubt one of the others would trip over it, but as he thought philosophically, what could you do? With one more look around he grabbed the celery crunch bar off the top and left them to it.
Honestly, adulting was exhausting.
***
It was a testament to the Tracy constitution that Scott did indeed make the meeting and that it went well. If any of the shareholders wondered why their CEO's office appeared much darker than usual and that despite that fact he was wearing aviator sunglasses, they were too polite to comment. The ways of billionaire playboys were, after all, a mystery.
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A little something inspired by @squidsinashirt RP response about oxygen mixes for deep dives. It's from me, so yes it's silly.
Virgil's eyes darted to the side as he heard the Comms connect a second before the hologram phased in on ‘Twos dash. Gordon looked even more blue tinted than usual, the depths four was currently swimming at adding to the atmosphere.
“Everything still ok down there Gords?”
Gordon nodded, lips pressed firmly together
“You sure?”
Another nod
“Gordon, did you gas yourself with your own farts again?”
Emphatic head shaking
“Gordon,” Virgil's voice dropped a notch. “What's wrong.” All seriousness now.
Gordon took a deep breath through his nose, he thought for a second and then opened his mouth to speak.
“Well…” and it came out a squeak, Virgil tried to hide a laugh by turning to adjust some controls that didn't need adjusting. “ I may have got my hydrogen levels a little off.”
“May have?” Virgil spluttered, unable to hide this one.
“Hummmph” Gordon squeaked.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, how can I help,” Virgil pulled himself back under control.
“Will you relay the messages back to the main habitat pod? I want to be taken seriously while I talk them through the adjustments they need to make on their side to stabilise it. We were getting on ok before, I'd only just convinced them of my qualifications. So, like, could you try and, you know, sound like me?”
“Like a mouse you mean?”
“Oh ha ha, very funny.” Replied the indignant mouse.
“Sorry, couldn't resist. I'll stick you on the earpiece and you can relay what you want to say, but I warn you, too many fish puns and I am out, you hear?”
Gordon held his hand up in a solemn oath. “Cross my carp and hope to fry!”
Virgil connected through to the aqua habitat Comms network and introduced himself as his sunshine happy brother and then began relaying the squeaking instructions being fed into his ear.
“Is that really how I sound to you” Gordon chirruped while the crew were busy completing their allotted task. Virgil nearly repeated that before his brain caught up.
“wh- what?” Virgil's brain stuttered as he changed back into a more normal cadence.
“All weird and bouncy like that.” Gordon grumped.
“Hey, I never claimed to be a voice actor.” Virgil retorted, he was only trying to help after all.
“Well I wouldn't consider a career change if I was you,” Gordon hugged. “I sound nothing like that.” He grumbled.
Virgil flipped a switch and connected a voice only call to thunderbird 5, “Hi Jonny-boy! How's it hanging up there in the zero geeeees?” Virgil directed every inch of sunshine into his delivery.
“Gordon? Are you ok, you sound like you've thrown your helium intake again.”
Virgil frowned, and Gordon nearly pulled a muscle from laughing so hard down the earpiece. Virgil lowered the volume in his ear.
“Yeah, we're working on that at the moment John, he should be back to normal soon.” Virgil replied at his own pitch once more.
“For a given value of ‘normal’” John mumbled down the line.
“I heard that!” Gordon shrieked through the earpiece.
Know if been AWOL for a bit, my muse has taken an extended vacation and real life got super busy, good but busy.
Joy of that though is getting to find and catch up on all the fab content that's been going on.
Found this WIP in my notes and thought I'd toss it out- see if I can jump start the creative side of my brain.
Only a vague recollection of where I was going with this and actually two different versions of the opening. So Here's a hasty mash up of them which i didn't cheapen by proof reading so... Also not my usual main character!
🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀
Scott was the worst.
He was an unfair know-it-all who thought he knew everything and had the right to boss Alan as he saw fit. In fact all his brothers thought they were the boss of him. Just because of an accident of birth order. Alan Bartlett Tracy, Rescue operative, astronaut and arguably (depending on the brother and circumstances around the topic) genius, was also, he mused darkly, the littlest brother. It was one of the unalterable facts of the whole stupid universe- The sun would always rise; E would continue to equal mc2; Virgil would always be a caffeine addict, and he, Alan Bartlett Tracy would always be the baby.
All of them saw him as a kid. Scott however was without a doubt the worst- still ruffling his hair as he had when Alan was little.
Then again he bossed everyone, Even John sometimes though that didn't make it better. In fact- Pretty Much Everything Wrong in Alan’s life at that moment he was certain was down to the interference of his stupid eldest brother.
He was ruining Alan's life and he didn't even care.
OK, so Alan hadn't done the stupid assignment and maybe he'd lied and told his stupid teacher it was because of a rescue and maybe John had found out (John always found out) and told Scott and he was now grounded. Not much of a change considering he was trapped in a stupid island in the middle of the stupid sea but stupid Eos had him locked out of his games as per stupid John's instruction and he hadn't yet found a way around her stupid locks.
He was missing a really important (stupid) tournament in his favourite game. If someone beat his record because he wasn't there to defend it he'd never forgive his older brother. He'd told him as much earlier that day, and a bit more, rather loudly before stomping off.
So yes, he hated his stupid older brother.
Take now for example. He was back in Two reconfiguring a pod to search the earthquake site following a fairly strong aftershock. Obviously the stupid pod needed configured but he was also aware that sending him back was to give him a chance to rest while the pod was built, and to keep him away from the main action where things had got... messy. Still, he blamed Scott.
It didn’t feel fair. Sure it was nice to be able to sit in the shade for a little while and drink some water but that wasn’t the point. Stupid Scott had sent him back because he was the youngest.
They just didn’t see him as an equal. He was taller than Gordon now! His stupid grades were at least as good as John’s. He had passed every stupid medical training scenario Virgil had thrown at him to the point his brother had had a chat with him about the possibility of studying medicine. (He’d be lying if it didn’t appeal slightly; to be like Grandma. The lure of space though was too strong and he loved being in the field like this with his brothers. (Usually) That however was not the point! He was up to date on all the same stupid rescue training as the rest of them. He was an important part of International Rescue.
Well, when they let him.
When they weren’t being bossy. Even Gordon felt he had the right to tell him what to do. The worst moment had been a couple of days ago when he’d gone to complain to Gordon about another of Scott’s injustices and Gordon had told him to cut Scott some slack.
Betrayal.
Gah.
They were all against him.
“Stupid....button," He jabbed the controls with each word more forcefully than he perhaps should. "Stupid...pod!"
“For a genius your vocabulary is shockingly limited.”
Alan showed Gordon what he thought of the comment with a simple gesture.
“Scores highly on non verbal communication though. Noted. Probably best not let the Commander see you doing that.”
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