#csatm

Colonel White steepled his fingers before his face as he stared at his officer, standing at attention before his desk. Scarlet was rumpled but healed after a small fracas groundside in a civilian-but-popular-with-WASP bar, which itself had been after a joint exercise between their two organisations. Blue and Grey had also been involved - both in the exercise and in the fracas - and they would have been present but Fawn hadn’t released them yet and as the alleged instigator, the responsibility rested on Scarlet’s head.

“Why did you backhand Tempest?” he finally asked. 

“With the relative positions of myself, Captain Blue, Captain Grey, the other officer, his buddies, and the furniture, I judged a backhand was the best tactical option,” was the crisp report.  

The cheek of it would have gotten a smile from him if it hadn’t been for his years of command experience. “That’s not what I asked, Captain.”

“No, sir,” was Scarlet’s ready agreement.

“So tell me, Captain Scarlet, why did you hit him?” 

Somehow Scarlet drew himself into an even stiffer ‘attention’. “Sir. I did not hit him when he and his buddies were unknowingly mocking Captain Grey when they discussed the captain of the first Stingray prototype. I did not hit him when they insulted Spectrum as an organisation. I did not hit him when he turned to insulting you personally, sir, nor did I hit him when he started insulting myself and Captains Blue and Grey. At that point Captain Blue, Captain Grey, and I attempted to deescalate the situation by removing ourselves from the area but the other officer continued to escalate. I hit him,” his jaw clenched, “because he insulted the Angels.” 

“I see.” Privately, White was almost certain that list would have been half as long if it hadn’t been for Grey and Blue’s presence. He had already watched the security tapes, he knew his officer’s temper and the pride he had in Spectrum, and he also knew how short Scarlet’s fuse could get when someone started in on his favourite people. “What was the nature of this insult?” 

“Sir, I am uncomfortable repeating it word for word but I will relay exactly what he said in my report on the incident. Tempest stated that the Angels are on Cloudbase for decorative purposes and,” Scarlet’s mouth thinned, “and to provide… entertainment for the male senior officers.” 

“I see. Any mitigating factors in this situation?” 

“They were drinking, sir. We were not, which appeared to trigger some of their commentary.” 

Choosing to ignore the admission that Scarlet had information on Grey’s life before Spectrum - because this meeting was not about that - White sat back in his chair to consider what to do next. With that damning accusation against him, it was almost a surprise that the WASP officer was alive to complain. ‘Shore is generally a reasonable man, but unfortunately the person in question is one of his favourites and this little incident has stung WASP’s pride as well - my three gave Shore’s five a sound drubbing.’ Decision made, White took some time to pick his words - again, he knew his officer. “While your actions are understandable, I cannot condone inciting violence against other organisations, no matter how unacceptable their actions are. We cannot claim the high ground by sinking to their level. I believe it was George Bernard Shaw who had a rather pithy saying about ‘don’t mud wrestle with pigs, you’ll both get dirty and the pig likes it’ - but while we do not start fights, Captain, we do finish them.” 

That got the barest twitch at the corner of Scarlet’s mouth. “Yessir.” 

“In any case,” White continued, “despite any personal opinions that may be held on the matter, the forms must be observed. Along with your report I want a formal apology letter on my desk by 1800 and after your duty shift tomorrow you will be spending three hours as fetch-and-carry for Medical, they have a restock arriving at 2100.” 

“Yessir.” Scarlet accepted it without reservation: they both knew that his punishment should have been much worse. 

“So it’s over?” Dosela asked, sharing a quick look with Rigby. 

“It’s over,” John confirmed. “He was already being ousted from TI so that’s now in Grandma’s hands, pending Scott coming back on board as CEO, and the arrangements around the Thunderbirds and iR are ironclad and in our favour.” 

A pause to consider that, then Rigby nodded once, a sharp gesture. “Dosela and I will get out of your hair as soon as we can,” he promised. “We already got the important stuff off the Island in advance, thanks to John, and it shouldn’t take us long to pack our things and…” 

“No. You’re Thunderbirds, you’re staying,” Scott interrupted, his tone firm but his eyes warm. “There’s plenty of space on the wall for more portraits.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Wayne sounded relieved - and it was completely understandable. Being a Thunderbird - doing real, tangible good on a scale that most people only got to dream of - was something very hard to walk away from. 

“But we’re still getting out of your way,” Dosela proverbially stepped in. “We know you’ve got a bunch of stuff to sort out. Me and Rigs will take a month off or something while you reset and deal with everything else, then we’re back in the game.” 

“You don’t need to-” Scott started, but Dosela cut him off with a look. 

“Yes we do,” she informed him. “Besides, this is gonna cause a ton of paperwork with the GDF. We’ll take care of that while you take care of iR.” “I think that would be very wise,” Lady Penelope remarked. “And also very kind of you.” 

“Least we could do.” Dosela flicked her a small smile. 

“And speaking of doing, what will we all be doing now?” Penny went on to ask the room. 

“Right now?” Kayo stood up. “Resting. You and these two,” she indicated John and Virgil, “need medical clearance before we can leave the base. In the morning there’ll be calls to make, flights to arrange, resignations to send, and there’s going to be a lot of calls from the press for a statement or something, both from iR and TI, but that’s a later problem.”  

Murmurs of agreement met that statement, followed by a hubbub of different conversations as plans were laid and accommodation was arranged for Alan, Virgil, and John, now that they had official permission to be out of Medical’s confines.  

No one noticed Scott, staring at the floor, a deep frown between his eyes… and doubt pulling his mouth into a thin line.

T H U N D E R F A L L

Finding privacy while being a guest sharing a cabin on a flying carrier wasn’t easy, but he was Thunderbird Five, problem solving and trouble shooting was his bread and butter, and this was a task he was going to accomplish. That was how John came to be in Scott’s bathroom a short while after the meeting (since he’d be bunking with him) to make this call on his brother’s phone (as Scott was out organising a bed and getting toiletries and clothes for him) because there was no way he was going to let his big brother make it, he’d been through too much, suffered too much, and hurt too much on behalf of that man. If he could spare his brother this, he would. 

The call was answered on the second ring. “Scott, what is it?”

“It’s me, Grandma,” John told her. “I’ve borrowed Scott’s phone. Everyone’s okay, I’ll ask the doctors here if they can send you our medical data, but we’re all okay.”

“That will be good,” Grandma replied, but he could hear the coming question. “What’s happened?”

John tried to detach himself from his emotions - which, despite everything, were still very much present and very much complicated - and he was longing for a mental hug from EOS right now, to feel that warmth of her presence, but he couldn’t have that either, so he donned the mantle of Thunderbird Five instead. “I’m sorry to tell you that Jeff is dead.” The lie was easier than the truth right now, easier for him to utter, and easier for her to hear. 

A long pause, then Doctor Tracy spoke. “How?”

“Cardiac event in the cells at Spectrum New York. They couldn’t resuscitate him.” 

Another long pause, then a matching sigh and the sounds of movement that had to be her sitting down. “I thought as much.” The words were soft, but the underlying regret was sharp. Brief, but sharp. 

Now it was his turn to ask a question. “Grandma?”

“Amongst other things, cardiac and vascular issues are a known problem for long-term space flight. Enlarged heart, weakened valves, and so on.” Doctor Tracy was speaking again, wrapping clinical facts around a hard truth to blunt those oh so sharp edges and corners. “I could see something was going on, his colour wasn’t right and he was nursing his left arm. The stress of everything was probably the trigger event.”

“...why didn’t you say anything?” John asked, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. If Grandma had spotted that from the other end of the board room table, subtle signs that she could recognise because she’d been a doctor for so many years and this was her son, someone that she knew oh so very well… If she’d said something, Jeff would have gone to the hospital, not the cells… ‘...and he might have survived…’ He… wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to do with that thought.

“I wasn’t sure.” The lie was blatant, but it was easy to swallow. “Thank you for telling me, John. Let me know when you boys and Kayo are going to go home and I’ll meet you there. We’ve got the board at TI mostly sorted out, there’s just a few details that are being difficult.”

“Okay, Grandma.” John let her change the subject. “We think it’ll be in the next day or two. Take care.”

“I will, sweetie, I will.” Click. 

John stared at the phone for a long moment, trying to get his head around what had just happened, but there was one thing he knew for certain: Scott would never, ever find out about this. 

T H U N D E R F A L L 

Post-flight, reports, and assorted paperwork finally complete (including a twelve page contact report for an encounter that had lasted five minutes at most and been three sentences long) Adam dragged himself through the base on a meandering path that terminated in his quarters. A stop at the commissary put two bananas and a yoghurt cup into his hands, a detour to the Amber Room got him a hug from Karen and a gentle kiss that went a long way to soothing his lingering agitation, then he was back in his room. 

While present-him would have much preferred to just drop everything onto the floor and collapse into bed as-is, he knew that future-him would regret all of it, so Adam made himself  secure his weaponry, hang up his tunic and ‘Cap, put away his boots, dump everything else into the laundry hamper, and take a hot shower. 

Briefly wishing that he’d been able to have that percussive therapy session with Paul (but at the same time glad they hadn’t, today had been long and jet lag had caught up to him about three hours ago) Adam wrapped a towel around his waist and went hunting for something soft to sleep in. Habit made him check his personal phone on the way through his room, and that was when he saw the waiting message from his father: ‘Adam, call me as soon as you get this.’ 

‘I’d better get this over with.’ Adam scooped it up, opened the message and hit the ‘dial’ icon. 

John answered on the second ring. “Adam?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Adam sat down on the edge of the bed, it seemed safer than standing.

“Adam…” there was a ‘woosh’ of a heavy exhale on the other end of the call, “I, well… the boardroom… is that the sort of thing you normally deal with?” 

“Today was tame.” Already mentally drafting his second contact report, Adam immediately cursed himself for the slip, that was stupid! 

“That was ‘tame’!?”

Adam’s ear was already well trained thanks to his time at the World Aeronautical Society,  working with a group of men who sometimes had the communication skills of a box of rocks had only honed that. Under the incredulous notes he could hear the worry that underpinned the three words, worry etched with not a little fear. 

The ‘woosh’ noise wasn’t an exhale this time but an indrawing of breath in preparation for something else to be said. “Look, Adam… I… can we talk? Face to face, not on the phone. This whole business with Tracy… it’s made me realise there’s only so much time.’ John interrupted himself with a huffed, self-depreciating sound that held nothing but regret. “I’m finally listening to your mother. She’s spent years telling me I’ve been a stubborn jackass about… well… about everything.”  

Adam had to swallow twice before he could talk. “I’d… I’d like that. I can’t take leave yet, but as soon as I get a chance I’ll be in touch with a date and time.” 

“I understand.” A pause and some indistinct talking in the background, then, “I have to go. Adam… son, I love you.”