#darkestwolfx

Mostly because Scott was still inside, Brains was at a conference the other side of the world with Moffie, and Virgil was still in the air with an ETA of another hour.  Kayo was off doing Kayo-things who knew where, Grandma was still unaware in the kitchen as she conjured up another inedible horror, Alan was with Virgil and John was off-planet.

John and EOS had tried to remotely fix the chute, but it quickly became apparent that it was a mechanical issue, and therefore nothing that could be done by remote control wizardry. An ion wrench was probably the tool for the job, and even if Gordon didn’t have a ban on touching Virgil’s tools (and no-one went near Brains’ without strictest supervision), fixing errant launch tubes was rather different to repairs on a submarine.

Hey, they all had their specialities.  Gordon’s just happened to be not this.

So, really, there was nothing for Gordon to do except sit and laugh as Scott growled at him from the other side of the false wall.  He’d even offered to stream Into The Unknown to Scott’s comm to relieve his boredom until Virgil got back, but that had been rejected.

Virgil had been alerted to the situation, at least.  He’d told Scott that he was hurrying back and had got an irritated snipe at the sluggish speed of Thunderbird Two in response.  Not Scott’s smartest move – a private message to Gordon had informed him that if Scott was going to be like that then he could wait because Virgil was certainly not going to push his beautiful ‘bird for the sake of an ungrateful brother who was at no risk of harm except to his ego.

Hence the hour ETA.

Scott was too smart to not realise that was not Two’s top speed, but no apologies had come out from the chute – Gordon knew those would come later, once he was free and no longer stressed out from being trapped in a small area for who-knew-how-long.  Scott wasn’t claustrophobic, not by any means, but there was always something about being stuck in a place with no way out that got to people.

They’d all done enough cave-in rescues or similar to know that one.

That was why Gordon was laughing.  It might annoy the heck out of his brother, but as long as he could hear a voice, Scott knew he wasn’t alone, hadn’t been left there.  Gordon might not be able to get Scott out, but he could make sure he knew he hadn’t been forgotten.

Oh, Scott would never thank him for it, of course.  Scott had a heavy dislike for being mocked, and there were other ways he could have made his continuous presence know – his usual methods of calming rescuees on missions, light-hearted banter and stories – but hey, he was a younger brother.  He had a duty to be irritating sometimes.

“Gordon, your Ed impression is not helping.”

Gordon stopped laughing immediately, squinting at the (currently not) swivelling fake wall between him and Scott.

“Did you just make a Lion King reference?” he demanded.  He knew Scott liked pre-millennium movies, and the Lion King, despite its lack of anything space or plane related, had always been a family favourite. They’d seen it several times on family movie nights.  

Was it his imagination, or was the answering silence a little apprehensive?  “Scoooooootty.”

Silence continued to answer him, and a hyena-like grin slowly spread across his face.

“Iiiiiii’m gonna be a mighty king,” he started, leaning his back against the wall just next to the rotating section.  “So enemies beware!”

“Gordon,” Scott complained.  He just laughed.

“Come on, Scott,” he encouraged, before singing the lines again.

“No.”

“You can do Simba’s part instead?” he offered.

“No.”

“Scoooooott.”

“No.”

Well, if he wanted to be a spoilsport…

“I’m gonna be a mighty king,” he repeated again.  “So enemies beware!”  Then he deepened his voice.  “Well, I’ve never seen a king of beasts with quite so little hair!”  Too deep.  Ah well.

“I’m gonna be the main event, like no king was before!  I’m brushin’ up on lookin’ down; I’m workin’ on my ROAR!”

Still silence from the chute, so he cleared his throat and tried another pitch.

“Thus far, a rather uninspiring thing.”

That was better.

“Oh, I just can’t wait to be king!”

Ah, now this was going to get a little tricky solo.  He cleared his throat again.

“You’ve rather a long way to, young master, if you think-  No-one sayin’ ‘do this’-”

“Now when I said that…” Scott’s voice finally broke through the sullen silence the other side of the wall and Gordon allowed himself a victory punch.  He knew Scott wouldn’t be able to stay silent the whole time. Little brother’s intuition.  He lifted his voice higher for Nala’s line.

“No-one sayin’ ‘be there’!”

“What I meant was…”  It sounded rather like Scott was taking out his exasperation through Zazu.  Well, it was in character.

“No-one sayin’ ‘stop that’!”

“What you don’t realise…” Gordon hoped John was recording this. Oh who was he kidding, of course he was.

“No-one sayin’ ‘see here’!”

“Now see here!”  That sounded familiar.

“Free to run around aa-all day!”

“Well, that’s definitely out.”

“Free to do it aall myyyyy waaayyyy!”  Gordon finished the section with a blemish, and quietened, waiting.  Question and answer phrases were one thing, but there was no guarantee that Scott would continue into the next section.

Big brother didn’t disappoint.

“I think it’s time that you and I arranged a heart to heart.”

Gordon’s hyena-grin settled into something more genuinely pleased as he picked up the answer, tapping lightly on the false wall for emphasis.

“Kings don’t need advice from little hornbills for a start!”

“If this is where the monarchy is headed count me out!” Scott barked, answering knocks in time with the words.  “Out of service, out of Africa, I wouldn’t hang about!  This child is getting wildly out of wiiing!”  Scott was no Virgil – none of them were – but he could hold a tune when he put his mind to it.  With nothing else to do except knock on his side of the wall to emphasis certain words (and Gordon was fairly sure the ‘child’ he was actually thinking of was not a certain fictional lion cub, but maybe an annoying but lovable squid instead), now was a perfect time to put his mind to it.

“Oh I just can’t wait to be king!” Gordon replied.  “Everybody look left!  Everybody look right!”  He whipped his head around, even though there was no-one there to- oh, hello John!  He gave his older brother a cheeky wave, and got an eyeroll for his trouble although the spaceman stayed mercifully quiet. “Everywhere you look I’m, standing in spotlight!”

“Not. Yet.” Scott answered, biting it out in a perfectly-Zazu fashion, and Gordon grinned triumphantly at John before launching into the choral line.  To his absolute delight, Scott joined in.

“Let every creature go for broke and sing!  Let’s hear it in the herd and on the wing!  It’s gonna be King Simba’s finest fling!”

“Oh I just can’t waaaaaaiiiit… to be kiiiiiiiing!” Gordon finished with a flourish.  In front of him, John shook his head and vanished, maybe to report to Virgil.  Or maybe to explain to Grandma what her grandsons were doing.

“Are you satisfied now?” Scott asked.  He sounded a little less stressed, which Gordon counted as a win, especially as the entire operation had taken less than five minutes, and Thunderbird Two was still nowhere near landing.

Fifty-five more minutes to fill before Virgil and his ion wrench came to the rescue.

“No way, Scotty,” he drawled, settling back against the wall again and ignoring the murderous silence. “What next?”

“No.”

So it was back to that was it?

“Hakuna Matata,” he drawled, and heard a sigh of resignation behind him.  “What a wonderful thing.”

By the time Virgil finally arrived an hour later, freshly showered and clearly in no hurry to rescue their brother, although he was dutifully carrying his toolbox, Gordon had dragged Scott through every movie duet he could think of and then some.

John smiled ruefully. “He’s had a bad day, I’m filling in for him.”

“Oh dear, he’s not hurt, is he?”

“No, he’s alright. But you can hardly expect him to play the part of the billionaire business tycoon after spending most of the day rescuing Lemaire.”

Penny hummed in understanding. “Hits a bit too close to home, does it?” 

She laughed at John’s silent nod and flat look, hooking her arm through his and pulling him into a walk. “Trust me, darling, you’re nothing alike. Now we’d best be going, Parker said he’d meet us upstairs. It doesn’t reflect well to be late to your own party.”

“Hardly a party, Pen.” John muttered. Penny glanced up to see John eyeing the people eyeing them. A Tracy or a Creighton-Ward was enough to garner attention on their own, together they attracted the eyes of most everyone in the lobby.

Penny winced internally at John’s obvious discomfort. As much as she’d tried to pull him out of his shell, he still detested the attention. 

“You didn’t want to send Virgil instead?” She asked gently. “I know you don’t care for this sort of thing.”

John shrugged. “You know Virge. He’s more R&D.” 

Brokering a business deal was kind of out of his little brother’s wheelhouse. Out of John’s wheelhouse too actually. He was more the numbers guy, and the great thing about being the numbers guy was you could do it all remotely from your space station twenty-two thousand miles away, or from your private island that might as well be just as far. 

John sighed, finding himself pulling at his sleeves again. Scott really was better at all of this. Did Scott ever wear cufflinks?

“Stop that, John.”  

“Stop what?” He asked, jumping out of his head.

She eyed him with a look saying ‘you know exactly what’. “You’re brooding again.” 

“What? I don’t brood.” He said, hitting the call button for the elevator so he didn’t have to look her in the eyes. “I… ruminate.”

“Whatever you want to call it doesn’t change the fact you need to stop. You are more than capable of heading this meeting.”

John shook his head ruefully. “If you say so, Pen.”

“I do say so, and don’t even think of trying to argue with me, John Tracy.”

John let out a laugh at this bit. 

As if he’d ever stand a chance…  Penny was an excellent negotiator, a talent that served her well- and often-  in her line of work. And was one of the many reasons never to start an argument with her.

“Wouldn’t dream of of it, Pen-”

A loud clap of thunder interrupted him, and the lights buzzed before flickering off completely. Leaving the lobby, and it’s occupants, in the dark. 

“Well. This is rather unfortunate.”

Penn’s remark was one of many as the murmuring of the crowd rose in volume and temperament, many using language not nearly as polite as hers. One call rang above the others though, because it was downright panicked.

“My sister’s stuck in the elevator!”

It was a young man standing near them, alarm evident on his face. The manager rushed over, walking quickly but not running, trying to exhibit some control of the situation. “No cause to worry, sir. The elevator breaks have engaged, she’s in no danger.”

“No, you don’t understand, she’s claustrophobic, she’ll be having a panic attack!” The young man said, looking as if he was about to have a panic attack himself. John stepped in then, instinct driving him.

“Hey, take a breath, your sister will be fine.” John assured the young man. He turned to the manager. “Have someone call the fire department, in the meantime we’ll call the elevator. We can see how she’s doing.”

His instructions were carried out without complaint, even if the manager looked a bit put out to be ordered around in his own hotel. But he, like everyone else, recognized John’s seniority in the situation. He wasn’t only the camera-shy Tracy heir, after all. He was International Rescue.

The manager led the small party over to the receptionist desk, followed by no small amount of obvious eavesdroppers, to connect with the elevator phone.

“Hello, Emma, are you there?” The young man, James, asked, his voice shaky.

The empty silence meeting James’ question had John sending Penny a grim look. Silence on the comm lines was never a good sign.

“Emma? Are you there?” James’ voice had risen an octave, and still no answer.

The manager was sweating nervously, having given up all pretense of authority. “What- what do we do?”

John calculated quickly in his head. The fire department was sure to be delayed with the traffic and thunderstorm conditions to contend with, during which time Emma, in the best case scenario, couldn’t catch her breath, and in the worst case, was already passed out- which would slot her with a possible head injury as well. John shook his head. It was hardly a decision at all.

“Where did her elevator stop?”

“Between the third and fourth floors.” The manager supplied.

“Penny, have Parker meet us on the fourth floor.” 

`*`

Parker arrived quickly, toting the leather bag he deemed to be his ‘lucky kit’. Elevator doors were harder to pry open than the movies made them seem, but one well placed ice pick and an impressive round house from Lady Penelope had the door open in moments.

John readied himself for the trip down to the elevator car. As far as civvies went for performing rescues, evening wear probably had to be at the bottom of the list. John removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and pocketed his cufflinks. 

He doubted he’d ever be able to wear the suit again after clambering down the oiled elevator cable, but he’d sure as heck try. Growing up in a Kansas farm house with four rowdy brothers meant he’d adopted his grandmother’s mentality of keeping nice things nice.

John wrapped his hands with strips of cloth- shredded dish towels, courtesy of the kitchen staff. It should help him grip the elevator cable. He stood at the elevator opening, eyeing the ten foot drop before turning back behind him.

“Are you coming, Lady Penelope?” The mission-like atmosphere of the situation had him switching to her professional title.

She shook her head. “Three’s a crowd, darling. I’ll wait here with James.”

John nodded in understanding. Best not to overwhelm Emma with too many people, and her brother seemed to be only just keeping himself from tipping over the edge into hysterics- he could do with Lady Penelope’s calming presence.

With a calculated leap, John jumped into the elevator shaft. He met the cable full on and clutched it tightly- reminded oddly of the rope climbing exercises in a high school gym class. His make-shift hand wraps did their job and John was able to climb down without  too much slipping. He unwrapped his hands from the now shredded material, called a quick okay to Lady Penelope upstairs, then dropped down through the top emergency hatch, landing neatly in the elevator car.

Flicking on a penlight, he illuminated the small space, taking stock of the situation.. Emma stood on shaky legs, slumped against the wall, fingers clutching the silver rail that ran along the length of the car in a white knuckled grip. She was wheezing desperately, and swaying on her feet, but still conscious- always a good thing.

John approached her slowly, not wanting to frighten her further. “Emma? You’re brother sent me. I’m International Rescue. I’m here to help.”

Her eyes darted wildly around at the walls surrounding her, before making contact with John’s. “I c-can’t… can’t breathe-”

“It’s gonna be alright. I’m John, I’m going to stay with you until the fire department comes.” John gently pried her fingers away from the rail and took her elbow,  leading her away from the wall and seating her in the middle of the floor.

John crouched down in front of her, meeting her eyes and directing her to cup her hands around her nose and mouth. “Now breathe in deeply from your stomach. Hold. Breathe out.”

It only took a few repetitions before John admitted to himself it wasn’t working. Emma kept breaking eye contact, and every time her eyes drifted to the walls she choked.

“It’s alright.” John soothed again as it happened for the third time. “Let’s try something different. Close your eyes.” If Emma couldn’t see the walls, perhaps he could convince her she wasn’t trapped. “Now, you’re not here anymore, you’re watching the sky. The sun is setting over the ocean.”

John channeled his inner Virgil, describing an island sunset in bursts of crimson and gold, waves reflecting warm sunlight before soft pink fades into the deep indigo of night time. Silver light pricks the sky, the stars revealed in swirling constellations, like fragments of the sun. The stars go on forever.

“And there’s a breeze coming off the ocean.” John said. “Match your breath. In… and out. In… and out.”

Minutes blended as John kept up the soothing narrative, his words smoothing Emma’s wheezing gasps into even breaths. Quite soon, help arrived, signaled by a thump from the ceiling, and things began to move in quick succession.

A firefighter dropped through the hatch like John had, checking they were both alright before fitting them with harnesses and winching them up one by one. As John was pulled up out of the elevator shaft he was greeted by- not a familiar face, but a recognizable one. After all, the news reports had been notoriously hard to avoid after she and Virgil decapitated the world's largest building.

“Chief McCready.”

The chief grinned and nodded, clasping John’s hand and hauling him onto solid ground. “Tracy.” A familiar name paired with a new face. “And here I thought you boys chased after trouble, but it looks like it might be the other way around.”

John’s civilian clothes, oil smeared and wrinkled, were a dead give-away he hadn’t been expecting this particular mission. He could see Grandma now, shaking her head and clicking her tongue, amazed at all the ways him and his brothers managed to ruin clothes, but not at all surprised that they did.

He allowed himself a small smile. “The job follows you around.” On duty or not, the calls never went unanswered.

The Chief clapped him on the shoulder, understanding the sentiment in a way only a first responder really could. “That it does.”

Their conversation was brief, the Chief dragged away by her duties and John by an overwhelmingly grateful Emma and James, both of which hugged him tightly and thanked him profusely.

When John finally had a moment to catch his breath, he caught Penny watching him, a hint of humor in her eyes.

“What?” He asked, her levity in his tone.

“Nothing at all. It’s just I can hardly believe this is who the tabloids call the ‘reclusive elite’.”

There was a brief moment of confusion before John realized with a start just how many eyes were on him. A whole crowd of obvious rubberneckers, both indiscreetly peeking at him and gaping unashamedly. And all John could do was laugh.