#fabfivefeb

Quiet: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54424201

Gordon's Lucky Day:

Week Five of FabFiveFeb 2024.

This week the bro is   ALAN

The prompts are:

“I can't."

glitter

not here

light

home

Take this bro and one or more of these prompts and write, art, sculpt, create anything. No pressure, no real time limit, just start here and see where it takes you.

When you are ready, post the result and tag it #fabfivefeb and #fabfivefeb2024

If you are not Thunderfam, then you don’t have to play with Alan, just pick your favourite character and grab a prompt or two.

If you are Thunderfam and Alan just isn’t the bro for you, do not worry. As long as his name is in there somewhere, you’ve done it. But remember, part of the writing experience is to branch out and try new things…you never know what another brother might do when you try him on for size :D

In any case, the most important thing is to have fun, share the results and the love.

So, have at it!

Nutty

(osorry this one is soooo late, got distracted by all that yarn)

I finally finished (without any proof reading, so sorry if there are mistakes!) week two of FabFiveFeb 2024! This is Gordon using the prompts "You're kidding" and "Window". (It does contain one swear word near the end.) It ended up being 4382 words long. That's the most writing I have done in absolutely ages! When I first thought of this idea, I was sure that Virgil was going to be in it. Virgil apparently took one look and went: "Nah, I'm not doing that." and left. So I blame the nonsense that follows entirely on Virgil for not staying and supervising his younger brothers. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You're kidding, right?”

“No. That's your window.”

“One minute flat?”

“Your gold medal time was faster.” 

“Where I had to swim in a straight line without deadly machinery trying to crush me?”

“Besides, it's faster to swim underwater than on the surface.  That’s why you can only swim for fifteen metres underwater in a race.”  

“Did you just explain swimming regulations to me bro?”

“I've got telemetry from previous dives. You’re fast enough. You can do it.”

“Don't really have a choice do I?” 

The day had started so promisingly.  He’d had a lovely, uninterrupted morning swim.  Virgil had made waffles for breakfast.  Using the newfound power of the words “Don’t believe me?  Look it up.” he’d convinced Alan that new research had shown some coral reefs had evolved to release hormones that would mind-control crabs for their defence, and divers were having to take extra precautions to go near the reefs as they were getting attacked en masse by swarms of crabs.

Okay, that story hadn’t lasted very long because Alan had then confidently told Scott about it who wasn’t quite as ready to believe any marine-related news after finding out that the “giant deep sea ghost-fish once swallowed a whole submarine” story Gordon had told him wasn’t true. (And he’d only found out that wasn’t true because he had confidently told John about it who was the only one sensible enough to actually immediately fact-check it.)

When the call had come in, it had seemed that it wasn’t even going to be too difficult a rescue.  Two divers had gotten themselves trapped in a huge old industrial wreck they had decided to explore. (Totally a waste of time, if you’d have asked Gordon. Not the sort of ship you’re going to find treasure onboard.)

The wreck wasn’t even that deep, as far as these things went.  Just a hop over in Thunderbird 2, a nice dive down in 4 to cut through the hull and a swim for Gordon with a handheld laser to make a direct route out.  He’d told Virgil it would be a “swim in the park.”

The wreck shuddered around him.  Ahead of him ancient machinery came to life, pistons firing, arms rotating, propellers turning, the teeth of cogs grinding and groaning against sediment and rust.  Everything flicked around in a dance of metal and currents, red flecks swirling among murky brown water.  An echoing bang as something hit against the underwater cliff that the ship was resting on, catching against the rock that had penetrated the hull.  Then that long low screech as ancient engines pushed against the sudden blockage, dragging protesting metal across rock, slowing all of the churning, crunching parts for sixty short seconds, before suddenly coming free and meshing and crushing and turning again.

When they had arrived the sea was calm, the sky was blue.  Gordon had dived below and hummed a happy little tune on his way down.  He’d admired some of the creatures that had made their home on and around the colossal wreck.  It had been a ship and a factory, back in its day, apparently.  To be honest, Gordon hadn’t been paying much attention to the details of what it used to do, because it hadn’t seemed relevant to cutting a hole in the side.  It was dead and dormant, and Four had made short work of creating an entrance.  Gordon had left his sub and swum inside, following the directions John had given him to twist and turn down old, dark passages.  It was taking time to cut through doors and bulkheads, but it was time he had, time the divers had.  Air enough to go around.  

Not anymore.

“You’re sure there’s no other way?”

“It would take too long to clear the debris to get back through the other access point. Just one minute’s swim this way and you’re out.”

“Home in time for tea,” Gordon grimaced.

He had been making good progress cutting through a deck to take a short cut to the room that they had located the divers in, when the whole ship had rumbled.  Lights flickered on and off in the corridor he was in, the wail of twisting, tortured metal reached his ears.

“What-?”

“Gordon! You need to get out now!”

Easier said than done.  He turned to swim back the way he had come but the ship suddenly lurched to the side and he banged into the wall.  He pushed off and started to swim again but the corridor was still turning.  The noise increased, the wail became a scream, and suddenly Gordon was thrown against the ceiling.  He was battered by old remnants of tools and boxes, flipped over, dragged down.  He felt the pressure increase.

Finally there was a screech and a bang and the world stopped moving.  He realised he could hear John’s voice in his ear.

“Gordon?  Thunderbird 4 please respond!”

“I’m okay.  Gonna have a couple of bruises, but all intact.  What happened?”

“Seems our divers got a bit bored waiting for rescue and thought they’d try connecting up a few systems to see if they could override the hatches.”

“It worked?”

“Not exactly.  Everything powered up, but when the engines kicked in the propellers spun the back of the ship over the cliff edge.  It was caught on the rocks at the front and sheared in half.  The damage actually did open a route out for them.  They are heading to the surface now.  Virgil is standing by to pick them up.”

“Oh, why didn’t we think of that?  Tear the ship in half, it would have been much faster.”  Gordon shook his head in disbelief.  “So, I just need to swim back out the way I came.”  He looked around, shining his torch up and down the corridor to try to get his bearings.

“Well… that’s where we have a problem. Your half of the ship has gone over the cliff.  It’s now wedged between two cliff faces, with a significant amount of debris on top of it. You can’t get out the way you got in.”

“Can Four clear the debris?”

“Not fast enough.”

“I cut some new holes?”

“Standby.”

Gordon pushed the jolt of fear down and waited. The situation was never good when John said “standby” rather than giving an answer.

“Okay, I think I have a route out…” 

“There’s a “but” at the end of that sentence.”

“...Let’s get you there first.  Follow the corridor down.”

Gordon followed John’s directions, having to stop a few times and use his laser to cut through where his route was blocked.  The ship was somehow more eerie with the power on.

“How’s this old thing still running?” Gordon asked, just to pass the time while he cut through a thick metal door ahead of him.  “It must have been down here for decades.”

“Atomic powered,” John replied distractedly.

Gordon paused.

“The hell?  I am about to get irradiated? Cause if I am, the first thing I’m going to do with my new superpowers is fly up to Five and kick your ass.”

“No, no.  It’s well shielded.  The whole thing is surprisingly well made.  I mean, other than the metal fatigue and weight of the hull causing it to break when it hung over the cliff, everything is still working.  Well everything in your half that hasn’t been crushed, anyway.”

“Fantastic.” Gordon resumed cutting. “How come it didn’t get cleared up before now?”

“Seems it was part of an illegal operation during the Global Conflict.  There’s no record of this particular ship existing.  I don’t think anyone knew it was there until our explorers stumbled upon it.  I’ve already put in a request for it to be cleared up; well shielded or not, we don't want to be leaving a radioactive hazard on the seafloor.”

“Mmm.”  The door dropped away from its hinges.  “I’m through. God, it’s loud in here.  Where am I?”

“So… this is where it gets tricky. The cliff on this side punched a hole through the hull.  There’s enough room at the top for you to be able to swim out of it, but getting there is going to be… tight.  You’re going to have to swim through some of the factory machinery and engine systems.  My scans show some of the pieces have been thrown loose and are… uh… kinda smashing together in a less than optimal way.”

Gordon drifted to the hatch ahead of him and shone his torch through.  The seawater was being churned up, practically opaque with debris and rust, but the shadows and flash of huge pistons and cogs meshing together was unmistakable.

“The good news,” John continued, “is that every time it completes a cycle it’s hitting the rock face and slowing everything down for sixty seconds.  So you have a whole minute to swim the hundred metre route I have planned to get you out.” “You're kidding, right?”

“No. That's your window.”

“One minute flat?”

“Your gold medal time was faster.”  

“Where I had to swim in a straight line without deadly machinery trying to crush me?”

“Besides, it's faster to swim underwater than on the surface.  That’s why you can only swim for fifteen metres underwater in a race.”  

“Did you just explain swimming regulations to me bro?”

“I've got telemetry from previous dives. You’re fast enough. You can do it.”

“Don't really have a choice do I?” He let out an explosive sigh.  Watched as the machinery turned again.

The numbers said he could do it.  But there was a doubt in the back of his mind, a niggle of “what if?”  What if he mishears John’s directions and takes a wrong turn? What if one of the bits of machinery comes loose as he’s going through, blocks his route or falls on him? What if he just isn’t that fast a swimmer?

No, it’s just like a race, he thought to himself.  Just got to race the clock.  John will be my navigator.  Like a Rally driver.  Rally swimming.  Huh I swam at rallies… need to stay calm… need to focus… I need… luck!  That’s it! That’s how I do this.  A deep calming breath.

“Okay.  If I’m doing this, I’m doing this right.  Is Alan at home?”

“...Yes, but I don’t see-”

“Loop him in.”

There was a few seconds of silence then:

“Yo! John says you’re stuck in a wreck at the bottom of the sea.”

Gordon could hear the unspoken question in the statement.  What did he want the astronaut to do about an undersea problem?

“Okay, listen carefully.  I need you to go into my room-”

“What? Is this a trap?”

“No, seriously.  I need your help here, Alan.  Go into my room, and in the third drawer down on the back of the right-hand side, there’s a pair of socks. Dark blue, light blue stripes, yellow logo.”

There was a few seconds silence then:

“Righhhhttt. Got them.”

“Those are my lucky socks.  I wore them before every race back in the day.”

A pause, then uncertain:

“Do you want me to put them on?”

Gordon thought about it for a moment.

“Urmmm, no. I think it’s got to be on me.”

“Slight problem with that dude.”

“Yeah.  Hmmm.”  He tapped his fingers on his regulator for a few moments while he thought the problem through.  “Well, what if you made, like, a voodoo doll of me?  Then you can transfer the good luck from the socks to me.”

“That makes sense.” 

Gordon could see Alan in his mind’s eye, nodding in agreement.

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”  

He could also imagine John running his hand through his hair in the way he does when he’s getting stressed or confused.

“No, trust me. If I’m going to swim at my best, I need the vibes.”

“So John, how do I make a voodoo doll of Gordon?”

“Why on Earth do you think I’d know how to do that?”

“Weren’t you playing a game where you had to make one just a couple of weeks ago?”

“You mean Monkey Island 2? I’m not sure how accurate an old video game has the instructions on making a voodoo doll.”

“They probably looked it up,” Alan reasoned.

“Good enough for me, bro!” Gordon nods.  “Make one like in your game.”

There’s a moment of disbelieving silence and then:

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.  But you need something of the thread, something of the body, something of the head, and something of the dead.”

“Uh that last bit seems kinda morbid,” Gordon winced. He didn't really want to think about dead right now.

“You want to make a voodoo doll, that's how you do it. Well that's how you do it in an old video game about pirates, anyway.”  

“It's about pirates? I thought it would be about astronauts.”

“It's called Monkey Island. Why would you think that's about astronauts?” 

“I dunno. A Monkey Island could be a space phenomenon.  I mean, there’s a crab nebula, right?”

“Ooh if I ever make a new space discovery, I'm totally calling it that,” Alan's voice piped up. “The Monkey Island phenomenon!” 

John had a few seconds of silent horror where he imagined writing a future paper and presenting it to a room of scholars about the Monkey Island phenomenon before snapping himself back to the task at hand.

“Look, if we are doing this we need to hurry up. I don't know how long that rock face is going to hold up against the machinery. If it shears away that stuff will be turning too quickly for Gordon to get through.” 

Gordon gulped and tried to put the idea out of his head that it could give while he was halfway through the maze.

“Right, I've got a crash test dummy out of Brain's lab,” Alan huffed and there was the sound of dropping something heavy. “So first thing; something of the thread. The thread of what?”

“Just means clothes,” John clarified.

“Would the socks do?”

“No, they can't be used in making the doll, else the magic will be used up. You need to add that afterwards,” Gordon explained sagely. 

“Grab one of his shirts. You can look for one of his hairs while you're in his room.” 

“To the plug hole!”

“Urg, Alan, no! Look in his hairbrush or something.”

“Oh, right.” 

“Something of the body…” John mused.  “In the game that's spit.” 

“Can't more hair count? I mean that's off his body.” 

“I cut my toenails this morning, if you go in the trash…”

“This may be the most horrific mission I've ever had to listen to,”John mumbled.

“Ok, urg, you OWE me Gordon. Three things down. Now something of the dead?” 

There were several seconds of silence.

“In the game it's an ancestor’s bone.” 

None of them knew how to respond to that. The machinery crunched through another cycle.  Gordon watched the swirls of rust, red as blood in his torchlight.

“There's a shell bracelet on the shelf above the desk,” he absent-mindedly rubbed his wrist as he spoke. “Use that.”

“How's that something of the dead?” He could hear Alan’s frown.

“Just has to be associated with me right? Well it's my bracelet and it's made from bits of shellfish that are dead now.” 

“You just ruined shells for me. I used to think they were pretty.”

“They are pretty.” 

“Bits of dead shellfish.”  

“Pretty bits of dead shellfish.” 

“Okay I have everything. Heading to the lounge to dress the dummy for the dummy.”

“Thanks, bro.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Up on Five John had four feeds open. One was tracking Virgil, flying the rescued drivers to hospital. One was tracking Scott, flying the much slower jet home from a TI meeting. One was Gordon's lifesigns, and all the readings he had on the wreck and the surrounding geography. The last was Alan, in the lounge at home, tying a shell bracelet onto a crash-test dummy that he had no idea had belonged to their mother before it had belonged to Gordon.

It was going to take a few minutes, rushing though he was, for Alan to construct the doll.  Wrestling a crash-test dummy into a Hawaiian shirt wasn’t the easiest thing to do.  John didn’t even want to know where he was going to put the toenail clippings.

He took the opportunity to stare out the window of Five. It didn’t take long to spot the constellation of Pisces.  His eyes darted between points of light, until settling on a fairly unassuming star a few jumps outside of the constellation.  

Back to the task.

“Okay.  Voodoo doll Gordon is ready,” Alan sat back on his heels, surveying his work.

“Socks on?” Gordon asked.

“Socks on,” Alan confirmed.

John maximised the schematics of the wreck, overlaid them with the real-time simulation of the moving parts, and ran his eyes over the route between them.

“Okay Gordon, I’m going to guide you to the exit.  Are you ready?”

There was a staticy noise as Gordon took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gordon watched the machinery ahead of him spin again.  It was too dark and murky to see more than the first few feet, but he could feel the vibrations through the water as things clashed and crunched together.

He wondered if he was wasting too much time, if he should have just gone for it in the first place when John had said he had a route out.  Alan’s voice broke him out of his musings.

“Okay.  Voodoo doll Gordon is ready.”

“Socks on?” Gordon asked.

“Socks on,” Alan confirmed.

Gordon closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of wearing his lucky socks.  The cotton against his skin.  The colour.  The warmth.

“Okay Gordon, I’m going to guide you to the exit.  Are you ready?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, just like he would before stepping up to the starting block.

“Ready.”

“On my mark.  Go in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, mark!”

Gordon launched himself into the machinery ahead just as the resounding clang of it hitting the rockface reverberated through the water.  The scream of scraping began.

John’s voice was in his ear, guiding him.

“Three metres then left ninety degrees. Two metres. One metre.  Left now!”

He twisted in the water, batting his hand off the metal of a cog before him and resumed his dolphin kick.

“Five metres, then you’ll need to go up.  It’ll get a bit narrow, but you’ll fit.”

“FAB.”

“Three.  Two.  One metre. Up!”

John wasn’t joking about it being narrow.  He was manoeuvring between some kind of wall or casing for a long piston.  He did fit, but it slowed his kick down considerably, unable to get the full flick of his feet without hitting the metal.

“Okay, you’re coming to the end, you’ll have to turn right, then an immediate left.”

Gordon’s torch suddenly illuminated a metal wall in front of him.  He twisted right, then left, as instructed into a wider portion of the machinery.

“Okay you have a twenty metre stretch ahead clear here; go as quickly as you can.”

It was easy to find the rhythm in this space, his kick natural and flowing.  He covered the distance rapidly, trying not to imagine the possible uses of the shuddering contraptions he passed.  They looked far too much like something designed to crush things for his liking.

“There’s a set of cogs at the end, you’ll have to squeeze through them to the other side.  Five metres to go.”

Gordon slowed his kick enough so he wouldn’t swim headlong into the metal.  His torch reflected off a solid wall in front of him.  He looked up and down, left and right.  The light reflected off swirling sediment, cocooning him inside a ghoulish green fog.

“I’m at the end, John, I don’t see any cogs. Which way?”

“Right.”

He tracked along the wall to the right, and a couple of metres along he came across a mesh of giant cogs and grinding teeth pushing at one another as they strained to be free.  It took a few precious seconds of swimming around in a circle to find the gap John had claimed to be there, and a frightening few more to push through it, feeling the judder through his stomach as he wiggled to the other side.

“I’m through.”

“Okay, go left three metres, then right again.  You’re still heading up; nearly there.”

Gordon twisted and turned, blindly trusting John’s directions.

“Through the bars ahead of you.  That’s it.  You’ll have to divert around the blockage here, three metres right, turn left to get through, then three metres left to get back on track.  Okay turn.  Good.  Keep going.  There should be a gap just ahead of you, along a conveyor belt.  Ten metres.”

Gordon resisted the urge to ask how much time was left. He had no doubt John had a countdown going, but his voice stayed steady and calm, giving no clue as to how close it was to ending.

“Through the gap there.  Good.  Three metres. Between the arms-”

The ship shuddered; a bang and the machinery shot forward, the piston arms rotating rapidly.  Gordon let out a startled cry; there was nowhere for him to go, caught as he was in the middle of the row.  Just as he was sure he was about to be sliced in two, the machinery jammed again.  The metal was touching his stomach and back.

“Gordon?!” there was undisguised fear in John’s voice now.

“Still here.”

“Part of the rockface gave way.  It’s caught again now, but we’re nearly out of time.  You need to move NOW.”

He reached out in front of him, managed to hook his fingers over the bar ahead of him, pulled, repeated the movement, shot out of the end of the row of piston arms.

“Go left, look for a gap on your right.  SWIM.”

 He didn’t dare think. Prayed that his luck would hold.  Found a way through.  Kicked.  Twisted.  Turned.

“That’s it, just five more metres, and you’re out through the hull!”

Kick.

A bang.

Kick.

The feel of water being pushed.

Kick.

A swirl of blood red rust.

Kick.

The flash of metal as machinery came to life.

Kick.

The pain of his leg being caught.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John couldn’t hear the bang as the rockface gave way.  Couldn’t feel the vibration of the machinery suddenly turning.  But he saw it; saw Gordon’s icon still inside the ship as the great vessel slipped down a few more metres on that side, thanks to its workings shearing another part off the cliff.  The holograms flickered, interference from the ship’s movement before the scans settled on its new position. The tear in its side was blocked.  There was no longer any way out.  Five hummed away quietly, as if nothing had changed. 

“...Gordon?”

A string of expletives burst over the comm, and John heaved a sigh of relief.

“Caught my leg on a bit of metal on the way out.  Motherfucker that hurts!”

“Sending Four to your location.  Get inside before you get eaten by a shark.”

“FAB.” 

“Virgil is on his way back to your location.  ETA ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?  Pfftt.  Give him one.”

John smiled.

“Glad you’re okay, fish.”

“I’m not okay John. I’m bleeding.”

“Glad you’re not crushed, then.”

“Yeah. Thank my lucky socks for that.”

There was the sound of Alan deliberately clearing his throat.

“Thanks, Alan.”

“Anytime, bro.”

John closed his eyes for a moment, let his heart rate slow back to normal after the spike that thinking that his little brother had just been crushed had caused.

One thing left to do.

He opened a file, flicked through star charts and then selected and marked off a fairly unassuming star three jumps from the constellation of Pisces.

Wishing on stars for his brothers to get home safely was silly and superstitious.  

He couldn’t remember the first time he’d done it, but if he was going to do something so silly, he was at least going to keep track of the stars he’d already wished on.  After all, it wouldn’t do to try to use the same one twice.  He didn’t want their luck to run out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus Epilogue! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scott wasn’t feeling well.  Not that he was ever going to admit it.  Sure his head felt a little muzzy, but it was probably just the combination of tiredness and the onset of a mild cold.  A bit of rest, maybe zone out with a movie and a hot drink and he’d be fine.

He made his way to the lounge and froze.

Alan was kneeling on the floor by a crash test dummy dressed in one of Gordon's shirts and tickling its noise with a feather. John's hologram was floating above, seemingly supervising the activity.

“What about now?” Alan asked.

“No. He still hasn't sneezed. Anyway I don't think tickling your nose like that works. It's more likely to make him scratch his nose.”

“Has he done that?”

“I don't think so… I wasn't monitoring for that. Besides, it doesn't work, it'd just be a coincidence if he did.”

“Maybe we need to try stabbing it.”

“What? No, you can't stab Gordon!”

“You just said it wouldn't work anyway. Besides, it'd only be a light stabbing. I'm not trying to kill him.”

“I think it's time to take the voodoo doll apart.”

Alan retrieved a pencil. 

“If I poke him in the butt, he might jump out of his seat.”

“He's strapped in.” 

“So you think it might work?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You thought it.” Alan turned the doll over and jabbed it with the pencil. “Anything?”

“No, he hasn't moved. Now please put it back. At least take the socks back before something happens to them.”

“The socks! Of course, their good vibes are counteracting the negative signals…” He started to wrestle the socks off the dummy.

“Why did I ever tell you how to make a voodoo doll?” John muttered to himself.

Week Four of FabFiveFeb 2024.

This week the bro is   VIRGIL

The prompts are:

"I don't know"

too far

restricted

belly laugh

green

Take this bro and one or more of these prompts and write, art, sculpt, create anything. No pressure, no real time limit, just start here and see where it takes you.

When you are ready, post the result and tag it #fabfivefeb and #fabfivefeb2024

If you are not Thunderfam, then you don’t have to play with Virgil, just pick your favourite character and grab a prompt or two.

If you are Thunderfam and Virgil just isn’t the bro for you, do not worry. As long as his name is in there somewhere, you’ve done it. But remember, part of the writing experience is to branch out and try new things…you never know what another brother might do when you try him on for size :D

In any case, the most important thing is to have fun, share the results and the love.

So, have at it!

Nutty

(off the edge, but learning to fly)

Week Three of FabFiveFeb 2024.

This week the bro is   JOHN

The prompts are:

not enough

"My brothers?"

smirk

hazy

aim

Take this bro and one or more of these prompts and write, art, sculpt, create anything. No pressure, no real time limit, just start here and see where it takes you.

When you are ready, post the result and tag it #fabfivefeb and #fabfivefeb2024

If you are not Thunderfam, then you don’t have to play with John, just pick your favourite character and grab a prompt or two.

If you are Thunderfam and John just isn’t the bro for you, do not worry. As long as his name is in there somewhere, you’ve done it. But remember, part of the writing experience is to branch out and try new things…you never know what another brother might do when you try him on for size :D

In any case, the most important thing is to have fun, share the results and the love.

So, have at it!

Nutty

(off the edge, but learning to fly)

Aaaaaaaargh!

Will post asap!

Nutty

Summary: Gordon stares at himself.

Words: 1K

A/N Prompts used - window mostly, but also thoughtful because it became a Gordon pov character study. Happy birthday, squidling.

~*~*~*~

Gordon startles as his reflection becomes apparent in the now clean glass of Two’s windshield. Not to where he’s unsafe; Virgil’s made sure of that with both of them secured from above within her hangar. But enough that he pauses, sitting back on his heels. It gives his shoulder a break, since his entire right side is sore from channeling all that elbow grease into relieving his brother’s girl of the dirt and grime left over from their latest rescue. A mudslide. Naturally.

He can imagine the jokes now. If Alan were here, it would be unending laughter at the fact he was startled by his own reflection. And if it were Scott or John or even Kayo, there’d be a nudge or two towards the fact he can’t yet stop looking at himself. But since it’s none of those siblings, and it’s instead Virgil – Virgil, who’s obliviously focused with his headset blocking out the rest of the world – there’s no one that can make Gordon embarrassed by his entirely human reaction. Not that he would feel embarrassed. No regrets and all that. Plus, he had dirt on all of them, including Tin, if they tried to imply otherwise.

His expression in the window pulls into an amused smirk. This is one usually directed to others and isn’t one he sees for himself all that often. Except, he’s pretty sure he’s passed on his mischievousness to Alan, so he’s at least had it mirrored back at him from his youngest brother. There’s a bit of John in it too. He raises his hand up to where the inherited competitive streak sits along the curl of his lips.

The image of himself does the same.

It’s more prominent in his own features than John’s. His older brother was more subtle about his ruthlessness simply because he didn’t have to try to be the best in most things. He just was. In Gordon’s case, the tenacity had always been there – probably ever since he was lucky enough to be conceived in a family of overachievers. By the time he was able to think for himself, the sky had been done, the stars had been done. Hell, even math and sciences and music were all spoken for.

Whether Gordon then found things unique to his brothers’ passions on purpose, or whether those things found him, he didn’t really know. But they came to him, and through swimming and the sea and marine life and laughter, he found out how to be his own man. But he worked hard to get there.

The determination, though; that lives in his eyes. Honey-brown, and soft where the light catches joy, but hard as topaz when alight with fire. Today, they stare at him somewhere between amber and jasper, heavy with the memories they are cleaning off the window. If he had to put a pin on what exactly had originally caught his attention, it was them: the eyes and their unnatural brightness staring back at him.

In order to keep the hair out of his face, he’s pinned back his fringe with a few bobby pins stolen from Kayo’s collection. There’s scarring above his brow, long since healed over time, but still stripes a shade lighter than his natural skin tone if one looked closely enough.

Shrapnel.

From the same accident that injured his back. And yet, so grievous was his injury to his spine, he hadn’t really had time to think about how his face had changed, how serious the head wound could have been. More times that he cared to admit, he wondered why. Why he survived. Why it happened to him in the first place.

Maybe in another life, he would have been able to stay in the service long enough to be decorated like Dad, like Scott. He imagines who that man would’ve been, WASP Lieutenant Tracy. For a moment, his eyes catch those across from him, the scars fade behind a company issued cap, and the gaze hardens.

He shakes himself free of the image. It’s a distant dream. Though medically released from duty, he parted ways with WASP knowing he’d given his all to the path he’d chosen for himself. At least he could always say that – he never wavered. And when all he had was his heart beating that kept propelling him into the next moment, it was knowing he hadn’t given up that kept him from true despair.

Virgil was a large part of that too.

He glances to his right and Virgil’s watching him, not saying a word, just observing him survey himself. Gordon slides down to begin cleaning another section of the window – because contrary to popular belief – he likes this work. Sure, he sometimes might get a little behind in straightening his own room, and there’s literally no sense in not trying to play basketball with trash when the disposal is right there asking for it. But this is nothing on the tasks the military would use to break him down with his fellow recruits. Plus? There’s something incredibly satisfying about revealing the pristine beneath the dirt, just like those oddly satisfying videos of grime being cleaned off old rugs.

When she shines, she really shines.

Oh, lord. He loves this ship. He’ll never admit it to Virgil, and Four is still his number one girl, but he loves what Two represents – steady, strong and sturdy through heavy winds. She’s an extension of Virgil himself, and if he didn’t love her already he’d still adore her for that alone.

Gordon sighs, and when he does so, Virgil lifts one side of his headphones off his ear and tilts his head curiously.

“You ok?” he asks.

Gordon beams at him. “Just admiring my handsomeness.”

“No shit.” Virgil tosses a wet rag at him, which Gordon catches in his left hand before it hits him in the nose. He eyes the bucket below them, then leans over to let it drop. Virgil grins when it misses, and he grabs a clean one he’d left hanging from his side pocket. For a moment, Gordon fully thinks he’s gotten away with it. But then, Virgil says “you’ve come a long way” – the words chuckled to himself only once he’d realigned his music and began humming in that way that meant he hadn’t meant for Gordon to hear.