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Algorithm
Have a quick fluffy one shot! No plot except Scott is, as always, working long after he should be asleep. Part of my future feels series...
@idontknowreallywhy this is for you! And I'm sure I've not tagged it right so it'll drive you potty. Anyway enjoy.
Like Die Hard I mention a Christmas Tree so I'm sure that makes it a Christmas fic!
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It was late. The only light in the room was the three open screens in front of him on the desk and the Christmas tree lights that some comedian had set to a complicated ‘twinkle’ before they'd gone to bed.
He sighed. It has been such a lovely afternoon and he had been feeling very festive. However, guilt at not checking his in box had kicked in. These reports needed to be sent before he could sleep. He deliberately didn't look at the clock so he could plead ignorance when asked in the morning what time he had finished.
He stretched his back, a lecture from Virgil no doubt in his future, and bent back over the data pad in front of him.
He didn't look up when he heard the soft sound of bare footsteps entering the lounge, but he knew his grin was definitely what Gordon would term goofy.
“Hey you,” he whispered as bare arms snaked around his neck
“Hey yourself,” she rested her chin on his head as he moved his head down to kiss the hands now clasped just below his chin. “I thought you were only going to be a little while.”
“More waiting for me than I thought,” he tipped his head sideways and she leant forward so their cheeks were resting against each other and she could see the data spread out before him.
“Who is this clown?” she motioned the less than friendly message he had been sighing over as she came in.
“That’s Mister Clown if you please.” He sighed, “Major shareholder in one of our new acquisitions in South America.”
“Why is this your problem. I thought you paid people handsomely for this not to be your problem at stupid O’Clock!”
“Unfortunately, sometimes it has to be me.”
“OK, so let's just...” she stretched both arms out and began typing from behind him.
“What are you...?”
“Lets see...” she started to dictate as she typed.
“Dear Mister Clown,
I'm sorry your knickers find themselves so bunched by the merger- I suggest you get rid of your current underwear and put on some big boy pants.
Regretfully my new wife,” here she paused tongue between her teeth and deleted the last two words, “my beautiful new wife is lonely and requires my presence in our martial bed as she is always cold and needs to use me as a hot water bottle. I'm sure you understand I’d rather give her the attention rather than you-She definitely looks better in my old football jersey.”
“Indeed she does,” Scott tried to pull her round to his knee but his hands were slapped away.
“I'm typing!” He laughed and she continued, "anyway, much as I'd like to continue to hold your hand personally through this despite the many, many other people available to answer your queries, my" another pause, "perfect and resourceful wife will be thinking of strange and unusual punishments should I not get my butt to bed now,
Yours Scott Tracy CEO (chief evil overlord)”
His belly laugh turned into a startled yelp as she snatched the pad off the desk and danced away.
“What are you doing?”
“Come to bed!”
“I have to finish a couple more...”
“Come to bed or I send it!”
He was on his feet now- she stopped on the other side of the desk and they eyed each other.
“You wouldn't dare!”
“Try me, blue eyes!”
He made a dive across the desk and she narrowly avoided being caught- honestly his stupid fast reflexes. She vaulted the back of three’s pilot chair and scrambled across the other sofa’s easily jumping the gaps between, Scott in pursuit.
“Give it back!”
“Nope!”
A crash sounded as he threw himself across the distance grabbing her ankle. She gave a shriek half surprise half amusement and fell across the soft surface holding the pad at arms length just out of his reach.
“Give,” he tickled a bare foot and barely missed a kick in the face as she rolled free and scrambled to stand on the centre console, pad held aloft, Scott struggling to find his feet and snatch her down.
There was a cough and they both froze.
“Don’t you have your own private room to do,” John paused gesturing at the bizarre tableau before him, “Whatever this is?”
Scott didn't have to look at his brother to hear the sarcastically raised eyebrow.
“We were...”
“Negotiating.”
“I really don't care,” John continued his path to the kitchen and Scott pulled himself to his feet.
“Go back to bed. I'll come in a minute, I just need to finish!”
“Wrong answer, Mr Tracy!” she stabbed the pad and the unmistakable sound of an email pinging on its way filed the silence.
“What did you...I can't believe you...” his horror was palpable.
Scott grabbed the pad from his wife who was now laughing so hard she almost slipped and lost her balance- lightening reflexes for the win this time as her husband’s spare hand shot out to steady her.
“I have to get that back! I can't believe you did that!” his hand left her arm to resume stabbing frantically.
“I said I would!”
“Yes but...”
“John's algorithm will have caught it, don't panic.”
Her husband paused and looked at her. “What algorithm?”
“John's algorithm for when you loose your temper or are just to tired to be coherent. It spots controversial language.”
“No there isn't!” he sounded petulant.
“John?”
“There’s an algorithm,” his voice floated out of the kitchen followed a moment later by his pyjama clad form clutching a mug of coco.
“Wait! Since when?”
“Since ‘The Great 3am All Middle Manager Rant of 53,” his wife was gleeful.
“John!” Scott was incredulous.
“The lady is not wrong,” John continued on his way through the lounge back to his room.
Scott’s mouth fell open as he looked at the highly amused woman in front of him. “You stop there I want details and you,” a finger was pointed at the love of his life, “how do you know about that?”
“Gordon's giving me lessons in,” she applied air quotes, “Essential Scott lore”
Scott growled darkly, glaring at her, “He is, is he? And you, What's this about an algorithm?”
John halted his retreat. Sighing deeply as man who had many more important things to attend to, tapped his wrist, read what was there, shuddered, “Eos?”
“The email has been rewritten, John,” the AI was delighted to chip in.
“There Actually is an algorithm?”
“Oh do keep up darling,” she thwacked him on the side of the head with a cushion, careful to retreat just out of reach.
“Eos,’ Scott appealed to his niece.
“I monitor for moments where your tiredness or temper might have coloured your language choice.”
“I do have some questions about the most recent email, John. Why does it matter who looks better in a football jersey. I have checked images and do feel that this is perhaps accurate but am unclear why he should care.”
“Thanks,” John mouthed at his brother’s wife who dissolved into further giggles.
“Scott will explain tomorrow, for now lock all his accounts till morning.”
“Hey! John...”
Thwack! Another cushion met its mark and he turned towards his wife who stuck her tongue out, “Listen to your much wiser brother!”
“I've had just about enough of you,” Scott pounced swinging the girl easily up onto his shoulder ignoring her squawk of protest and the wriggling attempts to free herself. “and you, we’ll talk tomorrow!” and he turned and Jogged along the corridor towards their rooms. More giggles from the newly weds echoed back to him and he rolled his eyes.
The grin on his face however spoke volumes.
A happy Scott. That he could handle.
He glanced back at the desk to ensure all the screens were in fact off. The desk was indeed in darkness. The Christmas tree lights however took that moment to perform a particularly impressive flashing sequence.
“Eos, turn off the Christmas tree and lock Gordon out of the light controls. And maybe strengthen the parameters of that algorithm,” it was not the most insane way Scott had ever been forced to bed, but John felt she might prove the most effective.
