#tb estera

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 choose the direction, after all. He just just snatched them up, kept the show on the road 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.

"Thatun 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 at 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 really twisted sense of humour.

Truth or Dare

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Devonshire translation (because given I’d put them there I couldn’t resist a hat tip to the locals - no, the vast majority don’t have such a strong accent but enough do)

Thatun be - that one is

Bey - boy

Gurt noodle - silly person

Tarbul cawtch - terrible mess / situation (always been amused this is so close to the Welsh cwtch and yet different in meaning. Sounds quite different spoken though because as most vowels are elongated with a Devon accent that ‘a’ punches.)

Ulkin’ - big

Dug - dog

A ping and a flash of light had her groaning only a little as she moved to see who was messaging her. And then she frowned.

”Incoming. Good luck.”

That was…surprisingly terse from John. And then her phone pinged again.

”Incoming. Let me know if you need backup.”

Well, that was even weirder from Virgil.

All exhaustion vanished as she raced to the staff room and made two extra strong coffees. And thought about her friend.

Scott hadn’t been in touch much this last week either. On the one phone call they’d managed he’d been apologetic, citing the world going to pot again, but Estera had seen that there was more.

She didn’t know what that “more” consisted of and Scott had almost immediately needed to go, so she’d put a pin in it to unpick with him later.

Maybe “now” was that later, she mused as she pilfered the chocolate and caramel digestive biscuits from Barbara’s poorly concealed stash and made a mental note to buy some on the way home. Not that she thought Barbara would mind if she found out who they were for…

The mental image of the woman giggling when Scott first visited here had Estera smiling softly as she returned to her room, and thus she was totally unprepared for the subject of her musings to have arrived already.

Thank goodness her nerves were better now. Mostly.

Estera stood in the doorway for a beat, watching Scott pace the room in a square. Three steps, eleven steps, three steps. Repeat. He seemed to be reciting Maths of some description under his breath from the tiny snatches she could hear.

Goodness but his long legs were eating up the room, and for the first time in a long while Estera began to fear what had brought Scott to her door like this.

Giving herself a mental shake she entered the room fully and placed the coffees down on the desk nearest the door. And waited for Scott to notice her.

It took far too long.

But eventually, just when Estera was considering just standing in front of him to bodily halt the marching Scott suddenly stopped and blinked at her.

‘Do you mind if I sit for a second?’

He didn’t wait for an answer, flinging himself into the seat at the desk next to hers and hunching in on himself. In any other situation she’d be giggling at the exceptionally long limbs in such a tiny chair, but instead she was conscious that her mouth was hanging open.

Scott Tracy never asked to sit down.

The man was all perpetual motion…only sitting when he had to…he certainly didn’t ask to sit.

Stomach sinking as she ran through an ever-increasing list of possible reasons why he would choose to come here to collapse instead of at home with his brothers, Estera passed him a coffee which he inhaled at a speed potentially faster than his Thunderbird flew.

She paused for a moment as she considered the biscuits, a welcome distraction from the whirring of her mind, and shrugged. Usually she’d have put some out on a plate, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be enough so she opened the packet, took one herself and passed the rest to Scott.

Who ate three together without seeming to notice.

Ok. Scott not noticing her was one thing. Scott not noticing food was altogether something else. Something somehow much, much worse…

Estera was reaching for her phone when Scott suddenly sighed deeply, unclenched and turned to her. He gave her a small and very tired smile.

‘Hey. So…it’s been a week.’ ‘Mmm…’

She didn’t want to interrupt him in case he stopped talking, but she wasn’t sure the encouraging sound she had made was enough as the silence stretched between them.

‘One’s fine. She’s fine. I’m fine, obviously. I’m here, sitting here, talking to you…’

”Rambling, more like,” her inner voice said and she bit her lip. She wasn’t the only one who rambled when nervous then…but Scott was still talking and she tried not to frown as she tried to catch up and realised the conversation had completely changed.

‘…and Virgil was, naturally really worried as the Board…but John was laughing…’

Scott tailed off. He gave her the briefest of side glances before picking up the empty cup and attempting to drink from it. Stifling a smile Estera nudged her untouched coffee over towards him and Scott took it without hesitation - causing Estera to worry even more.

He drank deeply, and she was sure there hadn’t been that much coffee…then he spoke in a rush:

‘IthinkIbroketheCFOthatDadhiredjustbeforeyouknowandthenIkindasortafiredhim.’

Oh. Oh that explained so much.

Estera knew Scott wouldn’t - couldn’t - fall apart around his brothers under normal circumstances, and while this was unknown territory to her Estera was sure this was far from normal…

So she did what she’d always done for him.

Estera picked up her keys and made her way to the door before turning back to Scott.

At first Estera had been rather bewildered when Scott’s description of some of the livelier characters at the office degenerated into incoherent nonsense. As she lifted her head to check he finally trailed off entirely, apparently unaware he was no longer speaking. Or perhaps that he ever had been.

He seemed perfectly content however, eyes almost closed against the bright sunlight, his upturned face finally matching the relaxed, unconcerned demeanour projected by the rest of him - sprawled carelessly on the grassy bank, surely at least 90% limbs. She watched with affectionate amusement as his breathing slowed and deepened.

The poor man must have been exhausted… she knew enough of his sleep habits to know one skipped night wouldn’t affect him this much, and she rather suspected she knew why he’d been losing more. The insomnia was only one of the things they had in common after all and she was not about to interfere if he was finally getting some rest from, well, all of it. Maybe she’d just keep an eye out for any suggestion of nightmares or… or anything like that.

The fact he’d been relaxed enough to dose off in her company was… strange. Heartwarming, yes, but still a little surprising: It was only the third time they’d met in person after all. As friends anyway. Although that seemed hard to believe when they’d had talked so often in the last few months and… well… of course there was the history. For despite the horror that saturated their first meeting that would always count too, in its way.

They’d kept each other company for a decade after all.

Ten years. For the hundredth time that morning the memories gnawed away at the edges of her composure. The far too fleeting weight of her parents’ arms around her in the hallway, the hushed fear in the voices of her class, the overwhelming smell of blood, vomit and aviation fuel. That awful knife… it swam before her eyes... She’d never seen anything like it before - all manner of weapons wielded and waved, discharged at random to intimidate or with in intent to… do worse… had been part of her everyday experience for months. Yet the one the militia devil had pointed at him still haunted her even now. A tool designed only to maim and destroy life, up close and personal.

But for Scott, Estera knew without doubt she’d have become very closely acquainted with it herself.

But for the strange intervention of fate the world would have lost him instead of her. He knew it - she’d seen it in his eyes in that moment that he knew he was done for and he’d accepted it - yet he’d used what should have been his last breath to plead with her to live. He’d have been gone and with him all the goodness he’d created since - International Rescue, all the life-changing, life-saving things Tracy Industries created. All the hope both gave to the world.

No rational person would have sacrificed all that potential for someone like her.

And yet Estera was beginning to understand that if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been himself at all. The Scott Tracy she was getting to know would do it again, in a heartbeat, for anybody. He really was a real life hero, far beyond the one she’d imagined all those years. A hero to everyone, not just her. She had to keep reminding herself this was not normal. That she had no right to expect his friendship and it could cease at any time.

And yet… And yet. She realised perhaps she could trust him not to do that. Trusting him with her life seemed easy, obvious - who wouldn’t? But something as mundane and unimpressive as her friendship? Believing anyone, let alone he would place any value in that without an alterior motive? That was a much harder leap to make.

The tiniest snore interrupted her thoughts - she couldn’t help chuckle at the fact he was so very very normal despite it all. Turned out being one of the richest men alive didn’t stop you drooling in your sleep. Maybe it just paid for the right people to make sure nobody would ever know.

People! Surely he had people? Estera sat bolt upright, remembering her conversation with Lady Penelope and how worried his family could get about him. She could only imagine the kind of criminals who might want to trade his safety for their own gain. How was he even allowed to be out on his own without some kind of a… a security detail or something? Estera tensed and tried to subtly check the surrounding trees for watching eyes. Surely he’d have said if there was someone else… unless he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable…

Or he was so used to it himself he forgot?! A cold sweat prickled - what had she said? Had she said anything terribly embarrassing or personal? Were there people right now making notes on whether she was a suitable person for him to be around? After everything that had happened so far today she was hardly going to score very…

She caught her breath and gritted her teeth. Slow down, Gwiazdeczka. Don’t overthink it.

The old nickname appeared out of nowhere and brought her father’s steady logic with it.

No. He wouldn’t have admitted the worries he had if someone was listening in. Hadn’t he specifically said his fear was that someone would overhear? He trusted her and she could trust him. So - either his people didn’t know he was out on his own or were happy he could take care of himself.

They probably hadn’t factored him having a snooze beside a public footpath in a remote location…

In which case she was responsible for ensuring that Thunderbird One and the CEO of Tracy Industries didn’t get kidnapped or worse in his sleep. She chewed her lip as she recalled her track history on related tasks was not ideal, at least she had Niebieski this time.

She whistled softly and inclined her head towards the sleeping man. Her ever faithful companion bounded over and flopped down on Scott’s other side, chin on his paws. To the untrained eye, Bez was merely a huge dozing furball - but the truth could be seen in the slightly raised position of those velvety ears: nothing and nobody would get past a flock guardian on duty. Not even a squirrel.

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The morning was already warm and the lightest breeze drifted though the trees and brushed the sweat from Scott’s skin as he lay in the grass listening to the birds updating each other on matters of great importance. The combination of post-exercise endorphins, the fact that he’d left home at 830pm to arrive here at 8am having worked 19 out of the previous 24 hours and laid awake remembering things he wished he didn’t for the remaining five… well that would have been enough even without the white noise of the trees, the heady scent of the bluebells and the rare feeling of not being responsible for anyone or anything right now…

He started awake at the sound of an muffled bark followed by a hurried “ssssshhhh!”

Scott leapt from supine into an instinctive ready crouch and after only half a moment of dread managed to identify Bez standing to attention a few feet away, eyeballing a group of passing ramblers as they disappeared into the forest.

Oh.

Oh that was all. He plonked his butt back down and took a breath, blinking and slightly disoriented as his brain came back online. The forest? Bez? OH. He spun to face his grinning companion.

Scott flushed as he realised he’d actually fallen asleep… when he was meant to be spending time with his new friend! Could he be any more rude?

“Oh! Oh I’m so sorry! I didn’t…”

“Zostań.”

“Huh?”

“Stay. The rest is good for you. Stay.”

The tone of command in Estera’s last word tickled him enough to dampen the rush of guilt before it flooded him completely. Scott lowered himself back on to one elbow and left one eyebrow just a little behind.

“Ok… I mean should I be saying woof woof here?”

“Very funny. Actually in Poland we… I mean… uh… where I grew up we said “hau hau”.

“Well Bez doesn’t, he says HHHRROOOOH! HHRRROOOH!”

Scott put some significant volume behind the impression and followed it up with a little tongue lolling panting for good measure. Estera chuckled and patted him lightly on the head.

Bez, having only just satisfied himself that the two humans could be relied upon to continue breathing by themselves and thus felt able to fully engage himself in a mission to investigate some potentially hostile rustlings in the undergrowth, looked around in alarm swiftly followed by evident disdain. Scott hastily retracted his tongue and gave the mutt a respectful salute before making to stand up.

“Did you mention some kind of food plan?”

“I did, but wait a moment, you’re all grassy.”

Scott knew he had tensed as she reached towards his hair and he knew she’d noticed as she lifted her hand away again, apologising. He hurried to reassure and inclined his head for inspection and whatever reparation she thought fit and tried his best to relax as she moved to crouch behind him. Her touch was light, precise. Teasing out each blade of torn grass from between carefully gelled, if now slightly sweaty strands and dropping it into his lap like a trophy.

People didn’t tend to touch his hair much except small brothers messing it up to be annoying. Virgil occasionally stroked his head, would run his fingers through the tamed curls and over his scalp when Scott was sick, injured or… otherwise upset. Same as Scott did to the rest them. It was Mom’s trick and it was never questioned although some brothers were more susceptible to it than others. And as soothing… as helpful as it sometimes could be, Scott always felt guilty about being on the receiving end - because it was he who should be doing the comforting of little brothers. Because that’s the way it was.

Estera’s fingers weren’t like Virgil’s. Virgil’s fingers were deft, sure. But they’d never really felt like Mom’s had.

Scott shivered. And then blinked rapidly to rid his eyes of the extra moisture they had accumulated.

He could easily ask her to stop, or subtly move away and sort his own hair out. But found he didn’t want to. It was nice, for a moment, to just let himself be looked after in a small way. Just for a short while. To pretend it was ok. He let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

Maybe it was the whole ‘lost parents’ drama from earlier that was still making him feel a little off balance. More likely he had been foolish to think he was strong enough to go out in public on a day like this. Virgil had obviously been surprised for all he tried to hide it... but he was here now. And Scott had suggested it because it was likely an even more traumatic anniversary for Estera so he really needed to get a grip and be more supportive - stop making it all about him.

His spiral was arrested by her efficiency.

“There we are Mr Flyboy, fit to be seen by your fans again”. She combed back through his fringe a little, patted it into place then shuffled back into his line of sight to inspect her work. He dispatched a wink and finger guns which gained a sardonic eyebrow before she snorted a laugh then she rubbed her fingers together with a slight grimace.

Ah.

“Oh don’t you start, y’should see the state of it without the gel, honestly it’s a necessity…”

“Whatever makes you happy, Blue, you style your hair however you want. However I AM glad I always come prepared.” She rummaged for a while in her small rucksack pulling out dog treats, spare hair ties and an unreasonable amount of pens and then with satisfied exclamation produced a packet of wet wipes and waved it triumphantly “I teach eight year olds remember? Can’t leave the house without them.”

Scott found himself distracted from a satisfyingly smug comparison of her to a certain kitchen-sink packing brother by his stomach growling its objection to his skipping breakfast… or dinner… or whichever it should have been in whichever time zone he was in when he decided it could wait.

Estera tossed a cereal bar over her shoulder with an amused “Have that before you waste away.”

He caught it with ease and smiled as he noted the green packaging: apple & cinnamon. A coincidence? Perhaps. But he suspected not.

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She’d never seen anything like it before - all manner of weapons wielded and waved, discharged at random to intimidate or with in intent to… do worse… had been part of her everyday experience for months. Yet the one the militia devil had pointed at him still haunted her even now - a tool designed only to maim and destroy life, up close and personal.

But for Scott, Estera knew without doubt she’d have become very closely acquainted with it.

But for the strange intervention of fate the world would have lost him instead of her. He knew it - she’d seen it in his eyes in that moment that he knew he was done for and he’d accepted it - yet he’d used what should have been his last breath to plead with her to live. He’d have been gone and with him all the goodness he’d created ever since - International Rescue, all the life-changing, life-saving things Tracy Industries created. All the hope both gave to the world.

No rational person would have sacrificed all that potential for someone like her.

And yet Estera was beginning to understand that if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been himself at all. The Scott Tracy she was getting to know would do it again, in a heartbeat, for anybody. He really was a real life hero, far beyond the one she’d imagined all those years. A hero to everyone, not just her. She had to keep reminding herself this was not normal. That she had no right to expect his friendship and it could cease at any time.

And yet… And yet. She realised perhaps she could trust him not to do that. Trusting him with her life seemed easy, obvious - who wouldn’t? But something as mundane and unimpressive as her friendship? Believing anyone, let alone someone like him would place any value in that without an alterior motive? That was a much harder leap to make.