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idontknowreallywhy · 6 months

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Commute day again! Today’s unedited train snippet is based on horrifying recent events in my own life.

I think it falls roughly within the fluffwhump category.

This was going to be a Gordon-centric fic but he didn’t quite experience the level of indignation I felt was merited, so big brother had to step up.

Hereby claiming “smirk” for Fluffember

Stress Relief

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

Scott stood frozen in the middle of the room and felt the last shreds of sanity slip from his fingertips.

How could this have happened?

It had disrupted his understanding of the universe, as if reality itself had finally betrayed him.

The only anchor to his old life, the innocent, trusting life he had lived up until this juncture, was Gordon. His beloved little brother who was writhing on the floor at his feet, shaking and crying…

And howling with laughter.

At him.

Scott opened his mouth to raise an objection to his brother’s frivolous attitude to this disaster but no words came out. Instead, he coughed and spat foul tasting green slime on to the carpet.

It glittered offensively at him.

“H….hooooow?” He croaked desperately.

No explanation was forthcoming - the slippery little fish had rolled on to his stomach and was beating the floor with his fist. Scott spat more slime at him. He probably deserved it.

Wait, did he? Had this been a prank?

Bewilderment was shunted aside by anger.

“GORDON!! WHAT DID YOU DO?”

His brother looked up at him, eyes streaming:

“It wasn’t me, bro” Gordon gasped then bit on his own fist in an apparent attempt to regain some semblance of control “you’re not supposed to squeeze them that hard”.

A tiny seahorse figure fell from the end of Scott’s nose and Gordon dissolved into another fit of giggles.

Scott looked down at the slimy rubbery mess in his clenched fist and frowned, the confusion returning with backup.

“But isn’t… isn’t that… the… ENTIRE POINT?”

He waved the remains of Gordon’s puffer fish toy to emphasis his point and gloop splattered on to the ceiling. To join the rest of the gloop on the ceiling.

“It’s a stress ball! You squeeze the indestructible ball, it remains indestructible and you feel less stressed afterwards! THAT’S WHAT IT’S FOR!!”

Scott’s voice teetered on the edge of a whine.

“Yeah but none of them are really that robust big bro, particularly not in the face of Mr Big Cheese Businessman levels of stress.”

Uhoh. Scott looked down at the brand new, ridiculously expensive designer suit his PA had quietly handed him when he’d turned up ten minutes before the board meeting fresh off the back of a muddy rescue.

The suit oozed at him.

It was apt really. Some of the board members had oozed too. He’d just been sharing some of the ludicrous highlights with his little brother (who was always pleasingly sympathetic on the topic of corporate hogwash) and had absent-mindedly picked the actionably-falsely-advertised item off his brother’s bedside table to toss from hand to hand as he ranted.

He blinked rapidly as something slid into his field of vision. Gordon stood and gently plucked a tiny glittery shark from his commander’s eyebrow.

“Let’s get you cleaned up shall we?” Sympathetic tone and matching facial expression were being masterfully deployed.

“NOT my room. This stuff will ruin my nice carpet.” He sagged. “Honestly Gordo, it was such a tiny thing… how is there so much of this… ick?”

Brown eyes twinkled as Gordon smirked knowingly. “One of the mysteries of the cosmos, big brother.”

🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑

Gordon steered his slimy brother into his own en-suite and closed the door behind him, turning away to survey the sparkling chaos his brother had created.

There was a pause. Gordon could hear the shower switch on and some indistinct muttering from the other side of the door. Then a cough, followed by a snort, followed by a bark of laughter.

Gordon smiled to himself. Maybe not quite what the designer had planned, but the little toy might have had its intended effect after all.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #thunderfluff #fluffwhump #fluffember2023 #fluffember #whump fluff #whumpfluff #epic goo disaster

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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The Kermadec Whales (Part 11)

I should be reading and reblogging some of the amazing fluffember fic that was posted today, but the muse went nuts and wrote nearly 2500 words in the few moments I had today, so I’ve run with it and am now exhausted. I will hopefully backtrack tomorrow.

So, you get two parts tonight :D I had to separate them rather than keep them as one chapter. Part 11 is too short, so you’re getting Part 12 in a moment as well. I hope you enjoy both of them.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight @janetm74 and @tsarinatorment for fielding my uncertainties for this bit. And also to @gaviiadastra for her amazing support throughout this fic ::hugs you all::

Have a little whale whispering Virg.

-o-o-o-

Virgil hung in the water column, singing.

Gordon swallowed as his brother drifted a little closer to the whales, the water eddies apparently wanting that to happen.

Gordon had to hold himself back and not grab Virgil. His heart was beating so fast it almost matched the resonance in the water.

His hand on Scott’s arm was the only thing grounding him.

The muscles under his uniform were as tight as the simulated strings Virgil was playing.

The music was discordant. His own musical education told him that much. Slightly off human standard, bits missing where the computer compensated and shifted the sound outside of human hearing range. But the emotion in Virgil’s voice…was heart wrenching.

Scott twitched under his fingertips. Everything in the man wanted this to stop, it was obvious.

But the bond between his eldest brothers was strong. Virgil had asked and Scott was doing his best to comply, but Gordon knew there was a limit.

He had his own.

“John, any indication of what is going on?” Scott’s voice was desperate.

“Eos is working on it.”

“Work faster.”

“It doesn’t work that way. We are doing our best.”

A sigh. “I know.”

Scott hated this with his very being.

Fortunately, all the bulls had remained silent so far.

As if the thought was a trigger, one of them broke ranks and began to sing…ever so quietly, Gordon could barely hear any of it.

“Sam, you getting this?”

“All of it. Never heard anything like it.” There was wonder in the scientist’s voice.

The whale responsible moved slowly into the centre of the half-circle, its head dipping slightly towards the ocean floor. As it moved closer, Gordon realised it was old. Scarred, and with one flipper missing its tip, it moved ever so carefully towards them, its soft song weaving around Virgil’s.

Until their brother suddenly stopped singing.

There was no holding back Scott any longer and as one, he and Gordon pushed through the short distance between them and Virgil and swam up either side of him.

The whale ignored the intrusion and continued to advance until it was only a handful of metres away, its gnarled rostrum hovering level with the three humans.

Still singing ever so softly.

And Gordon turned to find Virgil crying, eyes closed, tears running down his cheeks.

-o-o-o-

He was young, ever so young and the sea so vast. His mother kept him safe and sung the world for him. They flew together following the ancient trails, accompanied by history and the learning, the old and the young creating and maintaining the knowledge.

He was young, ever so young and the land was so vast. His mother kept him safe and explained the world for him. His family followed tradition and their culture just like all the other families who lived here. He learnt the ways and contributed to his community as he grew.

She was gone. The red of death. The loss of song, of reality. His flippers stroked through the water where she had been and his heart broke.

She was gone. The white of snow. The loss of her voice, her music, her guidance. His fingers scrabbled through the cold ice where she had been and his heart broke.

He grew into the song and became a keeper. He spread the knowledge, saved the dreams and taught the young.

He grew into a man and became a saviour. He did good and saved all he could, but he was still young.

He lost so many. So many melodies torn from the song, voices silenced, young and old, family…

He watched his brother break. An explosion and another loss as bitter as the ice. Words lost their meaning. Only music could speak…

The song fractured.

So many colours, so much emotion. Love, sorrow, endless ages.

History.

Grief.

Beauty.

And a single question.

Why?

-o-o-o-

Part 12

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #kermadec au #nuttyfic

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

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Night Out

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family Characters: Gordon, Scott

#fluffember day 18 - ‘touch’ - and something a little different, mostly because @janetm74 decided to call me out about whacking ‘unsuspecting characters’ with a chair of ‘pain and suffering’ and @gumnut-logic mentioned literally hitting them with a chair... I promise this is mostly fluff still! That Teen rating (Teen for a fluff fic? Tsari what are you doing?) is for language and alcohol, because we have two former military boys in a London pub.

Gordon learnt two things that night: Scott was an affectionate drunk, and sometimes people throw bar stools for no good reason.

Gordon couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone out with Scott – just Scott – for a reason that wasn’t mission related. He’d hit the town with Alan (not that alcohol was allowed on those occasions, what with the kid being underage and all that) a few times, and Virgil on more than a few post-mission de-stressors, but Scott was always too busy for frivolous things like having fun.

No more. It had taken some convincing, a lot of wheedling, and the strong-arm combination of Grandma and Virgil, but a blissful forty-eight hours’ downtime was being spent in England, just because they could. The gracious offer of being chauffeured around by Parker – made by her Ladyship, to the man’s apparent disgruntlement – just made the choice all the easier. And what better way to unwind than a nice, rowdy night in the pub?

Karaoke, free-flowing alcohol, and Scott’s communicator firmly confiscated in the Creighton-Ward manor to ensure he didn’t slip back into work habits meant that he was having the time of his life, and Scott seemed to be enjoying himself, too. At least, if the gaggle of girls he’d acquired, flirting with him and being flirted with in kind, was anything to go by, his big brother was definitely enjoying himself for once.

Unwilling to spend the entire night as the wingman, and definitely not interested in finding out if Scott managed to go further than just exchanging some smooth words, Gordon had found himself over by the pool table. He’d spent enough time in pubs – even if he’d been underage for most of it and Scott (probably) didn’t know that – to be able to find entertainment with a group of strangers, so separating from his brother wasn’t much of an issue.

He was good at pool, too. Good enough to quickly work his way through the ranks until he was the champion everyone else paid to play, and all in all he was having a really good time of it. The drinks were good, the company was fantastic, and best of all, he was having a blast. Maybe later he’d drag Scott away from the girls for a game – show the Londoners exactly how good the Tracys were (and hope Scott was inebriated enough not to beat him, because Scott played a mean game sober).

At least, that was the plan. The world liked to mess with plans.

It started with raised voices. Nothing unusual in a pub, especially now it was entering late evening and the alcohol had been flowing for a while. Gordon thought nothing of it, and continued to roast his latest challenger at pool, beaming when the black ball found the pocket. Well-meant congratulations passed between the two of them – they had manners, after all – and Gordon cast around for his next opponent.

Then the tingle ran up his spine, and immediately on its heels came a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey, bro,” the guy – Dennis, Gordon had trounced him two games earlier to much laughter and another pint – started. “Didn’t you come in with that guy?”

There was only one that guy he’d come in with, and combined with his squid sense kicking in, Gordon had a sinking feeling as he turned to look at where he’d left Scott.

Just in time to see a bar stool smash into his head.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just Gordon’s default reaction to seeing someone smash a bar stool over his brother’s head, but his vision went red. The pool cue dropped, but he paid no attention to where it landed, already surging forwards towards where his brother had crumpled to the floor.

Someone was laughing, someone else was screaming, but Gordon had eyes for only two things: his unmoving brother, and the guy still holding the bar stool aloft.

“Hey!” he roared, elbowing gawkers out of the way and slamming into the guy hard enough to make him loose his grip on the stool. It fell to the floor with a crash, thankfully missing Scott, followed by the man himself. Gordon kept his feet, feeling the buzz of alcohol mixing with adrenaline, and placed himself firmly between the aggressor and his brother.

Everyone else backed off; in his periphery Gordon could tell that the three of them – him, Scott and the stool-wielding asshole – were loosely ringed in by the other patrons of the pub, all looking on with varying emotions ranging from astonishment, fear, and bloodlust.

“You with ‘im?” Stool-Bastard spat, pulling himself to his feet with a glower that was supposed to be intimidating. Gordon hadn’t served in WASP to be cowed by a drunkard in a London pub.

“You attack him for a reason?” he shot back, hearing shuffling noises from directly behind him. Good, that sounded like Scott was conscious. The pleasant fuzz of alcohol was gone, leaving him as sharply aware as it was possible to be after however many drinks he’d had, and he tallied everything up as the guy snarled, swaying on the spot but not attacking. Not yet.

Tabs were all paid up; no need to worry about any unpaid drinks. No sign of the bouncers, but that could change any moment and a barfight was not high on Gordon’s list of reasons to get arrested (yes, he had one. No, his brothers didn’t know about it). The nearest exit was… there, by the group of girls Scott had been with.

If Scott was conscious, as he suspected, it wouldn’t take much to get out of there. He just needed to not be attacked the moment he turned his back.

“’E was ‘itting on my girl,” the man snarled. Gordon had many things to say to that, including the fact that Scott – even drunk – had morals and that if the guy didn’t trust his girlfriend around other guys then maybe he should be looking for problems a little closer to home. He said none of them.

He didn’t have to. The girls surged forward, arguing the point for him – good for them, and did he need to take note of their names to hand over to Lady P? – and he took the chance to crouch down and assess Scott’s condition.

His brother had managed to drag himself up onto his elbows, one hand holding his head, and there was a scowl on his face. Blue eyes were dilated and a little unfocused, although how much of that was the alcohol as opposed to the knock, Gordon wasn’t entirely certain.

“You good to stand up?” he asked, gently touching where Scott was holding his head. The dazed blue eyes blinked at him for a second, and his brother grimaced but tried to move. Gordon caught him when he swayed, wedging himself under one arm and dragging Scott’s arm around his neck for support, wrapping a firm arm of his own around his brother’s waist.

Dennis from pool came over, clearly offering help, but Gordon waved him off with a smile that was probably more strained than he’d planned.

“I got him,” he said. “If you want to help, make sure that bastard doesn’t get another hit in.” He didn’t want trouble – this was supposed to be a relaxing downtime, dammit all – he just wanted to get Scott somewhere safe so he could check him over properly. Luckily, the man got the message and moved to stand so that he was blocking Stool-Bastard’s view of them, leaving Gordon to haul his brother out the door.

No-one else stopped him, and with a few stumbles – Scott was heavy, okay? – he got them over to a nearby bench, which Scott sank onto bonelessly. Gordon shot a quick message to Parker to come get them – fun night out was over – before turning his attention to Scott.

“You with me?” he asked, keeping an arm around his shoulders and peering at the shock of brown hair resting on his shoulder. “Scott?”

“M’fcker,” his brother slurred, sounding vaguely annoyed. He didn’t move, though, seemingly content to remain slumped against Gordon’s side and trust him to hold him up. It was just un-Scott-like enough for him to be a little worried, but he had also been drinking and he wasn’t entirely sure how much Scott had had. Nor had he actually ever seen Scott drunk before – at least, not without the buffer of Virgil and/or John to handle him. He vaguely recalled something about him being an affectionate drunk, though, so with any luck that was all that was.

Still, he ran his free hand through gelled hair, gently probing for signs of injury. Scott hissed when he reached the back of his head, where he’d seen the blow land, and Gordon explored the area lightly with his fingers. It didn’t seem like it was a bad knock – certainly not as bad as it could have been, and he was starting to realise it had actually only been a glancing blow rather than the square hit he’d initially thought – but it could definitely do with some ice and painkillers, and he was pretty certain there was a minor concussion in there, too.

No amount of alcohol explained Scott’s suddenly quiet and slightly lethargic attitude, when Gordon knew he’d been laughing and flirting right before the attack. Virgil was going to be so pleased.

“Hey,” he tried again, poking his cheek when he didn’t get an instant response. “Talk to me, Scott. What happened back there?”

Scott groaned at him and buried his face further into his neck in an additional show of drunk and concussed. “D’nno,” he muttered. Gordon felt more than heard the words. “M’fcker came’p ‘hind me ‘nd yelled sommat ‘bouta girl. D’nno what. Then th’bast’d hit me.”

A very small part of Gordon was amused at the filterless language. He knew Scott knew how to cuss – he’d Served, the same as he had – but Big Brother also had a very strong grip on his language around family. To hear what was no doubt a throwback to the Air Force days was quietly satisfying. However, most of Gordon was a combination of furious and worried, in approximately equal measures. Maybe a little more worried than furious, but there was a large part of him that really wanted to show the guy why you never messed with a Tracy.

Fortunately for his PR, Scott needed him here, not embroiled in a fight or spending the night in a lockup, so he swallowed down the rage and pulled his brother a little bit closer.

“Anything hurt except your head?” he asked, brushing his fingers through his hair again. Scott shook his head then groaned.

“’m fine,” he claimed, still not lifting his head from where it was buried in Gordon’s neck. “St’p fussin’.”

“I’ll stop fussing once we’re back at the manor and your head’s been looked at properly,” Gordon countered, to another groan. “How much did you drink?”

“Was’nly weak sh’t,” Scott told him. “Few p’ntsa cid’r.” Enough to get buzzed but not enough to get blindly drunk, then.

A breeze blew past them, reminding Gordon that London was in England and therefore cold. Scott shivered just a bit – not enough to be noticed if he wasn’t plastered against Gordon’s side – and he tightened his grip again. Neither of them were dressed for the night air, not with the original plan being for them to remain inside the pub until Parker arrived, and the thin jacket Gordon did have on wouldn’t fit his brother, even if he could peel him off long enough to shuck it.

“Not the best end to an evening,” he mused instead, rubbing at the denim jacket Scott had on in a vain attempt to give him a little more warmth.

“C’n say thattag’n,” Scott agreed, burrowing into his side even more. Gordon assumed he was trying to leech body heat. “S’posed t’be fun.”

“Well we’ve got all of tomorrow to lounge around the manor,” Gordon reminded him, spying a flash of pink approaching at speed. “You know that’ll be fun.”

“W’th this h’ngov’r?” Scott complained. Gordon winced – he had a point.

“It’ll be fine,” he promised, letting go of his brother with one hand to flag Parker down. “Water and painkillers and you’ll be good as new.” Depending on the severity of the concussion, that might be stretching it a bit. Scott was definitely going to be off duty for more than another day, though.

FAB1 pulled to a stop next to them and Parker jumped out, eyes sharp and alert as he took in their condition.

“Trouble, sirs?”

��Someone took a swing at Scott with a bar stool,” Gordon admitted, prodding his brother. Parker’s eyes narrowed and he suspected Stool-Bastard might find his own brand of trouble later, once Parker was convinced they were safe. The man seemed to have a soft spot for Scott – hell knew he didn’t have one for Gordon, despite his best efforts to the contrary. “C’mon, Scott. Let’s get you in the car.” His brother groaned but at least made a token effort to stand up, freeing Gordon long enough for him to get to his own feet and haul Scott up. Parker slid around to Scott’s other side without waiting to be asked, and between them they helped him stagger into the back seat, where he promptly slumped again. Gordon slid in beside him and was immediately reclaimed as a pillow, which he resisted long enough to make sure they were both strapped in before allowing Scott to bury his head in his neck again.

“’Ow ‘is ‘e?” Parker asked as he slipped back into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb. Gordon caught sight of him looking at them in the rear view mirror and offered a tight grin.

“Minor concussion,” he answered, running his hand through Scott’s hair again, to a quiet noise that could have been either complaint or contentment. “He also drunk enough to get buzzed, so I’m not entirely sure how much of this-” he shrugged at the big brother draped against him “-is that.”

“Hmm.” Parker sounded unconvinced, but did at least return his attention to the road.

Gordon glanced down at his brother and poked him lightly.

“You’d better not be falling asleep on me, Scott,” he warned.

“’M n’t,” came the muffled response. “W’k m’up wh’n we g’t therr.”

“Scott, no,” Gordon scolded, shrugging his shoulder and forcibly peeling his brother off of him. “You’re concussed. Don’t sleep.”

The baleful glare he got was pretty pathetic, on the Scott scale, but his brother huffed in defeat.

“F’n,” he grumbled. Gordon caught his head when he attempted to bury it in his neck – again – and guided it to rest normally on his shoulder.

“We’ll have a proper look at the manor,” he promised. “Then you can rest.”

Scott huffed, but didn’t close his eyes again. He did, however, wrap an arm around Gordon in a tight grip, which he returned in kind.

“Are you always this cuddly when you’re drunk?” he asked. The grumble he got wasn’t a coherent answer, but the way Scott purposefully looked away was. Gordon laughed. “That explains why you don’t go out drinking with us much. Do any of the others know this?”

“Shuddup,” Scott grumped. It was a shame he was also concussed, otherwise the blackmail would have been glorious.

Aw, who was he kidding. As soon as Scott came out the other side clear, it was totally acceptable blackmail. For now, though, he was content to hold onto his brother while Parker drove them back to the manor, more than a little relieved it hadn’t been worse.

So much for a relaxing night out with his brother.

#fluffember #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #gordon tracy #scott tracy #aloysius parker #thunderfluff

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willow-salix · 4 years

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Well... Here we go again.

Fluffember prompt: Together

Day… Who knows? What month is it? What year, am I even on the right planet? Shall we call it Isolation 2.0?

Day 1 of 2.0, and I can't quite believe this is happening again. Was I not tortured enough by having to spend more than a hundred days with these idiots?

Apparently not, because here I am, yet again, being drafted to go to a remote tropical island and help take care of grown adults that should be able to look after themselves and stopping them from doing ridiculous things when they should know better.

I knew it was coming, the second that it flashed up on the news that we in England were about to have an enforced lockdown again, it was just a matter of time. I gave them twenty minutes, it only took nine before my phone lit up and there they were.

Life had gone back to, well, not normal, because there are still things like social distancing and mask wearing and limits to the amount of people you could see and things you could do, but I'd been back at work for a while, mostly back in my own place and back to the kind of routine we'd had before. And by routine I mean that I'd work a few days, spend some time at home and then spend a couple of days a week with the dumbasses or have my one dumbass with me for a few hours or if I was lucky, a whole night.

Had I missed them all…yes, I'll admit that, it had been so quiet and strange being home alone again after so long being surrounded by noise and company, but it had also been quite nice to not have to make much of an effort to communicate with anyone if I didn't want to.

"But you love us," Gordon wheedled, big amber eyes shining out of his too cute face as he gazed at me from my phone screen.

"Not that much," I argued, settling myself deeper into the pillows and blankets that made up my couch nest. I had a book beside me, some crochet just over there, a cocoa on my coffee table and above all I had PEACE. And he was asking me to give that up again? NEVER!

"You do," he countered.

"Do not," I insisted.

He went quiet for a second, which is never a good thing, then one eyebrow lifted, like he'd just gotten the best idea ever and I knew I was in trouble.

"You know John won't survive with what little sanity he has left if you aren't here to protect him. He'll be trapped, with us…"

Damn him! He'd won, he knew it, I knew it and if the sniggering in the background was any indication they all knew it too. It was only a matter of time…

"We're your support bubble," Alan added, his face squashing into camera range next to his brother's.

"I don't need a full time babysitting job as a support bubble, I need your brother to come here so we can enjoy some peace and he can use up some of that vacation time he must have accumulated by now."

"And where better to spend it than somewhere nice and warm surrounded by your best friends, surely that's better than being stuck in rainy, cold England?"

"You'd think so, but no," I tried to sound firm, I tried to sound decided, but I knew they wouldn't fall for it. They never did.

"You know this is inevitable, don't you?" Virgil called from somewhere in the background.

Unfortunately, I did.

"How long until Scott gets here?" I sighed, giving in gracefully.

"About five minutes."

I was sooooo going to regret this…

#thunderbirds in isolation #isolation island #fluffember #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015

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tracybirds · 4 years

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Fluffember Day 14 - Message

Okay, we did it fam, 3k words later..... this is.... not what I planned :P Anywho, it’s the time honoured tradition of bullying John bc apparently I don’t understand what fluff is. I also don’t understand fifteen-year-olds but there we have it

Prompts by @gumnut-logic bc what a grand world this is! Thank you for all the lovely encouragement :D

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“Where have you been?” exclaimed Jeff. “I’ve been worried sick!”

John shrugged as he sloped inside and dumped his bag on the kitchen counter. “Robotics club,” he muttered. “Went late. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Your older brothers have been searching up and down the county, ever since you didn’t get home on time, and all you can say is sorry?”

“Yes.”

Gordon held his hand out to Alan and began to drag him out of the room. John looked firmly up at his father, jaw set in a stubborn line.

“I have told you before, John,” said Jeff with a sigh. “You need to communicate with us. For heavens’ sake, just a message would have been enough.”

John held his father’s gaze mutinously. His shoulders hunched in on himself as he looked away.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. “Can I go now?”

Jeff pursed his lips. His son felt more and more distant from him every day and he felt helpless to prevent it. John just didn’t speak to him anymore and Jeff was going spare with worry. He wished Lucy was here. He knew to an extent that John was just being a teenager, pushing boundaries in an attempt to create his own space. He knew she might not have had any more success with their prickly son who wanted nothing more than to live in his own universe and be left alone. But she would have helped him not feel so lonely in the never-ending battle to reach out to John.

“Call your brothers,” he told John. “Let them know you’re home. I need to take Gordon to his writing tutor.”

Jeff left, corralling Gordon and Alan, and leaving John standing alone in the kitchen. He looked down at the communicator on his wrist before sighing and calling Scott.

“Scott?”

“John? Virgil, it’s John.” Scott’s hologram blinked up at him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Just got home,” mumbled John. “Robotics went late and I–”

“No, it didn’t,” interrupted Virgil. “John, you don’t think we knew you were at Robotics after school? That’s the first place we looked.”

John faltered. “Don’t tell Dad,” he whispered.

“Don’t tell him what?” demanded Scott. “John, what’s going on?”

Anger flared inside him against a brother who couldn’t possibly understand and John suddenly hated his brother. He knew it wasn’t fair to Scott to do so, but he hated him all the same.

“Nothing, Scott,” he snapped. “Just don’t tell Dad.”

He shut off the comm and ripped it off his wrist. His eye caught sight of a flash and he froze.

John stared at the blinking light on his comm. He wasn’t going to look at it. The message that was waiting to be read taunted him. What if it’s Scott, he wondered. What if it’s Dad?

He knew deep down that it wasn’t.

He also knew if he left the communicator downstairs, eventually one of his nosy brothers would pick it up and flick through trying to find out who could possibly be messaging John all night. Probably Gordon, thought John bitterly.

He was almost tempted. At least then they’d know. And the flashing wouldn’t be left to torment him throughout the night as more and more messages flooded his communicator.

He could tell himself he was just insulted by their lack of imagination. He could tell himself their words meant nothing to him. He could tell himself they were merely jealous and didn’t know how to cope with the feeling of inferiority. Only he wasn’t sure anymore what he had that anyone could want to be jealous of.

The communicator seemed to flash even more urgently as John snatched it up and escaped to his room upstairs. It was the smallest, but as the alternative was sharing with his brothers, he was quite willing to compromise for the sake of privacy and the ability to shut the door.

He dropped the comm on the desk and flopped down on his bed, staring out the window at the setting sun. Shadows crept across his room and gradually the silent house grew alive with activity once more. There might have been a soft knock on his door, twice, no three times, but John firmly ignored it. He didn’t move to turn the lights on as the Earth turned her face from the Sun, the only illumination in his room the twinkling stars and the hallway light that shone from underneath the door. Eventually, clouds covered the sky as the night cooled and even the hallway light was switched off as the house sighed a final breath before sleep enveloped its occupants.

The communicator was still blinking.

***

John had left the comm in his bag this morning, buried underneath his lunch. He didn’t need it, those Luddites on the news were doing just fine and so would he.

John’s morning was blissful. No insults peppering his concentration, no eye kept on the LED on his comm at all times, no sinking dread whenever it flashed. His teachers nodded approvingly as he found he was able to fly through his work without half a mind churning distractedly through the problem plaguing his daily life. Eventually however, his peers would have to notice his ease. And there were more ways than one to leave a mark.

The whispers started in third lesson. A hiss as John slipped the earpiece in to complete his task list. A muffled giggle as he walked over to the paper recycler. He ignored it all, schooled his reactions carefully so as to not give them any further ammunition. He began to eye his peers carefully as they moved around him, careful to not leave his back covered and to navigate around their casual touch. None of them would touch John willingly and he had learnt to be wary of any outstretched olive branch. The shattering of his trust never ceased to be a source of endless amusement to them.

After lunch, he was exhausted from the constant vigilance and anxious to return home. Tightly wound and with a brain strung out on vitriolic mockery, John only heard the word whispered behind his back. He reacted.

***

“He’s been what?”

Jeff had taken that call in his office and his two assistants looked at each other uneasily. Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up over his forehead.

“No, no, I quite understand. Is the boy okay?”

There was a silence as Jeff carefully listened to the other person speaking.

“I’ll be right down,” he said, looking significantly at Rose. She began scurrying through the remaining schedule, cancelling appointments and sending emails of apology. James immediately began to clear away and reorganise the files open on Jeff’s holoscreen as he stepped away from the desk. “Just let me call Lu-someone to pick up the younger boys.”

He began to stride out of the room, already calling Scott.

“You need to pick up Alan from school,” he said without any form of greeting.

“Dad?” asked Scott, confused. “Dad, what’s going on, the kids at school are saying John’s been in a fight.”

“Just get your brother please,” he said. “Tell Virgil to collect Gordon. Go straight home. I’ll meet you there.”

“Yes sir,” said Scott. “We’ll be there.”

Jeff signed off, hurrying through the building. Being called in to collect his children from the school office was unfortunately nothing new to him. But the idea that one of his sons had been suspended was not one he was used to. And for the boy waiting for him at the other end to be John? Jeff’s thoughts raced frantically. Where had everything gone so wrong? The idea that any of his sons would resort to serious acts of violence was abhorrent to him, although he knew they had their rough and tumble moments at home. But never John, John had always sat apart from that, preferring to one up his brothers with his brains over his fists.

He screeched into the empty visitors parking at the school and strode into the admin building.

“Afternoon Shelly,” he said to the woman in the reception office. “I’m here to collect John.”

Shelly nodded, grimacing a little at Jeff.

“He’s outside the principal’s office,” she said. “And Jeff? Go easy on him. I’ve known John since he was a toddler, picking at the icing on his older brother’s birthday cake. This isn’t like him.”

Jeff nodded, looking troubled. “And the other boy? Robbie?”

Shelly’s lips thinned. That was all the response Jeff needed.

“Thanks for looking out for him, Shelly.”

“Any time, Jeff.”

He walked forward, turning through the corridors until he came across his little red-headed boy sitting hunched over and staring at the floor. He was swinging his legs idly and the fluorescent lights seemed to bleach his skin from fair to white. It didn’t nothing to allay Jeff’s anxiety.

John looked up as he approached and Jeff could see the odd, closed-off expression that had become so familiar ever since John had begun his adventures in high school and teenagedom.

“What happened, John?”

“Dad, please don’t do this now.”

“You have twenty seconds to give me a reason not to ground you for life. We’re doing this now.”

“I punched someone in the face and broke his nose,” said John, his eyes flashing. For a moment, Jeff could see the mask slip away, the anger and the hurt written all over John’s expression. “And I know, there’s no good reason to hit someone like that. But it was just…” John trailed off, that strange and distant expression settling over his features like a comforting friend. “I was just stupid.”

“There may be no good reason to hit someone but there’s never no reason,” said Jeff sharply. “I’d like to think you could have spoken to me about whatever caused this long before it got to this point.”

The door opened behind them.

“Mr Tracy? Come on in.”

Mrs Solis, the principal of the high school his three eldest boys attended, was not inclined to waste time. She explained to Jeff the statements that had been made against John, the apparent lack of motivation prior to the blow, and the strict no-tolerance policy implemented surrounding violence at the school.

“This was an unprovoked attack on a boy. We cannot tolerate this kind of behaviour.”

“Nor would I expect you too,” said Jeff. He had kept an eye on John throughout the meeting and it seemed he was not going to delve deeper into his reasoning behind the thrown punch. For all that this was meant to be a three-way conversation, it appeared that John was prepared to allow his father and his principal discuss his fate over his head.

“He will need to be kept home for three days, and on John’s return, he will need to report to my office at the beginning of the day. He will be required to meet with the guidance department weekly for the remainder of the year. And of course, he will need to meet with Robbie and apologise before he will be accepted back into class.”

“I won’t.”

Mrs Solis blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t apologise,” said John, folding his arms over his chest. “You can kick me out of classes, put me on report, revoke my club privileges, but you can’t make me apologise to him.”

Jeff had never heard a pronoun sound so venomous on John’s tongue. Mrs Solis tutted impatiently. “Young man, do you understand that if you had been a year old, an attack like this would have prompted a call to the police?”

“Why do you not feel an apology is in order, John?” asked Jeff. He hoped he could prompt John into defending himself for although it was certain he had been in the wrong, Jeff knew there was more to this story than John was willing to share.

“Because that jerk started it,” burst out John. He picked up his backpack and upended it on Mrs Solis’ desk – a tablet, food, old fashioned textbooks, half-wired mechanisms and oddly enough his communicator fell out. Jeff hadn’t even noticed his son wasn’t wearing it. It was blinking furiously when John snatched it up and thrust it at his father.

“That might clear my feelings up,” he snarled and then stormed out of the office.

Mrs Solis shook her head. “I don’t envy your trip home together,” she said, gathering her materials.

“Aren’t you going to listen to it?” asked Jeff, staring at the flashing LED.

“Of course not,” said Mrs Solis indifferently. “I’m happy to discuss it with John when he has calmed down and returns to school, but it would seem this meeting has come to an end. Good day, Mr Tracy.”

Jeff scowled at her, and hurriedly gathered John’s things into his backpack.

Outside the office, he held the comm in his hands. John was nowhere in sight.

“He’s gone,” said Shelly, looking up. “Caught the 308 bus. I’m sorry Jeff.”

“Not your fault, Shelly,” said Jeff with a tired smile. “Just, hell, how did I miss something this big?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” said Shelly sympathetically. “And I think you’ve a better excuse than most.”

“It doesn’t matter how busy Gordon and Alan keep me,” said Jeff. “I can’t deny I’ve relied on the older boys to look after themselves these past few months. They still need me.”

“Yes,” said Shelly. “But Jeff, you’re all still grieving. John is still grieving. Lucy’s death is going to affect them for the rest of their lives.”

Jeff started. It was the first time since the funeral that anyone had directly acknowledged the gaping hole left in the fabric of their lives.

“I don’t doubt that John would normally rise above his adversaries,” said Shelly quietly. “But life isn’t going to be normal for a while. It might never be normal again.”

Jeff looked back down at the comm. He had assumed his son had needed space to process what had happened when he’d shut down all attempts at communication. It appeared he had miscalculated desperately, and John was paying the price.

He strode out to the car and strapped John’s comm around his wrist. He reached out and pressed on the flashing light before starting the engine. Curiously, no hologram was projected, only a voice spoke.

The message was clearly addressed to John, and it had arrived that afternoon. It was a website notification, telling John that Username JTsux420 had posted an update. Jeff listened to the comment with a thunderous expression before swiping to the next message. Swiping through he realised every new message for the past twenty-four hours were all notifications for the same site, all detailing things the users didn’t like about John, or found weird, or that he wasn’t good at. By the time Jeff had reached the bus stop where he could see John walking across the fields towards their home, he was fuming and cursing at the unknown users who had been making John’s life hell under his very nose.

“John,” he barked at the receding figure.

John looked up startled at the sight of his apoplectic father. Jeff could see the fear in his widened eyes and struggled to rein in his anger.

“John,” he repeated, much softer. He turned the engine off and leapt out of the car. “Why couldn’t you tell me?”

He flinched back when Jeff reached out to him, and Jeff faltered, unsure of how to approach this boy who had turned into a stranger these last few months.

“Talk to me, kiddo,” he said softly. At the nickname, John’s face crumpled and Jeff found himself crushed in a hug.

“Mom knew,” he said softly into Jeff’s chest and his heart stuttered. Of course, Lucy had seen their son struggling. If she had known, why hadn’t he? “I told her on the mountain.”

Jeff froze.

“She said to just ignore them,” said John in a rush, as though if he didn’t get the words out now, he might never get up the nerve again. “And Dad, I’ve tried. I’ve really tried. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t do it.”

“John,” exclaimed Jeff in horror. “John, no. She was wrong.”

“But,” John said, looking confused, “but she said, she promised.”

“No John,” said Jeff. An ache tore through his heart afresh at the thought that he could have prevented all this pain if only he had paid a little more attention to his children. “Your mom was the most wonderful person in the world and she loved us all dearly. But she wasn’t perfect. And she got it wrong.”

John was silent and Jeff could see his mind processing this new information.

“You should have told me,” said Jeff, gently. “Especially after your mom died.”

“I’m sorry,” mumbled John, looking shame-faced. “It wasn’t that big a deal at first. And then I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”

“Like a frog in boiling water,” said Jeff.

John quirked a smile. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You are going to apologise to that awful boy for hitting him,” Jeff said straightening up. “But not until you and I have spoken to the principal about transferring you to another school and prosecuting everyone involved with that appalling website.”

“Do we have to?” asked John. Together they began to walk back towards the house where Jeff could see Scott turning the lights on for them.

“We don’t have to transfer you,” said Jeff. “But from what I heard I can’t think of any reason to go back.”

“I like being with Scott and Virgil,” offered John. “And I could move into a new class instead. And the Robotics Club just got in a supply of nitinol and Charlie said he’d teach me the new CX8 language. And–”

“Okay,” said Jeff with a laugh. “Okay. But if this ever happens again, even if it’s not as bad as this, you need to promise to tell me, or if I’m away, Grandma.”

“Promise,” said John. “Message received, loud and clear.”

#john tracy #jeff tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #fluffember 2019 #nervous about this one tbh #balancing the emotions in it was HARD #sometimes i fic #fic

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willow-salix · 3 years

Text

Fluffember prompt: Feathers (vaguely, and with a dash of Rainbow)

Day 13 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“OK, who threw that pencil at me?” Scott demanded to know. No one owned up. Honestly I didn’t even see where it had come from let alone who threw it.

“No clue,” I answered.

“I’m gonna find out,” he growled. “I could have been badly hurt!”

I sniggered to myself, for a real life action hero Scott could be so dramatic sometimes, and didn’t bother looking up from the latest copy of ‘Better Gnomes and Gardens: Witches Weekly’ that I was flicking through.

“Seriously, that could have taken my eye out, it’s like a miniature stake,” he continued to grumble.

“Talking of stakes,” I started, trying to distract him so that he didn’t go off on a ranting tangent about the danger of flying pencil projectiles, “there’s been a development with the Highgate Vampire, he’s been spotted again. Seriously, what more can this crazy year throw at us? Don’t answer that,” I warned John before he could even utter a word. I know my boy and I know that he was about to throw out some highly logical statistic or another that would make complete sense but would make me want to cry.

“Highgate Vampire?” Scott asked, distracted as I'd hoped he would be. My evil plan had worked. I turned my magazine to show him the article. “You remember, when we tried out that new ka- pub,” I corrected myself, aware of just how many of his brothers were crowded around. “We walked past the cemetery and I told you all about the legend of the Highgate Vampire.”

Scott looked blank, which is a look I’m used to seeing on him, I gotta be honest, he barely ever listens to me. “You know, I told you the story of how, back in the 1970’s a group of ghost hunters decided to try to find a vampire that supposedly lived there?”

He shook his head.

“Self appointed bishop vampire hunter dude?” I tried again.

“Oh, yes! I remember him. He’s back?”

"Who?"

"The Bishop."

"No, he's dead, the vampire."

"The vampire killed him?"

"The Bishop is dead of natural causes, and the vampire has been seen again," John supplied.

“Yes," I agreed." Apparently so, and they’re blaming him for this virus outbreak.”

Everyone went quiet for a second, not sure what to say to that. John reached out a hand and I passed over the magazine so he could read it for himself.

“Why do you read this rubbish?” he asked after perusing the rest of its offerings.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know that blue aliens brought Elvis into that lady’s garden?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he told me honestly, handing the magazine back to me.

“Do you remember that time that Virgil thought he was a vampire?” Scott suddenly asked him.

“Oh, God, yes. I hadn’t thought of that in years,” John laughed.

“Wait? He what now? There were vampires involved? Why was I never told about this? This is my one area of expertise and you've been holding out on me?”

“I did not think I was a vampire,” Virgil corrected them. “Our high school math teacher did.”

I tossed the magazine aside, this was far more entertaining than anything I’d find in there.

“Spill,” I demanded.

“It’s really not that interesting a story,” Virgil insisted, trying valiantly to deflect us.

“He was a sophomore, so about fifteen years old,” Scott started, dodging out of the way when Virgil threw a pen at him this time. Scott narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if that was proof that he had been the perpetrator of the pencil or not. Virgil, for his part, looked innocent. Pen, what pen? I saw no pen? What even is a pen? Isn’t that something you put pigs in?

“And he had to have two of his back teeth out due to overcrowding,” John continued, grabbing me and yanking me onto his lap, using me as a human shield when Virgil lifted his sketch pad threateningly.

“I’m so glad I married such a brave rescuer,” I deadpanned as John continued to hide behind me. "My hero."

“I was driving him back from the dentist and he was still a little out of it from the sedation they had given him,” Scott took up the tale.

“I’m just not a big fan of the dentist, OK?” Virgil defended himself. "They have to sedate me."

“His gums were still bleeding and he’d spat the gauze out within a minute of getting out of there,” John continued, ducking back behind me when Virgil glared at him.

“They’re going to tell it anyway,” I told him, “so why don’t you do it instead?”

Virgil nodded, seeing the wiseness in my words.

“My gums were bleeding but I didn’t know what to do with it all, I didn’t want to swallow it and to be honest, I was still pretty woozy, so I just kinda let the blood collect in my mouth.”

“Aww, that must have sucked, babe, I’m sorry.”

He nodded at me in thanks for my sympathy, something he was NOT getting from his brothers.

“We stopped at some lights and by that point my mouth was getting pretty full-”

“He was drooling like Alan at nap time,” Scott butted in.

“Did you not give him a tissue or something?”

“No, he was evil.”

“I was driving and I don’t carry things like that on me as standard,” Scott argued.

“I’ll pick you up if anything like that happens again,” I promised the big guy. “For girls our cars are like an extension of our house or our handbags, there's tissues, lip balms, snacks, bottles of water, everything.”

“Thank you,” Virgil sniffed, casting Scott a smug look, knowing I was firmly on his side.

“So, how is this vampire related?” I had to ask, I mean, I was sympathetic but I was also nosey as hell.

“I wound down the window as we stopped at the light,” Virgil continued. “And I...well, I was still a bit muddled…”

“He opened his mouth and all this blood came oozing out, it just dribbled everywhere,” Scott practically yelled, bursting out laughing.

“Why are you laughing, you evil thing?”

“Because,” John piped up from behind the shelter of my person, “the car next to Scott’s was Mrs Beddleman’s. Virgil, recognising her, breaks out into this wide, goofy and completely bloody, smile.”

“She looked absolutely horrified and even though she wasn’t going that direction she turned right to get away from us. She was a very religious lady and she took to wearing a cross to school for the rest of the year until I left her class.”

“And she moved his seat to one beside the window,” Scott howled, doubled over laughing.

I bit my lip, trying very hard not to laugh.

“It’s OK,” Virgil sighed, “you can laugh.”

“I don’t want to,” I told him as seriously as I could. “But I really don’t think I can help it.”

I made the fatal mistake then, I glanced at Scott who was at the point of silently laughing, his body shaking and I cracked.

“It’s not like I’m the only one that had bad anesthesia reactions,” Virgil said slyly and I snapped to attention.

“Are you not?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, grinning now. “We’ve all had broken bones and hospital stays over the years.”

“Oh, oh, tell me a Scott one!”

“He had an appendectomy when he was twenty. He was taken in for day surgery and when he woke up he was completely coherent,” Virgil started.

“He was?” Knocked out Scott had to be different to sedated Scott, because sedated Scott was hilarious and very snuggly.

“What can I say, I have a strong constitution,” Scott preened.

“He’s lying,” Virgil continued. “He was talking normally, answering questions and the doctor said he was doing great and could go. He was starving, hadn't eaten since the night before and he insisted that the only thing he would eat was Chinese food, and it had to be a buffet, nothing else would do."

"I mean, he's not wrong, there is nothing like a good Chinese," I agreed.

"Well, it appeared that he hadn't been as recovered as we thought he was."

"What happened?"

"I came round from the anesthesia sitting in the restaurant and as far as I knew I'd just gone under in the operating room and I'd woken up with a plate of chicken teriyaki on a stick in front of me."

John sniggered, muffling his laughter against my shoulder.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Scott huffed. “Have you forgotten about when you had your tonsillectomy?”

“That was not my fault,” John mumbled, clearly regretting his previous amusement.

“Oh gods, what did you do?” I asked him, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder.

“Nothing! I was just talking to the anesthesiologist.”

“The anesthesiologist was new to the hospital so hadn’t met any of us before,” Virgil started.

“Do I take it that you all had frequent user passes? Like buy ten ops and get the eleventh free?”

“Pretty much,” Scott shrugged, unashamed of just how bad that sounded. “So John’s there, being himself, talking to the surgeon and anesthesiologist about the operation and what they were planning, how long it would take, telling them what they needed to do, that sort of thing-”

“I like to know what to expect,” John defended himself.

“Swot,” Gordon teased, coming in at the tail end of John’s mini rant, Alan trailing along behind him.

“It’s not a bad thing to want to go into a situation with full knowledge of it. Research and a game plan are only sensible. How do you expect to get good at something if you don’t know the mechanics behind it?” He glanced around at his brothers who looked less than convinced. “You know you’ve all been grateful for my expertise more than once.”

“I know I have,” I agreed, ignoring the raised eyebrows that came my way. Let them think dirty things, that was their problem. I received a small kiss to the side of my neck thanks for my support so I’m not going to complain.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Gordon asked, flopping down on the couch beside Virgil.

“They were sharing with me their tales of woe under the effects of anesthesia and sedation,” I informed him.

“Oh, yes, we’ve all got those,” Gordon agreed. “Which one was John telling?”

“The time when he had his tonsils removed,” Scott helpfully supplied.

“I don’t remember it,” Gordon frowned.

“Neither do I,” Alan added.

“He was talking to the anesthetist, we got that far,” I said.

“He was talking to him as they were asking him to count down from a hundred,” Virgil continued.

“I only remember getting to ninety-one,” John told me.

“We were outside in the relatives room, waiting for him to be taken to recovery,” Scott took up the tale. “We had only been in there about fifteen minutes when the anesthesiologist and a nurse came out looking like they had seen a ghost.”

“Dad stepped up and demanded to know what the problem was and if John was OK,” Virgil said. “It turned out that John had been far more coherent than he remembered and hadn’t stopped counting at ninety-one.”

“He’d gotten to sixty-two but when he reached eighty-nine he’d apparently switched to fluent Japanese, and then started talking about a wakizashi, that and asking them about their day.”

“A what now?”

“A small, fourteenth century Japanese sword,” John supplied.

“The anesthesiologist was actually Japanese and he had apparently called three of his peers in the ten minutes that John had been under to ask how it was possible that this Caucasian, american teenager was suddenly speaking in fluent Japanese under the influence or anesthesia.”

“It took Dad a good five minutes of solid laughter to finally tell them that they hadn’t broken John or damaged his brain in any way, he was actually fluent already,” Scott laughed.

“Apparently he gave them the biggest scare they had ever had in more than twenty years,” Virgil finished.

“I was obviously being considerate and had thought that it was more polite to talk to him in his own language rather than English,” John sniffed, crossing his arms around my waist. “I don’t see what the big deal was.”

“I’m just impressed that you were speaking it fluently at all,” I said, earning a gentle finger flick as punishment for ever doubting him. “I meant that I can only speak three languages fluently, English, bad English and Sarcasm, so anyone that can do anything else is just amazing to me,” I quickly defended myself.

“Sarcasm is your native tongue,” John mumbled. I ignored him.

“He’s mostly self taught too,” Scott added, showing that, despite how much time they all spend teasing each other, they are always proud of their siblings.

“I used to watch a lot of foreign films and TV shows to pick up the pronunciation and read a lot of graphic novels and translated books to learn how to read and write,” John elaborated. “It’s a very effective way to learn and I apparently have a gift for languages.”

“As well as many other things,” I added to be nice. “Any other stories I need to know?”

“When Gordon was having one of his back surgeries they told him that they had to strap him down and when he asked why they told him it was so he wouldn’t fall off the table and he said ‘It’s OK, five second rule’,” Scott told me.

“‘Cause I'm a snacc,” Gordon added with a grin. “Apparently I also woke up with a violent jolt and when I was asked if I was OK I apologised to the nurse and told her that I thought I was a shark.”

“You also started a joke with the nurse as you went under and finished it the moment you woke up with no prompting,” Virgil laughed.

I clapped enthusiastically for that one and Gordon bowed modestly.

“What about me?” Alan asked, finding the whole thing highly amusing.

“You’ve only been under once but you were hilarious in both the things you said,” John answered. “You apparently woke up screaming ‘Where are my wings? I want my wings? You stole my feathers you jerk! You were only supposed to take my tonsils!’ and then passed right out again.”

Gordon cracked up laughing, as did everyone else including Alan.

“You then woke up again and asked how long until the anesthetic kicked in, and when the nurse told you it was all done and had actually been two hours you yelled in her face ‘WOAH, DID I JUST TIME TRAVEL?’” John finished.

“That’s so precious,” I cooed, because Alan is adorable in everything he does regardless of what it is.

“We have a lot of stories like that,” Virgil said, “we sometimes have to give pain relief or sedate someone who is freaking out and they do the weirdest stuff.”

“They do? Is there some kind of hippocratic oath that you guys have to swear or can you tell me some?”

“No oath,” they assured me.

“One woman grabbed Virgil’s hand, stuck her fingers up in his sleeve, stroked his arm and said ‘You’d make a great carpet’,” Gordon told me.

“It’s not uncommon for people to feel stressed and unsure of where they are,” Scott continued, “they often wake up screaming or panicking, but we delivered one guy to the hospital who’d had a pretty nasty bang to the head and broken an arm. We were unable to calm him down so we had to sedate him so he wouldn’t do any more damage. He woke up as we were transferring him to the hospital gurney and he hopped off before we could catch him, pulled his pants down with his good arm and started to helicopter right there outside the hospital.”

That broke me, I’m sorry to say. I might proclaim to be far more mature than these idiots and not find fart jokes and the like amusing, but the mental image of this guy, standing there, twirling...I just couldn’t stop.

“One girl asked us if we were single and we didn’t answer and deflected by asking her if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend and she started crying that she just wanted a dog.”

“Remember that young boy who meowed the entire way to the hospital?”

“And that one lady that was really nervous so we told her to think of something nice and she started singing ‘I wish you a merry Christmas,’ but it was July!”

“And the one that said she wanted us to drop her off at the top of a rainbow so she could slide down it?”

“And the guy that woke up when we landed, looked right at Kayo and said as loudly as he could ‘Look! The love of my life! Don’t leave me, I can change!’”

“And that one guy who knocked out a few teeth and spat out the gauze we packed his mouth with and started freaking out crying ‘was that my liver? Nooo, my liver! I need that! Get back in you!’”

“A woman lost a couple of teeth too and was crying about being ugly. We gave her some pain relief and she was so hazy that, when we handed her over to the doctor and gave him her teeth she started screaming at him... what was it she said, John? You heard it over the comms and were laughing so hard.”

“She yelled, ‘Charlatan! I demand you return my teeth! They are mine and I will choose how they are to be spent!’”

I cracked up at that, mostly the way John told it, which I assume was the same way she had, like a plummy Victorian aristocrat that had just been insulted.

“And that teen who said ‘hey, mister, my ass itches and I’m too high to scratch it.”

“Oh, that’s pure gold,” I laughed, wiping my eyes because I was laughing so hard.

“What about you?” Alan asked me. “Have you ever done anything weird?”

“Only every day of my life.”

“I meant under sedation.”

“Oh, yeah, not really,” I shrugged. “I know that when I had teeth out once, after napping on the couch for a few hours I suddenly sat up and announced that I needed to make Mum a cup of tea. She told me I didn’t need to but I said she was my guest and I had to be polite or she’d leave me alone to die. There was no arguing with me so I got up, went to the kitchen and came back and gave her a mug of cold water with a spoon in it. I apparently said ‘drink up, luv,’ like a really bad impression of Parker and face planted the couch and passed out again. Mum made her own tea after that.”

That got a fair few sniggers and Scott threatening to take away my British card for screwing up tea so badly.

“I have to ask,” I said conspiratorially once everyone had calmed down, “has Kayo ever done anything like this?”

They all looked around, as if scared that she might be listening, then eventually Virgil nodded.

“She came round from her knee surgery after she dislocated it and insisted on trying to get out of bed. The nurse told her she had to stay put as they had just fixed her knee and it needed time to heal. She answered in the most confident, how dare you try to stop me way and informed the nurse that she was a ninja and that they heal three times faster than normal people. The nurse let her try and she dropped face first.”

Honestly, out of all the stories I’ve heard today, that one was the best. It’s nice to know that even the most capable and sometimes terrifying of us isn’t always perfect.

#thunderbirds are go #Isolation Island #Thunderbirds in isolation #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds

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willow-salix · 3 years

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(Today's update for the fluffember prompt: whimsical, is brought to you by the amazing @myladykayo as the guest writer.)

Day 14 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

Knowing a second confinement period was going to happen doesn’t make it easier but at least we know a little more of what to expect this time. It’s not that bad, really. Things are not all that different for me, come to think of it. I still cook, clean, or try to have my grandsons act like responsible adults and do their part—and patch them up when they get injured.

Because apparently, just because they aren’t going out on rescues doesn’t mean they aren’t still injuring themselves, and believe me, they manage to do so in the most spectacular ways. Thank goodness John’s wife arrived right before lockdown to bring a little sanity to this madhouse.

We were both sitting at one of the picnic tables on the terrace with Jeff and Kayo, enjoying a moment of relative quietness. The boys were in the pool, playing some sort of ball game. I thought perhaps that this would be a day where nothing dramatic or ridiculous happened...

Sigh. I should have known better.

I must admit that there are times lately when I’m not sure what day of the week it is, or even what time of day, for that matter. So, when the alarm went off on my watch, I was as surprised as the others sitting with me. It was two o’ clock. I stopped the ringing, trying to figure out a way to go back inside to settle down with my viewing partner for another episode of the Big and the Boisterous.

Alan, who had decided that he didn’t feel like playing anymore had joined us at the table at the same moment. He whined a bit when our witch engulfed him in a hug but I know he’s putting up a show and he really loves the attention from her. “What’s this for, Grandma?” he asked, nodding toward my wrist. “It’s not... dinner time yet,” he added with a careful tone of voice as if he regretted mentioning meals.

She leant into him and whispered something that visibly reassured him. She probably told him she was going to cook—don’t tell anyone but it suits me too!

“It’s something I have to do,” I said.

I saw understanding dawn on our witch’s face and she smiled at me.

“Did you want to come along, dear?” I asked her.

Her expression changed to something I could qualify as a “heartburn face,” which I found a little disconcerting, but Alan chose that moment to exclaim: “Come along where? Can I go too?”

He darted a look toward her and I suspect that she kicked him under the table, thinking I couldn’t see her. They all think I’m blind but I see everything.

The comms unit on the table bleeped. While I noticed it was my colour on there and knew it was Mike (you might know him as the Mechanic) and was going to wait before answering, my son just pressed the button out of habit and his hologram popped out. Mike was clearly not expecting to have an audience and it showed on his face.

“Hey, Mike,” both Alan and John’s wife exclaimed at the same time; Kayo smiled and gave him a little wave.

“Erm, hello.” He looked at me. “I can call back later...”

Our viewing session is actually recorded. The show isn’t actually at 2 o’clock but it's usually a quiet time in the household and we use the video on demand service to watch—that way we can skip the ads. We debate on a lot of things during our watch sessions but we both agree that we can’t stand to watch it live.

“Oh, no! It’s your time, Grandma, don’t let us hold you back,” our witch said.

“We can stay and chat a bit now that we’re here, can’t we, Mike?” I asked, feeling that it was impolite to just leave at this point.

“I suppose we can...” he sounded about as enthusiastic as when he tried to peel off that charcoal facial mask I had him try for his T-zone.

“I’m almost certain I will regret asking, but how did this all begin anyway?” John’s wife motioned between the holoprojector and me.

Mike rolled his eyes and sighed. “Might as well get this over with...” he muttered.

Everyone around the table, including Kayo, gathered around closer to listen in. I’m not sure why people think it’s extraordinary that I’ve welcomed Mike to the household. He was on the island for months while they prepared the Zero-XL so it’s only natural that I tried to bring him out of his shell.

“It all started when Mike was working on the T-Drive, and just like the rest of you, he has a habit of not stopping to rest and can be stubborn—”

“We were on a tight schedule and I wanted the drive to work. I had an idea about optimizing the fuel intakes and I wanted to try it right away,” he cut me off.

As if he realized that the reason for the tight schedule was right there at the table, he stopped, looking a little sheepish. Mike really fits in with the rest of them. Doesn’t know when to stop and too modest for his own good. No wonder I took him under my wing so naturally.

“So you went in after dinner, when you were supposed to be resting, and you didn’t have your protective boots on,” I provided.

“Oooh, I remember that!” Alan exclaimed, right before he scrunched his face at the memory. “Ohhh, yeah.”

“That bad?” our witch asked.

“I would have been fine, but apparently a little cut warranted ‘calling Grandma,’” he explained, air quoting the last part and sounding annoyed, but I could see the twinkle in his eye. He’s a good kid.

I ignored him and replied to her: “I’m telling you, dear, just like the others. Saying it’s nothing when he’s leaving a trail like Little Thumbling.” She made a face because she’s not quite at ease with blood and needles—quite ironic considering the family she married into if you ask me—so I moved on quickly. “I bandaged him up and had him settle down in the lounge with a snack so that he could rest and I could keep an eye on him.”

“I was forced to watch… dreadful things. And I couldn’t walk away.”

Mike had his “harsh and scary” face on but I know him by now and he was actually becoming more at ease as the conversation went. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at him.

“Sure, we had to do a few adjustments at first, but don’t deny it young man, when I picked a series about boxing, you were hooked.”

“Boxing?” Alan’s expression was as doubtful as his tone of voice.

“What? Why are you making that face?” I asked

“Well you’re a grandma... don’t grandmas watch more whimsical shows like Walnut Grove or that singing academy one?”

“Clef-Hangers isn’t whimsical, it’s brain-numbing and unrealistic.”

I didn’t know where to direct my scolding gaze between Mike, who dared to criticize Clef-Hangers, or my own treacherous son, who thought he was really smart by hiding his scoff with a cough. I am so misunderstood in this household sometimes.

Jeff calmed down rather quickly as he seemed to realize something. “Wait… Boxing? The Big and the Boisterous is still running after all these years?” He seemed baffled. “Last time I saw it, before I was lost in the Oort cloud, Magdelena was pretending to be a rich investor so that Carlos noticed her and invited her to the gym.”

“Oh no, things have progressed a lot. They are married now and have five children. Her habit of buying expensive clothes and shoes to look like an investor turned into a shopping addiction though,” I said.

“Three. The two youngest ones aren’t his,” Mike growled.

“Well she was bearing the youngest for her best friend who couldn’t have children but by some miracle she became pregnant by Carlos, so Magdelena decided to keep the baby. Carlos thinks the baby is his, however there was a fertility clinic involved, so we don’t know who the father actually is,” I felt I had to explain to the others.

“Magdelena doesn’t know her friend’s baby is Carlos’.”

“No. Charles is waiting for his moment to drop this titbit of information.”

It’s so easy to fall back in our discussion and speculations—healthy debating—but at this point, I could see Alan’s eyes were glazing over and John’s wife was frowning and mouthing something to herself. It’s not that complicated... youngsters these days, no attention span whatsoever.

“But... wasn’t Charles harbouring his secret the last time I, um, was there? That was months ago,” she said.

The dear girl was sensible and didn’t mention any beauty treatments that could have ruffled Mike’s feathers. “Careful planning takes time. They follow a realistic timeline,” I explained.

A non-committal sound came out of her mouth and Jeff choked on his coffee. How dare! Sometimes, he’s as bad as his sons. I continued my story: “Anyway, after having to stay put for a couple of days, Mike couldn’t miss an episode anymore and began pretending to be busy close by when I was watching—”

“I did not!” he spluttered.

“And we ended up setting a time and began watching regularly. There’s really nothing much to it. It was our quiet time from you rowdy lot and we just continued it when Mike moved off the island.”

“The whole situation is kind of whimsical if you think about it,” John’s wife commented, earning a smile from Kayo and a nod from Alan.

I don’t think Mike ever was called whimsical in his life. And from the look on his face, he was thinking the exact same thing.

“I’m half tempted to watch now... I mean if Mike likes it...” Alan commented.

“You can jump in at any time, honey, Mike and I will quickly put you up to date. A big boxing championship is coming up and it will be exciting. However, we still don’t know if Carlos will recover from his drinking phase, today could be revelation time,” I mentioned.

“It’s not a drinking phase!"

" He was poisoned!”

Both Mike and Kayo protested at the same time, then stopped and looked at each other, startled.

The table grew silent at the revelation.

“You watch the Big and the Boisterous too?” Alan asked, his expression a mix of curiosity and glee at the thought of obtaining some precious blackmail info from this discussion.

“... not all the time. I... I study the fight scenes,” she huffed and sat there, sulking, her face slightly darker than usual.

John’s wife raised her eyebrows. “Why? In case you need to throw birthday cake at your opponents? Unless you find one of Carlos’ sons cute...”

Kayo gasped indignantly. “I do not!”

Both girls elbowed each other, calling each other names, but they were also trying to hold back laughter so I didn’t worry about it. They have their own language by now and they keep the boys on their toes each time they team up.

I couldn’t help to take a moment to wonder which of Carlos’ sons could have caught my adoptive granddaughter’s fancy, however. I’m still not sure.

Jeff must have decided that both my viewing partner and Kayo had suffered enough because he hugged me, kissed my temple and said: “Well, go ahead, Ma, go have your moment and find out what’s happening at the gym. We’ll keep busy.”

“Call me when you are ready,” Mike said, before saying goodbye to everyone and giving Jeff a respectful nod and a “Sir.”

I don’t think he’ll ever be able to call my son by his name, or me by my own for that matter. And I have tried. I’d even accept “Grandma” now. But he won’t call me that anymore. He said it wouldn’t be respectful after what he did to us in the past.

I haven’t given up yet. Must be my whimsical side.

I stood from the picnic table to retreat to my room, but only managed to make it halfway to the kitchen when I heard a commotion coming from the pool area.

I told you, I should have known better.

Sure enough, when I turned around, I saw my eldest grandson out of the pool clutching his foot. John’s wife sprung out of her seat with impressive speed, yelling “Oh for crying out loud! I have my back turned for two seconds and you manage to injure yourself, you big doofus!”

She stormed past me, grumbling: “I’ll get the first-aid kit...”

I guess Carlos’ drinking situation would have to wait yet a little more.

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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Food, Tracy Style

Was feeling a bit down due to work. So I picked up today’s Fluffember prompt and let my fingers run with it. This is what happened. I hope you enjoy.

Fluffember Prompt #12 - Food.

-o-o-o-

Food in the Tracy household is a fugitive thing.

It has been known to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye. It has been known to be squirrelled away as if a billionaire or six may suddenly run into famine. It has been known to be spooned gently into a sick family member.

It has been known to be wrapped in decorative paper and handed over as gifts.

Yes, food is very popular in the Tracy household.

Well, all the food that wasn’t cooked by Grandma that is.

Why does Grandma continues to cook ghastly concoctions even though everyone in the building, including the many appropriately positioned pot plants, knows that it is a major failing on her part? Only Grandma knows.

Virgil suspects it is simply out of love and a need to show how much she truly cares.

Alan secretly suspects it is a long term plan to summon a demon.

In any case, it is highly recommended to all guests that their grandmother’s cooking be avoided.

Or exorcised, according to Alan.

Each of the boys has their favourite foods of course and each their own quirks at consuming them.

Scott is efficient. That is the only word that can really be applied. He’s a busy man. Food is necessary. It gets eaten. His tastes are simple and easy. It’s food, he’s hungry, get out of my way, Gordon.

He can knock some eggs up, a good sandwich...don’t let him near the barbecue unless you desire charcoal for your meal. Seared steak apparently comes in shades of black.

Virgil, on the other hand, loves a good meal. Sure, he’s a busy man too, but there is a lot of him needing feeding and he has been known to take those few extra minutes over a meal just to enjoy it. A snooze afterwards never hurts. Digestion is something one’s body should enjoy.

Never get between Virgil and his meal. You may be bulldozed. Politely bulldozed, but flattened nonetheless. He’s a busy man. This is his time with his food, don’t interrupt, Gordon, shut up.

Virgil can cook. As long as it is steak.

There have been wars fought over the barbecue between the two eldest brothers.

Do not touch Virgil’s steak.

Particularly if you are Scott.

John appreciates a fine meal. Of the five brothers, he is the one who will know about the wine. He’ll know which region it came from, what it should be eaten with and which year grew the plant it was made from. This, of course, means he is the most likely culprit to steal Scott’s boutique beers out of the fridge...to the point that one of the first signs of the middle brother being back on Earth is the sudden missing bottles from said refrigerator.

Virgil thinks it is hilarious.

Scott’s worried his brother is a secret alcoholic and keeps monitoring his intake.

Alan keeps messing with Scott’s head by pinching extra bottles to ‘up John’s intake’.

Gordon messes with everyone by refilling the bottles with apple juice.

But yes, John is the one to appreciate a good meal, most likely because he has to eat all that space crap eighty percent of the time.

Virgil likes to make sure his brother gets a treat from time to time.

So John gets gifted lots of steak.

Alan is fed and watered regularly. With four older brothers, a sister and a grandmother, it is not like he has any choice. The appropriate quantities of vegetables and fruit are provided daily and his consumption noted. Any diversion from the menu is queried thoroughly and a health assessment performed, usually by a pair of stern blue eyes that take their responsibility ever so seriously.

Too bad those eyes have yet to work out that quite a bit of that food is delivered to the two pet hamsters he has stashed in his room. Also Buddy and Ellie consume a diet not recommended by any vet on Planet Earth.

Buddy and Ellie have been eyeing the hamsters for quite some time and are happy Alan is fattening them up.

The hamsters agree with Alan regarding Grandma’s cooking and often mistake Gordon for the demon she is apparently attempting to summon.

Alan doesn’t mind his diet too much. He knows his brothers just love him to death and the feeling is mutual. Plus Kayo slips him junk food on a regular basis. How she got hot churros to the Island still hot, he has yet to work out...Shadow is fast, but really?

As for Kayo, she eats what she wants to eat. No one is going to argue with her. Hey, you want the last pancake, be my guest, here have the maple syrup. After all, she did get her nickname from the big blowout of 2049. One cupcake, five skittle brothers and a very hungry young female bowling ball. Hey, you try growing up in a house full of men and boys. It is either kick ass or have yours handed to you. Gordon, touch that and you die.

Don’t mess with Kayo. Regarding food, or any topic for that matter. Just don’t mess with her. Take her name as a warning and stand back.

No one is quite sure what Grandma eats. Alan is pretty sure it isn’t her own cooking otherwise how could she have possibly lived this long? Virgil keeps an eye on her, makes sure she is happy and content and has everything she needs. Gordon once tried scientific method on his grandmother and her food consumption, leaving several tempting tidbits around the place fixed with sensors to see which would take her fancy. Results were inconclusive since Alan ate half the experiment.

Virgil poured pink dye in the pool and the hypothesis was abandoned.

Brains is the trash can of the Island. He will eat anything put within arm’s reach. The engineer finds food an inconvenient bodily function and often won’t stop working to fulfil his body’s needs. Food appears beside him, the one neuron not focussed on whatever he is doing declares the food his and it is consumed efficiently.

Virgil quickly learnt to keep his lunch out of Brains’ reach when they are working together. One too many instances of going hungry because of grabby food hands taught him quickly.

Gordon, of course, thinks it is hilarious. The aquanaut once sat quietly beside the working engineer and managed to feed him an entire cheesecake piece by piece.

Scott was not impressed when Brains threw up on his shoes fifteen minutes later during his maintenance report. Gordon, go to my office, now!

And that leaves Gordon.

Gordon is a seagull. If you’ve got it, he wants it, and he will nag you until you give it to him.

Of course, this doesn’t prevent him from acquiring his own. Seagulls are scavengers after all. Then he will sit at the table with his plate or bowl of whatever and quite calmly sit there pinching things off your plate.

Whether he does this to amuse himself, or he has a psychological disorder, none of the brothers have bothered to investigate. It’s just Gordon, slap his fingers as needed. Of course, Kayo doesn’t have a problem. No one would dare steal from her plate.

Well, he did try once. Most people think the scar on his hand is just one of those from the hydrofoil accident.

It isn’t.

Of course, there was the time where he ate the steak Scott and Virgil were arguing over. They didn’t realise it until a full ten minutes later, by which time Gordon was no longer in the room, taking the digesting steak with him.

Grandma got to bake him a cake for that one.

But yes, in general, food in the Tracy household is a little chaotic. There have been death threats, mild bruising, profanity, theft, slander, the occasional all out war and sometimes a whole pile of mischief. But honestly, under it all? There is a whole pile of love. Because push comes to shove, each and every Tracy, by name or not, will give their all to help another.

And that includes food.

Though Grandma’s cookies have been declared lethal weaponry and throwing one results in mandatory dish duty for a month. Gordon, for the love of everything, put that down now!

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #kayo kyrano #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #grandma tracy #sally tracy #hiram hackenbacker #brains

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