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idontknowreallywhy · 8 months

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This one accosted me while I was trying to write something else (which appears to be A Pattern for me and writing… well… anything actually). It is very much inspired by many enjoyable conversations / informal therapy sessions with @astranite who shares my “what’s really going on with Scott” headcanon, and at the same time helped me figure out what might be going on with me too. Thank you for everything and for helping me nudge this into something shareable.

It’s also inspired by @sofasurf’s amazing set of fics about Scott’s struggles in the early days post Jeff disappearing. It’s absolutely right that after an initial crisis his brothers and grandma would have put in measures to stop him needing to work so hard and bear it all alone and I love how she tells that story.

And yet… we have Scott who 6 years later is still up late sat at that thrice-darned desk.. brothers aside, he’s CEO of a company that would employ a lot of competent people to sort out all the nitty gritty paperwork. So why is he still frequently found asleep there 6 years on?

This is my attempt to figure out some of the Reason… and not in any way a side quest distracting me from my own Big Document nemesis. Nope.

It is, however, 99% projection for which I hope you’ll forgive me. Hopefully it’s not too out of character.

Sort of an emotional hurt-comfort thing. The ending is very silly because that is apparently how I roll.

Trochilidae

Scott shook his head irritably as his eyelids drooped and flung out his hand to grab his mug… which promptly took a nose dive off the desk.

Allowing himself to face plant the polished wood for a moment he acknowledged he was, at least, lucky it was empty. Something he really should have remembered as that would have been the 5th time he had raised it to his lips only to be disappointed at the lack of caffeinated wake up juice within.

Not that it was doing any good. He scowled. It never did. The miraculous transformation from ‘Sleep of the Dead’ to ‘Alert and Ready’ that the brown stuff could bring about in Virgil and Brains remained a mystery to him. Drinking it kind of kept him grounded though, maybe that was just habit by now. Nevertheless… he shoved his chair back and stood up, glaring at the chunks of ceramic on the floor: a job for future Scott. He went to get a new mug.

Re-entering the living room, he surveyed the scene. All was quiet. Deep breath… stretch out shoulders… he tilted his head from side to side to shift the tension in his neck with a satisfying series of cracks.

1am. No problem.

He was nearly done and then he could get to bed and get a solid 4 hours oblivion before his morning run.

Back at his desk, he took a fortifying gulp of focus juice, put on his determined face, picked up his tablet and swiped up to open the annual report again. He blitzed through another three paragraphs, noted down 4 questions for the board, one for the accountant and one further point to follow up with Jack, the Tracy family lawyer, before his eye was drawn to the broken mug scattered across the floor.

Probably shouldn’t leave that.

Gordon might wander by in those flimsy deck shoes and mortally wound himself.

He laid the tablet back down, pointed at it and muttered” don’t go anywhere” to the document that had been tormenting him. Blinking rapidly as he realised quite how little sense THAT had made, he crouched down to nudge the scattered fragments into a pile he could scoop up into the waste basket.

From this angle he realised there was a lot more than just decimated mug and coffee splatters down here… there were crumbs galore, odd, sticky patches and… yes he was pretty sure that the mysterious patch of shadow tucked away under the back corner of the desk was the better part of a club sandwich. He shuffled over, crablike, and reached underneath to retrieve it, sniffed it cautiously and was just concluding it was unlikely to be worth the subsequent food poisoning when John’s hologram popped up in front of him. He didn’t even glance up to see the inevitable raised eyebrow.

“Don’t even say it, John.”

Obediently his space-brother remained silent.

“I’m nearly done. I’m just signing off the annual report for the board meeting tomorrow.”

“From… under the desk?”

Blue eyes were cast upwards as Scott strode over to the kitchen to dispose of the rancid but weirdly tempting sandwich. There was no liner in the food waste caddy. He tutted and placed the plate on the counter top to deal with in a minute.

“Obviously not, I just spotted that Gordon had left something gross lying around and we don’t want a repeat of the taco incident.”

“Okay, and what are you doing now?”

Scott looked down at the cleaning bot in his hands.

“I… well it’s clearly not been working, the place is a health hazard so I was just going to see if I could…”

This time he did raise his eyes to meet the eyebrow of judgment.

Holding up the bot for John to examine, he grinned at his little brother and shook it gently.

“Look it has googly eyes! I bet that was Gordon.”

“Unlikely to be causing the malfunction. Get Brains to take a look at it tomorrow. Or Alan, he needs the practice.”

“True. Oh, did you see the note his teacher sent through?” Scott returned the bot to its housing and jogged over to his desk to pull up the email in question. He sat down and started to type a reply.

“Scott.”

“Mmhmm?”

“I saw it. It’s non-urgent.”

“Yes but while I think of it I might as well…”

“It’s 1:27am. Why don’t you just sign off the report and get some rest. It’ll keep.”

A melodramatic huff and the offending document was returned to the screen.

“You’ve been reading this for the last four days, Scott. What’s the issue? Can I help?”

“There are just so many points I need to follow up before I can put my name to it.” Scott highlighted a particular paragraph. “What if the data this is based on is inaccurate? I haven’t seen it!” He stabbed at another “These assertions here… is it ok to say that? I need to check the industry standards for…” he gestured vehemently “six or seven of these baseline metrics. The grammar in the narrative paragraphs feels clumsy. And I haven’t even started proof-reading it for typos yet!”

Scott took a deep shuddering breath and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, weaving his fingers into his hair and gripping slightly harder than was comfortable as if that would ease the headache he knew was starting.

“The accountants have checked it, the divisional heads have checked it, Jack has been all over it at least twice. Virgil and the engineering team went through it with a fine tooth comb last week, they’ll know the baselines. I’ve checked it myself. Even EOS had a look.”

The response was barely audible.

“But what if… it’s not good enough? If someone missed something and… I didn’t spot it…”

“You don’t have to spot everything Scott. We pay smart people very generously to spot things. As CEO you are allowed to rely on them.”

Silence.

“Please… can you trust us?”

Holding his breath to fight a wave of nausea, Scott flipped to the final page of the document and added his digital signature.

With ninja-like speed John had saved the file and forwarded it to the board.

“It’s done, big brother. Go and sleep in your actual bed for a change.”

A swift shake of the head and muttered curse as big brother realised he’d gnawed through his bottom lip again.

“Can’t.” He stood up and paced the room.

“You know, maybe you shouldn’t have caffeine so late. Even Virgil…”

Scott’s snapped explanation that it made no difference whatsoever and that John KNEW that was forestalled by a series of beeps followed by a low hum as the cleaning bot started trawling across the floor.

“EOS?”

“Yeah, I asked her to see whether a firmware update would sort it.”

“Right.”

The brothers watched in silence as the little machine zigzagged around the room, bumping from one obstacle to another in an apparently haphazard fashion.

“It doesn’t seem very efficient does it?”

Scott sank suddenly to the floor in an effort to hide the fact his legs had turned to jelly.

“No, but it’ll get there in the end and everything will be done and it will all be ok.”

He snorted at his brother’s lack of subtlety and rested his forehead on his knees, concentrating on breathing evenly. He was fine. It was all fine. Again.

A few minutes passed before he noticed a faint high pitched giggle and his moment of peace was interrupted by the cleaning bot repeatedly bumping into his hip. He lifted his head to glare at it only for his eyes to make contact with the outsized googly ones jiggling wildly with each collision. His shoulders shook and he pressed his lips together to try to contain the rush of emotion rising up in his chest.

“EOS!”

As John turned to lecture the AI about when it was and wasn’t appropriate to annoy older brothers, the bot froze, all unblinking innocence gazing up at him. Scott let slip the smallest chortle then, after a beat, exploded, throwing back his head with howls of laughter, tears running down his face

It took him a while to compose himself enough to notice he was now lying on his back on the living room floor, John smiling down at him like some benevolent heavenly messenger. Smugness permeated through EOS’s voice as she enquired whether the Commander was much better now. He hiccuped. Then nodded. As he peeled himself off the floor and patted the cleaning bot absently, Scott found himself seized by An Idea.

And so it was that as Gordon awoke with his dawn alarm to find a 6-day old sandwich with giant eyes watching him from his bedside table.

The screech of a horrified squid echoed through the villa and was swiftly followed by the slamming of doors and the thundering of feet as most of its occupants tore to the rescue of a brother in distress.

The eldest brother remained precisely where he was, warm and comfortable, listening to the chaos and bemused voices. He smiled to himself and drifted back off to sleep.

[AO3]

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #scott tracy needs sleep #Thunderfluff #mostly fluff #Ok Scott’s a bit stressed #But the ending sorts him right out #EOS is a menace #And a genius

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edutainer2022 · 8 months

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So, it was a barrage of about 20 (that's right, twenty) ballistic missiles on the city at night. Twenty ballistic missiles sound (and feel) like, I presume, Thunderbirds 1 through 3 flying by and landing on your roof all at once. So I just kinda covered my head with a blanket (not gonna help if/when it hits, for the record) and noped out for a while.

But that's not the whole point of this post. When I did catch an hour of sleep before the next air raid (just called off, it's fine, for now), my mind supplied a dream I now maybe want to write down as a possible story idea: Jeff is in therapy after Oort Cloud and kinda... sets his therapist up to have lunch with Scott, because it came up Scott gave up therapy right after Dad disappeared, so the lunch is to determine if Dr Something or Other will take him up as a patient too. It's strictly business. Scott only agrees as a courtesy to Dad and because he's in NYC anyway, dealing with the TI board meltdown. The lunch is nice, though, they even walk a little back to Dr's office - it's a nice sunny fall. The Dr is a little spooked by a black car following them, but that's just Tracy Security - they get in trouble if he sneaks out downtown. No, the Dr won't take him up as a patient. No offense. None taken. The Dr will, however, take him up on the offer of dinner this Friday - to discuss the best ways to help Jeff reorient and adjust, or course. If that was maybe Dad's lowkey original intent, he doesn't let up, completely busy with IR reports and smiling into decaf coffee back at the penthouse. Jeff is maybe a little freaked out how much of a security frenzy this minor "occasion" elicits - extensive background checks, networking patterns, travel patterns, Kayo runs the NYC detail rugged, John is stressed. Jeff is confused - the Dr is already his shrink, so extensively vetted - but it's DIFFERENT, Dad, OMG! Jeff is wondering if he's maybe missing something there (and he probably is). Anyhow, the Tinies were shooed away from sing-songing "Scott and Dr sitting in a tree" when the next air raid started an I woke up.

#methinks i have astronomy #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy needs his dad #my sleeping mind thinks scott needs to date a shrink to actually get help #jeff tracy

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tracybirds · 1 year

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just playing around with the identity generator while waiting for Thunderpride Calendar :D Well, I mean, I've already seen said calendar but you know lol.... have some brother silliness <3

You can find out more here

---

Nothing good ever came from rounding a corner to find Gordon and Alan in the same room, each sporting identical grins. Their eyes lit up simultaneously as they spotted Virgil.

"No," he said, turning immediately.

"Calm down," called Alan. "We're just talking."

"Yes," said Scott, eyes glued to the holo-reader. "Please stay. Maybe they can torture you instead of me."

"That's not encouraging," said Virgil, but he hesitated, unsure of whether he should intervene on Scott's behalf.

"A conversation is hardly torture," protested Gordon. "Come on, Scott's being all mysterious again about his date."

"It's not a date."

"I can smell your cologne from here," said Virgil.

Scott groaned. "Not you too."

"You're just predictable," Gordon informed him. "Do we get to know anything about them?"

"No."

"Are they kinda short and cute?" asked Alan.

"Do they like going on walks and Mexican food?" asked Gordon.

"Do they have a pilot's licence already, or are you going to take them up in the Cirrus?" asked Virgil, receiving a baleful glare for his trouble. He shrugged at Scott in response and found a seat, grinning as Gordon and Alan chattered on.

"Ooh, are they blonde?"

"Are you guys stalking me or something?" demanded Scott, flinging the reader onto the coffee table and throwing up his hands. "John, are you feeding them information?"

The holo-emitter blinked and John swam into view, a bemused look on his face.

"Scott, I didn't tell them anything, I swear."

"What, you'll tell John about them, but not us?" asked Alan with a pout.

"I ran the background check."

"And he doesn't gossip," said Scott scowling. "Seriously though, how'd you know all that?"

"You have a type," said Virgil with a grin. "Pretty easy to pick."

"I don't have a..." Scott trailed off as he stared blankly ahead, lips mouthing names as he thought back over his dating exploits. "Okay, fine, I have a type."

Shouts of laughter mixed with crows of triumph and even John showed signs of a glimmer of a smile before he dipped out of view.

Scott waved them off, his face trapped with eyes and a mouth that were gently amused and the pink flush of embarrassment.

Gordon and Alan glanced at each other, a flurry of silent conversation transmitted between them in an instant and then, as one, they turned to

"So, Virgil," said Gordon, his eyes dancing with mischief. "What's your type?"

"Me?" asked Virgil in surprise. "I don't have a type."

"Don't give us that," groaned Scott. "Not after you made me admit it."

Virgil shrugged. "I guess they have to be kind?"

"Boring," said Gordon, flopping back and rolling his eyes. "Like yeah, duh, they have to be a good person, only the best for our brother and all. But surely you've got some preferences. Tall, short, brown eyes, blue eyes, a nice smile or long piano fingers so you can play together?"

"Maybe a sense of style, you were really into that goth chick in high school," suggested Scott.

"Sarah was pretty cool, wasn't she," said Virgil with a grin. "But that's my type; cool people who are kind and good and don't mind that I'm a little boring."

Gordon pulled a face at him.

"Aw, come on Virg, I don't think you're boring."

"No, no, I definitely am," said Virgil in mock-seriousness. "I work in logistics and fly cargo. I play the piano aka the world's most basic instrument. I even brush my teeth and remember to floss. Did you know I have the healthiest gums our dentist has ever seen?"

"Do you lead with that on your dates?" asked Scott drily.

"I end with that actually," retorted Virgil. "You'd be surprised at how well-received that information is."

"Eugh," said Alan, pulling a face. "Did you have to say that?"

"Have to? No. Want to? Yes."

While Alan pretended to gag and Scott laughed at him, Gordon leant over.

"No type?" he asked, curiousity written across his face.

Virgil shook his head. "Gender doesn't matter to me, you know that. But neither does someone's self-expression. I like people for who they are. It's their personality that amplifies their natural looks or something." He shrugged. "I don't care to define it much. Bottom line, no one type. Maybe infinite types would be a better fit. Endless possibility and a world full of beauty."

Gordon gave him a half-smile, his warm brown eyes shining with a soft and tender love.

"Yeah, that does sound like you."

Tagging @knyee as requested 🫡🫡

#virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #thunderpride #just a warm up bc june is approaching <3 #sometimes i fic #thunderbirds are go #not proofed or anything this is mostly just fun blather :D #i need to go to sleep now <3 #i probably won't but i should lol

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gumnut-logic · 2 years

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The child was wriggling and god he wished he would hold still.

The metal beneath Scott’s feet vibrated as another explosion ripped through the chemical plant behind him. He had no doubt it wouldn’t be long before the massive canister he was standing on became an equally massive explosion.

“Scott, are you planning on moving your ass anytime soon? I have only so much foam available in Two’s tanks and they are getting low. Get out, the whole place is going to blow.”

His brother had missed coffee o’clock this morning and was appropriately moody. “Doing my best, Virgil.” If this kid hadn’t climbed all the way up here, it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Do better! I don’t want a promotion.”

The kid was wriggling again as Scott hauled him towards the edge. “Hey, calm down, we are getting out of here.”

Doing his best to hold the boy still, he peered over the edge. No way down, and there was no way he wanted to go back inside this thing. Thunderbird One was on the far side of the complex. The metal beneath his feet rumbled. Time was running out.

A row of antiquated smoke stacks stood like soldiers along the edge of the plant. They would have to do. Mentally calculating his trajectory, he aimed his grapple gun and fired.

Just as the canister shuddered beneath him and began to swell.

“Scott! Get out of there!”

The gun registered a secure grip and, clutching the boy, he jumped.

And the world exploded.

He couldn’t help himself, he yelled, the boy in his arms screaming along with him. They pendulumed into a low arc, but the explosion behind them pushed them back up into the air only to slow reaching the maximum height of their swing.

As they rose, Scott was confronted with the fact that if he didn’t disengage the grapple, they were going to swing back into the explosion.

Time slowed.

A click of a button disengaged the grapple. For a moment they floated in the air.

The boy was still screaming, his arms wrapped around Scott’s neck in terror. Reaching around him, Scott grabbed a new grapple pack, slapped it into the gun just as they started to fall.

Aim.

Fire.

Hang on for dear life.

And they were swinging again.

Wind rushed past his helmet and once again, they were rising.

“Scott, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Need a little help…” And they were approaching maximum height again.

He disengaged the grapple, the line dropping loose behind them.

Another pack.

Another aim.

The last of the stacks. “Virgil, I need you!”

The grapple thunked solid and their swing began again. “Virgil!”

The roar of VTOL and Thunderbird Two shot past. For a moment he was faced with the prospect of colliding physically with his brother’s ‘bird, but she drifted off, just far enough.

They reached the full height of their swing and there were no more stacks.

But there was a Thunderbird.

Last grapple pack slapped in.

Aiming at the side of a big green barn.

The blessed thunk of a secured grapple and they were swinging again, but this time their fulcrum moved with them, taking their momentum and slowing them down.

Ever so carefully his brother’s ‘bird killed their velocity and, ever so carefully, lowered them to the ground.

The grit of gravel beneath his boots was the most wonderful sound. The boy in his arms wrestled free and scuttled away from him, obviously terrified the rescue operative would make him do that again.

Scott disengaged the grapple and threw the gun to the ground. As the chemical plant behind him continued its self destruction, the Commander of International Rescue took a moment to sit his butt in the dirt and try to get his heartbeat back under control.

That had been one hell of a ride.

“Scott, you okay?” Thunderbird Two was making a hasty landing not too far away and no doubt a worried brother would be jumping ship shortly.

“I’m okay, Virg.”

“That was one hell of a move.”

“No kidding.” He drew in a breath. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime.” TB2’s VTOL cut out and folded beneath her fuselage giving the explosions behind him aural dominance. “Though next time, drop the Spiderman audition, I’m not sure my blood pressure is up to it.”

Scott sighed as the kid continued to back away bit by bit. “No promises, bro. No promises.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #earth and sky #nuttyfic reblog #I need a holiday #to fit in all the gazillion things I want to do #Would also like to give up sleep #it's bloody inconvenient #so is eating #they take up far too much time

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whatgaviiformes · 4 months

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I don't really like the story anymore, to be honest, but I adore these sections of words I wrote and the jumble of metaphors and I was thinking about them recently.

(From Medusa's Kiss)

...

Scott has a presence about him. It’s what gains him the respect of his team at Tracy Industries, what encourages their rescuees that Scott can be trusted with their lives. It’s what his brothers rely on in the field, and likely what his squad in the USAF listened to as well. It comes from the fact that he cares.

The secret of Scott is that it can be a curse too, caring that much. Virgil alone – and likely John – knows that it can make difficult debriefs that much harder, the lines between care and guilt and self-deprecation drawn far too thinly to even be the first outline of a sketch. For years, Virgil had been trying to take his professional grade pencils over those lines until they were dark and bold and Scott could see, and yet his brother continued to rub at them thoroughly.

We didn’t make it in time. Translation: I wasn’t fast enough. You got some graphite on your fingers there, commander.

Virgil likened his brother to a child of Atlas with the world on his back, and Scott’s presence, therefore, was a dramatic increase in pressure that manifested in the grinding of teeth, the pacing of feet against a worn floor, and an overbearing aura of protection. It was so much, so Scott, and it had served them well. It’s why, when Virgil wakes to the beeping of the infirmary, the gentle strokes of fingers through his hair, and the incessant, jittery tapping of a foot on the floor, Virgil feels just a bit heavier in the bed from the love of Scott challenging the force of gravity.

He doesn’t need to see to know it’s him, and so he calls Scott’s name through a groan and a cough.

“Here, Virg. Welcome back. Can you open your eyes for me?” His voice is soothing and quiet because he knows what Virgil is like when he wakes up, especially when he’s hurt. Virgil listens because Scott is his commander and big brother and he cares and he needs him to tone down the worry just a bit because that can’t be good for his world-worn shoulders.

“‘m’here.” He blinks away sleep.

#gavii scribit #old scene #scott tracy #virgil tracy

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tagsecretsanta · 5 months

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From @the-original-sineater

From @the-original-sineater to @mariashades

A Change of Plans

There were lots of things that Scott ignored: sleep, proper food, a certain amount of selfcare. But one thing he wouldn’t ignore was his eyesight. It was too critical to a pilot to even let the slightest thing affect it. Which is why, when his right eye started to ache on a business trip to Sydney, he asked his assistant in the Sydney office, Kirra, to find an ophthalmologist and get him an appointment. One that was upgraded to an emergency appointment when a black squiggly line crawled its way across his vision. Which was how he found himself sitting in a dim room, in an uncomfortable chair, waiting for his pupils to finish dilating. Scott was very good at compartmentalizing, between his family and IR, he had to be. But at this particular moment, he wished he had someone with him. The litany of things running through his head ranged from minor: vitreous tear, all the way up to major: retinal detachment. The only sign of his agitation was him tapping out his brothers names in Morse on the arm off the chair.

Dr. Caserta had a receding hairline and an air of calm that soothed Scott. Even with the necessary annoyance of shining a very bright light into his eyes, Scott had stopped tapping out Morse.

The doctor made some various noises, then sat down on the stool next to the small workstation. “You have a vitreous tear in your right eye Mr. Tracy. Everyone gets them, you’re on the young side for one, but you did the right thing by coming in and not waiting to see if it went away. I’ve had too many people do that, not take the care they needed to and lose vision in their eye.” Scott swallowed down his relief. “Good to know. What’s the treatment?” “Rest. Reading or listening to things is preferable over watching vids or holograms, slower eye movement. Or you can watch the waves. Easy, gentle things. What’s more important is what you can’t do, at least for the next several weeks. No major changes in altitude, no air travel, nothing that could increase the pressure on the tear. The human eye is quite resilient and can repair itself very well. You just need to let it do so.”

Scott blinked at the fuzzy form. “Several weeks? I was here on business.” He couldn’t stay here for weeks!

“I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to tell your boss you have to stay here. If you engage in air travel, you could tear the retina and by the time you landed, you will have lost your vision.” The form shifted. “I’ll be glad to write whatever you need for your employer, but you need to stay in Sydney. I want you to come back in two weeks and we’ll reevaluate then.”

“What about the holiday?” There was a small pile of presents waiting for transport home back at the penthouse.

“I work the holidays Mr. Tracy. People’s vision is too important not to. An ophthalmologist working the holidays is what allowed my mother to keep her sight with a retinal detachment. I’m just paying that forward.”

That brought Scott up short. Dr. Caserta was no less dedicated to his mission than Scott and his family were. It was just on a smaller scale but just as important and impactful. “I - thank you.” “Not a problem. Now, do you want me to write something for your boss?” “No, thank you. He’s pretty understanding about medical stuff.” Scott kept the grin on the inside. “That's good, you’re lucky. Now did you drive here?” “No, I took a cab.” “Excellent. Give the address of where you are staying to Cathy and she’ll call you a taxi. We’ll also give you one of the really ugly eye covers to protect your eyes from the sun on your way back.”

Scott had to chuckle at that. Dr. Caserta had just the right amount of no nonsense, leavened with humor, to take the edge off things.

Actually, Scott was glad of the ‘really ugly eye cover’. The summer sun was annoyingly bright most of the time. But with dilated eyes, it was the second circle of Hell. He was also glad of the private elevator that whisked him to the penthouse. He kept the cover on while he pulled all the drapes and set the lights to as low as possible. Once the penthouse had had a VI to help run it, but that had been before EOS and The Shower Incident, which had led to the AI being banned from all the penthouses. He also got a cold washcloth to lay over his eyes as he stretched out on the couch. He needed to call the island and let them know what was going on. But right this very moment, he just wanted to be.

He managed to sleep most of the afternoon away, which let his eyes get mostly back to normal. Not that falling asleep surprised him. They all had barely a passing acquaintance with having an actual circadian rhythm.

A quick time check showed that late afternoon for him was early evening for them. Hopefully, they were all safe at home. That thought stung, he wouldn’t, couldn’t be there to help, to protect them. He shoved that away for now. Right now, he had to tell them. “Tracy Island, Alan Tracy speaking.” God, he sounded so grown up. “Hey, Sprout.” “Scott! How’s Sydney? Did you see the museum? John said you should be able to see the Aurora tonight!” Scott laughed, he couldn’t help it. “Breathe Alan. Slow down and breathe.”

There was a sharp inhale through the speaker, followed by a slow exhale. “That’s better. Sydney is Sydney, no I haven’t made it to the museum, and I’ll go out on the roof tonight to try and see it.”

“Neat! Hey, how come no image?” He should have expected that, Alan was not slow on the uptake. “That’s what I need to talk about. Where is everyone?” “John’s upstairs. Virgil’s helping Grandma clean up the kitchen. Kayo is off kayoing. And Gordon is with Brains.”

“Does Kayo know you turned her name into a verb?” “She does now.” There was a yelp as Kayo’s voice came through the speaker. “We need to work on your situational awareness more, Alan.” “Geez! Give a guy a heart attack!” Scott laughed silently at the exchange. “Hi Kayo. Could you please get everyone on the line?” “What’s wrong?” Scott rolled his eyes. “Nothing major, I promise. Just - just please get everyone on the line?” “Scott?” Alan’s voice was very small. “I’m going to be fine, Sprout. I promise. Just get everyone on the line so I only have to explain once.” Scott scrubbed at his face. ‘Way to go dumbass. Scaring your little brother. GAH.’

It took less time than Scott thought for everyone to get onto the call. Even if John made noises about not having a visual link.

“Okay, Scott, spill. Also what’s with the no video?” Trust Virgil to get right to the point. “Right, no panicking. I have a vitreous tear in my right eye. The ophthalmologist said that as long as I behaved and didn’t do the things I shouldn’t, everything would be okay.”

There was a long moment of quiet. “Right, what are the things you shouldn’t do?” Gordon asked.

“Well, no holograms or vids for one thing. Too much eye movement.” Scott took a deep breath. “I’m also grounded for at least the next two weeks for sure. It might be more, but we won’t know until after my next appointment.” “What happens if you don’t stay grounded?” Grandma’s voice was soft.

“I risk losing the vision in that eye.” Saying it didn't make it any easier. “No flying, no major changes in altitude, nothing that could put pressure on the tear and make it worse.”

“How do you fix it?” Alan asked. “Rest and not putting pressure on the eye. Dr. Caserta seemed pretty sure that it would heal on its own.” Scott could have kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to say the doctor’s name, not with John on the call. “Huh. Why did you pick that doctor?” John, of course. “I didn’t, Kirra did.” “Well, she got you the best in the city. Biggest complaint I can find about him is patients saying they wished they’d listened to what he said.”

Scott felt oddly pleased by that. At least they couldn’t accuse him of not taking care of himself. “You’re at the penthouse?” Kayo this time. “Where else would I be?” “Just checking. I’ll prep Shadow and be there in about a half hour.” “Kayo, you don’t need -” “Yes, Scott, I do. You just extended your stay by two weeks if not more. I need to coordinate with the security team and bring in extra people. I’ll see you in 30.”

Scott just sighed. Alan was right, Kayo was going to kayo. “Scott, two weeks from today is after the holidays,” Virgil pointed out.

“Yeah, I know.” The holiday season was usually busy for IR. They tended to have their celebrations sometime in January after the pace of rescues slowed. “I’ll send my gifts back with Kayo.” “If you think we’re going to have the holiday without you, young man, you have another think coming!”

Scott expected that. “Depending on rescues Grandma.” “Speaking of which - we have a situation.” Scott hung his head, he knew better than to say that word. “Good luck guys. I love you.” He closed the call before he could ask to listen in. That wouldn’t do his blood pressure any good. Then he sat back on the couch and worried.

***

Kayo was her normally efficient self: increasing the protection detail, setting a new rota to include Scott’s check ups with Dr. Caserta and rearrangement of the schedule that happened once word got out that Scott was stuck in Sydney. Since Scott couldn’t go to the other offices, the other offices would come to him.

She also brought clothes and even more importantly; hugs from everyone. Additionally, she kept his mind off of the rescue he couldn’t take part of. Until John called to say that it had gone well and everyone was home, safe and sound.

She stayed the night, chivved Scott into going out to enjoy some of Sydney’s culinary offerings and managed to take his mind off of being grounded.

After breakfast he gave her a duffle full of the gifts he’d acquired. “Scott -” “No. We don’t know when I’m going to be back.” His grin was lopsided. “With some luck, I’ll be there in person. If not, I should be able to call in. Almost as good as being there.” She snorted. “You mean safe from having to eat Grandma’s cookies.”

“I didn’t say that!” Scott tried to look innocent. “Yeah, right.” Kayo pulled him into a tight hug. “We’re just a call away. John or I can have everyone here in One in fifteen minutes.” He hugged back just as hard. “I know.” He pulled back a little. “You and John are the only ones I trust not to crash One.” “I promise, Gordon won’t fly her.” “I’ll hold you to that.”

They parted, Scott to do battle with paperwork and executives and Kayo; to whatever it was she had planned.

***

Things progressed with Scott trying very hard not to listen to the news and daily calls from his family.

At least until Gordon showed up at the penthouse one afternoon with a grin and a loaded hand truck.

“Hey bro!”

Scott found himself enfolded into a squid hug so hard it left him gasping.

“Hey yourself.” Once Scott managed to untangle himself. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Gordon pulled the hand truck into the penthouse. “John said he’d use my hide as a throw rug if I didn’t get some down time. So, I had Virg drop me off here.” He gestured to the boxes. “And I've got prezzies!”

“Wait a minute.” Scott held up a hand. “One, John wouldn’t say that, two, why do you need down time?” “Weeeel, no he didn’t say those exact words, but it was implied that if he had to come down …” Gordon shrugged. “As for why - um, I might be a bit over my hours?”

Scott gave into the facepalm. “Might? How much is might?”

“Um - twelve hours.”

Scott’s gut sank. Him being grounded had put extra stress on his family.

“Hold the guilt train! Not your fault. Wildcatter prospectors doing illegal mining in a black smoker field. They got trapped under a fallen smoker and it took forever to get them out.”

Scott still swallowed. Deep water rescues were Gordon’s speciality, but in some ways working under the ocean was more hazardous than working in space. Not that Scott would have been of any help but - yeah, but.

Gordon slugged Scott lightly on the shoulder. “I’m fine, SmotherOne. I’m just over my hours.” He picked one of the boxes up and handed it to Scott. “Com’n! Virg’s research said slow motions were good for helping your eyes. So let’s get this set up! We need to have it conditioned before they arrive tomorrow.” “Huh? Waitaminute! Who arrives? Condition what?”

Gordon picked up a box and headed into the living room. “The fish. Watching fish is soothing, so I got you an aquarium! Which needs to have the water conditioned before they go into it. Com’n Scooter, shift those starters! We’ve got work to do!”

By the next afternoon, Scott was the proud owner of a two meter long, 100 gallon aquarium. Along with a dozen neon tetras, a small school of golden barbs, a group of dainos (which he really liked since they were fast and blue), a dozen harlequin rasboras, four cory catfish, and one brilliant blue betta. Who’d already claimed one of the little caves in the reef system that Gordon had created and was defending it against anyone that came close.

The aquarium filled a blank space that Scott had never noticed in the layout of the penthouse. You could lay on the couch and just watch the fish swim about, which was really nice. “Who’s going to feed them?” Scott shook a line of food down the length of the tank. “I already set that up with the staff. When they come in clean every day, they’ll just add feeding and checking the tank.” Gordon held up the water tester. “Someone will need to come by once a month or so to check the water and the pump. But hey! Reason to come over and take a day off.”

“Gordon…” Scott turned, a rebuke sitting on his tongue. Guileless brown eyes batted at him. “You thought I meant you, Scooter? This isn’t your private domain. Any of us can come over for a down day. It would do the Space Case a world of good to get out more than just the Island.”

“That’s a really good point.” John could use some more time away from the Island.

“Good excuse to get Alan over here too. There’s a bunch of museums and stuff he wants to see.”

“That sounds great, Gordon.” Scott looked at the fish chasing the falling food. “This was a good idea.”

“I know, it was mine.”

Well, that couldn’t be allowed to stand. “Hey, Gords?” “Ye - murhf!” The towel that Scott had used to wipe up escaped water landed on Gordon’s face.

Scott was actually sorry to see Gordon go the next day when Thunderbird Two roared up to collect the aquanaut to help with a sinking research vessel in the Ross Sea.

***

Scott was whistling as he left the elevator. The black squiggle through his vision was fading and he was going back to Dr. Caserta in two days, the meeting with NorAustrilia had gone really well, he was looking forward to crispy duck, spicy vegetables, white rice, a bottle of Yanjing beer for dinner, and an evening with Social Distortion (he liked the oldies, deal with it). What he hadn’t been expecting was the warm glow of holograms and a head outlined against them.

“John?” The holograms blinked out and Scott’s least earthbound brother stood up. “Hi there.” Scott’s heart started to thud in triple time. John never came down without prodding. He swallowed hard. “W- what happened?” John’s eyebrows knitted together for a moment. “NO! Everyone’s fine. I promise.” He came over and took hold of Scott’s shoulders. “I promise, everyone is okay.”

Scott closed his eyes for a moment and took deep breaths. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” John said. “Gordon has been talking up the fish tank so much, I just wanted to see it in person.” Scott grabbed John’s biceps and gave a shake. “Don’t do that to me.” “I’m sorry.” “Forgiven.” Scott grinned. “I’m glad to see you in person for a change.”

John nodded. “It’s different.” He looped an arm around Scott’s shoulders and guided him to the couch and its view of the tank. “How are you feeling?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Fine. Better than fine. I’ve actually been getting a solid eight hours a night and eating like a regular person.” John laughed as he sat down. “Good. I saw the to-go order you placed and doubled it. I haven’t had crispy duck in ages.” As thrilled as Scott was to see his space loving brother, there was a small issue that needed addressing. “What about Thunderbird Five?” he asked as he sat down. “I can do my job here nearly as well as I can here. It would be easier if EOS had access to the penthouse system -” “No, nope, nada, nien, non, nee, nej, nyeht, not happening.” Scott’s head shook on each word. “Scott, she did apologize.”

“I know how to say ‘no’ in some more languages if you need me to.”

It was John’s turn to roll his eyes. “She was just curious.” “I don’t care. We have a working relationship, beyond that, nothing. I won’t degauss her core and she doesn’t talk to me unless it’s an emergency. She tried to kill you and Alan.”

John just sighed, this was an old argument. “Fine. I can easily do my job here, I missed you, and I wanted to see the fish tank.”

That cinched it. If John thought he could do his job at the penthouse, then he could. As for missing Scott - he’d missed his space brother as well.

Dinner arrived and they spent the evening talking about everything and nothing. It was the most one on one time Scott had enjoyed with John in several years. He’d really missed John’s dry wit and impeccable timing. Scott went to bed more relaxed than he’d been in days.

He was glad for John’s presence on the trip to the ophthalmologist, even if he had to remain in the waiting room. In some ways he was more nervous than he was on the first visit. ‘Was the tear healing? Would he be able to fly again?’ Could he even go home? Those thoughts were chasing around in his brain like a mouse caught in a bucket.

He shoved those thoughts down while he waited for his eye to dilate. Fixating wouldn’t do him any good. The outcome was out of his hands and he just had to be patient.

One lifetime and a very bright light later, and the slightly out of focus form sat back. “Well, Mr. Tracy, your eye is healing nicely. The squiggle will vanish over time as your brain learns to ignore it.” “Learns to ignore it? You mean it’s permanent?”

“It’s a scar, Mr. Tracy. One inside your eye, but still a scar. Your brain will figure out that it’s not important and start to tune it out. Rather like it does with our noses.” Time for the hard question. “So what happens next?” “Well, you said you were here on business, so I suggest when you get home you find an ophthalmologist and make an appointment with them for a yearly follow up.”

“What?” The doctor laughed. “You’re pass the danger period Mr. Tracy. You can fly home. Your eyes will need checking on a yearly basis, especially since you had a tear this young. You know what the danger signs are. When they happen again, get to an ophthalmologist as quickly as you can to make sure it’s not more than just a tear. But other than that, you’re good to go.”

The sense of relief was so massive that Scott was light headed for a moment. Then his mind grabbed hold of a word. “You said ‘when’.”

“Everyone gets tears, Mr. Tracy. It’s part and parcel of being human. A good 70% of the time, they are minor like the one you have. But the other 30% is why I’m on call during weekends and holidays.”

There wasn’t a lot Scott could say to that. “Thank you for that, Dr.Caserta.” Dr. Caserta waved a hand. “Like I said, I’m just paying it forward.”

Scott understood that. “I’m in Sydney fairly often for business. So I’ll make that appointment with you.”

“That sounds good. So let me get you an ugly eye cover and you can get out of here. Do you need a ride?” “I have the one from my first visit and no, my brother flew out to be with me.”

“Good. I hope you had and have a lovely holiday, Mr. Tracy.”

Scott was nearly bouncing on the way back to the penthouse. He was still able to fly!

John was quietly pleased, but that was just John’s way.

“If I call the airport now, they can have Tracy One fueled and ready to go in about an hour. We should be home in time for dinner!” Scott said as he strode out of the elevator. “HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!”

Scott rocked to halt at the shout, then stumbled back as Alan hit him with a hug. He returned the hug automatically and looked around. The penthouse was decorated with lights and tinsel that Scott hadn’t had the heart to put up. It was also filled with everyone. Grandma, Kayo, Virgil, Brains, Gordon and even MAX.

He grinned. “Happy Christmas!”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #tag team secret santa #thunderbirds fanfiction

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pareidoliaonthemove · 8 months

Text

Child Care

Jeff snorted. “Okay, so you saved the day, and they took you in like a stray dog. So what do you do?”

“What do I do? I do plenty! I plan out their away missions, oversee maintenance of the complex, sorted out how to defend against solar flares and radiation damage, and …” Lee trailed off, his face reddening.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “And?” he prompted.

Lee’s drink was apparently the most fascinating thing in the world. He mumbled something softly.

“Uh, Lee?” He looked up. Jeff pointed at his ear. “These don’t work so good anymore. What ya say?”

His face bright red, and unable to look his friend in the face, Lee muttered, “Help look after the kids.”

The was a long silence.

“You … help …” Jeff said slowly, his voice sounding strangled. “… look after … kids?”

“Yeah.”

“Human … kids … not … … goats?”

“Yeah.”

Jeff Tracy laughed.

It started out as a belly laugh, and gradually morphed into near hysterics, as tears rolled down Jeff’s face, and he was forced to double over, clutching his chest and belly as muscles long unaccustomed to this activity protested vehemently.

The sound drew attention, and pretty soon the rest of the island’s occupants were edging closer, alarmedly considering the need for a medical evac, and trying to determine symptoms.

Gradually, the laughter subsided into hiccoughs. And Jeff lay limp on his sun lounger, panting to regain his breath and manage the pain.

Lee sat rigid, staring at the horizon, the picture of dignified bearing of wounded pride.

“Ya finished?” Lee asked gruffly, when his friend finally fell into silence.

“Yep.” A stray giggle betrayed the lie.

“Um … everything all right?” It was Scott who found his voice first.

“All good boys. Lee here was just filling me in on what exactly,” another giggle, “it is he does with the colony on Mars.”

“Oh-kay.” Scott looked back at his family for assistance.

Grandma spoke up. “So what is it you do, then, Lee?”

Lee sighed. “I oversee authorised,” he eyed Virgil and Alan, “expeditions. I help ‘em with the maintenance, sorted out their long term problems with solar flares and the like, and I help look after –” he eyed Jeff “– the kids.”

Jeff snorted a laugh, but with effort managed to restrain himself.

His family was mystified.

All but one.

Grandma smiled widely, “Well, I guess those kids don’t have much in the way of art supplies.”

Jeff gave a strangled howl, before giving into a fresh round of laughter, as Lee leapt to his feet, and pointed an accusing finger at a startled Virgil.

“This is all your fault!”

Virgil stared. “Me! How …?!”

Lee glared back at Jeff, before continuing in a high-pitched sing-song voice, “‘Uncle Lee, can I paint the baby?’” His voice dropped back to its normal, albeit indignant, register. “How the hell was I supposed to know you didn’t mean you wanted to paint a picture of the baby?”

Gordon and Alan glared suspiciously at Virgil, who was looking sheepish even though he clearly didn’t remember the incident referred to, as everyone else joined Jeff in laughing.

Grandma pulled out her phone, and after a minute, pulled up picture. “Here.”

The photograph showed absolute chaos. Lucy was clearly berating a defensive Lee (the buzz cut and moustache had never changed), a smirking Jeff was scolding a distraught, paint-splatted Virgil … and Scott and John were surveying a sleeping new-born baby, whose every inch of exposed skin (and much of his surrounds) were covered in brightly painted spots, stripes, and abstract shapes.

Jeff, still chuckling, heaved himself up from his lounger, and made his way to his middle son, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “There really wasn’t much we could say to you,” he grinned. “After all, you did have permission, and for some reason at no point had your mother and I thought to forbid you from using Gordon as a canvas.”

He turned to Gordon, whose expression now promised many many vengeance pranks in Virgil’s future. “And I don’t know why you’re so upset. You had your first bath after that,” Jeff shook his head. “We’ve been struggling to keep you out of the water ever since.”

Jeff turned back to Lee. “We should have known better than to ask you to watch the boys while we had a nap. You’d have thought we’d have learned after you babysat Scott, for us.”

Scott’s laughter turned to alarm as he eyed his father’s – very sheepish – best friend. “What did he do to me?!”

Notes:

Yeah, so … when babysitting kids, make darn sure you know EXACTLY what it is they’re asking before you give permission.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #fanfiction #my fanfiction #jeff tracy #lee taylor #babysitting

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hebuiltfive · 9 months

Note

Just in case the last ask failed:

Sickness prompts:

snoozeville: [character] falls asleep somewhere that isn’t their bed. With Scott please

Thank you @janetm74! I hope this suffices!

Snoozeville (feat. Scott Tracy)

Scott was undoubtedly an early bird. He preferred sunrises over sunsets, and he found something refreshingly cleansing about early morning air. Whenever duty wasn’t calling him, Scott often found himself down in the gym, purpose-built on the island to cater to all their needs and to save the residents trips to the mainland every time they wanted to pump some iron.

This morning was no different.

Nor were the bags that he carried under his eyes, the dull throb of a headache just beginning to form or the feeling of limp muscles.

Perhaps burning the candle at both ends wasn’t the best idea these last few weeks. Rescue call after rescue call, a mountain of work for the business that kept everything afloat and then general insomnia on top of it all because God only knows why… Scott was tired.

Of course, he could have slept through the morning if he really tried, but he had things to do, and a Scott who hadn’t managed to fit in a morning work-out was like a Virgil who had gone without coffee. So, yes, whilst he was beginning to feel sleepy now the birds had started their tweeting, Scott actually getting some sleep didn’t seem like his most favourite of options. Thus, the gym.

It was the aching, dull muscles that had Scott choosing the bench press over the treadmill once he’d limbered up as his first work-out of choice. The weights would help his body wake up, right? Somewhere in the depths of his mind he heard a voice, that sounded a lot like Gordon’s, telling him that his choice was a dumb one, but Scott chose not to listen. He was too tired to listen.

He loaded up the barbell, choosing weights that were just under his normal tolerance (because he wasn’t a complete idiot, give him some credit), and laid himself down on the bench. The lights of the gym were set to a soft glow, bright enough to light up the space but not too bright to blind him, though that had been considered as an option to help him wake up.

Now, lying there, he was thankful he decided against that. Scott breathed deeply as a pain shot across his forehead. Perhaps he should have taken some painkillers before coming down here. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come down here at all. Ugh, whatever. He was too tired to care. Besides Scott was certain the aches would pass in a moment and then he could start his work-out… in a minute… he just wanted to close his eyes for a second first…

“Scott! Are you insane?”

To his credit, Scott did not jump up and hit his head on the barbell that was still cradled on the stand above him. He did, however, jolt awake.

Awake? Hold on…

“Actually, don’t answer that.” His brother continued, coming to to a stand beside the bench. Virgil hovered a scanner over him as Scott blinked his eyes into focus.

“… Virg…?”

“How many times have I told you not to use the gym unless you’ve had a proper rest before?”

Scott’s brain had a hard time catching up. Had he… fallen asleep? Impossible. Surely he hadn’t been that tired. “I was only resting my eyes for a few seconds.”

“Under the weights?”

“He’s been in here for over an hour.” The unmistakeable tone of EOS echoed through the hall from Virgil’s handheld monitor. “I told you he was acting recklessly again.”

“Hold on, you used EOS to spy on me?” Scott’s attempt to sound offended fell flat due only to his still sleepy head.

“Not spy…” Virgil quickly clarified, his eyes darting to the weights on the end of the bar in guilt. “She woke me up after seeing here and… This isn’t about me. Stop deflecting, Scott!”

Scott sighed, carefully sitting himself up despite his body’s protests to just stay there for a little longer. He didn’t dare chance a glance at his brother, who’s eyes Scott could already feel were staring him down.

“Bed. Now.”

“It’s seven in the morning, Virg…”

“I don’t care if it was midday.”

“Virg, I am fine.”

“These readouts don’t back up your theory. You need to sleep, Scott.”

Scott knew when to pick his battles, especially with medic-mode Virgil. Denying the evidence that was now being put before him — ouch, those are a lot of red areas — he knew that this was not a battle he would win.

“Fine. I’ll… try and get some rest.”

But Scott didn’t move.

Virgil waited a moment. “Now, Scott.”

A sharp intake of breath and Scott was back. Had he almost just fallen asleep sitting up? Yikes. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I just.. need a minute.”

“Do I have to carry you?” Virgil lightly swatted at his shoulder. “Do not fall back to sleep. You’ll fall backwards and hit your head on the bar.”

“I thought you wanted me to sleep.”

“Scott.” Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly exasperated. “Do not start. Get your butt to bed and, for the love of God, please stay there until you’ve had a decent amount of sleep.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #ask game #sickness prompts #five answers #scott tracy #virgil tracy #five fics

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m-calculus · 5 months

Text

Scott Tracy, a drabble:

Scott yawned and stretched, arching his back as it cracked from sitting at the desk for too long.

He smiled as he looked across the room. Virgil was laid out, boots kicked carelessly on the floor beside him, on one of the sofas. The snoring vibrated the floorboards.

Gordon was sleeping on the next sofa over, a vintage romance novel covering his eyes where it had fallen from his grasp.

Scott stood, and groaned. The previous rescue had meant moving tonnes of rubble. Sure the pods and Virgil’s exosuit had helped, but sometimes things had to be moved by hand or risk further injury to the rescuees.

He heard a foot tapping behind him, turning to see Grandma, arms crossed across her chest. “You need to take better care of yourself” she scolded.

“Yeah”, Scott sighed. “I will.”

Grandma shook her head but sighed fondly, giving him a warm hug. Scott gave her a kiss on her hair, before heading upstairs.

The massive spa bath filling was a welcome sight. He added some generous scoops of bath salts, and set the jets to maximum. Some soothing music over the speakers and lights dimmed, he slid into the warm soothing water.

He let the water take his weight as the jets worked on his sore muscles, letting out a contented sigh.

#scott tracy #thunderbirds are go fan fic #spa bath #self care

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idontknowreallywhy · 2 months

Text

Resurface 11 - Revise

Previous bits here

Um, sorry John…

🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙

John growled and swiped his organic chemistry notes off his desk. The file sailed over the bed, slammed into the wall and, inevitably, the pages popped out of the binder and fluttered all over the room.

It was useless anyway, he couldn’t focus. None of it was making sense. Chemistry made no sense. His lack of ability to THINK made no sense. Probably because his entire life, right now, made no sense. His scattered notes had more chance of putting themselves back together than his family did. But he couldn’t let himself start thinking about that.

Not now. Not yet.

John had managed to get nearly back on track over the last couple of months, after that first four weeks of agony. He’d have respected the determination, the sheer bloody-mindedness that only John ever came close to taking his title for.

John just had to get through the next 3 weeks then he could… fall apart or whatever.

He clawed at his scalp in an attempt to release the constant tension that was making his eyes hurt and to distract himself from the suspicion he already had fallen apart or whatever.

Everything was… too much. He had so much to do. And 418 hours 47 minutes in which to do it all. So much still to get in his head. Which was way too full of all of the other thoughts he couldn’t compartmentalise properly because apparently he was weak minded and about to throw everything away. And on top of all that, with Dad doing whatever he was doing with the GDF big wigs, John was expected to cook for everyone and look after the kids and generally pick up the slack Virgil had just abandoned for a five day binge of complaining of a headache and creeping around the house muttering nonsense to himself.

John was actually a little worried about that. More than a little. But he forced himself to shut it away. It would be fine… Virgil would be fine. He had to be fine. Just like John did. Was. Fine was the Tracy way. Scott was always…

No. Stop.

Later.

He dug his fingernails into his thighs, bending one of them slightly back on the thick seam of the chinos he’d been wearing for 19.7 days. Nobody had noticed. All the other pants he owned were annoying. So. Whatever.

Scott would have noticed and quietly ordered him a second pair…

His fingertip throbbed angrily.

Argh, this had to stop. None of these thoughts were a good use of time. All of it was irrelevant, except the work.

A tiny voice asked how he could possibly betray his brother’s memory by adding him to that list… he quashed it with a mental fist of steel. He’d want him to do well. He’d always been proud, cheered him on… been sat in the front row between Dad and Virgil and clapping excessively loudly as John reluctantly shuffled red-faced on to the stage at high school prize-giving...

Breathe, John.

He picked up a well thumbed tome on astrophysics… it may be a waste of time - this was easy and didn’t need revision, but he needed to stop these unproductive trains of thought. This was easier to get absorbed in.

Approximately 8.25 minutes later his focus was broken yet again by a scratching noise above him. Aaaaah. Not bats again! Please no, they gave him the creeps but it was illegal to shift the things once they took up residence. He’d have to swap rooms with Virgil. He couldn’t sleep up here if there were…

Hell, they were massive sounding bats…

John flung open the window to peer up into the eaves… Dad had blocked the hole last year so how had they got in there to…

Some sixth sense made him suspicious of the volume of the scrabbling noise overhead and he ducked his head back inside, very narrowly avoiding having his face smashed in by a falling roof tile. Closely followed by… a shoe. A big shoe.

What? It hit the ground with a thud and John squinted down at it. A boot? One of Virgil’s he was sure of it but why on earth…?

A thud overhead, a clatter, a muffled curse in a very familiar baritone and two more tiles slid past his horrified face in quick succession.

Everything in his head went grey and screechy. He rushed from through the house yelling for Dad. Screeching for Dad. It was him screeching. He had no control over his vocal cords anymore, they had short circuited with his amygdala and were bypassing all coherent thought.

There was only panic.

🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙

Thank you to @astranite for helping me voice this one better - I’ve not got inside John’s head much before, at least without EOS for him to bounce off…

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #resurface fic

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edutainer2022 · 1 month

Text

In commemoration of that time, recently, when I delivered a conference keynote in a ridiculous o'clock timezone, after having been up and neck deep in other energy draining university commitments for three days straight on four hours of sleep at best, here's a little thing. I couldn't remember what I was talking about the minute the presentation ended. Scott Tracy is a public speaker extraordinaire on bingo sleep and adrenaline overdose. His brothers are worried and have to think on their feet. Special thanks to @astranite for nudging my muse in this direction.

AUTOPILOT

The trick was to get him off the stage. Scott Tracy, the Tracy Industries CEO, giving an opening keynote at the New Frontiers Expo had been scheduled a year in advance (involving the program committee begging on hands and knees for a year prior, Scott's annual commitments shuffling, some major security concessions, up to and including Kayo's team practically taking over the venue security altogether, as well as meeting a hard line of excluding any tech associated with Langstrom Fischler from the exhibits or conference talks).

Nobody could predict a mine collapse and Scott Tracy, the Commander of IR and Thunderbird One, being involved on site for the past thirty six hours (a good portion of that time spent underground without sleep).

The family medics' quorum, in full agreement with the family extended quorum, voted for canceling his public appearance and putting him on mandated rest. For a week. But Scott Tracy gave his word. So Scott Tracy gave his talk.

As keynotes go it was a huge success. Scott was passionate, funny and inspired, engaging the audience with dimples, moving personal touches and heartfelt convictions. The listeners were just about ready to "boldly go" wherever Scott would lead the way to a better, technologically enhanced and kinder tomorrow.

They divided forces in case the predictable worse actually came to pass. Virgil was behind the podium with a med kit and med scanner at hand. Gordon unironically got a tranq gun, which earned him a side-eye, but knowing Scott it might as well come handy.

John was in the audience, vigilant and listening to the keynote (and rather enjoying biggest brother public speaking prowess - seriously, how did Scott do it, half-dead on his feet?), ready to step up and take over if need be. That wouldn't be what the hundreds of Expo attendees payed and donated to R&D funds for, but they'd be getting A Dr. Tracy, at least, if The Mr. Tracy collapsed mid-sentence.

That was just the problem at the moment. Scott didn't. He concluded the speech, got a standing ovation, and was now just sort of hanging out on stage, swaying slightly. It was obvious he was running on dregs of fumes of an adrenaline high, refusing to crash on sheer willpower. It was also obvious Scott was completely unfocused and unaware where he was and what he'd been doing the minutes prior. The brilliant blue eyes were getting telltale glassy.

John had a FRANTIC Virgil booming in his earpiece. The public spotlight made the logistics of what needed to happen next tricky: they couldn't just drag him off the podium in a firefighter hold or tranq him - and spoil the profound impression of the speech; they also couldn't wait much longer till Scott fainted in front of everyone (and possibly injured himself by the fall). John was half on his way up to try and steer Scott bodily off the stage. Gordon would have been a better man for the job - dressing the thing up with a quip and some theatrics, but the Fish was still in uniform. IR on site, crashing the keynote, might have set off unwelcome panic, dangerous in a crowded space.

In the end, it was still Gordon's out-of-the-box thinking that saved the situation. They could all hear a boy's voice through their earpieces - Alan went for the highest littlest-brother-in-distress pitch he could master:

"Scotty, could you come here? I'm right behind you! Scotty, please!"

Scott could hear it too. A less exhausted brain would have remembered Allie was on the island still. They agreed Scott would take him the next day on a tour around the Expo and to several talks the kid wanted to attend.

But Scott's bandwidth capacity at the moment was reduced to the most rudimentary parent-brain instincts. So he started slightly, turned on his heel and marched backstage. It took a bit of flailing to placate a wild-eyed Scott that a) Allie wasn't in danger; b) Allie wasn't there immediately available for inspection and protecting from danger.

It came as close as Gordon clicking the safety off the tranq gun. But finally, the blue eyes stopped searching the perimeter behind Virgil's shoulder and rolled back. Scott slumped as a ragdoll in Virgil's hold.

John rushed to join the brothers the moment he heard Alan on comms. In between the three of them they settled the Commander on a hoverstrecher. Virgil insisted on a quick scan on the spot. Nothing more serious beyond bruises, exhaustion, stress and dehydration. Small mercies. Every single one of them had a private itemized inventory of possible injuries Scott might have "forgotten" to mention in order to be cleared for the keynote commitment.

Kayo's security team were clearing the path for them, off the Expo busy routes, to leave for Thunderbird Two discretely.

John lingered to brush the fringe off Scott's now noticeably pale forehead. His original intent was to go straight back to orbit after the biggest brother was sorted out. But now, there was no way Grandma or Virgil would let Scott out of the infirmary for the next forty eight hours at least. Nor would Virgil let biggest brother out of his sight for at least twice as long after. So it would fall to John to take Alan to the Expo and show the boy around.

John didn't favor crowded bustling places on a good day, but it was crucial not to disappoint or worry the kid. Scotty unconscious, sedated and grounded would have him anxious enough. It was also a great bonding opportunity with the baby-brother and a way to lift a bit of weight off Scott's shoulders. John knew biggest brother enough to foresee he'd beat himself up for succumbing to weakness and letting Alan down. John couldn't have that. So he landed a hand for support on Gordon's shoulder and all together they started the way home.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a break #john tracy #john tracy didn't sign up for this #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #and thinks fast #alan tracy #features briefly #john tracy is a good brother #methinks i have astronomy #my fic #thunderbirds 2015 #tracy brotherdom of love

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tracybirds · 4 months

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FFF entry for Scott, riff off the prompt "quiet" aka give Scott some!thank you @gumnut-logic for both the prompts and the readthrough :)

Scott massaged his forehead, fingers moving without thought to the pressure points that would relieve the building tension. It was already too late, the headache blooming behind his eyes, and he leaned back with an involuntary groan.

“It’s too early for this,” he whispered to himself, the words half an admonishment and half coaxing him upright. “Come on, Tracy, keep going. Only…”

A glance at his watch sent Scott’s heart sinking.

He slumped forward, cradling his head in his hands, wondering if it was too late to call off the company address.

A shadow fell across the desk.

“Hey.”

It was all Scott could do not to flinch away from the sound.

There was a beat of blissful silence, before he heard the soft rustle of his brother crouching next to him.

“Scott, you don’t need to stay for this,” said John, his voice pitched low. “I was just coming to say goodbye, come back with us.”

Scott let loose a chuckle. “John, I think an eight hour flight with Gordon and Alan might actually kill me.”

“You could hide in the cockpit,” offered John, with a small smile.

Scott shook his head, closing his eyes against the wooziness.

“’M alright, Johnny,” he said. “Just need some quiet.”

“And a nap.”

“At nine in the morning?”

John shrugged. “Never stopped me. Are you saying you don’t want to go back to bed?”

“Yeah,” agreed Scott amiably. “I could sleep for a year still.”

His eyes stayed closed as John clasped his shoulder, the vibration shaking him down to his bones as John stood and moved into the other room.

Cupboards shut with muffled bangs and the tell-tale rattle of John rifling through the first-aid kit filled Scott’s ears and mind, too far gone to focus on anything other than immediate sensation.

With a great effort, Scott pulled himself to his feet, his muscles protesting their role in holding him upright against the immense weight of his own limbs.

“Here,” said John, handing him a glass of water and some pills. “Painkillers and anti-nausea. You’ll need it for the flight.”

“I’m not getting on the plane,” mumbled Scott. “I have to stay here.”

“They don’t need you,” said John.

The bluntness sent Scott reeling but before he could string together an objection John spoke again, his soft voice refusing all argument.

“You said you’d do it different to Dad.”

Scott’s gaze sharpened, the quick of his breath and the blood pumping waking his body faster than any medication.

“Dad did his best.”

“He did,” agreed John.

What John didn’t say meant almost as much as what he did say, but Scott didn’t have the capacity to puzzle out his meaning.

A vein pulsed in his temple, a dull pain echoing between his ears.

“Alright, I’ll come,” he said, reaching for John.

John slung Scott’s arm around his shoulder.

“Glad to have you."

#scott tracy #john tracy #sometimes i fic #thunderbirds are go #i wish i were snoozing on a private plane lolol but alas work #looking forward to not being wiped out from 4-6 hours of work 💀#fab five feb

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gumnut-logic · 3 months

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Along the Way (Part 7 and The End)

It's finished! ::runs around the room like a loon:: Though I have to say that I doubt this will be the last we see of Mr Sweetapple as there are several threads that need a good neat tie up :D

All the wonderful thanks to @onereyofstarlight for staying up extra late and answering my poke across the Tasman Sea for a last minute read. I hope Alex gives you some nice sleep ::hugs tight::

Also, special thanks to all of you for supporting my geeky fanboy Alex :D There will be more as someone sent me some OC asks about Alex and I've realised that the only way I can answer them is by writing fic. (some other OCs of mine might pop up in fic at some point,too, for that exact same reason) ::so many hugs to all of you for being so kind to me::

But anyway, I will stop my excited rambling and present you with the last chapter of this fic....which has taken so long to write - so many apologies. Though I am excited that I'm writing again :D

I hope you enjoy this :D

-o-o-o-

Alexander Sweetapple’s head was spinning.

Not so much from the concussion he had no doubt he had, thank you, Mr Holographic Scott Tracy, but more from the fact that Virgil had just kissed him.

Not Mr Virgil Tracy, Head of Research and Development at Tracy Industries, no….more ‘ohmigod, I finally found you and you’re alive, I want to hug and kiss your brains out’ Virgil Tracy.

The man was covered in concrete dust and grime, there was more grey than blue on his uniform bar the scratched patches where his now discarded exosuit had sat.

Alex had proof Virgil had hugged him via all the dusty patches on his damp clothes, on his arms, and in his hair.

Virgil Tracy had hugged and kissed him.

For real.

Alex stood beside his mum while Virgil assessed the condition of her ankle and she went about embarrassing her son every way possible.

To be honest, it had been such a day that she was welcome to show Virgil Alex’s naked baby pictures for all he cared. She was safe and that was all important.

A glance over at the remains of the museum building prompted his heart to add a few extra beats per minute to its routine.

Alex let his jaw drop as he watched the roof float away.

Oh god.

“Alex?”

Virgil’s voice was so rich and deep.

“Alex?” And then Virgil grabbed him. Was he trying to hug him again. That would be nice. “Whoa! I think you need to sit down.”

Okay.

He folded himself smoothly down onto the pavement beside his mum.

“Hey, honey, look at me.” Her fingers were suddenly in his hair. “Allie, how the hell did you do all that with a head injury?” She peered closely at him. “Virgil, what do your scanners say?”

And yes, Virgil was waving a yellow light over Alex. “Concussion, bruising…” He frowned. “You’re both wet. You’ve been in the river?”

“Nearly drowned. My foot got stuck and Allie pulled me out. Some water, possibly sewage, may have been inhaled. My recommendation is to watch for symptoms of infection. In both of us.” Dr Sweetapple was in the house.

He turned to Virgil only to find his friend’s eyebrows fully deployed.

They were very nice eyebrows.

Virgil caught his stare. “Thunderbird One, I need to leave the danger zone. Ten minutes there and back for patient transport.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two. Make it quick, we need your help in the industrial sector.” A pause. “How’s Alex?”

“Concussion, but well enough…and safe.” Virgil still had his eyes.

“Good to hear. Thunderbird One out.”

“What are you doing, Virgil?” The words slipped out without thought.

Virgil looked down at his wrist control poking it. “You both need medical supervision. I’m providing it for you.”

A good hundred metres away, Thunderbird Two rose up on her struts and her module door slid smoothly open. Two hoverstretchers darted out across the road, gliding around obstacles until they reached Virgil’s side. He pulled out a control surface and reconfigured them into hoverchairs. “Sorry to rush this, but time is short. Alex, stay put while I help your mother.” He held up a gloved hand and Alex was forced to settle back and obey.

Besides, the world was spinning again, and after all, Virgil was technically his boss.

He let his head fall into his hand and closed his eyes, suddenly ever so tired.

So this was what an adrenalin drop felt like.

Ugh.

“Alex?” Virgil’s voice was soft and his gloved hand gentle on his arm. That was really nice. “Alex? You with me?”

He blinked. Oh. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get you up.” Virgil nudged him, both hands holding his arms to steady him.

The world wobbled, but a few steps and Virgil had him snug and safe, strapped into the hover stretcher…chair…whatever the hell it was.

Virgil was running, Alex and his mother beside him, until they were all swallowed by the green of Thunderbird Two.

At some point, Virgil must has triggered the chair back into a bed because Alex was lying down and Virgil hovering over him, once again with a scanner flickering yellow light. “You can go to sleep, Alex. You’re okay and you’re safe.” A gloved hand gently brushed away the hair from Alex’s forehead. He knew this should mean something, but he was so tired.

Thunderbird green danced as his eyelids drifted closed.

Somewhere something was roaring just like a Thunderbird launching, but he had no energy to care.

-o-o-o-

Jeff stepped into the elevator only to almost collide with his mother. “Mom?”

“I’m meeting Thunderbird Two.”

“Why?” Was Virgil hurt? Why hadn’t John told him?

A hand on his arm quelled the sudden panic. “Virgil is fine. We have visitors.”

“Who?” Did he have to draw the information out bit by bit?

“Do you remember Alexander Sweetapple?”

“Of course, I do. Gordon thinks Virgil might be…interested.”

“He is.” She held up a finger so close to Jeff’s face, his eyes crossed. “And you are not going to say a thing. Yes, he’s breaking protocol, but he has good reason.” She looked away and let her finger drop. “The poor boy has been terrified all day. Thank god, they finally found Alex. And I don’t blame him for not wanting to let him out of his sight.” His mother stared up at Jeff with all the fire he knew she possessed. “Your son is bringing home his first romantic interest ever and you are not going to spout security blather all over him. This is our house and we can have guests. Especially important guests.”

Jeff took a step back. “I wasn’t going to say anything!” Virgil was bringing home Alex? As a love interest? “What the hell happened?” He really needed to speak to John about keeping him updated. He knew his orbiting son was selective, but this was ridiculous.

The elevator doors opened and his mother glared at him. “Something good. Don’t ruin it.” She stomped off into Two’s hangar, detouring into the medical supply cupboard on the way, just as the hangar doors started their opening sequence.

Jeff stepped cautiously out of the elevator. He had no idea what warranted his mother’s ire. Okay, maybe he had had some words with his eldest at one point, but that was nearly a decade ago.

His priorities were a little different these days.

Two roared in, a little faster than the norm. Virgil was obviously in a hurry. She spun on her turntable and the moment she settled, her forward hatch was lowered, Virgil standing between two hoverchairs.

Jeff hurried after his mother, cursing his cane, as Virgil strode with the two chairs towards them.

“Grandma, this is Doctor Lolly Sweetapple. Doctor Sweetapple, this is my grandmother, Doctor Sally Tracy, she and my father will be taking over your care.”

The two doctors exchanged greetings and slipped into medical babble two seconds later.

“Dad?” Virgil gestured him over. “You remember Alex?” Why was there so much hesitation in his son’s voice?

“Certainly, the creator of Siliwrap.” The man was obviously asleep. “How is he?”

“Concussion, bruising, he and his mother need monitoring for possible lung infection. They were caught in contaminated water.” His son swallowed; his expression hesitant. “I wanted them here, Dad. Grandma has the skills and the tools.” He looked away. “I just couldn’t leave them to the system.” His eyes fell on Alex and Jeff’s heart clenched.

“We will look after them.” He dropped a consoling hand to his son’s shoulder.

Vulnerable eyes looked up at him. “Thanks, Dad.” His hand was squeezed and Virgil was again moving. This time running back to his ‘bird.

His mother immediately took over and bustled them all into the elevator before they could acquire new coiffures a’la rocket engine.

As the doors closed, Thunderbird Two accelerated out on to her runway and the elevator shaft roared as she took to the sky.

-o-o-o-

Alex rolled over in bed and sighed into his pillow. He was extremely comfortable. Temperature was perfect. Pillow was soft. “Mmmmm….”

“About time you woke up, Allie. You were starting to worry me.” His mother’s voice was always reassuring.

“He’s fine, Lolly. Concussion is healing and there is no sign of any lung infection. See, look at the scans.”

Alex frowned. That was a female voice he didn’t recognise. Also, why was his mum in his bedroom?

“You’re giving me equipment envy, Sally. My god, the science behind this is amazing.”

“Virgil has them in development, don’t you worry. A good percentage of our breakthroughs do get filtered down into the market. Unfortunately, there is a difference between the ability to make a device for International Rescue and making devices in efficient, ecological and economic mass production. Our teams do their best.” A snort. “And your boy is part of that team. His devotion to Siliwrap is all to his credit. Alex is saving lives as much, if not more, as any at Tracy industries. You should be proud.”

“Oh, that’s a given. He’s always been a little obsessive, especially regarding the Thunderbirds.”

Wha-?

Alex flung his eyes open to find his mother lying on a bed beside him, smiling. She had her ankle wrapped and raised and was obviously talking to the owner of the other voice, an older lady dressed in a purple jumpsuit.

Both were smiling at him.

“Where am I?”

Yes, that’s the first question out of any alien abductee’s mouth, no doubt about it.

“You’re on Tracy Island, Alex. You and your mother are safe and our guests.” When Alex didn’t respond as his brain automatically overloaded. “I’m Mrs Tracy, Virgil’s grandmother.”

“Watch it, Sally, he may combust on the spot.”

Thanks, mum.

His mother was grinning at him. “I swear he’s been looking for the location of this island since he discovered his first Thunderbird.”

“Mum!”

“Shhh! You’ll wake him up.” His mum was pointing behind him.

“Lolly, don’t worry, Virgil sleeps like the dead. Especially after a rescue like that.”

Virgil? What?

He twisted around and found a third bed behind him. Virgil lay sprawled face down on it, snoring softly into his pillow.

“Don’t worry, honey. He’s just tired. Our boys exhaust themselves and then wonder why their bodies shut down.”

It was only then all the events leading up to his current situation fully loaded into his brain.

Virgil.

Virgil had kissed him. His chocolate eyes held such relief and joy…

The scene played back in his head over and over, declaring that it had happened. That something Alex may have dreamed about but never really considered actually possible, had happened.

He stared at Virgil.

Gone was the uniform and in its place a simple black t-shirt outlining a lax bicep hanging off the edge of the bed. Alex’s eyes tracked down the length of Virgil’s arm to his hand.

Such strong hands.

The emergency responder had a blanket draped over him, obviously placed there after the advent of slumber, likely by his purple grandmother.

“Why is he here?”

Mrs Tracy walked around Alex’s bed so she could face him. “Now, don’t you start worrying your head off, young man. He is fine. He’s in the bed because otherwise he’d be asleep in a chair and that is not acceptable self-care. He wanted to stay here with you and it was the bed or out. Exhaustion did the rest.”

He stared at her a moment, his thoughts spinning.

“How are you feeling, Allie?”

Huh? He turned back to his mother. “Mum, your ankle…”

She waved him off. “Hon, I’ve done worse tripping over kids in the waiting room. Nothing to worry about.” She frowned at him. “How’s your head?”

How was his head? How was he in general?

There were aches, yes, now that attention had been drawn to them, but generally, considering that he’d just been through a major disaster, he felt okay. “I’m okay.”

His eyes drifted back to Virgil.

“Don’t you think of getting out of bed just so you can sit at his bedside, Alex. I know how you boys think, so don’t think you can pull one over on me.” Virgil’s grandmother was proving to be as bad as Alex’s mother.

“Don’t worry, Sally, he’s been very well trained from birth.”

“How did you manage that? I’ve been trying for nearly thirty years with the grandkids. Their father is just as bad.”

Alex’s eyes widened. Their father? Jeff Tracy. The Jeff Tracy who gave his name to Tracy Island. That Tracy Island that was ever so secret and Alex was currently resting his butt on. Well, the bed his was resting his butt on was on the Island. It was simple transference of molecular ownership.

Perhaps this was not the best moment to realise that he was wearing a black t-shirt very similar to Virgil’s and that it was not one he owned, nor was it one he was wearing the last time he was aware and conscious.

He pulled up the blanket and found black shorts. “Where are my clothes?” Perhaps the step up in octave was a little ridiculous on his part, but it had been a very stressful day.

“Your clothes were ruined, Allie. Jeff and Mrs Tracy were kind enough to supply and dress you in some replacements.” His mother was ever so matter-of-fact, as usual.

“Jeff Tracy saw me naked?!”

Okay, he had to admit, that was supposed to be inner voice and not shouted at the top of his lungs. In any case, it proved that it was possible to wake up Virgil Tracy, no matter what his grandmother said.

“Alex? What?”

He turned to find Virgil pushing himself up off the bed, hair sticking in all directions, obviously still half asleep.

“Honey, the man brought up five boys. One more is nothing new.” Mrs Tracy was as matter-of-fact as his mother.

Great. A team up.

“Virgil, go back to sleep.” Mrs Tracy bustled over to her grandson and attempted to get him to lie down.

But Virgil had caught sight of Alex. “Alex! You’re awake!”

Mrs Tracy actually rolled her eyes as Virgil threw off his covers and climbed out of bed. He closed the distance between them on bare feet. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

Alex couldn’t help it. “You look adorable.” Because he did. Big tough rescue operative with puffy eyes and hair sticking up all over the place, not to mention the black t-shirt and shorts that hid absolutely zero anatomical detail. And above all, he was smiling, as if ever so happy to see Alex…which was some kind of miracle and honestly how hard had he hit is head?

“You’re not bad yourself.” That smile turned to one of appreciation.

What?

His mother did mention a concussion…

“Okay, it’s obvious Virgil is not going to listen to his doctor’s advice, so Lolly and I will leave you two boys alone.” Mrs Tracy poked at his mum’s bed and it detached from the wall, hovering quite happily and easily nudged out of the room.

“Allie, take it easy, love. You are recovering from a concussion, after all.”

Yeah, yeah, mum, whatever. Virgil’s eyes were such a beautiful shade of brown.

Both women muttered to each other as they left the room, closing the door behind them.

Virgil was poking Alex’s bed controls with his fingers. “Good. You’ve rested.” His eyes were tracking over medical readouts. Alex’s medical readouts.

“I’m okay, Virgil.”

The man looked up at him again. “Good.”

Alex frowned as Virgil lifted a hand up and gently brushed Alex’s hair clear of his left temple and the abrasion there. “Grandma’s treated you well.”

Alex wanted to fall into that gentle touch. His eyes may have at least partially closed.

“Are we okay?”

Alex’s eyes snapped open.

“I mean…” Those eyes looked down and away. No, come back! “…we haven’t talked about-“

Alex was suddenly kissing Virgil. There had been space between them, but now it was gone, Alex had his arms around those truly magnificent biceps, and startled lips were pressed up against his, ever so warm, and god, Virgil was kissing him back…

There was a brain whiteout for a moment as Virgil’s arms returned Alex’s eager embrace…and then Virgil’s tongue was in his mouth and…

“Whoa! My bad.”

Alex pulled back.

“No! No, you two just keep doin’ what you were doin’ and I’ll just put this coffee down and-“

“Gordon, what do you want?” Virgil hadn’t let go of Alex, but his head did turn towards his brother.

Alex was busy dying on the spot. Why did he do that? Kiss Virgil? Him?

“I brought you coffee! You know, life blood and all that.” Coffee? “Uh, you might want to get back to that tonsil hockey you were playing. Alex looks like he’s might dump you for the coffee.”

“Go away, Gordon.”

“Going away, leaving, like a tree. Happy for both of you. ‘Bout time, Virg.”

“Gordon!”

“I’m gone!” And he was, the door sliding shut behind him.

Virgil turned back to Alex. “Sorry about that.” A slight shrug. “I have brothers.”

Alex blinked. “I have sisters.”

Virgil’s smile was a sight to behold. “So, we’re okay?”

Alex had had a very hard day, his head was a bit of a mess and there were several truths he was ignoring to keep his sanity. But right now?

He tugged Virgil closer. “More than okay.”

“You want some coffee?”

But Virgil’s lips were brushing his and… “No, I’m good.”

The coffee went cold.

-o-o-o-

FIN

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #alexander sweetapple #jeff tracy #gordon tracy #grandma tracy #sally tracy #nuttyfic #it's finished!#romance #virgil tracy/alexander sweetapple

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astranite · 4 months

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WIP actually Wednesday!!!

Some John and Scott with a flashback to some younger Tracies. Rather angsty.

---

He and Scott hadn't regularly shared a room since before Alan had been born, and John was fully aware that as adults it would drive them both mad within a week, but on the occasional business trip or even rarer holiday, it was nice. Waking up disorientated and jetlagged in the middle of last night, he’d fallen back to sleep to big brother’s calm, even breathing. Plus Scott could just look over and reassure himself at least John was here and okay, as substitute for checking in on all his little brothers before he turned in.

…it had actually been a bit after Alan had been born that the rooms had been shuffled. When it had been Mum and Dad and baby Allie he had to sneak past to go stargaze outside for a few months until Alan was big enough and got the cot, sharing a room with Gordon. Then it was him and Virgil, so Scott as the eldest, encouraged by Dad, could have his own room.

Virgil was a lot quieter, less prone to dragging him into crazy schemes, and John had loved sharing a room with him, of course he did. But something had still ached as he helped take Scott’s aeroplane posters down from between his glow in the dark stars, to put them up on bare blue walls that smelt of new paint. Virgil had never woken up when John went to stargaze, no matter what he tripped over or how much he swore, so he never came with him on those forbidden midnight trips either. Scott had.

But after Mum, because John was evidently all for following miserable trains of thought tonight, Scott technically had still shared a room with them. Just when no one, especially Dad, would notice. John had woken up to the door opening after everyone else was asleep each night, to Scott tiptoeing in to curl up on the floor between his and Virgil’s beds, wrapped in the blue baby blanket that had been Allie’s until it was put away, but had originally been knitted by Mum for Scott.

John had always shuffled over to make room for Scott beside him, because Scott shouldn’t be alone, he wasn't meant to be alone but everyone knew that evidently except for Dad. He’d always woken up at dawn when Scott left too…

Scott’s hand back on his shoulder startled him, and between the flinch he barely processed the worried, “Earth to John?”

A wave of dizziness hit and John buried his head in his knees.

“Sorry,” John mumbled.

“No apologies needed.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #astrawrite #wip wednesday

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whatgaviiformes · 8 months

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Fic: A Promise Returned (FFF221)

@flashfictionfridayofficial - my first one! [#FFF221 Spine in a Twist]

Thunderbirds are Go! Characters: Gordon, Virgil Summary: Gordon sees things for what they are, and won’t take no for an answer - content warning: back injury, mentions of chronic pain Words: 887

*****

Virgil awoke with his heart in his throat – because sleeping it off hadn’t worked. Still sore from the rescue two days before, his back twinged in rebellion of him simply blinking. He was loath to imagine the severity of its protest once the rest of his muscles started working, when he actually stepped out of bed to grace the day.

One thing at a time. Just one, then the next. Like he’d been doing all day yesterday.

He’d slowly managed to brush his teeth and shave his face and was just peeling his nightshirt off when he heard a knock on his door.

“A moment!” he growled, wrestling the shirt off the rest of the way before throwing on his preferred flannel on his way to the door. “What?”

Gordon ducked underneath Virgil’s arm, assuming that gave him entry, glanced around his dimly lit bedroom before spinning back to narrow his eyes at Virgil’s unbuttoned shirt and unkempt hair. “Remember how you said I could talk to you about anything?”

“Of course.” Virgil closed the door softly to give them privacy. His siblings all knew the same; he prided himself on being a listening ear, but the reminder coming from Gordon harkened to a promise made long ago. At the time, his younger brother had been wheelchair bound and quiet. Uncharacteristically so. The words were an oath that he’d be there for him always, without judgment. Eventually, he’d managed to get confirmation of what he already knew – that Gordon was holding in emotions surrounding his injuries that desperately had needed to be shared.

For him to call upon the words now? It meant serious business.

“We need to talk about you -.”

“What about me?”

“-and the way you’re walking like you’ve got a spring pulled taut back there.”

“I haven’t.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “You can pretend in front of Alan, smile it away in front of John. Hide from Scott all you want. But you can’t fake it in front of me. You’ve been walking away when Scott’s focused on work, so he won’t notice. But I’ve noticed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Virgil crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ve already got the plane prepped to fly you to LA.”

Virgil frowned. LA meant Cedars-Sinai. Cedars-Sinai meant Gordon’s spinal doctors.

“I don’t need the hospital.” It definitely wasn’t that bad.

“Virgil!” Gordon mirrored his defensiveness and squared his shoulders as he huffed in exasperation. Moment by moment, Virgil watched him forcefully work to soften his frustration, so that by the time he spoke, it was sincere and without the blaze of fire he knew the aquanaut shared with their eldest brother – under the right circumstances. Virgil was already irritable, but Gordon’s obvious attempt to placate the situation he created in the first place infuriated him. He was about to tell him to kindly find his way out of his bedroom, but Gordon’s tone caught him by surprise.

“It’s me, V.” Gordon placed his hand over his heart, his eyes bright and earnest. “I don’t mention the hospital just for the fun of it. You know that. And I know what a back injury looks like. I lived it. I still live it, every day. Chronic pain is no joke. And I don’t want anyone to have to go through what I went through – not you, not any of our brothers, not even the Hood. So, if you could please just come with me to Tracy One to get your back checked out so you don’t have to join me every morning for yoga, that would be great.

“I haven’t told Scott yet. We don’t even need to mention it unless there’s something to mention, if you want. I’ll ignore John when we leave. I mean, he hates that, but I’ll still do it if it makes you feel more comfortable. But please just come. I can’t make the pain go away, but I know you’re hurting, so let me do this for you and I’ll –“

“Gordon, stop.” Virgil held up his hand, palm side out, his voice crackling with emotion. Because he had been purposefully skirting around Scott’s prying eyes, waiting to move until his brother was fully distracted. And that in itself was proof enough that he knew, deep down, what he was feeling wasn’t normal. He’d been scared of what it meant to admit it to himself.

He had expected he could hide it, that it would just go away after a number of sleeps, but of course, of course, Gordon saw it for what it was.

“Do you really think it could be that bad?”

“If it’s your spine? I’m not willing to wait to find out.” The compassion and understanding in his brother’s eyes shone brightly. “So you’ll come?”

Virgil lowered his gaze to the floor, “Yes, I’ll go with you. But just so I don’t have to do morning yoga!”

Gordon grinned finally, but with an apology in his expression as he pulled the hoverchair he’d left in the hallway into Virgil’s room. “Yoga not your speed?” he said, in an attempt to distract him.

Virgil grimaced, lowering himself with resignation into the support of the chair that had once been Gordon’s prison for months. He swallowed his fear, and quipped with a pained smile, “No. Mornings aren’t my speed.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #flash fiction friday #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #for the love of Fishtank #bros helping bros #tw chronic pain #tw back injury

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pareidoliaonthemove · 7 months

Text

The Question

“Did you even think of us?”

Jeff Tracy had though his heart couldn’t hurt any more than it had for the past however-many-days he had been sat beside this hospital bed.

He had been wrong.

Virgil lay weakly in the bed, his flushed and sweaty face seemed to radiate heat, his limp hair plastered in sweaty strings to his forehead. Fever bright, glazed eyes focused on his father, seeming to recognise the man in the chair beside him for the first time in days.

That recognition should be reason to celebrate.

The question was not.

“Every day, Virgil. I thought of you boys every day –”

“Did you think of us at all?”

Virgil was obviously not hearing his reply, and as Jeff looked again, Virgil’s gaze was directed towards him, but not focused as he had originally thought.

“Why didn’t you take a second to work through the consequences? Because there were so many consequences …” Virgil’s voice faded out as Jeff stared, baffled.

“Consequences?” he asked, not expecting an answer. Virgil remained silent, eyes closed.

They were obviously coming at this from different angles, but for the life of him, Jeff couldn’t fathom what Virgil was asking. He’d spent eight years stuck alone on that rock, with no real hope of rescue, longing for the family half a solar system away. What consequence …?

“One was there. Could have bailed out and remote flew her to intercept.”

Realisation slammed into Jeff like a freight train, dropping his stomach to the level of the basement, while the bitter stale coffee he’d managed to swallow surged up his throat, burning and choking him. The roaring of blood in his ears seemed impossible as his heart convulsed, seeming so squeeze into the smallest possible space in his chest, radiating physical pain in every direction.

The train would have hurt less.

And, perfectly timed to rub salt into his wounds, Virgil opened his eyes. “Did you even think of us? Or was this just an opportunity to be the great hero again?”

“I …” Jeff’s voice failed him, as the door opened and his mother slipped into the room.

“How’s …?” Apparently it was the day for sentences trailing off into nothingness, Jeff thought bitterly. Although, his mother didn’t remain silent for long. There was the sound of fabric rustling, and then she spoke again, “Scott, Virgil’s awake, but not coherent. I need you to come and sit with him, while I deal with your father.”

There was a muffled noise that could only be Scott’s acknowledgement of the instruction, and then footsteps as his mother approached the bed.

“Whatever he’s said, he doesn’t mean it.”

“Oh, he meant it,” the words tasted like bile on his tongue. “He just wouldn’t normally say it.”

There was a soft knock on the door, before it opened, and Scott slid in, still breathing heavily from his flat-out sprint to get here, before firmly closing the door behind him.

“What’s the situation?” Scott asked softly, eyeing both his brother and father.

Jeff smiled wryly. “Virgil’s lost his mind to mouth filter.” The smile dropped. “He … blames me.”

Sally wrapped a comforting arm around her son’s shoulder. ��I sincerely doubt it, whatever you think this is about.” She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Virgil’s very sick with the fever. You know how fever can cause people to hallucinate, say things they don’t mean.”

Scott stepped up. “We’ve been here before, Dad,” he said softly. “Virg …” he sighed. “Fevers really do a number on Virgil. He spouts all sorts of nonsense.”

Virgil stirred again. “Could have prevented so much …” he faded back into sleep. And the very-much-not retired Dr Sally Tracy examined the readings from the bed’s built-in med-scanner.

“He’s condition’s improving, this is just a phase to be ridden out. He’s still disorientated from the hallucinations, and reacting to whatever it is he ‘saw’.”

Jeff wasn’t placated, but he allowed his mother to pull him to his feet, and lead him out the door, Scott taking his place by the bed.

Jeff glanced over his shoulder as the door slid shut, Virgil’s eyes were open again, and his mouth was moving. Jeff didn’t have the heart to make the effort to lip read his son’s words.

Notes:

It’s often said that the real victims of a suicide are the people who are left behind. I know that Jeff’s big damn hero moment wasn’t strictly suicide, but it wasn’t a textbook example of self-preservation, either. So I’m all in for the idea that the boys' grief process was complicated by the same kind of questions that follow on from a suicide.

And that complicated grieving process was always going to complicate ‘the return’.

I don’t subscribe generally to the ‘Jeff is a bad dad’ idea (except in a couple of particularly well executed instances), but nobody is perfect, and sometimes there are no good choices.

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

#fanfic #my fanfic #thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #jeff tracy #scott tracy #grandma tracy #fever #delirium #grief

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