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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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Sky Candy

Okay, this one is for ‘shits and giggles’ :D Literally. It grew out of a discussion with @onereyofstarlight this morning and I managed to both start and finish it today :D Just a bit of fun.

Spoilers & warnings: This is actually based in the Kermadec Universe created by my fic ‘We’ll Be Home For Christmas’, but it barely relates to that fic and it can be read without it. Maybe mild, mild spoilers for that fic. There is a tiny amount of Scott/OC ship in this, but it is minimal. Low level language, 4490 words.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the inspiration, support and the read through. And also to @scribbles97 for a read and encouragement.

I hope you enjoy it :D

-o-o-o-

Living on an island in the middle of the ocean had Virgil fairly used to birds. There was a colony of Kermadec Petrels on Mateo that he liked to keep an eye on since apparently, they were ‘native and uncommon due to past ecological interference in the area’ and Mel had glared enough at his father to let it sink in…particularly when they were building their backup generator over there. The fact the little island had nearly been blown up by the Hood had given him nightmares for weeks. A firm discussion with Kayo and a change to the WASP protocol had been enacted since.

But so close.

There were the lone albatrosses that occasionally visited, their vast wingspan visible far above the island. Virgil had been known to just sit and watch them until they disappeared to the horizon or behind Tracy Peak. There was something so calming about them.

Of course, then there was the time a huge gull had taken up residence in the pool…while Gordon was in it. There was such a ruckus at that, even Virgil had been dragged out of bed. Alan had been eating breakfast when the bird landed and had caught a good chunk of it on film. One sodden, screeching aquanaut tangling with a much put out gull provided entertainment for Christmases to come.

But this? This was unprecedented.

Thunderbird Two had been left on her runway overnight due to a small fault in her module retrieval system. No module meant no wheels and a ticked off pilot. He had lowered number four to the tarmac at 2am and used a pod to push it into the hanger, but Two had to stay outside.

Gordon had not been happy and Four couldn’t deploy without help from Two at this point, but at least the craft had been safe inside overnight.

Two on the other hand…

Virgil crawled out of bed at 6am, drowned himself in coffee and stumbled out into the morning.

Fortunately, the weather was blue sky and the wind almost non-existent. The palms were still and the foliage on either side of the runway was just lighting up as the sun slowly crept over the horizon beyond the villa. It was all quite beautiful.

It was a relief. With the exception of last night, the last week had been full of nasty weather. Not enough to stop a Thunderbird launch, but dark, grey, windy, wet and depressing.

Virgil took a moment and let his shoulders drop and closed his eyes. Okay, he was overreacting. He was tired. Yesterday had been hell and the fault had appeared just as he was finally able to leave the last rescue site. It meant a crawl back to Tracy Island and Gordon stuck in the module and his ‘bird the entire way.

The vitriol over comms hadn’t helped.

If they had been near land, he would have paused to collect the aquanaut out of the module, but the rescue had been in the middle of the Pacific and it was pitch black and, god, he just wanted to go home.

The fact he was separated from his brother by a comline that could possibly be muted was a reassurance of his sanity.

Did he mute it?

No.

But the possibility was there. It really was.

It was over. He was home. The morning was beautiful and he should be able to fix the problem easily enough.

The petrels over on Mateo were squawking up a storm. A glance in that direction and, yes, the sea eagles were out looking for breakfast.

Living on the Island was a twenty-four-hour nature documentary sometimes. Without the editing.

Two was exactly where he left her, squatting on her struts. He took a moment to just stop and gaze at her. It wasn’t often he was able to see her outside without having to dash to or from an emergency.

She was lit up by the sun, her green hull glowing with its satin shimmer. Her big number two emblazoned and glowing on her tail. He was able to appreciate just how big she was and just how beautiful.

His heart swelled with a little pride and, if he was to admit it, blatant affection.

She was just perf-

He frowned. What the hell was that?

A white glow on her front windows where there should be no highlight with the sun this low on the horizon.

He took a step sideways, moving the angle of reflection.

You have got to be kidding me.

He didn’t have his uniform on, just his service harness, wrist remote over his flannel and an old pair of jeans. He was planning on using his onboard tool kit and killing two birds with one stone by checking the equipment at the same time.

He ran to the hatch, lowering it without thought and waiting impatiently for it to rise up into the cabin. The moment he could, he dashed forward to his pilot’s seat.

Across the forward windows was sprayed a large splat of white something.

Virgil’s brows cut a furrow into his forehead that almost cleaved his skull in half. If the white mess wasn’t so huge, he’d think a bird had eaten Grandma’s cooking and had a bad night. But it was massive. The streaks spread over several windows.

If Gordon had used paint on Virgil’s ‘bird as a prank, fratricide was a possibility.

Grabbing a safety line, Virgil hooked himself in and raised the hatch. Lips, pursed he climbed out onto Two’s hull and lowered himself down to her windows.

It was bird shit.

One massive bird shit.

It encompassed plexiglass and cahelium hull and was a spray of at least a couple of metres across.

How the hell? Anger was frozen as his brain attempted to account for how it got there.

It wasn’t there last night. Hell, if it was, there was no way he could have missed it. So, it had to have happened overnight.

The problem was, as far as he knew, there was nothing on Tracy Island big enough to do such a thing. Except maybe Gordon. Anything was possible with Gordon.

Gordon. Yeah, it had to be Gordon.

Climbing back into his ‘bird, he hunted down enough cleaning equipment to remove the mess.

Once it was cleaned up, he turned to the task he had come out there for and fixed the faulty retrieval hydraulics.

-o-o-o-

Virgil had mostly forgotten about the issue by lunchtime. Having his ‘bird out in the sunshine gave him the opportunity to air out her life support systems and do some general cleaning. He even got one of the bots to hose her down and climbed out and polished up her windows and external lights. For an hour or two he lost himself in the job, his mind wandering over yesterday’s events and processing as his hands worked on familiar surfaces.

Gordon wandered out onto the tarmac at one point to check on him. His fish brother may claim to be carefree, but if one of them wasn’t acting normally, he was known to chase them up or alternatively poke and prod if they weren’t responding in a Gordon-acceptable manner.

“Hey, Virg, whatcha doin’?”

It was yelled up as Virgil was hanging almost upside down above Two’s port wing polishing his third number two for the day.

“Cleaning.”

And yes, that was an arched eyebrow from his little brother. He couldn’t see it, but he could hear it. “You gonna wax and polish your entire ‘bird?”

“Just the important bits.”

“You do know we have bots for that.”

“Yes, Gordon.”

“Then wh-“ A wet splat interrupted his brother. “A-aaaargh!”

Virgil spun so fast, his safety line shifted and he found himself falling forward and off the edge of the wing.

Hanging in mid-air only gave him a better view.

Gordon stood on the tarmac, face absolutely disgusted, somewhat distraught and covered in white bird shit.

Virgil immediately looked to the sky, but from this angle half of it was obscured by the cliff face and the rest of it was blue, empty and glaringly full of sun.

“What the hell?!” Gordon stood like a frightened scarecrow, white uric acid in his hair, on his shirt and hands. His fingers flicked white all over the asphalt.

Virgil kept a wide berth as he rappelled down the side of his ‘bird.

“You okay?”

“Do I look okay?!”

Virgil bit his lip. “Well, you’ve looked better.” And if his phone camera was suddenly in his hand, it wasn’t like the fish wouldn’t do the same if he had the chance.

The expression of disgust on Gordon’s face was one for the record books. An accusatory glare at the phone, he spun on the spot, careful not to touch any part of his body with his filthy hands, darted between the ferns and clambered down the cliffside.

Virgil unclipped himself and ran after his brother, only catching sight of him as a pair of sand shoes flew up the cliff and landed on the asphalt. Gordon took a leaping dive into the lagoon.

Well, that was one way to get rid of it.

Virgil watched him purely for safety’s sake as his fish brother skimmed below the surface towards the deeper blue at the centre of the caldera. As always, Virgil marvelled at how fast Gordon could move underwater. Goofy above, powerful below.

And now madly trying to scrub the mess out of his hair. Words which Grandma would not approve bounced around the bay.

A figure in blue appeared at the edge of the villa cliff staring out at the splashing in the middle of the lagoon. That was an explanation waiting to happen. He was surprised there hadn’t been a squawk from comms already.

A glance at the empty sky and he returned to the question of what the hell would be capable of doing this.

Virgil was no orthinologist, but he did have a camera and an interest in the wildlife around him. They were in a rather privileged position just north of one of the world’s largest wildlife sanctuaries, and if his photos were of use to the scientific team on Raoul Island a few hundred kilometres south of them, well, it didn’t hurt to help where he could.

Mel, the leader of the team had him grabbing rough counts of the Kermadec petrels on Mateo every now and again, plus the sea eagles in the cliffs. With the tui in the forest and a number of other species, Virgil was pretty sure he had encountered just about every type of bird on the Island.

And none of them were big enough to make that mess.

Gordon was heading back and no doubt, the words were not going to be pleasant.

He was spitting chips before he even climbed out of the water.

“What the hell was that?!”

His soaking wet brother climbed the verge, hair sticking out in all directions, bare feet nimble despite the sharp rocks.

Virgil opened his mouth, but another voice interrupted. “What happened?”

Blue eyes, dark frown, Scott had already walked half the length of Two’s runway. “What’s going on?”

“Relax, Scott. Gordon just had an encounter with some bird poop.”

His big brother stopped walking. “You’re kidding. All that,” and he waved his hand towards the lagoon, “was for a little sky candy?”

“Candy?” Outrage was one word. Bedraggled was another. Gordon was shoving damp feet into his sand shoes and having a doozy of a time with it. “A bird shit on me, Scott. A pterodactyl sized bird. Possibly an elephant with wings.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “If it was an elephant with wings, you’d need a shovel.” Though at this point, he was willing to entertain the pterodactyl theory.

Another wary glance at the sky.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to get Two undercover.

-o-o-o-

The video captured by Virgil proved to be highly popular that night, particularly once it was thrown up on the main holoprojector. He knew he was risking dye in his shower rose, but it was a change from being the subject of joviality and it really was harmless. It was also a rare day when they hadn’t been called out, so everyone was relaxed and there was laughter which was sorely needed after yesterday.

There was less laughter the next morning when Scott walked out onto the main balcony at five in the morning and slipped on a wet patch.

The mug of coffee in his hand went flying, splashing boiling hot water on his shirt as he fell, and it was only years of sparring with Kayo that saved him from cracking his head on the hardwood.

As it was, by the time a worried Gordon dragged Virgil out of bed, there were a number of nasty bruises sprouting on his big brother.

“Well, you are staying home today.”

“Virgil, c’mon. I just fell over.”

Wrapping the scald on Scott’s hand, Virgil shook his head. “Nope, you slipped. On a non-slip balcony, by the way. What were you doing out there in the dark?”

“It wasn’t dark.”

“The sun wasn’t up and you didn’t see what you stepped in.”

“Giant bird poop isn’t usually a problem, Virgil.”

No, it wasn’t. The sight of the white splash on the hardwood, large enough to overcome the non-slip surface was like a taunt.

Virgil cleaned up his big brother while listening to Gordon whine about the shit in his hair that apparently hadn’t washed out, ocean or three showers later. After that, he dropped a line to Mel on Raoul and asked her if she knew of any local birds that could do that much poop in one evacuation.

Apart from the snort of laughter from the blonde ecologist, the answer was only ‘maybe an albatross’. Apparently, that was the biggest bird in the Kermadecs.

He sent her the video in thanks.

The howling laughter that followed was worth it. He couldn’t help but grin at the sound of Sam in the background.

Oh, yes, Gordon was going down.

Virgil spent the rest of the afternoon securing everything he owned and rigging some protective security.

Gordon would likely get him anyway, but no need to make it easy.

Scott, of course, refused to acknowledge the burn or the bruises and went about his usual activities. If strangling him wasn’t counterproductive to his preferred outcome, Virgil may have considered it.

“I’m fine, Virgil.” The bandaged hand waved in his direction begged to differ.

The sun was setting and Scott had been at their father’s desk for most of the day. At least they hadn’t been called out.

“There’s someone on the runway!”

Virgil jumped as Alan tore up the kitchen stairs.

“What?”

Young blue eyes were earnest and not a little worried. “There is someone on the runway!”

Scott’s response was immediate, swiping aside paperwork and bring up the Island’s security network. Views of the runway, now almost in darkness flickered past, all empty of life, until a screen came up blank.

“Camera Five is transmitting, but there is no image.”

Scott thumbed his comms. “Kayo, we have a possible intruder on Two’s runway and a camera down. Could you please check it out.”

Their sister’s efficient FAB bounced back over comms.

“I’m going with her. Gordon jumped off the couch where he had been lounging for most of the afternoon and threw himself into his launch chute.

“John, we have a possible intrusion and a blanked camera. Can you give us extra eyes on Two’s runway.”

Another efficient FAB bounced down from orbit and the transmission in Scott’s hands changed to the massive sensors employed by Thunderbird Five.

There was nothing on the runway.

Virgil stared at it. “Alan, what did you see?”

His little brother was standing beside him. “Movement. A head maybe. It was too big to be anything else.”

Kayo appeared on the display, followed by Gordon. They both sketched out a search pattern.

That ultimately proved unfruitful.

They did discover why one of the cameras wasn’t working properly.

“More bird shit.” Gordon’s disgust was a physical thing.

Virgil turned the unit over in a gloved hand. It was designed to withstand a cyclone, yet here it was coated in enough uric acid to simply block any light from entering it.

The thing was, this wasn’t the first time this camera had had an issue. The way it protruded out of the cliff made it a perfect perch and it had seen a few birds over the years. Consequently, it was maintained and checked regularly. It was fine yesterday.

Now it was not.

Coated in one big bird turd.

“You know whatever the hell this is, it obviously has a stomach issue.” Apparently, Gordon was on the verge of declaring whatever it was to be his personal nemesis.

“We’ll need to work out a way to deter the birds from this camera.”

“Bird, Virg. One great big honkin’ bird.”

“That we have yet to see.”

“Well, we have cameras and sensors all over the island. Let’s use them.”

-o-o-o-

They were called out before they could do anything. China. A flood. Three days of drudgery and misery.

It was bad.

Bad enough for Grandma to shut them down for forty-eight hours after they finally made it home.

Virgil was limping with a twisted ankle and a cranky commander who had witnessed him making the jump responsible for the injury. It nearly ended up so much worse,

An aching ankle was worth the life of the two children he had in his arms at the time. He’d be fine.

After fourteen hours curled up in bed, he crawled downstairs and hunted down his coffee. It was midmorning, but the house was quiet. The weather was still holding out and despite a long night’s sleep, he still felt exhausted. Hopefully coffee and breakfast would help.

Sun would be nice. He grabbed a bagel, limped out onto the pool deck and found himself a lounger.

-o-o-o-

Coffee or no, he must have fallen asleep, because he woke to a whisper on comms.

“Virgil, stay still.”

“Wha-?” He mumbled and rolled over, blinking against the sunlight.

And came face to face with an alien.

What the f-?

Dopey brain, adrenalin, and he was floundering backwards, landing hard on the concrete. The lounge flipped over and collapsed on him.

A massive pair of black and white wings spread and flapped, agitated. They backed off, but not without grabbing his neglected bagel first.

Virgil stared as his brain booted.

It was a pelican. A very large pelican.

The bagel was gulped down a huge pink beak.

“Virg! It’s a pelican!” Gordon sounded excited, his whisper over comms almost a shout.

“I can see that.” At least they now knew where all the poop had come from.

Virgil eased the lounger off his back as quietly as he could.

“Virgil, are you okay?” Scott, of course.

“Fine.”

“That is a very big pelican.”

Virgil resisted rolling his eyes...just. “I noticed.”

The bird was eyeing him. Virgil edged backwards a little only for the lounger to rattle behind him.

Those black wings spread again and Virgil froze.

Several feathers were missing from those wings and there was a small smear of red amongst the white on the bird’s right side.

Aw, hell. “Gordon, it’s injured.”

“Damn. How bad? I can’t see from here.”

Virgil looked up and found both Scott and Gordon on the balcony above watching him.

“I can’t tell. We will need to capture it.”

“Reckon you can grab it?”

Virgil eyed the bird. It was over a metre tall and had a beak to match. “Possibly.”

Any other thought on the matter was suddenly vetoed as a familiar hiss lightly disturbed the surface of the pool and Virgil found himself covered in netting.

Kayo and Shadow.

The pelican did not appreciate it and struggled, tangling itself.

Virgil held still and tempted to calm it with soothing noises. Then Scott was there, dragging him out from under the net. Gordon was gathering the huge bird, hands and words desperately trying to calm it.

Thumb on comms. “John, get me Mel. We need her help.”

-o-o-o-

“Well this is a first. An Australian Pelican all the way out here.” Mel stood watching the injured bird stalk about its cage. “You sure he didn’t hitch a ride on one of your Thunderbirds?”

Gordon snorted. “Virg tried to bring home a polar bear once.”

“That was not intentional.” Okay, so it was a sore point. Alan could have been seriously injured simply because Virgil hadn’t closed the module door.

“Well, you did.”

“Did not.”

“Alan would disagree.”

“I did not!”

A hand landed on Virgil’s shoulder, its partner landing on Gordon’s. “That’s enough. Mel, is he going to be okay?” Scott’s voice was authority deep.

The blonde ecologist tilted her head to one side and shrugged. “I’ve done what I can. I think so. He should still be able to fly, but there is no way he is making it back to the continent by himself. I’ve contacted Birdlife Australia. We’ll make an estimate of where he might have come from and take him home.” She smiled up at Scott. “I might need a lift.”

A lopsided smirk. “You’ve got one.”

Gordon rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, Mel.” Virgil held out a hand.

She eyed him a moment and took it. “I see you’re the walking wounded again.”

His eyelids dropped into a flat glare. “Just a twisted ankle.”

She smirked at him. “Look after yourself.”

“Oh, for gods, sake, Mel, isn’t one of my brothers enough?” Gordon groaned.

The ecologist shrugged and Scott frowned. The moment Mel spotted the frown she burst into a grin. “Something wrong, Commander?”

Scott’s glare was flat enough to level the Island. “Not a thing.”

Mel’s grin just got wider. But she reached out and took his fingers in hers. Scott’s shoulders relaxed just a little.

She stroked the back of his hand. “Good.”

Both Virgil and Gordon rolled their eyes at that.

“I’m going for a swim.” Gordon skipped out of the room.

“I’m going to go finish my breakfast.”

Neither Scott or Mel noticed.

The pelican stared him down.

Virgil flicked his eyes towards the ceiling, turned and left.

-o-o-o-

Scott wanted to borrow Thunderbird Two for the delivery. Virgil offered but the Commander claimed he was injured. Virgil told him where he could shove that, listing off a burn and a maze of bruises from a few days earlier as far more injurious than a twisted ankle.

Scott resorted to whining after that.

The fact Scott actually whined like his littlest brother had the engineer staring at his big brother like he’d grown an extra nose.

“How old are you?”

“Virg, please.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You want to borrow my car to take out your date because your jalopy can’t do the job.”

That got a more familiar reaction. “It has to be Two to lessen the trauma to the pelican.”

“Fine, I’ll take him to Brisbane.”

“Virg!”

An arched eyebrow. Okay, he had to admit this was a little fun. “Something wrong?”

“Virgil! I could order it.”

“Sure, you could.” I dare you.

Blue glared at him fit to bust a vein. Virgil held those eyes calmly with his own, doing his best to hold back his grin.

Ultimately, he failed.

“Damnit, Virgil.”

A snort. “Fine. Bring her back in one piece. No aerobatics.”

His brother’s grin was worth it. Who ever thought Scott Tracy would be so eager to fly the family cargo carrier?

The pelican left Tracy Island along with Mel and his brother the next morning.

Virgil did not fail to notice that there was a night before that morning and Scott was positively chipper before he left.

The engineer stood out the front of the villa and took the opportunity to watch his bird lift off with a familiar roar and bank towards the south-west.

He couldn’t help but smile just a little more.

His brother was gone all day and it was no surprise. Virgil was not worried, despite Gordon ribbing him about it for a good part of the day.

The artist hid in his studio.

And painted a pelican.

Eventually, the familiar sound of his ‘bird returning to the Island drew him out and he met his brother on his way back from the hangars.

Scott was obviously preoccupied and didn’t see him approach.

“How did it go?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin. “Virgil! Give a guy warning next time.”

Virgil stared at him. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah, sure.” The commander pushed past him towards the lockers.

That didn’t sound right. Virgil turned and followed. “Did you have a good time?”

That had a better result. Scott straightened and grinned. “Definitely.” The man was obviously seeing pleasant memories in his mind’s eye.

“So, what’s wrong then?”

The grin vanished. “Er, nothing.” He unfastened and lifted his baldric up and over his head. He looked at anything other than Virgil.

“And you say I can’t lie.”

Eyes caught his. “You can’t. You’re crap at it, Virg, always have been.”

“Well, you’re failing big time today. What happened?”

His brother’s shoulders dropped. “I’ll help you clean her. I promise.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. Oh, god. “What did you do?” He turned and ran towards the hangers.

“Virgil! I’ll fix it. It was an accident.”

“What the hell did you do?!”

He burst into Two’s hangar only to be met by Gordon grinning like a loon. “Big Bro is in trouble.” The fish managed to sing that.

Virgil shoved him out of the way so he could see his ‘bird.”

His jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”

Scott stepped up beside him. “Honest, I didn’t know.”

Virgil held out his hands to his beautiful Thunderbird as if in supplication. One desperate word. “How?”

Scott sighed. “Local fishing fleet docked while she was parked on the beach. Apparently, it is an event that all the local birds gather for. Two unfortunately made a great perch.”

There was bird poop from one end of his girl to the other. She looked diseased. Her green hull mottled with white and brown.

“I’ll clean her. I promise.”

Pelicans. There were pelicans. Likely gulls as well.

“Virg? I will, I promise.”

Bird shit all over his ‘bird.

“Virg?”

“I think you broke him, bro.” Something waved in front of his eyes, interrupting his view of his girl. He swiped at it.

“Well, we have movement at least.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“Virg?”

He turned on his big brother and shoved a finger in his face. “You are going to clean every single turd off my ‘bird.”

“Yes, Virgil.” Those blue eyes were very wide and Scott was leaning backwards.

“Good.” Virgil spun on his heel and stormed out.

Stupid birds.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

If you would like to see the possibilities of what can happen with these birds, please have a look here and here :D

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #scott/oc #just a little

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marquiswrites · 4 years

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Out of Time [1/25]

Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Characters: James “Bucky” Barnes, Sam Wilson, Rhodey,

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader,

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2155

Warnings: language, mentions of death, dumbassery

Author’s Notes: Day 1 of @panicfob‘s 25 Days of Fics, Prompt: Snowflakes

Summary: After the final battle with Thanos, Bucky finds himself struggling. Trying to fit in with the Avengers without Steve, trying to maintain a life out of the shadows, trying to stop himself from spiraling back into darkness. And then, the team finds a woman encased in ice, buried beneath a castle. Maybe it was just that he remembered his own time in Cryo, maybe it was the way she was so obviously outside of her own time, maybe it was just because she was beautiful… But something about this woman drew him to her.

And Bucky needed to find out why.

Chapter 1: Snowflakes

“We’re picking up a lot of energy readings.”

Bucky sighed, wiping a hand over his face before leaning over to see what exactly Rhodey was talking about. It had been difficult to keep the Avengers going after the final battle with Thanos. Even more difficult now that Steve was gone.

For Bucky at least.

“We’re gettin’ pop ups like this three times a week, how’s this one any different.” Sam jerked his chin towards the map, arms crossed over his chest.

Maybe Bucky wasn’t the only one having a hard time coming to terms.

Rhodey glanced up between the two of them before sighing, reaching a hand to point at the location. “This isn’t some city that’s dealing with a surge of power. And it’s definitely not some punk kid trying to make up for lost time with his pranks. That right there, that’s a castle in the middle of scotland. Satellite imaging is picking up nothing but a ruin, but it’s lighting up brighter than a christmas tree on the scanner.”

Bucky frowned, looking closer at the map. Letting out a soft huff. “That’s Buchanan Castle… Got turned into a hospital during the war.” He ignored the prickling of his skin that meant both men were looking at him with interest. “Lots of men were brought there. But I was never close enough to have been there. Just remember reading some reports offhand, made me smirk because of the name.”

“You just… remember off hand reports?” Rhodey raised a brow before shaking his head.

“And this coming from the guy who can’t remember who he is half the time.” Sam smirked playfully, bumping his shoulder to Bucky’s. Making Bucky roll his eyes.

“Don’t have to remember that, to remember that I kicked your ass.”

“Whatever you say, Barnes.” Sam snickered once more, then nodded to the screen. “Alright, so what’s got a pile of rubble that is probably more than a little haunted going off like that Rhodes?”

“Honestly… I have no idea. It’s sending off power surges like crazy. But there’s nothing there. Literally. Just rubble.” Rhodey knotted his brow before looking up to the other two. “Think we need to call in a strike?”

Bucky wet his lips before shaking his head. “No… No, me and bird brains can handle this. Everyone is still licking their wounds. But get Shuri on call. If it’s technical, she’ll be our best option.”

Rhodey gave a signal nod.

Bucky gave an apologetic smile to Sam when he caught his wry smile.

“Hey, I might be the one with the shield now, but we’re a team Barnes. And that means if you know weirdly specific shit about haunted castles that are surprisingly older than you, you get to take point.”

Snorted, Bucky pushed away from the table. “Whatever you say, bird brain.”

“Alright asshole, get geared up, we’ll take the big bird for the drop.”

Bucky met him at the Quinjet exactly an hour later, both of them in their gear. It felt odd to be in something so similar to what he had worn during the war.

At the same time, it felt like coming home.

Nodding to Sam before they climbed aboard, a pilot setting their destination while the two took their seats. “So, any idea of what to expect?” “Don’t have a clue, we’re going in blind here.” Sam turned his gaze to the front, and Bucky knew him well enough by now to know what was weighing on him.

“You’re not him.”

Sam’s gaze jerked back to Bucky immediately, it was the first time either of them had brought him up since the funeral.

“That Punk would drop in without a parachute and just find a way to make things work. Idiot that he was.” Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands. Watching as his fingers twisted and fidgeted. Swallowing past the lump in his throat. Though he managed to let out a huffed laugh. “Never thought twice when it came down to it. Took all the stupid with him…”

Sam remained quiet, watching Bucky closely. Then offering a softer smile when Bucky finally met his gaze. “You’re an idiot too, don’t get me wrong. But you’re also the type of man to take a parachute. That’s why he left you the shield. You’re some of the best parts of him, but smarter, more experienced…”

“You talk about me like I’m an old man, old man.” Sam’s lips turned up in a wry smile before offering Bucky a solemn nod. “But I appreciate the pep talk.”

“That’s me, smooth with the words.” Bucky chuckled. Letting them both fall into a comfortable silence. Considering how different it was compared to that first car ride together. When the only thing that they had had in common was Steve, and their joined job of trying to protect the punk.

He didn’t realize when he had let his guard down around Sam, but he knew that he was the better for it. Better for being able to work beside the man who had taken up his best friend’s shield. Better for being able to help support him.

In a way, Bucky thought it was healing.

It was that thought that lingered as he started to doze.

Even two years ago, the thought of relaxing enough around other people to let his guard down enough to do so would have been impossible. Maybe Steve had gotten something right after all.

He hadn’t realized how much time had passed when a hand clapped to his shoulder, startling him out of the dreams, hands flexing in an attempt to keep from reaching for the knife at his belt.

“Redwing is doing recon. We’re hovering above the landing sight for now.” Sam spoke quickly, reading whatever information was being fed across the red lens of his goggles. Taking a seat beside Bucky. “Nothing on the surface so far. And still no source for the power spike. Rhodey?”

“Comms are live. We’re not picking up any interference, which is, to put it plainly, weird. A spike like this should make it almost a dead spot.”

“Unless it’s trying to communicate with something.” Bucky spoke softly. His gaze gliding over the floor by his feet. Trying to work out the possibilities.

“You mean, like a signal being sent out? But what would use an electrical spike for that?” Rhodey questioned softly. Sam turning his gaze to the Soldier.

“We live in a time where there are actual Asgardian Gods and men who can wield magic. Are we able to rule it out?” Bucky shrugged. “Don’t know why I feel like it’s a message, just do.”

Sam nodded. “Alright, Rhodey, see if we can analyze the spikes. Or if there are any other sorts of waves that we can pick up. If this is a message, I really want to be sure that it’s not warning us that we’re about to go all Independence day again.”

Bucky frowned sharply, his gaze twitching to Sam.

“Hell man, have you watched any of the movies I suggested to you?”

“Can you two figure out your movie night dates later… We’re picking something up… It’s… It’s morse code.” Rhodey sounded almost impressed. Or maybe it was afraid. “I wasn’t taught this, sending you the data.”

“I can read it. Sam?”

“What, am I supposed to just make a sound or something?” Sam baulked, incredulous at the prospect.

Bucky grit his teeth. “Tap it out against the floor or something. Or just say dot and dash. And I need a piece of paper.” Pushing himself to stand and heading for the front. He exchanged a few words with the pilot that led to him taking his seat beside Sam once more, armed with a notepad and pen. “Alright. Start now.”

Sam started to tap out the morse code against the wall, carefully reading the spikes and drops to translate. Letting Bucky scribble each note as he did. The signal repeating over and over through the energy spikes that Rhodey was picking up.

“--. . .-. -- .- -. ... / .- .-. . / -.-. --- -- .. -. --. .-.-.- / ... - --- .--. .-.-.- / .--. .-. --- - . -.-. - .. -. --. / - .... . / .... --- ... .--. .. - .- .-.. .-.-.- / ... - --- .--. .-.-.- / ... . -. -.. / -- . -. .-.-.- / ... - --- .--. .-.-.- / ... --- ... .-.-.- / ... - --- .--. .-.-.-”

“It was a call for help…” Bucky let the pen fall to the floor as he stared at it. “But… There were never any bombings there. The germans never hit it… It was a place where prisoners of war were taken as well as our soldiers.”

“Hey… you alright?” Sam leaned closer, concern written quickly over his face before glancing down to the translation that Bucky had written beneath the morse code.

“Germans are coming. Stop. Protecting the hospital. Stop. Send Men. Stop. SOS. Stop.”

“Maybe they managed to keep it from being bombed?”

Bucky shook his head. “There wasn’t any anti-aircraft positioned there. They would have been sitting ducks…”

___

The two of them dropped to the ground. Each fingering their guns, sweeping forward from the quinjet to head towards the castle. Bucky turned his gaze up to it, looking at the way that it had crumbled, covered in moss and other growth. Something in his chest squeezing tight at the thought of what it might have looked like filled with the wounded and nurses. Barely coming back to his senses when Sam pressed past him.

“Nothing yet. Seems like the readings are coming from below.” The bird brain said softly, apparently feeling the same sort of reverence for the place that Bucky was.

“Guess we better find a way d-” Bucky grunted out the last word as he felt the floor crumble around him, scrambling as he fell to try finding a grip on the loose stones. Sam diving to his knees beside the other and clasping tightly to Bucky’s arm with both hands.

“I think you found it.” Groaning as he helped tug Bucky back onto solid ground inch by inch. “What the hell do they feed you?”

Bucky grit his teeth to bite back the remark he wanted to make. Instead turning on his knees to glance down at the hole that had just opened up. “Gimme your flashlight.”

“Use your own.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky nodded to the dark space before them. “Bit hard to do that.” Sam rolled his own eyes in turn before handing over the flashlight. Both peering in at what was exposed. Sweeping the light to try getting any sense of what might be hidden beneath.

“Oh look, more moss.”

“Fuck’s sake, Bird Brain, can you keep your beak shut for five minutes?” Bucky snarled, undoing the straps of his harness, carefully unclipping each section from the others before he was tying the ends together.

“So… boy scouts?” Sam was grinning playfully once more, already taking up the slack to tie to the nearest mound that looked like it wouldn’t fall apart on them. Testing the pull while Bucky tossed the makeshift rope down into the hole.

“Don’t even start. Keep in contact.”

Sam nodded, taking hold of the rope to help brace it as Bucky began his descent, the flashlight gripped between his teeth to keep both hands free, sweeping it back and forth in the hopes of actually finding whatever it was they were looking for.

But so far all he could see down here was mist.

Landing lightly on his feet, Bucky reached for one of the fallen guns. Switching the flashlight to his nondominant hand. “Doing an initial sweep. Nothing yet.”

There was something disconcerting about the mist. The way that it seemed to roll out from the opposite end of the room. Or how thick it was considering there wasn’t any sign of a source of water. Bucky frowned to himself, glancing over his shoulder to check his bearings before continuing forward.

It was colder down here, cold enough to bring a chill to even Bucky’s skin, something he wasn’t used to with the serum burning through his veins. And it seemed to only get colder with each step. The mist taking on an almost unnatural glow.

Bucky felt himself drawn further, his steps coming without thought, his attention focused inexorably ahead. The further away from the surface, the harder it was to ignore the pull. By the time he reached the end of the space, he was hardly aware of anything beyond the need to find the source. The coms nothing more than a mild buzz in his ears.

He gasped softly at the sight. Soft pulses of light coming from within what appeared to be a coffin made of ice, the frost grown so thick he couldn’t see what, or who, was inside. He could have sworn that he saw snowflakes flurrying just beneath frost, dancing in time. The pulses matched the energy spikes that Rhodey had found, matched the morse code warning about the germans.

His hand moved of its own accord, wiping a clean streak across the top of the coffin. Leaning forward until he could make out a face. His breath catching at the sight, heart stopping in his chest.

And then your eyes opened.

#Out of Time #panic's 25 days of christmas fics #Bucky x Reader #Bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #sam wilson #rhodey #post endgame #Soulmate au #time travel au #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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frivoloussuits · 7 years

Text

Scenes Aboard the U.S.S. Justice

Harvey closes situations, Donna knows everything, Jessica rules the roost, and Mike breaks all the rules. It’s all the same, but with one tiny twist-- they’re in space.

Relationships: Gen Word count: ~2.6K

Written for @suits100, prompt 40: “Outer Space!AU-- The cast of Suits as the crew on an international/intergalactic space station at the outskirts of the known universe.”

Senior Officer Harvey Specter dashes to the bridge of the U.S.S. Justice.

“About time you got here,” spits a junior officer hunched over a control panel.

“Oh, shut it, Litt, if you hadn’t botched the exit paperwork we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Excuse me? The customs board in this system is acting in bad faith, they never require a full inventory for other ships--”

“And if you were a competent quartermaster less obsessed with collecting mud samples it wouldn’t take until the day of departure to discover that we’re twenty rations short--”

“Both of you, settle down.” Captain Pearson, head of the Justice, sweeps onto the deck, and the two lower officials immediately fall silent. “Specter, this is happening because you utterly failed to show cultural sensitivity on your mission--”

“I used perfectly standard negotiation tactics!”

“That you should have known were drastically inappropriate in this solar system, so you’re going to fix this mess, and quickly. We were scheduled to make the jump to hyperspace an hour ago.”

Officer Specter glowers up at her, then snaps a switch on a nearby control panel, opening a comm link to the problematic customs officer. “Tate, you’re treating us unfairly because of the solar system where we originated, and I have to say I’m not surprised. It’s a pattern with you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about--”

“I have proof you lost General Cooper’s shipment to the Venetian-Martian Alliance’s last week. And when I say ‘lost,’ I mean ‘purposefully dumped out an airlock.’”

“You’re bluffing,” comes the response, but everyone on the bridge hears the quaver in Tate’s voice.

“Donna,” Officer Specter barks, “send File 45A90 over to Tate’s superiors at the capitol--”

“Upload commencing now,” says the android. Only those who know the Donna well can hear the definite element of snark in her otherwise obedient voice as she calls up File 45A90 and realizes it’s nothing but plans for the next all-ship fire drill.

“All right, all right!” Tate calls over the comm. “Get your ugly ship out of my system.”

“Who are you calling ugly?” Donna exclaims, but Officer Litt has already switched off the comm link and typed in the departure commands.

“30 seconds until the jump to hyperspace,” Captain Pearson says into a mic, broadcasting the declaration around the whole ship. “Head to your designated posts and strap in.”

3. 2. 1--

And they shoot into hyperspace, far above the speed of light.

Even if she didn’t know the layout of every inch of her ship, she could just follow the jazzy music wafting through the hallways.

“Officer Specter, may I come in?”

Captain Pearson hears the click of the lock, and the door to Officer Specter’s quarters slides open. The man himself is facing away from her and staring at the blue-white of hyperspace as it streaks by his window, and she doesn’t have to see his face to know there are shadows under his eyes, and maybe a tear on his cheek.

“Harvey.”

“Jessica, no.”

“You’re obviously still struggling. Bereavement leave is a perfectly legitimate reason to take time off--”

“You just made me Senior Officer because you need my help. We’re still patching holes from Hardman’s sabotage. I can’t just up and leave.”

The captain stays silent for a moment, trying to find a way to prove him wrong, but he’s not, dammit.

“A compromise, then, because you need to stop working yourself to near-death and then taking it out on local peoples and Louis,” she says. “Pick an enlisted member of our crew and make them your assistant.”

He spins around in his chair to give her a look. “If there’s any enlisted member on board who’s still willing to work with me, they don’t have enough sense for me to work with them.”

“Then take a look at some fresh candidates. We’ll be stopping by Cambridge for a couple of hours next week-- if you start reviewing applications now, you should be able to pick up someone who’s sensible and not terrified of you . . . yet.”

It’s a decent plan-- Cambridge Station is the home of Harvard Fleet Academy, the elite school where the Justice has recruited a truly disproportionate number of its crew members. Still, he can’t prevent a grimace from flickering across his face.

“I know you think you work better alone,” Captain Pearson murmurs, “but, if your only functional relationships are with me and our ship’s AI, you’re going to burn out before your time.”

It’s their second morning in hyperspace.

“Donna, I need the--”

“It’s open on your computer.”

“Oh, and also I didn’t have a chance to--”

“Your freshly brewed coffee is waiting on your desk, courtesy of one of my many lackeys.”

“Marry me?”

“I’ve got the venue picked out, just waiting for automaton marriage to be legalized.”

“Excellent,” Harvey snorts as he heads into his office and sits down to look over the list of resumes Donna’s compiled for him. He breezes through them, flicking each one off the screen after scanning it for only a few seconds, and quickly runs out of options.

“Donna--” he starts to complain.

“Harvey, don’t be unreasonable. Those were all perfectly qualified candidates.”

“I’m not looking for ‘qualified,’ I’m looking for another me.” He awaits a response, but none comes. “Donna?”

“Why don’t you put this aside for now? We’ve detected another hacking attempt from Hardman--”

“You okay?”

“Obviously! Do you really think that piece of filth could ever wound a goddess such as myself? But all the engineers will be scrambling to do damage control for the rest of the day, and they could use your oversight. I of course would never say a bad word against my primary programmer, but when it comes to group management Benjamin can be something of a . . .”

“Wuss? Pansy? Bumbling, stuttering pushover?”

“. . . I didn’t say a thing.”

Officer Specter throws himself into his new task, taking over Benjamin’s managerial role and leading the charge against Hardman’s latest attack. He doesn’t often deal directly with engineers anymore, not since his disastrous stint as an engineer working under Cameron Dennis left a bad taste in his mouth. Still, Jessica had sent him into Cameron’s clutches so that he could bring an awareness of engineering into his work as a commanding officer, and that’s exactly what he does, cleverly ordering priorities, hearing out concerns, and distributing tasks. The team finishes dealing with the hack hours ahead of schedule, thanks to his efficiency and also the surprisingly small amount of damage, and so Officer Specter sends the engineers off to a well-deserved rest.

Still, he can’t bring himself to go back to his own quarters-- they’re too quiet, too lonely, and there’s a limit to how many nights he’ll lose to chatting with Donna. For a supposedly emotionless, heartless android, she’s suspiciously successful at making him spill his deepest secrets. Instead he skulks down to the Justice’s server room, usually off-limits, and lets himself in using keycodes that technically belong only to his captain. Though he trusts his engineers, he intends to run the diagnostics again and check the ship’s systems himself, because he knows Hardman’s sly tricks better than anyone, and because he doesn’t have anything better to do.

With a hiss the doors open, letting him into the cavernous server room. The Justice is a fairly modern-looking ship, all soft blues and light woods and glass walls, but this hall looks like it’s borrowed from the next century. There are rows upon rows of pristine white servers, dotted by sparkling lights in blue and red and green. A gentle whirring hums through the air, punctuated by an occasional beep.

Officer Specter strides down the rows, looking for any clear physical irregularities before he starts in on the software, not that he expects to find any-- hackers usually aren’t careless enough to leave such obvious damage. But then he turns down a new row and finds an entire block of servers has gone dark, and there’s someone curled up on the floor in front of it.

And he’s springing forward and pinning this other intruder down and pressing the muzzle of his gun to their head. The intruder wakes up with a jolt and instinctively starts to struggle against the officer’s grip, before perceiving the cool metal against their brow and falling back against the ground, panting.

“You’re not Hardman,” Officer Specter growls.

“What-- what? Of course not!”

Without moving the gun an inch, he examines the other trespasser's features. He’s a male human, young, blond, with blue eyes and soft features currently bathed in white and jewel-colored light from still-functioning servers nearby. Definitely not Daniel Hardman, then.

“Are you one of his minions?”

“Hey, I have way better taste than that.”

“Then who are you?”

“An engineer.”

“Name your position, team, and current projects.”

“JSA-- Junior Security Architect. Infosec Team 2. My main objective is the deployment of the new Pilot Antivirus System, but I also work on testing and upkeep of core infrastructure.”

“Who in Command do you report to?”

“Officer Harvey Specter,” the intruder reels off smoothly before glancing down at the name badge of the man pinning him down. “. . . Dammit.”

Officer Specter smirks. “All right, kid. Nice try, but I happen to know every person on the teams that report to me, and JSA Sorkin you ain’t. Last chance to give me a straight answer.”

“I’m Mike Ross, born on Earth? And, uh, did you hear about the drugs bust on Atarash?”

“Oh, you have to be kidding.”

“In my defense, I’ve never been involved with the supply side in the drug business before. I think that worked in my advantage-- if the police had any sort of profile on me ahead of time, I doubt I would have been let into the spaceport.”

“The spaceport where you decided to use the U.S.S. Justice as your personal getaway car,” Officer Specter deadpans.

“Well, I figured the police would never see that particular plot twist coming, and I was right.”

“How has nobody on the ship found you yet?”

“I think because Donna likes me?”

He does a double take. “What did you just say?”

“As your ship’s managing AI she knows essentially everything, so she lets me into hiding places, warns me when people are coming, present times excepted, gives me work to do--”

“You’re a drug dealer, and apparently not even a good one,” Officer Specter scoffs. “What the hell kind of work can you do?”

Mike narrows his eyes, considering. “What if I told you I consume knowledge at a rate that makes humans, aliens and emotion-capable AIs jealous and I’ve actually passed the Earth starship service exam?”

“I’d say you’re an even worse liar than I thought.”

“You’re a senior officer, you know more than almost anybody about rules and projects and current schedules on the Justice. Ask me anything.”

“Tell me about Sarbox.”

“Sarbox is a research project commenced five years back, directed by Drs. Sarbanes and Oxley of the U.S. Department of Research. It collects data from over half a million spaceships including the Justice and uses it to verify studies by private corporations, which have famously doctored their conclusions in the past.”

“All right except for one thing-- the Justice quit the study three years back.”

“Active collection, yes, but Sarbox is still drawing on and analyzing radiation data that the Justice is gathering for SOL’s UV mapping project.”

Harvey Reginald Specter does not stoop to gaping, but he feels tempted. “How can you know all that?”

“I told you, I have an incredible memory, and Donna likes me. She’s been having me read up on the Justice, and she’s had me do odd jobs that let me get even more familiar with how things work. I’ve been helping with the Hardman attack, I identified a breach on this particular server and switched it off to contain it, probably before the official engineers even started scanning for errors.”

Harvey stares. “If you’re so competent on a ship, why didn’t you go to a training school in the first place?”

“Trevor-- the guy who set up the drug deal, you probably saw his mug shot in the coverage-- went to undergrad with me, and he convinced me to sell answers to a multivariate calc test. Turns out we sold it to the dean’s daughter.” Mike sighs. “I lost my scholarship, I got kicked out of school, and I have been wishing for a way back ever since.”

Officer Specter rocks back, finally pulling away his gun, and calls up to the ceiling, “Donna, would you like to explain yourself?”

The answer comes back, “You said you weren’t looking for ‘qualified.’”

He stares at the speaker above him for a full twenty seconds before bursting into laughter. “Mike Ross, I do believe this was your job interview.”

“Wait, what?”

“I need an assistant. Technically, I need an assistant who trained at Harvard Fleet Academy to become a commander and preferably graduated with honors.”

“. . . That’s not me.”

“If I call a certain astrobiologist over at the Cambridge station, it could be. She owes me an awful lot of favors.”

“. . . And that’s forgery and fraud.”

“You’re a genius, I’m seeing it now.” Officer Specter rolls his eyes.

“Hey, I don’t have a problem with forgery and fraud, I’m just making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“My eyes are wide open, Mike.”

“So . . . Donna arranged this whole thing,” Mike says with wonder, then frowns. “Including the part where you nearly shot me.”

“I hacked his gun first,” the android cuts in entirely too merrily. “If he pulled the trigger, it’d switch into shock mode, backfire and just knock him out instead.”

Officer Specter glares, but he can’t stop the smile twitching at the ends of his lips.

“So, Mike, will you take the job?” she continues.

“Yes!” Then he looks at Harvey, slightly embarrassed, and amends, “If you’ll have me.”

Harvey at last pushes himself off Mike’s lap and stows his gun. “Yeah, I will. Once we get to Cambridge Station, you’re hired, and in the meantime keep sneaking around and doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

He reaches out a hand and pulls Mike up as well. “Hey, you wouldn’t by any chance be the person who ate twenty meals’ worth of rations without permission, would you?”

“Um, yes?”

“You nearly got Officer Litt fired.”

“Oh, God,” he exclaims. “Donna said it wouldn’t be a problem . . .”

“It wasn’t. Keep up the good work,” Harvey says with a smirk before heading back down the row and completing his check of the servers. If he swings by the spot where Mike is sitting more times than strictly necessary, well, that’s between him and the Donna.

He returns to his quarters exhausted that night, but as he surveys the blue of hyperspace streaming past his window he smiles, for the first time in months.

#suits100fanwork #harvey specter #mike ross #donna paulsen #jessica pearson #louis litt #my fic

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