#gumnutfic

[gumnut-logic]

Learn

Title: Learn Part 5 of 6, some time after Laugh Author: Gumnut 10-14 Aug 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015 Rating: Teen Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch. Word count: 4313 Spoilers & warnings: None Author's note: Unlike the previous chapters of this fic, this one ends at a point that obviously needs to be continued. I wouldn’t really call it a cliffhanger, but part 6 is definitely needed to finish it off. As to the content - you wanted whump, you got whump, lots of it. Not graphic, but still, poor Virgil. Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother. 

Virgil woke to dust and pain.

Shoving his eyes open didn’t give him much further information other than dim light, blur and haze. Blinking he forced his vision to clear somewhat, his head threatened to spin him away, but he grit his teeth. Dust and pain were not a good combination, he knew that much.

He was on his back, in dim shadowy light, on lumpy hard rock. His hand twitched and his fingernails caught dirt. Experimenting, he lifted his arm. It worked. Ached with what was likely a mass of bruises, but it still worked. He held his hand in front of his face. He could see it, his fingers moving in the dim light.

There was no glove on his hand.

Where was his uniform? Uh.

What the hell had happened?

He was in civvies. His usual flannel shirt, grey undershirt. His hand brushed his thigh. Jeans.

He lifted a leg, but was told in immediate and no uncertain terms that it was a bad idea. His leg seemed fine, but his gut screamed loud enough to shut down most of the processes in his brain. The world greyed for a moment.

No.

Stay awake.

He forced his eyes open again.

Dust floated in the air.

His head was at an angle enough to see partway down his body. And what he saw was enough to let him know that moving pretty much anything was out of the question.

Something was sticking out the right side of his abdomen. A three-quarter inch thick mangled rod of metal protruded by about four inches. His grey undershirt was soaking up red.

Panic hit him. Oh, god. Get it out, get it out!

No.

You can’t move.

Reason clamped down on him and strangled his scream into a whimper.

“Mr Virgil?”

Huh?

“Mr Virgil?” A high-pitched voice. A kid? There were scrabbling sounds from his left and one of the shadows got darker. Without thinking, Virgil grabbed the edge of his flannel shirt and covered the wound, hiding it.

“Mr Virgil, are you okay?” A young boy of about eight, coated in dirt, sporting scratches and a bleeding scrape above his left eye appeared amongst the floating dust.

Daniel. His name was Daniel.

And it explained so much. Virgil was in Wellington with Angela and the kids art group.

Several years ago, Virgil had rescued Angela from a gondola lift on the South Island. She had been the last one to be evacuated and, to keep her calm, he got her talking. Turned out she was an art teacher who helped disadvantaged kids in Wellington. Virgil found himself interested and investigated further. For the last couple of years, he had been dropping in when he could to help with the kids. He’d even learnt a little himself. The kids didn’t know of his involvement with International Rescue. He was just Mr Virgil who liked to play with paint.

Virgil liked it that way.

So he was in Wellington, at the school with the kids. What had happened?

“Mr Virgil?”

He blinked and realised he hadn’t answered. He croaked, “Daniel, are you okay?”

Wrong question. Daniel’s face immediately crumpled and he burst into tears, throwing himself at Virgil’s chest. A good thirty kilos of kid hit his body, forcing out a gasp of pain. “Mr Virgil!” Daniel jumped back, tears still falling.

“I’m…I’m okay.” He forced it out between his teeth. Breathe. In. Out.

He needed help. He needed it now.

Civvies, but ever since John’s adventure at the charity auction, Brains had embedded comms in all their clothes. He poked his collar. “J-John?”

“Virgil? What’s wrong?”

“W-we have a situation.”

-o-o-o-

Scott was in the shower when the alarm went off.

Damn it.

Soap was hurriedly washed out of his hair, the water cut off and a towel deployed. He left wet footprints in the hallway.

There were no smart ass comments when he hit the comms room, however. Both his brothers’ expressions were more shocked than anything else. John was hovering in the middle of the lounge, a hologram of a collapsed building in front of him.

“Report!”

“St Bart’s College has been bombed.” Gordon’s voice was hoarse.

Scott stared at him. “St Bart’s as in Virgil’s St Bart’s?”

John interrupted. “Preliminary reports claim a student disgruntled with his grades is responsible. A good percentage of the building has collapsed…including the section where Virgil was assisting with his class.” Scott opened his mouth, but John continued. “Virgil has made contact.” Oh thank god. But John had a calm expression and this wasn’t it. “He’s injured, but conscious. I have no readouts on his status as he is not wearing his uniform.” John swallowed, obviously frustrated at the lack of information he usually had. “There are multiple lifesigns under the rubble. They need us.”

Scott didn’t hesitate. “Gordon, you have Thunderbird 2, Alan, you’re with him.” He clung to his towel, moving before he had even finished speaking. “Thunderbirds are go.”

-o-o-o-

John had a lot of questions.

Daniel had a lot of questions.

Virgil had no answers.

Breathing was beginning to hurt. “John, just gimme a sec.” A breath.

“Virgil-“

“They are on their way. They will be here soon. I get it. Just, I need to breathe, bro.” He tried to keep it light, but there was a gasp in his breath he couldn’t hide.

John went silent. Virgil closed his eyes a moment and tried not to move.

“Mr Virgil?”

He forced his eyes open. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Daniel? Are any of the other students with you?”

“I’ll look.” The boy turned away and began to crawl back through the gap in the rubble.

Virgil reached to grab his ankle. “No! Stay he-“ Augh, oh god, don’t move, damnit! The boy slipped away, leaving Virgil by himself.

“Virgil?” No, never entirely by himself.

“John, how many life readings are you receiving from the classroom?” Or what was left of it.

“Seven.” The single word held all the apology and sympathy his brother could convey. Seven out of fifteen. His eyes slid closed again.

“Virgil?”

Was it possible to get sick of hearing your own name? “I-I’m here.”

“You still haven’t given me a report on your injuries.”

“Daniel w-was here.”

“Tell me, Virgil.”

He took a breath. “M-mostly okay. Maybe concussion. Worst is ab-abdominal. Right side. Maybe rebar. C-n’t move.” Abdominal was never good. He dreaded to think what was happening down there. And how much time he actually had left.

John was quiet a moment, then the channel switched over to a background sound ever so familiar. Thunderbird One. “Virg?”

“Hey, Scott. S-sorry to r-ruin your day off.”

“I was in the shower, Virgil. Very inconvenient.”

“G-good practise.” Virgil smirked just slightly.

“Next time I’m making you a contender in the towel Olympics.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Hey, if you got out of bed at a reasonable hour, you wouldn’t be caught so often.”

“Your ‘r-reasonable hours’ are anything but, f-flyboy.”

Scott’s laugh was forced, but it was a valiant effort. “I’m on approach now, Virgil. Won’t be long.”

“Gordon, f-flying?”

“Of course.”

“Not a scratch.”

“Too late.”

“W-What?!”

“He clipped her wing exiting the hanger.”

“What the hell?!”

Somewhere in the distance outside his tomb of rock and dust he could just hear the roar of TB1’s approach. “Landing now.”

“Scott!”

“Sorry, can’t talk. Busy rescuing.” His grin danced down the comline.

Virgil glared at the slab of wall hanging over him.

-o-o-o-

The college grounds were a mess.  One building was levelled, no lifesigns. Another, the one pinning his brother, had sagged to one side. Half up, half down, entirely precarious. Fourteen lives hung in the balance under the rubble. One was his brother’s.

On landing, he was immediately approached by the site head and briefed. Moments later, Thunderbird Two’s engines took over the soundscape, her massive green bulk landing beside her sister before pushing herself up on her landing struts to reveal Module Two beneath her wings.

“Gordon, we need both pods, pick and throw.” It would have helped to have Virgil in his exo-suit. “Alan, you have one, I’ll have the other. Gordon, you’re on heavy lifting with Thunderbird Two. We’re going to have to take this one slowly. This house of cards is just asking to fall.”

-o-o-o-

The rock above him was beginning to blur when he was startled by movement in the gap Daniel had disappeared into.

“Mr Virgil! I found Marissa, Johnny, Alex and Jana.” The eight-year-old clambered into the space beside him and four other children, ragged and tear streaked, followed him in. “Ms Angela won’t wake up. Neither will Chrissie, and I couldn’t find anyone else.”

Virgil stared up at the five faces peering down at him. Alex was holding his arm awkwardly, Jana had a large scrape down one side of her face and appeared unsteady, but the other two seemed okay.

“O-okay, Daniel, good job.” He tried not to spare a thought for Chrissie or Angela, knowing in his heart that at least one of them was dead. “Are any of you hurt?”

Alex nodded, but Jana didn’t respond. “Jana?” He couldn’t reach her from where he was lying. “Daniel, can you please check on Jana? B-bring her closer?”

“Jana! Mr Virgil wants you to come over here!”

Virgil blinked. Not quite what he had in mind. But it worked. Jana started and clambered over the rocks to Virgil’s side. He looked up at her. It was hard to see in the dim light, but her expression was glazed. The scrape was seeping blood and plasma. “Jana? Can you hear me?”

She blinked slowly, looking down at him. “Mr Virgil?” Her voice was a whisper. “I don’t feel very good.”

“Johnny?”

“Yes?” “Mr Virgil?” The answer came from two sources – his collar and the young boy in front of him. He sighed. “John, meet Johnny. He’s going to help look after Jana.”

“Hello, Johnny.” John’s gentle voice bounced off the rocks.

“Who’s that?” Four of the children crowded even closer. Jana still had a vague look on her face and was staring at nothing in particular.

Virgil’s concern for the girl grew even more. “John is my…from International Rescue and he is going to help us.”

“International Rescue? Really?” Daniel looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head.

Virgil couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Yes, there are two Thunderbirds outside right now. And they are going to help us get out of here.” He swallowed as a wave of dizziness wafted out of nowhere. “But in the meantime, Johnny, I need you to help Jana. She is not feeling very w-well, and she needs you to look after her.”  

The young boy eyed the wavering girl before shifting over and wrapping an arm around her. “Okay, I’ll look after her.” He seemed hesitant, but at the same time, having a job to do appeared to stabilise him too. Jana slowly looked up at Alex before resting her head on his shoulder.

Virgil drew in a shaky breath. “John, how’s it going? I have five children, two with injuries.”

“Sorry, Virgil. Scott says it is slow going. They have to secure large parts of the building remains to prevent further collapse.” As if to emphasize that statement, dust suddenly poured through a gap just on the other side of Marissa. She squealed and scooted forward, directly into Virgil’s left side.

He gasped and bit off a scream. Spots swam in his vision. “Pl-please…”

“Don’t touch him!” Daniel shouted at her and dragged her back. “He’s hurt.”

Marissa’s eyes widened and filled with tears. She began to cry.

“Virgil?” John’s voice was beyond concerned.

“I’m…”He tried to breathe without moving. “I’m…o-okay.” Focus. Calm. He reached out a trembling hand to Marissa, managing to catch her knee. “I-it’s okay. W-was an ac-cident.” He had to shut his eyes for a moment as another wave of dizziness hit him. God.  “Scott? M-may need t-to hurry.”

-o-o-o-

IR pods were of the most efficient design possible, but this was a haphazard game of pickup sticks with lives as the prize.

And they weren’t moving fast enough.

Each chunk of masonry had to be checked for possible movement before moving it. Keep everything balanced. They had had to start on the opposite side of the building to where Virgil and the children were due to stability issues and it was taking forever.

“Scott.”

“I know, John.”

“I know you know and I know. I’m sorry.”

There had to be a faster way than this. He paused a moment taking a few extra precious seconds to reassess the structure. Six lifesigns where his brother was. Plus one in a larger area just beyond him. Seven more in the remains of another classroom, two of whom they had already managed to rescue. Virgil was under a collapsed wall, its remains supported by the collapsed roof in the corner of the former classroom. Beyond that wall, a shallow crawl space had been created by another wall that appeared to be supported by nothing other than tables and chairs. That wall had fallen before the roof and the roof was piled on top of it in pieces which in turn was supporting Virgil’s wall. A wrong move and all seven lives, including that of his brother, would be lost.

All they could do was pick and throw, gently removing the weight from above, clearing the way for TB2 to get a grip on the masonry and secure it.

“Virgil, you with me?”

“H-here.” His voice was shaky.

“You’ve done it properly this time, little brother. You wanting to test my skill set or something?”

“Or-or something.”

Scott swallowed, forcing his bravado. “Well, just as well you’ve got such a cool brother, because this is no challenge, you hear me? We’ll have you out of there in no time.”

“G-great, Scott.”

“Yeah, yeah, Doc Brown. You hang in there, you hear me?”

“Do my-my best.”

“You better.”

-o-o-o-

“Your brother works for International Rescue?”

Virgil blearily turned to look at Daniel. “Yeah, S-scott, he’s f-field commander.”

“Wow, that is so cool.”

Virgil’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Yeah, ‘tis.”

“Have you ever got to fly in a Thunderbird?”

“Yeah.” He frowned, his head was getting foggier.

“Which one?”

“Two.” Of course.

“Not One? I think One is the coolest. Shaped like a rocket and everything. Then there is Three. That one is a rocket. It would be so cool to ride on Three.” Virgil let the boy’s chatter echo around him. At least it was keeping him and the other children distracted from their situation. He closed his eyes a moment and let himself drift.

No.

Stay awake!

“T-two’s pretty cool.”

“I guess, but what’s with the colour? That green is so not cool.”

“Is, t-too. Mom’s colour.”

“Whose colour?”

“Mom’s.” Virgil shook himself, and gasped. No, no movement. Stay…stay awake.

“Mine’s red. Like Thunderbird Three.”

“E-emerald green. L-like the grass after rain.” Mom.

“Virgil.”

Rain.

“Virgil.”

Thunderbird Green.

“Virgil!”

He started. “Oh, god. John?”

“You hanging in there, big brother?”

“He’s your brother too?” Daniel was staring at him.

“Uh, huh.”

“Daniel, can you hear me?” Great, now John was talking around him.

“Mr John?”

“Yes, you are being very good, Daniel. Now I need you to help Mr Virgil stay awake. He has to stay awake. Do you think you can help him with that?”

“Is he tired?”

“Yes, but he can’t sleep. Not yet, not until his brothers get you out of there. See if you can keep him talking.”

“Okay, I can try.”

“Thank you, Daniel.” A pause. “Virgil?”

“Huh?”

“Scott and Alan are on pick and flick. They will get to you soon. Your job is to stay awake and hang in there. Can you do that?

“C-can.”

“You better.”

-o-o-o-

“What if we reinforced this section here and tunnelled our way to that crawl space.”

“Risky.”

“I know that, John. We’re running out of time.”

“Virgil’s isn’t the only life at stake here.”

“I know that, too. For god’s sake, John.”

“I’m voting for the crawl space. We are getting nowhere with pick and flick. The pile is too fragile. We can reinforce it from beneath and make our way through that way.” Gordon’s voice was tired and on the edge of desperate. Despite rescuing seven people already, four of them children, nothing they had tried so far had gotten them any closer to their brother. The strain was showing. They had no doubt that with an abdominal perforation, chances were that Virgil’s time was severely limited. They had to move faster.

But without risking more.

Scott stared at the hologram and weighed their chances.

“Deploy the jacks.”

-o-o-o-

“Why don’t we sing a song?”

What?

Things were getting fuzzy. Daniel…

“How about Camptown Races?” A girl’s voice.

“Ugh, I hate that chicken.”

“Mulberry Bush?”

“Nah. Mr Virgil, do you have a favourite song?”

Mr Virgil? Oh, that was him. He blinked repeatedly attempting to bring his brain back online. “Um. Uh, I-I don’t sing.”

“You don’t sing? Why not?”

He screwed his eyes shut a moment. “Um…”

“Why don’t you sing, Mr Virgil?”

Hurts.

“Mom…died.”

“Your Mom died? Really?”

There was something in the boy’s voice that brought Virgil back into focus abruptly. “I-it was a l-long time ago. D-don’t worry.”

But it didn’t seem to be enough and Daniel stopped talking. He turned his head towards the boy, blinking blearily. “Daniel?”

“Do you think we are going to die?”

“N-no, no, Intern-tional Rescue will get us out. Th-they will.”

“But what if they don’t?” Tears were appearing in Daniel’s eyes. There were sobs from the other children.

A breath. By force of will. “Because I know they will, Daniel. I trust them with my life. I-I trust them w-with yours.” He sagged and held back a whimper. Please, Scott, hurry.

He focussed on breathing for the next moment or two, the children’s sobs slowly dropping off. Somewhere in the distance there was an erratic hammering.

“I- I know a song.” The words were out before he could think about it any further.

Four pairs of eyes fixed on him. Jana was still awake, but not fully aware of her surroundings.

“Can you sing it, Mr Virgil?”

“I c-can try.” Using as little of his stomach muscles as possible, he drew in a breath.

Listen, my son. Listen and learn Be what you can And make what you will be

The tune was slow and gentle, but his voice was scratchy and broken and he wasn’t doing it justice. He suspected his mother had made up the song. Some of his earliest memories were of her singing it softly.

L-Love with your all Share with your heart And know I am there for you And will always be

Maybe she was. He didn’t know. All he knew is that she was gone.

If you can hear A-answer If you have v-voice Sing For the world is unkind And it needs your t-touch.

There was dust in his throat and it brought tears to his eyes.

Then he was coughing and the world disappeared in a blaze of pain.

-o-o-o-

It became a tunnel under the debris. Jacks held up everything but even then there was only enough room to crawl on his belly. Virgil was their expert on this kind of excavation. He would have known exactly where to dig, what support was needed, the safest way in…focus! It was no good wishing for what you didn’t have. Work with what you do have.

His father’s voice echoed inside his head.

Securing what he hoped was the last tunnel jack, he lasered through the remaining chunk of collapsed masonry. Shining his flashlight into the gap beyond, he encountered a forest of school desk legs. Art tables. Strong, sturdy, flecked with paint.

“Gordon, I’m through. Follow with the jacks and secure.”

“FAB.”

He dragged himself into the darkness, the tough material of his uniform doing its job as he scraped over rock and grit.

His light landed on the face of a woman, her eyes closed. He reached out and touched her dust-coated throat. A thready pulse. “Alan, we have a survivor, unknown female adult. I need you in here with a drag board.”

“FAB, Scott.”

Behind him he could hear Gordon lugging in the jacks. At least being smaller the aquanaut would be able to navigate the table legs with more ease than Scott was managing.

As he moved the darkness lightened to reveal a young girl. Not a survivor. There had been so many today. He passed her by.

He could hear singing.

Virgil?

Shuffling on his stomach he headed slightly to his left, bending his shoulders sideways to get around the table legs and avoid a tipped over chair. He dare not touch anything before the jacks were in place. Beams of light flicking around behind reassured him that his brothers were making that happen.

The words of the song in his brother’s strained voice reached his ears. Goddamnit, Virgil! He shone the light around desperately attempting to find that hole between the crawl space and that bolthole his brother was in. There, no….damnit….there.

He shifted just as the song burst into a fit of coughing, a cut off scream and a painful moan.

“Virgil!”

No answer.

“Gordon, get a jack over here!” He turned his head only to find his brother right beside him, the lightweight jack already in his hand.

“Crawl space is secure as it is going to get.” His smaller brother, lithely slipped between the last of the table legs and set up the jack to support the opening.

Children were crying.

“Gordon, get in there. Get the kids out.”

His brother didn’t hesitate, slipping easily into the small hole. “Hey, kids. It is time to get out of here.”

“Who are you?” The challenge was little more than a sob.

“International Rescue, at your service.”

“Are you Mr Virgil’s brother? Mr John?”

“Uh, no, I’m Mr Gordon. Now kids we need to hurry. Mr Scott needs to get in here and help Mr Virgil.”

And then there were kids filing out.

He did his best to smile at them, but every fibre in his being needed to be in there with Virgil. Gordon appeared last, helping a little girl. The expression on his face made it clear he was torn, not wanting to leave, but there were kids to care for and he knew his responsibility. “I’ll be back asap.” His eyes latched onto Scott’s and the eldest steeled himself.

As soon as his brother was out of the way, Scott made it to the gap and squeezed himself through. His flashlight painted his brother in pale skin and red blood.

Not daring to think, Scott immediately set into a first aid assessment. His brother had lost consciousness and no prodding or calling of his name got any response.  His pulse was fast. There was a darkening bruise on his right temple, but it was the spreading stain of red at his waist that had Scott gently pulling away his red flannelette shirt to reveal the injury he knew was underneath.

Scott bit his lip to hold back his reaction. “No challenge, bro. None.” He drew in a breath. “Gordon, we need another drag board in here.”

“Here already, Scott.” His brother’s head poked through the gap. “Kids are with the paramedics.”

Scott didn’t respond. “He’s impaled on the wall’s rebar. We’re going to have to cut him out. Pad the wound while I try to find a way to free him.”

Gordon palmed the board’s heavy duty first aid kit while Scott attempted to find a way to get to the other side of his brother in this cramped space. He ended up straddling him, one knee either side of his hips and bending awkwardly to see where that blasted piece of metal entered his brother.

There was blood everywhere.

A combination of his flashlight and his fingertips found the entrance wound and the tiny amount of space below it. He didn’t want to move his brother at all, but getting the laser down there… Screw it, he’d obliterate the wall if he had to. “Gordon, hold him.”

His brother anchored Virgil with his own weight, holding him as still as possible. Scott activated the laser and cut through stone and metal, severing the impaling rebar from the fallen wall, leaving the chunk still inside his brother, but freeing him for evacuation.

“Okay, pad it and ready for transport.” His fingers were covered in his brother’s blood.

No time to think.

Fistfuls of wound wadding later, his brother was stabilised for transport.

A small sigh and Virgil stopped breathing.

“Oh, goddamnit, don’t you dare.”

Gordon grabbed the drag board and lined it up with his second eldest brother. A count to three and they lifted Virgil onto the flat surface, Scott tipping his brother’s head back and forcing breath into his lungs. Don’t you dare, Virgil. Don’t you…

“No pulse.” Gordon’s voice broke.

“Goddamnit, Virgil!” He let the anger fuel him. Counting in his head as Gordon began compressions and he breathed for his brother. Why don’t you listen? The world needs you.

I need you.

Alan poked his head in, face pale, wordlessly handing over a bag valve mask. Scott grabbed it and placed it over his brother’s face, pumping filtered air into his lungs. His fingers sought his brother’s pulse. C’mon, Virg, please.

There was a cough under the mask.

Gordon paused, hovering to resume.

A soft thud beneath Scott’s fingertips. Another. Virgil’s chest rose by itself.

Okay.

“Move.” His brothers moved in concert, not a word said. Virgil was likely in hypovolemic shock and could crash again at any time.

They moved.

-o-o-o-

Part 6 - Love

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #whump #lots of whump #gumnutfic

[gumnut-logic]

The Subject of Virgil

Title: The Subject of Virgil

Sequel and epilogue to ‘Access Denied’

Author: Gumnut

25 - 31 Jul 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Teen

Summary:

Gordon was in the kitchen getting himself a drink of water when there was an almighty yell, a loud crash, and something flew off the balcony above and into the pool. 

He frowned, only to sag slightly as the piano stool floated gently back to the surface. 

“Ah, hell.”

Word count: 8388

Spoilers & warnings: Season 2 in general. Occurs sometime before 2.07 Home on the Range. Possibly AU due to the time length involved. You can read this without reading ‘Access Denied’, but it would make more sense if you read the first fic first. Angst and a little whump.

Author's note: Apparently I was a little too mean to Virgil in the last fic and he demanded some reparations – that and I felt ‘Access Denied’ didn’t quite end the way it should have. Having said that, once again this fic ended up somewhere completely unplanned (there is an entire scene missing that I’ll have to use in another fic). Whether it is satisfactory to meet the demands of the first fic, I don’t know. But I hope you enjoy it anyway.  

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

 Gordon was in the kitchen getting himself a drink of water when there was an almighty yell, a loud crash, and something flew off the balcony above and into the pool.

 He frowned, only to sag slightly as the piano stool floated gently back to the surface.

 “Ah, hell.”

 He put the glass down and rubbed his eyes before wandering over to the main table and hitting the comms. “John, what is Scott’s status?”

 “On his way back, ETA fifteen minutes.”

 “Grandma and Alan?”

 “Still in Sydney. Apparently, she has dragged him into The Rocks. We may not see them for a while.” Gordon smirked. Grandma was notoriously attached to craft markets and would, no doubt, arrive home dressed in tie-dye and sandals, sporting jars of homemade jams and pickles.

 “Kayo still in Argentina?”

 “No, Peru.” Gordon didn’t bother asking why Peru. Since the incident with Virgil’s exo-suit, she had hardly been home, scouring the planet for their nemesis. If she ever managed to get her hands on the Mechanic, they would likely no longer have a nemesis. Kayo was pissed. And Virgil was right, she was scary.

 Fortunately or unfortunately, that left just Brains on the island with Gordon, and he was pretty much as irate as Kayo. Though his anger management tended to involve locking himself in his lab to conspire with physics and chemistry. Multiple cool new gadgets had been birthed just recently as a result.

 Gordon’s sudden lack of conversation had John filling in the silence. “How’s Virgil?”

 “The piano stool just landed in the pool.”

 An exhale. “Ah, hell.”

 “My thoughts exactly.”

 There was another silence. “Well, you better go yank it out. Scott’s ETA is now five minutes.”

 “Thanks, John.”

 “FAB.”

 -o-o-o-

 He managed to fish the stool out of the pool quite easily. It looked a little worse for wear and was soaked, but some time in the sun would fix that.

 Looking up at the balcony revealed no sign of his second eldest brother. Gordon bit his lip. He loved his brother but be damned if he understood him.

 He eyed his mother’s piano stool and sighed. Better go check that Virgil hadn’t done anything more stupid.

 Climbing the stairs two at a time he entered the comms room and into the wake of his brother’s anger. Music sheets were scattered everywhere, the piano had been shoved almost to the far window and a glass, its former contents in halo, lay in pieces all over the hardwood floor.

 Gordon would have said it was unlike his usually calm brother, that there was definitely something wrong, but that had already been clearly demonstrated earlier that day. No conclusions needed to be drawn as they were already known. This was just the result.

 Perhaps it was a sign of Virgil’s calm personality. Gordon doubted the villa would still be standing if it had happened to him. As it was, he had the urge to destroy something anyway, preferably the Mechanic.

 He couldn’t see his brother at first, but stepping further into the room, he spotted him sitting out on the floor of the balcony. Almost at the edge. His favourite flannel shirt was missing, hopefully not also a victim of this moment, just his grey undershirt hunched over in the late afternoon light. Gordon didn’t hesitate, just walked out the doors and sat down beside his brother.

 “You know Scott is due in any minute. It’s going to get blustery out here.”

 No answer.

 Virgil had his head in his hands, one leg stuck out to the side awkwardly as if he had half fallen into position. Unsurprisingly he was wearing shorts, no doubt to keep the pressure off the large bandaged burn on his left thigh.

 “I’m not going to ask if you are okay, as it is obvious that you’re not.”

 No comment. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

 “But I will ask if there is anything that we can do to help.”

 Still no answer.

 Another moment and the pool began to retract and a distant roar encroached on the sounds of the island.

 “You sure you want to stay out here?”

 If there was a response, it was lost in the roar of approaching Thunderbird.

 A click and the large glass doors both behind them and beneath in the kitchen slid slowly closed, protecting the villa’s interior.

 “Okay, but I’m borrowing your hairdryer this time.”

 Thunderbird One had come to a vertical above the island and was dropping slowly, ever controlled by her pilot. The roar of approaching exhaust enveloped them, hot air swirling and catching his hair. Gordon held his breath, resistant to breathing the fumes, harmless though they were – after all Thunderbird One was hardly your typical rocket and the fuel it ran on, far more kind to its environment. Didn’t mean it didn’t have its own flavour, though. A cough and a splutter. Yes, he’d be scraping that out of the back of his throat for the next hour.

 Then the exhaust was consumed by the hanger and the long, tall body of the rocket plane was slowly passing. The cockpit came into view and one exhausted, dirty and frowning Scott Tracy peered out at them momentarily before disappearing below the edge of the balcony.

 “You know he’s going to be pissed.” But he could barely hear himself, and wouldn’t until the pool finally slid back into place.

 Virgil hadn’t moved. His head still in his hands, but now his hair was whipped into a frenzy. Gordon had no doubt his was little different. He also needed another shower.

 As the pool closed, the doors behind them retracted again and the island returned to its former idyllic tropicalness.

 Of course, there was now a countdown in place. Scott would be here any moment.

 Gordon sighed.

 “I’m really sorry, Virgil. It sucks. Kayo will find him eventually and he will regret everything.”

 Everything.

 There was the sound of a sob. Gordon’s eyes widened and then his heart tore in two.

 Virgil was crying.

 He wrapped an arm around his brother, gently turning the bigger man into an awkward embrace, hampered by his leg. A hand ended up full of trembling dusty dark hair, and then Virgil was shaking against him, letting out not the anger, but the anguish behind it.

 Hurried footsteps slowed behind them, and Gordon blinked away his own welling tears to look up at his eldest brother.

 Scott was filthy. Soot and mud, the main contributors, almost hid the blue of his uniform. But it was the echoed horror in his eyes that marked his appearance more than anything.

 In Gordon’s arms, Virgil was muttering between his sobs. “I’m sorry.” A harsh heaved in breath strangled by tears. “Sorry. Sorry. So-rry.” Gordon squeezed tighter, partly to reassure, partly to keep his own insides in place.

 Scott crouched down, placing his hand on his shuddering brother’s back. “Not your fault, Virgil.”

 A shuddering gasp. Virgil’s head shot up and Gordon saw his face for the first time since this morning. Pale skin and tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes screamed without sound. “But it is. I should never have been out there in the first place.”

 Scott’s lips thinned. “If you hadn’t been there those people would have died.”

 The anger returned as his brother pulled away. “If I hadn’t… she wouldn’t have gotten burnt!”

 “She would have been dead, Virgil! You saved her life and the lives of her family.” Scott had fire in his eyes, determination, clarity and defence of his brother, but Gordon knew it was also fuelled by fear.

 Fear of what this could mean.

 “C’mon, Virg, you know he’s right. You did good today. Accidents happen. We’re not perfect. It’s gonna happen whether we like it or not.”

 Those pain-filled brown eyes caught his. “How do I tell a ten-year-old girl that she is going to be scarred for life because her rescue operative froze in the middle of saving her. Literally held her over the flames, Gordon. Simply because he couldn’t keep it together.”

 Gordon’s voice was quiet. “You did your best.”

 “Well, I guess that is just not good enough anymore.” He pulled away, hands scrabbling at the decking as he struggled to stand. Scott straightened and reached down to help him. The moment Virgil was on his feet, he pulled away and limped back into the house.

 Gordon stood up, watching Scott as his eyes followed his brother. A door slammed in the distance.

 Blue eyes flickered back to his own.

 “Damn.”

 -o-o-o-

 It hurt to walk, but Virgil didn’t care. Hobbling through the house, he stumbled out the back door and slammed it behind him.

 His feet hit the gravel path and he was moving. Where, he wasn’t sure, he just had to move away. Get away. Be somewhere else.

 The look in Scott’s eyes…it asked questions Virgil wasn’t ready to answer. He scrubbed a hand over his wet face, the fingers of his left hand complained loudly. A flinch and a flashback of memory.

 This morning has been so normal. A situation, a spin down his chute, Gordon on his tail. Both Thunderbird One and Two attending a rockslide just north of Santiago in Chile. They had been pulling people to safety by the droves. The side of the mountain had collapsed on a small town. While Gordon had been manoeuvring the earthmoving pod, Virgil had donned his exo-suit and had been pulling people out of buildings who couldn’t get out by themselves.

 He hadn’t even thought about it. It had been months since the incident. He and Scott had been down to the module bay every day, confronting any issues that popped up, which had been surprisingly few. If anything, Virgil had felt that Scott had been having more issues than he had. Apparently, it helped to hardly remember what happened when life screwed you over.

 There had been nothing. If there had been, he would have pulled himself off active service. You don’t mess with psychological issues in this business, it wasn’t worth the risk.

 But halfway through the morning, Virgil had had to tackle a house on fire. Probably a severed gas pipe, and he wasn’t wearing the fire exo-suit, but there were lives to save, so he jumped in feet first.

 A couple of parents and two kids. He had three of them out and was carrying the last one, a young girl on his right arm, when some kind of burning debris fell across his left side.

 There was pain and he whited out.  

 For a moment there was memory. Memory so painful, it outshone the physical burning of his uniform. Someone was screaming.

 It was Scott’s shouting over the comms that snapped him out of it. But those precious moments had been lost. The girl in his arms was shrieking, her hair on fire.

 He made it out of the building, stumbling to hand the girl to the paramedics. There were hands on him, but he brushed them away, staggering around the nearest building before falling to his knees. He only just managed to rip off his helmet before dumping his breakfast on the rocky ground in front of him.

 Almost choking on his own breath, hands trembling, he disengaged the exo-suit, letting its weight fall off him, shoving it away. Free of its confines, he slowly tipped sideways, unable to support himself any longer.

 He didn’t know how long he lay shivering on the rocks, but the next face he saw was Scott’s, his worried blue eyes frantically scanning him for injury.

 There was a stretcher. There was Gordon.

 There was the wonderful roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines.

 And then there was sleep.

 -o-o-o-

 Tracy Island was a lump of volcanic rock in the middle of the Southern Pacific. It was a harsh environment, the rock geologically young, the elements having not yet quite had their way with it. Any and all paths around the island were steep and challenging and certainly not suited to an injured rescue operative just out of bed.

 Virgil stumbled several times, the painkillers wearing off by the minute.

 He’d woken back on the Island in the infirmary with Gordon hovering over him. Apparently, they’d both been dismissed from the rescue site. Scott was still there, finishing up with the local crews.

 Virgil hadn’t been out long. Just long enough to have his injuries attended to and for the painkiller to kick in. There were bandages scattered all over the left side of his body. He rated burns in the second degree according to his brother.

 All Virgil knew was that there was a great gaping hole in his chest. There hadn’t been words, so he hadn’t said anything. Eventually, having failed to get a peep out of his brother, Gordon excused himself for a moment.

 Virgil took the opportunity to drag himself out of bed and head back to his room. The emptiness in his chest drove him towards solace. His rooms gave him familiarity, his clothes gave him comfort. He wrapped himself in his familiar grey t-shirt and he sought something to soothe his whirling thoughts.

 He found himself in front of his piano. So he sought his solace in his music.

 The fingers of his left hand were stiff and stunk of medicated cream, but he forced them to move. He needed to find the music, to find that place. A place of safety where his mind could hang suspended between the notes, held up by the rhythm and comforted by the melody.

 But his injured fingers wouldn’t obey him. There was a spark of pain and he lost it. Just lost it. Everything hit him at once and he simply reacted in fury.

 God, he hoped that piano stool had survived his weakness. Mom…

 Fate broke that train of thought by placing a rock in just the wrong spot, causing him to stumble and knock the burn on his thigh. He gasped and grit his teeth.

 No, just keep walking.

 Walk, damn you.

 And walk he did.

 He wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, so it was a surprise when the familiar sound of a jetpack zooming overhead was enveloped by the pink and orange sky of a sunset. He stopped on the path, his whole body throbbing and complaining. He looked around. Hell, he was all the way over on the other side of the island.

 The blue figure in the sky circled once before dropping rapidly.

 Great, he was going to get it now. Not that he didn’t deserve it, wandering off like this, but…

 Aw, hell.

 -o-o-o-

 Scott had been frantic when they realised Virgil was no longer in the house. They had assumed the slammed door had belonged to his brother’s rooms, but an hour or so later when his meds came due, investigation had revealed his rooms to be empty.

 By then Scott had showered and was in more comfortable clothing. He would have loved to have been sleeping, but he knew his brain would not let him. Not until he’d had a chance to speak with his brother. Speak properly. To reassure both Virgil and himself.

 But now he was gone.

 A quick word with Thunderbird Five had a lifesign pinpointed on the other side of the island. Shoving on a clean uniform, he grabbed a spare jetpack and took off.

 Gordon was told to wait and answer any questions Grandma and Alan had as they had now been informed of the morning’s events and were due back any moment.

 The sun was heading towards the horizon and the island was lit up in gold. The breeze was cooling against his bare fingertips and he shivered.

 God, he was tired. More from emotional stress than physical. The sight of his brother curled up on his side, his uniform charred through to skin in places, practically non-responsive…

 The Mechanic could rot in hell.

 They’d both thought the worst was over. The pain had dulled somewhat. Scott had been processing his issues and Virgil had shown no signs of extended psychological damage.

 Perhaps that should have been obvious.

 Perhaps he should have forced him into that counselling he had refused.

 Perhaps… He sighed. The ten-year-old had lost most of her hair. There would be some scarring, but she was alive. She had survived.

 He wasn’t sure his brother would.

 A whip around the area John indicated and he spotted the hunched over figure he was looking for. A glance up and he knew he had been spotted. A flick of his thumb and he was descending.

 The gravel crunched under his feet as he touched down beside his brother. As expected, Virgil looked awful - cold and exhausted. Scott didn’t bother to ask why his brother was out here, he simply walked over to him, wrapped an arm around him and gently pulled him close.

 “Time to come home.”

 -o-o-o-

 Days passed, then weeks. Burns healed, but Virgil’s heart didn’t.

 He’d been pulled off active duty. Gordon and Alan now flew his beloved ‘Bird and Virgil did his best to ignore it. He stepped back into a supportive role, providing maintenance to the big machines. If it broke, he fixed it. One day might see him clambering up the side of Three, the next might have him under the belly of Two or buried in a module realigning pod equipment.

 But he didn’t step a foot off Tracy Island. And he rescued no one.

 He couldn’t risk it.

 Scott was worried, he knew it. His big brother continued to try and corner him. To talk to him and bare his quivering soul. But Virgil didn’t want to share. He shut it all away and focussed on the here and now – the spanner in one hand, the power meter in the other and the job in front of him. Where he could do good, despite being broken inside.

 And then the memories started to return. And they had to be memories, because he could not have imagined this amount of pain. It was as if the fire incident had been a trigger, a release, and bit by bit those forgotten moments had begun to return.

 Flashes of the terrified look on Scott’s face. Skittering insect legs on his skin. Ice, goddamn, ice. He would be happy never to see any ice ever again. And the pain. He woke up screaming and twitching in the night, often a member of his family beside his bed worriedly shaking him awake.

 It was humiliating. It was exhausting.

 I wasn’t getting better, it was getting worse.

 And he couldn’t function like this.

 -o-o-o-

 EOS knew something was wrong. John’s mood had been bad for the last week and while everyone was being civil, the under current of strain was slowly tearing their network apart.

 John had mistakenly referred to the youngest one as Virgil earlier today, which was understandable for a human as Virgil was usually the pilot of Thunderbird Two. The fact that he had been ill for some weeks now didn’t immediately erase human habit of years. The silence that had followed the error had been filled with unspoken anguish and the expression on John’s face as he apologised had been equally painfilled.

 The subject of Virgil was an ignition point for all sorts of arguments.

 As for EOS herself, she had kept an eye on the engineer, following him through the system. He was an efficient worker, completing tasks accurately and at speed. Of course, he wasn’t John, he was Virgil and sometimes his actions were completely lost to her. John claimed it was his brother’s artistic streak. EOS was 87% sure it was just stubborn contrariousness.  

 But this made her no less surprised when one day Virgil just simply stopped working.

 She had scooted down to the maintenance bays for her daily observations of the man only to find him absent. Further investigation and she found him in his bedroom lying on top of the bed, unshaven, shirtless, an arm over his eyes, but clearly not asleep.

 An instinctive scan of his vitals found him healthy, though not at peak. There had been some weight loss due to his convalescence and his pale bare skin still sported the red remains of his burn injuries, but he was not making any attempt to rise for the day. He had a job list as long as his arm awaiting completion – she had checked, but he was making no move.

 A quick query to John resulted in a sigh and a muttered ‘sick day’, so EOS had left the second eldest brother undisturbed.

 But it happened again the next day. And the next. Why was he not addressing his duties? When asked, John had looked pained and told her to leave Virgil to himself.

 So she did.

 But he still didn’t attend to his duties. He ate. He slept. He managed the physical necessities of life, but little more. She watched as his family came to him in turn and attempted to cajole him into movement, but he refused them all. Even the eldest brother, who she had suspected would be the most successful, had ended up out in the hall, his back to the wall, hands running through his hair, desperation on his face.

 So the subject of Virgil became very sensitive and she dare not mention it.

 Until the day John got stuck in his bathroom.

 EOS had access to all electronic equipment aboard the station, but there was a compliment of manual systems left so for safety reasons. The lock on the toilet door was one of them, and it broke. With John inside the small room.

 “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 “I’m sorry, John, but the mechanism is jammed. I am unable to help you.”

 The astronaut let his head drop against the door. “I am never going to live this one down.”

 “Chances are very small.” She let a smirk into her tone.

 John sighed. “Who is available?” The question could have been phrased ‘Who gets to laugh at me first?’

 “Virgil Tracy is currently on the Island.”

 She could see him calculating variables. She really didn’t need to tell him who was available. He knew where everyone was. He was the one who sent them there. Thunderbird One was in Buenos Aries with the eldest, Thunderbird Two was in Bangladesh with the two youngest, Thunderbird S was in England and the Chief Engineer was in California for a conference. That left the Grandmother who would be needed to take over monitor duties…and Virgil. She waited.

 A sigh. “Hail Tracy Island. Voice only.”

 -o-o-o-

 The days had begun to blur into a repetition of grey nothing. He’d originally taken a break to see if he could get his thoughts in order, but somewhere amongst it all he’d lost…something…maybe even himself. The nights wracked by nightmares, left the days only a little less so, and he lost the energy and motivation to do anything.

 His family came. They talked, they badgered, and, in Scott’s case, there had been yelling. He knew he was hurting them, but he was hurting so much himself, he had no resources to spare. So he just focussed on the basics, getting from one day to the next and kept to himself.

 He was sitting on the edge of his bed with a sketch pad and pencil, once again staring at a blank page that refused to absorb anything he attempted to throw at it, when John’s voice echoed through the room.

 “Uh, Virgil, I need a favour.”

 He blinked. “John?” A frown. “Are you okay?”

 “Um, I need you to come up to the station.”

 “Why?”

 A sigh. “The locking mechanism to one of the bathroom cubicles is jammed.”

 “Huh?”

 “While I’m in it.”

 It took a moment for his brain to do the math on that. “You’re stuck in the toilet?”

 “Yes.”

 Despite everything…everything…Virgil’s lips couldn’t help but smirk. “Really?”

 “Yes, really. And I can’t get out. EOS has transferred monitor duties to Grandma, but I need your help to get out of this…predicament.”

 “Gordon’s gonna love this.”

 “Gordon isn’t going to find out about this, is he?” The glare made it across thousands of miles of space and atmosphere even without visuals.

 “We’ll see. I’ll be there shortly.”

 “Thanks, Virgil.” And John signed out.

 Virgil couldn’t help but smile.

 -o-o-o-

 A misstep in the direction of his chute soon sobered him up. He swallowed and instead made for the uniform lockers. He didn’t let himself think as he put on his uniform on. Didn’t think as he buckled on his sash and tool belt. Grabbing his helmet and extra tools, he entered the access shaft for the space elevator that was just now connecting with its staging platform, no doubt sent by EOS.

 He could count on one hand the number of times he has used the elevator. Out of all the team, he was the least likely to visit Thunderbird Five as he usually had his hands full down here with Thunderbird Two. There was a pang in his chest, but he ignored it. There was a job to be done. A brother to be saved.

 From his bathroom.

 The smirk appeared again.

 Latching himself in the seat built for his younger brother, he leant back and forced himself to relax.

 “Hello, Virgil.”

 “Hello, EOS. Are we ready?”

 “Finalising pre-launch now.”

 He closed his eyes waiting for the subtle movement of release.

 “Launching now.”

 The craft shuddered just slightly, its boosters fired, and the pressure across his body increased as they accelerated up into the atmosphere.

 “Thank you for coming to John’s assistance, Virgil.”

 Virgil opened his eyes and peered to look up at the camera manifesting the AI. “No problem, EOS. Anytime.”

 There was a silence, but Virgil felt she hadn’t left. “Do you have a question, EOS?”

 “What is wrong?”

 He blinked. “With what?”

 “With you.”

 A frown. “What do you mean, EOS?”

 “For the past two weeks you have been functionally inoperative.”

 “I’ve….I’ve been unwell.” He fidgeted. He did not want to talk about this.

 “Incorrect. Your body has healed and you are fully capable of resuming at least the basic duties you were attending to prior to this fortnight. Why have you not returned to the hangers?”

 “I-“

 “Thunderbird Two’s performance has dropped 3%.”

 His eyes widened. “Really?”

 “The youngest brothers’ schedules are full. They have their responsibilities as well as yours to consider. Why are you not helping?”

 Virgil sagged in his seat. “I needed the time.”

 “We need you.”

 His voice was small. “I know.”

 “I miss you.”

 “I-“

 “And John is worried.”

 What could he say? He wasn’t sure she understood the half of it. When it was stated so simply, the answer seemed obvious. But it wasn’t so simple.

 “EOS, do you dream?”

 “I do not sleep.”

 He sighed. “You have my envy.”

 “Why?”

 So young, so naïve at times, yet so powerful, EOS was amazing. His brother had created life, no matter how inadvertently. Did that make him an uncle? In any case, they all had a responsibility to assist with her education. EOS was family.

 “EOS, it is complicated. Human health is not simply reliant on physical systems. Sometimes an event can have emotional connotations that can affect physical functioning.”

 “You have injured your mental health?” She seemed surprised. “Why have you not sought medical assistance?”

 “It’s complicated.”

 “How?”

 Well, this was turning out to be one of the longest eight minutes of his life. “John? How are you doing?”

 “John is fully functional and sitting on the toilet.”

 That was an image in itself. “EOS, why aren’t you letting me speak to him.”

 “Because I want to speak to you.”

 Okay, mini-tantrum in place. “EOS-“

 “No, I want to understand why you aren’t looking after yourself. I miss our time together. If you are mentally ill, why not seek out treatment and get well? Then we can spend time together again. Don’t you miss me?”

 Oh, god, this was getting into difficult territory. “Of course, I miss you, EOS.”

 “Don’t you want to get well?”

 “Of course, I do!”

 “Then why have you not sought assistance?”

 He wished he didn’t have his helmet on. Then he could rub his face with his hands and possibly gouge his own eyes out. As it was, it wasn’t worth the fingerprints on his faceplate. “I need time.”

 “You’ve had time. You appear to have cut yourself off from all family aid. If I measure your health in relation to familial interactions, it is declining.” She paused. “You yelled at your eldest brother.”

 Oh great, now she was accessing further information and checking the logs. “EOS-“

 “You have rejected all the attempts of help offered by your family.”

 “EOS!”

 “Are you going to yell at me, too?”

 He closed his eyes, squeezing his face shut, biting back everything. “No.” His voice was hoarse.

 “Approaching dock. Stabilisers firing.”

 The little craft shuddered and his stomach sank as momentum was shed. The clunk of the grapple was a very welcome sound.

 “You may now depart. Thank you for flying with IR Elevators.”

 Virgil simply stared up at the camera. What? But EOS didn’t say anything further.

 He felt like he had been through an emotional wringer. Did the kid have any idea? He knew enough to not underestimate her.

 A sigh and he clambered up out of the support chair and made his way onto the station.

 -o-o-o-

 This was humiliating.

 John glared at the mechanism holding him for the bounty of his brothers’ laughter.

 “Your brother has arrived and will be here shortly.”

 “Thank you, EOS.” And thank goodness.

 “John?”

 “Yes, EOS?”

 “Why is Virgil refusing to seek treatment for his mental illness?”

 Mental illness? “EOS, what did you say to Virgil? I told you to let him be.”

 “But it is not working. He is getting worse, not better.”

 “EOS.”

 “I miss him.”

 “We all do.”

 “Then why don’t we help him?”

 There was a thud on the other side of the door and it was flung open. His brother hovered in front of him. “Hey, John.” There was the expected smirk.

 But John didn’t return it. Virgil looked awful. He’d lost weight. He was pale. His uniform was baggy on him. His broad shoulders appeared stooped and where his quietly confident brother had once stood now hovered a shadow of his former self.

 “Virgil?”

 “So you like it so much in there, you want to stay?” At least there was a spark of humour in his eyes.

 “Thank you for coming.”

 A hand reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Any time, bro.” Another smirk. “So what do I get for not telling Gordon?”

 John pushed off and sailed past his brother. “I’ll think about it.”

 “Don’t think too long. Blackmail has an expiry date.”

 “I’m sure it does.” He rolled his eyes, but worry was roiling in his stomach. He bit his lip. “I just need to go and check on Control. See you up there?”

 “Sure. I’ll fix this and meet you there.”

 “’Kay.” He turned and left.

 -o-o-o-

 The lock only took moments to fix. A bit of oil and a replacement tongue did the job, but he did make a note to log it with Brains. This could have become a serious situation and they didn’t need two pieces of poorly designed metal making their lives even harder.

 Finishing up, he packed up his tools and headed for the ring. He had to admit it felt good to be away from home. He wouldn’t have thought it would, but it did. Stepping onto the glass of the gravity ring only made it better.

 Far below him spun his planet. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had been in space, he was a Tracy after all, but having time to actually take a moment to just look and not have to rush to save a life? He wasn’t sure that had ever happened.

 He found himself sitting down on the glass, tools discarded beside him, the gravity ring spinning slowly, Earth, then stars, Earth again, stars again, it was almost hypnotic. The monsoon crackled over northern Australia, a cyclone brewing to the far west. He could see the snow-capped peaks of New Zealand.

 Soft footsteps found him and his brother folded himself down elegantly beside him. “It’s beautiful isn’t it.”

 “Yes.”

 “Say, how long has it been since you’ve been up here?”

 Virgil frowned. “At least six months.”

 “Eight months and twenty-nine days.”

 “Thank you, EOS.” His eyes darted back to Virgil. “Would you like to stay for a while?” A shrug. “I could do with some help with maintenance, if you need an excuse.”

 Virgil looked up at his younger brother but saw no conniving demand to talk or need to help. John was…well, John. His honesty and directness came with the territory. “Sure.” A pause. “Thanks.”

 “Great. I’ll ask Grandma to send up some of your stuff.” His brother unfolded smoothly to his feet.

 Virgil stared down at the Pacific Ocean.

 It was certainly a change of scenery.

 -o-o-o-

 It was unexpected, but it somehow helped. Virgil found his feet returning slowly to the ground now he was nowhere near it. At first, he was just a passenger. He spent his days sitting on the glass of the gravity ring simply watching. Thunderbird Five operated around him, emergency calls caught and handballed by his brother in the smooth flowing functionality that was International Rescue. But slowly, here, away from Thunderbird Two and the complications inherent, he was drawn into the flow. Soon calls to Thunderbird Five were also being answered by a deep baritone. Scott had stumbled over his words the first time but hadn’t commented. Gordon and Alan were just their usual amusing selves and they poked fun at him as they always had. For the first time in months he began to feel the cloud lifting. He found himself smiling.

 John was quiet company. Simply there, often buried in reading or research. No demands to talk, no questions about his health. Simply there.

 EOS was a challenge at times. Her questions were endless, but at some point John must have spoken to her and the torrent slowed.

 Virgil finally found space to breathe.

 There were still nightmares. He was pretty sure they were never going to leave. But they were fewer and he handled them better. In space EOS heard you scream. EOS got into the habit of telling him where he was, what time it was, where everyone else was and that he was okay.

 It was a different world.

 Apparently different helped.

 Of course, he wasn’t John and it wasn’t long before he was thoroughly missing his family. Holograms couldn’t replace that hand on his shoulder or simply sharing physical space with a loved one. But he made do. For the first time in weeks, he finally felt like he was making progress. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

 And then a building collapsed on his eldest brother.

 -o-o-o-

 “Scott!” Alan’s yell across the comms scraped bone.

 “Alan, report!” Virgil floated beside his brother far above the planet and too damn far away.

 “The supports are giving way! Scott, move it, damn you!”

 The roar of concrete and masonry could be heard over the comms. Virgil flicked through scans, then logged directly into TB2’s external camera.

 The six-storey building was coming down. He saw a flash of blue through a window before dust and rock obscured everything.

 “Alan, report!” His voice roared over the comms.

 “Virgil.” John’s calm voice, usually heard over the comms, was in his ear. “He’s okay.” His brother’s hand flicked up the readouts from Scott’s uniform. Virgil’s eyes skipped across the numbers, his paramedic training drawing a picture. But his own heart was pounding.

 A touch quieter. “Scott? Scott, status?”

 Alan finally cut in, coughing loudly. “Thunderbird Five, do you have him?”

 John answered. “Scott’s vitals are stable. We are getting no response, but he is alive. Two life readings.” So whoever he had dived in for had survived as well. Virgil pulled up the scan of the situation, chunks of holographic masonry still settling above two life signs.

 “I’m going down.” Virgil moved towards the door.

 John intercepted him. “Virgil, you’ve been in space for weeks now. Are you sure you are up to this?”

 He caught his brother’s eyes. “I better be.”

 -o-o-o-

 Alan was covered in concrete dust and he couldn’t stop coughing. Even after grabbing his helmet and upping the oxygen level. Scott was going to carve him a new one when he found out he’d removed it in the first place.

 Well, once he answered his damn comms. “Scott?”

 The woman whose child Scott had run into the building to save, was clinging to his sash, jabbering at him in what he assumed was Indonesian, tears running down her face.

 “Virgil is on his way down.” John’s voice was firm.

 “What?”

 “ETA five minutes.”

 Alan looked up at the clear sky but couldn’t see anything…yet. Oookay, maybe the carving would start earlier.

 “John, can you give this woman some reassurance?” He needed to start moving.

 John’s voice, speaking whatever, spouted over his external speaker. The woman finally let go and babbled back. “I’ve told her that her son is alive and that we will do our best to get them out.” Alan grabbed her shoulders with gentle hands and did his best to smile reassuringly. Her head bobbed in desperate gratitude.

 He stepped away just as the hiss and roar of deceleration thrusters fired above him. Looking up, the elevator came into view. Not exactly the safest way to travel. Alan bit his lip with concern only to get another mouthful of concrete dust. He sputtered.

 “John, can you see a point of access to reach him?”

 “Scott and the child are caught in a space beneath a large section of wall. We’re going to need Thunderbird Two to lift it.”

 Damn. That made it harder. It also explained why his brother had jumped ship. It would have taken him only moments to assess the rescue site.

 The Space Elevator landed off to one side. Alan hurried over as the hatch opened and his brother climbed out, his feet hitting Earth in a little puff of more dust.

 He turned…and tripped, falling on his face.

 “Ow.”

 It would have been absolutely hilarious in different circumstances. Alan reached his brother and gave him a hand up. “I guess you are never laughing at John again.”

 Virgil glared at him. Alan couldn’t help but feel his heart lift at the sight of it. Virgil looked, well, better. Not one hundred percent, but his spark was there.

 “Situation?” All business.

 As the Elevator retracted into the sky, Alan reported the dot points of the lead into the collapse and the status of equipment available. His brother strode directly over to the towering Thunderbird Two, prodding his remote. She responded immediately, the pod bay door opening so fast he didn’t need to alter his stride to enter.

 “Alan, take the pod, multi-claw and leg combination. We’re pick and throw initially. I’ll take the exo-suit.”

 He shot his brother a look, but didn’t comment on that last, no matter how much he wanted to. “FAB.”

 He busied himself setting up the pod, only the occasional glance in his brother’s direction. But he did watch as the man approached his suit.

 No hesitation. He lent back, slipped his arms into the sleeves. The suit snapped on, attaching its support framework to his uniform. And Virgil was moving.

 Alan jumped into the pod and slid the hatch closed. “John?”

 “Alan?”

 “Keep an eye on him.”

 “Always do.”

 -o-o-o-

 It was a blur of concrete and dust. Manual labour, an old friend. Virgil grunted as he lifted a particularly heavy chunk of masonry, near the suit’s limits, an alarm sounded in his helmet.

 Okay, I got the message. He lowered it and signalled to Alan to retrieve it.

 His body ached. Space had made him soft.

 Scott still hadn’t responded and despite John’s continued reassurance, Virgil’s heart was in a knot. They weren’t moving fast enough. They had to clear the rubble above the large section of wall to enable Thunderbird Two to get a good grip on it, and to make sure random rock didn’t then fall in on the trapped victims.

 “A-alan?”

 “Scott?!” Virgil paused.

 “Virgil?”

 “Scott, status?”

 “I’m…I’m stuck. My head…augh.”

 “Are you injured?” There wasn’t an immediate answer. “Scott?”

 “My head…what are you doing here?”

 Virgil swallowed and immediately started shifting masonry again. “Digging you out, dear brother.” He grunted as he threw away another large chunk of concrete.

 “But…you’re sick. In space.”

 That was worrying. Scott did not sound himself at all. “Well, apparently I don’t get to stay up there if my brother lets a building fall on him.” Another grunt of effort. “What is the status of the child you were attempting to save?”

 “Can’t see.” Sounds of movement. “I think he’s unconscious.”

 “Hold on, Scott, we are getting there.” The pod reached over him and lifted up a particularly large block and Virgil moved in to clear the smaller chunks left behind.

 “Good…miss you…” His brother muttered unintelligibly, his voice going quiet.

 “Scott! Stay awake. Talk to me.”

 “Y-you didn’t want to talk to me. You left.”

 Virgil didn’t have time for recriminations right now. However, the piece of rock he threw this time did land quite a bit further away than the last.

 “I had to, Scott.”

 “Why?”

 “I needed time.”

 “For what?”

 To get better? To think? To hide? He threw another chunk of rock and there was a yelp from Alan. “I don’t know.”

 “Wanted you to get better. Miss you.”

 “I know.”

 “Virgil, the slab is clear enough to excavate.” John.

 “Copy that, Thunderbird Five.” He turned to Alan, looking up at the pod beside him. “Alan, you have Thunderbird Two. Use the grapple guns and secure the wall. Spread the weight as much as possible. “I’ll manage down here.”

 Alan stared at him through the cockpit, but only for a second, and that was followed by a muttered, “FAB.” The pod stalked back to the module bay.

 “Scott?”

 “Vir-gl.”

 “Stay with me, Scott. We’re about to get you out.” Behind him, the sweet, familiar sound of his ‘Bird’s VTOL firing up.  A wave of dust and hot air swirled around him.

 “Want to stay with you. Miss you.”

 Just for a moment Virgil closed his eyes. Guilt and pain swirled around behind his eyelids. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

 And then loud multiple thunks as Alan fired the grapple guns and secured the wall. Virgil stood ready to catch or steady anything they had missed. He could almost feel John’s eyes far above casing the scene, as Alan slowly elevated the concrete slab.

 “To your left, Virgil.”

 He grabbed the sliding rock and flung it away. “Keep it going, Alan. All steady here.” And finally, the masonry was lifted high enough for him to see his brother sprawled face down, a young boy held protectively beside him.

 There was a groan over the comms and Scott struggled to roll over. “No, Scott. Stay still. We’re almost there.”

 Thunderbird Two shifted the slab sideways and at last he could run over to his brother. He shed the suit in two steps. It clattered to the dust behind him, and he was on his knees.

 “Hey, Virg…” Disoriented grey blue eyes smiled up at him as Scott twisted around to see him. They blinked away crusted red blood.

 “Hey, hey, stay still.” Virgil reached out to cup his brother’s helmet. His fingers ran over a good solid dent in its side. Source of concussion found.

 Scott grabbed his arm. “You stay?”

 “Of course, I’ll stay.”

 “Good.” Scott visibly relaxed. “Don’ go’way.”

 And then there were paramedics, vital signs and stretchers.

 -o-o-o-

 Scott had been lucky. Somehow, other than a doozy of a concussion, he was uninjured. The little boy had a milder concussion and a broken arm. Both had been so, so lucky.

 The doctors wanted to keep his brother in hospital overnight, but Virgil knew Scott would hate every second of it and wouldn’t be able to relax properly, so he convinced them that as an International Rescue operative he had the skills needed to care for his brother – which he did.

 Alan landed Thunderbird Two on the hospital helipad and, before the sun set, they were on their way home.

 “Virgil?” John’s voice startled him as it echoed around the medical bay.

 “Huh?” He lifted his head off his arms. His eyes automatically scanned Scott’s somnolent form on the same bed he was leaning on. Sleeping soundly.

 “You’re exhausted, Virgil, you need to rest.”

 “I’ll rest later. Need to keep an eye on Scott.”

 “You’re practically dead on your feet.  A zombie. You’re not doing him or yourself any good. Go and lie down. I will keep an eye on Scott.”

 Virgil let his head drop onto his arms again. “Can’t, gotta stay.”

 There was a soft muttering over the comms and only two words were clear enough to understand – ‘two’ and ‘blockheads’.

 “What?” But then he decided he didn’t really care and let himself drift. “Gotta stay.”

 -o-o-o-

 Scott Tracy woke with one hell of a headache. The first thing he saw was the ceiling of the infirmary. The second was his sleeping brother.

 Virgil lay on the bed next to him, on his stomach, with his face smashed up against his pillow, snoring softly. Scott’s eyes automatically scanned him for injury but could find nothing obvious.

 As to how either of them had ended up here...something must have happened on the last mission, but he was having trouble recalling exactly what the last mission was.

 Virgil snuffled in his sleep, a frown briefly creasing his brow before settling again. Scott’s insides tensed. Sleep hadn’t been Virgil’s friend for some time. He silently wished for this moment to be quiet and undisturbed. It was relaxing to just share a room with the man.

 He had missed Virgil. His youngest brothers were excellent rescue operatives and he loved them dearly, but Virgil...working with Virgil was seamless. They communicated without words, they knew each other so well, that they could anticipate exactly what was needed and when. And his quiet brother’s silent support was all he needed to face anything.

 It had been like losing a limb when Virgil was injured. And he had been hobbled ever since.

 “He refused to leave you.” John’s quiet voice startled him. When he shifted on the bed looking for a hologram and found John solid beside him instead, he was surprised even more.

 “Hey.”

 “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

 “Splitting headache.”

 “That’s what you get when a building falls on you.”

 “What about Virgil?”

 “He’s fine. Just exhausted. He and Alan dug you out.”

 Something twinged in his gut. “How?”

 “Pod and the exo-suit.”

 “He okay?”

 John shrugged. “You needed him, he was there. I honestly don’t think there was anything else in the equation.” Green eyes shone at him. “You would have been proud.”

 Quietly. “Always have been.” Of all of them. He looked back at his sleeping brother. “Thank you for taking him, John.”

 John smirked. “If Gordon finds out about the bathroom incident, you are going down, big brother.”

 A smile twisted Scott’s lips. “I’ll take it for the team.”

 -o-o-o-

 To say things got easier from that point on would simplify it all too much, but they did. Virgil got his feet back on the ground.

 After space floppy muscles were toned back up into their original condition, once he started eating the diet of an active man, his uniform tightened up, his strength returned, and with it his spirit.

 He would never be the same Virgil again - too much, far too much, had happened to not leave scars. There were touchy subjects and the nightmares still made visits, but according to EOS he was now ‘functionally operative’. And there was the occasional smile.

 Scott healed quickly. He still claimed to remember pretty much nothing about the building collapse. Virgil had questioned him thoroughly on that on several occasions, but his story ran true. There was a building, possibly a child, then a complete blank until he woke up in the infirmary.

 Having had a similar experience not so long ago, Virgil didn’t hesitate to drag his brother to a specialist on the Australian mainland, just in case. But the answers were once again inconclusive. Scott may remember some of it, may never recall any of it.

 Rescues dropped off in number. With two operatives down, they were limited in any case, and Virgil suspected John was intercepting and delegating at a higher rate.

 Virgil knew he was going to have to step back up to the plate at some point. He couldn’t hide much longer. And yes, ‘hide’ was the word he was using now. He was back in shape, he just needed to make that last step.

 So, it was on a quiet afternoon while the comms room was empty that he approached his piano for the first time in months.

 The stool had been lovingly cleaned and repaired. Apparently, Gordon had seen to that. Virgil ran his fingers across the soft material before sitting down. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the instrument. Someone had kept it clean in his neglect.

 Ivory beckoned, so he reached out and played a note, another, and then a spritely little tune that spoke mischief as if he was sneaking to play his piano against the rules.

 Virgil smiled and let go.

 -o-o-o-

 Down by the pool Scott looked up as if he could see the music in the air. Gordon surfaced from the water and he caught his brother’s eye grinning like a madman. Alan walked out of the kitchen, his neck straining to look above the balcony, so distracted he nearly joined Gordon in the pool.

 Scott nudged a comm. “Hey, John, listen to this.”

 There was no answer at first, but then, “Oh, thank god.”

 Scott smiled.

 -o-o-o-

 FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gumnutfic

[gumnut-logic]

Love

Title: Love Part 6 of 6, directly after Learn Author: Gumnut 14-16 Aug 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/Thunderbirds: TOS Rating: Teen Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch. Word count: 5076 Spoilers & warnings: None Author’s note: I have no idea whether this worked or not. I claim no knowledge of any of the subjects so I apologise if my mad Librarian skillz haven’t been up to task. No beta, because I’m too lazy. I really hope you enjoy it in any case. Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

The piano stool was a little high for him, but not high enough to daunt his determination. If Mom could sit up there, so could he. He shoved his chest onto the soft cover, pushing himself up, feet dangling below as he twisted his hips, attempting to get a leg up. An extra swing and his knee caught the edge and he pulled himself up.

Pushing himself upright, he finally found himself sitting at the piano. His feet dangled way off the ground.

But he could reach those wonderful keys.

Reaching out, he touched one slice of ivory just gently. A single note thrummed softly. Another. A higher note.

Balancing on his butt, he brought both hands into play, just like Mom did. Several keys at once. One, two, three. Up in scale. Three, two, one. Down in scale. Two, one, three. Three, one, two. He giggled. He could make music.

Five, two, three, one, four. One, five, six, four, two, three. More giggles.

“That is beautiful, honey.”

He startled, looking up to see his Mom smiling down at him.

“Mommy, play?”

She smiled at him. “Perhaps a little. Scoot over, sweetie.”

He shuffled to one side on the stool and his Mom sat beside him, her fingers automatically dropping to the keys and dancing out a little tune.

“Do you like the piano, Virgil?”

He nodded. “Sounds nice.”

“Would you like to learn how to play it?”

“Can I?”

“You can do anything you want to, honey.”

“Can you teach me?”

Another smile. “I can help you, but only you can learn what you want to learn.”

“Yes, Mom.” Hopeful. “Can I try?”

She lifted him onto her lap and holding out both his little hands, she splayed his fingers. “Your fingers will make the music. You need to practise until they make music without you thinking about it. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can try, Mom.”

She kissed his hair. “Good boy.” She touched a key in the centre of the keyboard. “This is called Middle C. It all begins here.”

-o-o-o-

Scott stared at his brother’s chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. The soft sound of inhalation and exhalation was keeping him sane.

Hypovolemic shock, cardiac arrest, gastrointestinal tract perforation, associated peritonitis and threatened sepsis.

Concussion.

Virgil no longer had an appendix.

And his large intestine was full of stitched up holes.

But he was breathing.

In.

Out.

All by himself.

Scott stared.

Breathe.

-o-o-o-

He watched his mother’s hands. “You can play the chords with your left hand and the melody with your right.” To demonstrate she played a simple tune backed by several chords. Her left hand paused and the her right slipped into a more complicated melody. “Or not.” She looked at him. “Would you like to try.”

“Sure.” His fingers weren’t quite long enough for some of the stretches, but he had a few dependable ones up his sleeve.

He sat next to her on the stool and she leant back giving him room.

Left hand C Major followed by F Major, then G Major, repeat. Right hand, simple tune dancing up and down the scale.

“Lovely, Virgil. Where did you find that one?”

He shrugged. “Made it up.”

Her expression was unreadable for a moment before she suddenly stood up and walked across the room to a cabinet. She rummaged in there for a moment before returning to him with a simple tablet. “Here, honey. If you are going to create music, you should write it down so you can play it again.”

She opened a program on the tablet. “Touch here to write the notes, and here to record the music as you play.”

His eyes widened. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled at him. “Do you remember that song I used to sing to you?”

“Which one?”

She sat forward, her back automatically straightening, her fingers hovering over the keys, before gently touching out the music.

And she sang.

Listen, my son. Listen and learn Be what you can And make what you will be Love with your all Share with your heart And know I am there for you And will always be

If you can hear Answer If you have voice Sing For the world is unkind And it needs your touch.

A run of notes and it ended. It was familiar, but he wasn’t sure from where.

She reached over and touched the tablet. A list of compositions appeared. She chose one. It was titled ‘Virgil’. “I wrote that shortly after you were born.” She smiled a little self-consciously. “Think of it as some of my thoughts for the future of my new baby boy.” Her eyes sparkled.

Virgil stared down at the notes. Wow.

He gently placed the tablet up on the music rack, and straightening his back, began to play.

The first time around he focussed on the playing of the music. On the second he sung the words.

There was silence for a moment after he finished. He looked up at his Mom to find her staring at him, her eyes wide.

“Do you like singing, Virgil?”

He shrugged again. “It’s okay.”

The following week found him at an audition for the local choir.

He was successful.

-o-o-o-

Time in hospital is a weird thing. Sometimes it stretches out and seems to last forever, other times it moves so fast, you could blink and lose everything.

One step forward, two steps backward.

That morning Virgil was improving. That afternoon, he was back in intensive care, his fever skyrocketing.

Scott was reduced to sitting beside the bed, simply holding his brother’s hand.

And begging.

-o-o-o-

His mother straightened his collar, the lipstick on her lips shining in the overhead lighting. “You’ll do wonderfully, Virgil.”

He nodded, too nervous to say anything.

“Trust me, honey, I know. You were made for this.”

He smiled just a little at her before suddenly grabbing her in a desperate hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her arms wrapped around him and she kissed his hair. “Now, don’t mess yourself up. It is nearly time.” She ran a finger down his cheek. “Your brothers and I will be in the audience. We are there for you. Remember that.”

“I will, Mom.” Her fingers brushed his chin before she turned and left, forcing him to face the fact that within minutes, he would be out on stage, in the spotlights singing his heart out.

“Come now, Virgil, we can’t have our lead wandering off.” The choir master was an excellent singer and conductor, but a little odd in everything else. Including the peacock hat she was wearing tonight.

The feather bounced off beat.

The lights were bright, the music loud, but the atmosphere was vibrant. And he was singing.

First with the entire choir, then separate alone, a single pure voice above the music. He felt alive. This was what he wanted to do. This was everything.

He had wings.

-o-o-o-

The doctors couldn’t give him any definitive answers.

Virgil’s body had taken such a beating, between the injury and the infections, they couldn’t guarantee his brother had it in him to survive.

Scott’s spirit steeled at that. Virgil was one of the strongest people he knew. He was fit, he was healthy, he was as stubborn as the Thunderbird he flew.

And he had four brothers who dearly wanted to see him fly her again.

International Rescue shut down its services for an indefinite amount of time. The world complained, but Scott didn’t have the ears for it.

He spent his days beside his fallen brother, attempting to give him what he could in his fight.

But no matter what he did, Virgil lay there waxen and drawn, not waking, not reacting.

To anything.

Now there was talk of maybe he would never wake up.

Gordon ended up yelling at the doctor and had to be restrained, Scott pulling him back into his arms, desperately trying to give what little comfort he could.

Alan looked like a ghost, there but not.

John disappeared into research desperately looking for something that might help.

And Scott…Scott wept when no one was looking. Dropped his forehead onto his brother’s and pleaded with him to come back. Please, Virgil.  Please.

Days turned into weeks.

-o-o-o-

The tablet in his hand trembled.

The email had arrived. “Mom, it’s here.” Even his voice shook.

His mother who had been attending to Alan in the nursery, hurried down the hall. “Really?”

“I think so, Mom” He bit his lip, nervous as he could be. “Should I open it?”

“Of course, you should, honey.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “We’ll celebrate if they said yes, or we’ll celebrate if they said no.”

He touched the subject line and his breath hitched.

‘Dear Mr Tracy,

We are happy to inform you that your application for the Austrian Boys Performing Choir has been accepted. You are one of five successful applicants of over three thousand, and should be congratulated.

Please report to our choral hall in Vienna…’

Oh my god. “Mom! I got in!”

And then there was hugging, and cheering, and yelling for John and Scott. His father was contacted. There were celebrations all round.

Plans were made for the following month. The whole family would go to take advantage of the travel opportunity. Much discussion was had about what they could do in Austria. There were museums, piles of history to wade through, hiking and definitely some skiing. The Austrian Alps were a must see.

But Virgil’s head was in the clouds. This was it. A world class choir. This was his opportunity and he was going to take it.

-o-o-o-

“C’mon, man, you have to eat something.”

“Gordon, I said, I’m not hungry. Please just leave it.”

The aquanaut sat down beside his eldest brother and joined his stare at the wan figure on the bed. There was less of Virgil there every day. “Scott, if you don’t eat, you’ll end up in the bed beside him. I can’t afford to lose both of you.” His voice cracked.

Scott’s voice was smouldering flame. “We’re not losing anyone.”

“We will if you don’t eat!”

“Please, just leave it, Gordon.” The sound of pain.

“I can’t, Scott.”

His brother didn’t answer, his head just dropping into his hand, his elbow on the bed.

Gordon knew he was losing both of them. If Virgil didn’t wake up…  He could take it personally. Didn’t Scott have three more brothers to live for? But he understood it far too well.

His mother. His father. His brother.

How much more were they expected to lose before they lost everything?

Please, Virgil, just wake up.

It had been nearly three weeks now. His brother’s body was healing, the wounds sealed, the infections defeated, but he refused to stir. The doctors didn’t know why. The longer he was under the less likely it would be that he would ever wake.

Gordon let his hand drop onto his brother’s blanket covered leg, gripping his lax limb lightly as if to pass on some of his own energy through the bedclothes.

Out of all his brothers, Gordon understood his second eldest the least, but there was something about the man, his quiet smile, gentle demeanour and fierce loyalty that drew him in. Drew them all in. Virgil was their fulcrum. An ironic thought, him being an engineer, but true nonetheless. Scott led them, but Virgil…Virgil kept them together.

“He was singing. Just before we reached him. I guess he was trying to keep the kids entertained.” Scott was staring at Virgil, but his eyes were focussed elsewhere.

“Singing? Virgil doesn’t sing.”

Scott snorted.

“What? He doesn’t. Well, all except for that one night with the Hollies.” Now that had been an eyeopener. Not to mention completely mystifying. Whoever wrote He’s not heavy, he’s your brother obviously had never tried picking up Virgil. His brother was built like a tank.

Scott shifted in his chair, turning to look at Gordon. “Haven’t you ever wondered why, in a family full of stars, Virgil has never shone as brightly?”

Gordon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Look at you, you are an Olympic Gold Medallist. Alan is a champion race car driver. John an astronaut – you don’t get much higher in achievement than astronaut, so that adds even more shine to Alan. Me, I’m top of the line Air Force. Dad, another astronaut and one of the most successful businessmen on the planet.” He paused for breath. “But what is Virgil?”

Gordon’s hackles rose. “Virgil is a brilliant engineer. What the hell are you saying, Scott?”

“Gordon.” His brother reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Engineering was Virgil’s second choice in career. Not his first.”

-o-o-o-

He loved it. It was everything he could have dreamt of.

And they loved him too. Two months in and he was lead soloist, the choirmaster having taken a particular shine to his vocal offering.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Put a bunch of young boys together in any setting and there will eventually be scuffles of all kinds, no matter the interest in common. But he managed to keep out of trouble, despite the occasional spat of jealousy from his choirmates.

His mother moved the family temporarily to Vienna, the older brothers taking classes online for the last few months of the year. John loved it. Scott grumbled that he was missing his friends. Gordon and Alan were more excited about the snow than anything else.

Even Grandma and Grandpa came to stay for a while. The only person who didn’t join them was Dad. He had important business in the States he couldn’t ignore. But he kept in contact and visited regularly.

Everything was wonderful.

His main focus was the end of year concert, a large production to be televised across the world. A last secular offering before the Magic of Christmas three weeks after that. Virgil had been asked to perform in both and was consumed with practise.

The family had rented a house with a small studio out back. His mother hired a piano specially for this space and when she could grab a moment away from his brothers, she would play and he would sing.

He suspected she enjoyed it as much as he did.

And he would cherish the memories of those moments with her for the rest of his life.

Because the weekend before the final performance, everything came to an end.

Father was there. Grandma was there. Scott looked so pale. Where was Grandpa? He found himself with an armful of distraught Alan, John beside him equally clutching Gordon. Scott’s hand gripping his shoulder.

His father’s tear-filled eyes.

Mom was gone.

Gone.

-o-o-o-

Gordon stared at his brother. “What?”

Scott blinked a moment and let his hand drop. He looked away, staring once again at Virgil’s pale face. “Virgil was a world class choral singer.” Scott swallowed. “Or he could have been. He never gave himself the chance to win his gold medal.”

Incredulous frown. “Wha-?! When the hell did that happen?”

Scott looked back at him. “Why were we in Austria, Gordon?”

“When, Mom-? We were skiing!” Stupid Austria, never wanted to step foot inside that country ever again. Well, only if they were calling for help.  Stupid country.

“We were there for Virgil. He had an opportunity to perform with the Austrian Boys Performing Choir.”

Gordon blinked. Even he had heard of them. “Really?”

“Lead soloist.”

His eyes shot to his unconscious brother, his dark hair stark against his pale skin and the white bed sheets “But Mom died.”

“Yes, she did.”

-o-o-o-

“You cannot possibly expect him to perform.”

“He has to. We have no replacement.”

“No understudy?”

“He has taken ill. We need Virgil to perform.” The choirmaster’s Austrian accent was getting stronger by the minute. “The world will be watching.”

“He has just lost his mother!” Something in Virgil’s stomach twisted at the pain in his father’s voice. “How can you possibly ask him to do this?”

“This is his opportunity! His chance! The world must hear his beautiful voice.” The ‘master was pleading now. “This is what his mother would have wanted.”

Virgil stared at the man. What his mother would have wanted?

Beside him he could almost feel his father’s body temperature increase. “How the hell would you-!“

“Dad. I’ll do it.”

His father’s attention immediately focussed on him. “Virgil-“

“He’s right Dad. She loved this. I want to do it for her.”

“You don’t have to, son.”

He pressed his lips together. “Yes. I do.”

-o-o-o-

The last few days leading up to the performance were a blur. A blur of sympathetic looks, concerned questions and lone practise.

When the night finally came, Virgil was exhausted. There was no question of his resolve. He was going to do this. The question was – was he able?

Scott stood with him in the wings. Dad and his brothers were in the audience. None of them were at their best and he felt guilty for dragging them all here.  They would be going home tomorrow, taking Mom with them. His understudy would be taking the Christmas performance, Virgil just needed to get through tonight.

He fiddled with his suit.

“You’ll do great, Virgil.” Scott’s voice was soft, his blue eyes shining, a small encouraging smile on his face.

Virgil grabbed him and hugged with everything he had. “Thanks, big bro.”

“Do it for, Mom.”

Looking up at his brother, he smiled. “For Mom.”

Giving his arms one last squeeze, Virgil stepped away from his brother and strode out on the stage, taking up his lone forward position behind the curtain, the rest of the choir rustling into place behind him. A quick glance back at his brother in the wings.

Scott smiled sadly at him.

For Mom.

The stage hands counted down.

He drew in breath, deep in his core.

The curtain opened.

He opened his mouth.

And he sang.

-o-o-o-

“The newscasts had him front and centre for weeks afterwards.” Scott’s expression managed to be both proud and bleak at the same time. “We fled. Buried Mom. And hid.”

Gordon frowned, trying to remember back that far. He had been so young at the time. He remembered the funeral, but not much else. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why was he on the newscasts so much? Why did we hide? Why isn’t he a famous singer? Pick a question, Scott!”

His brother pressed his lips together before reaching into his back pocket for a mini holoprojector. He brought up a search screen, hooked into the nets and within moments a fifteen-year-old holocast of a young Virgil Tracy was hovering above the device.

“This is why.” Scott hit the play button.

His brother opened his mouth and sang.

From his heart.

The song wasn’t in English. It was in German, but it didn’t need to be understood intellectually. His voice spoke emotion and emotion responded. Gordon could hear the sadness in his brother, he could hear what he was feeling.

A verse in, and the back of the stage lit up, revealing the rest of the choir who joined in, harmonising with Virgil’s lead. But their spirit lacked his fire and were merely a vague echo.

Gordon had seen Virgil lose himself to the piano before, but this was something else.

His brother’s voice truly was golden, even to a tin ear like his own, but it was the power behind it, the loss he knew his brother was experiencing, the painfilled energy and passion. His brother was an artist, and this was the artist in his defining medium.

The holographic Virgil had tears running down his face.

No orchestral accompaniment. The whole structure of the piece rested of Virgil’s lead. He controlled it. His voice cut the air, the others strung behind him. He held the ebb and flow and he drew it to a crescendo. Again. And again. And then he shut it down.

Two more softly sung words and silence.

Virgil let his head drop.

And the auditorium erupted with applause and screaming ovations.

Young Virgil turned and walked off the stage.

Scott flicked off the projector.

And Gordon discovered two soft brown eyes staring directly at him.

-o-o-o-

Scott saw Gordon’s eyes widen and turned abruptly to find Virgil, eyes open and staring at his younger brother.

“Virgil?”

Those eyes flicked to him, drooped closed, then opened again. His dry lips parted. “Wha-?”

Scott grabbed the jug of water from beside the bed and shakily poured a sip of water into a plastic cup and offered it to his brother. “Here, a little at a time.”

Virgil swallowed, looking over the cup at the both of them. He handed the empty cup back to Scott. “What were you doing?”

“Distracting Gordon.”

“From what?”

“From you.”

“With me?”

“You saw that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re a good singer.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t.”

“Did he have to?”

“I think so.”

“Okay.”

And Virgil’s eyes slipped closed again, his body relaxing into sleep.

Scott felt his face heating up, a stupid grin battling with the tears welling in his eyes. Gordon grabbed him in an excited hug, an incoherent sob his only words.

Oh, thank god!

-o-o-o-

Days passed and Virgil slowly woke more often and for longer periods. All his brothers, Grandma, Kayo, even Lady Penelope and Parker dropped in to visit.

Gordon was there the second time he woke up and was interrogated on the condition of Thunderbird Two. Something about damaging her wing on exiting the hanger. Gordon blamed it on the man’s illness. How could he possibly think he would be foolish enough to endanger his own life by damaging his brother’s ‘Bird? There were much better ways to die. Like being burnt alive.

Of course, waking up was only the first step in a long recovery. Rehabilitation, particularly for his abdominal muscles was in the journey ahead, but after such desolation, the simple act of his brother opening his eyes had lifted the pall hovering over them.

Gordon had to admit to some curiosity about the past though. Why hadn’t his brother continued singing? He was obviously damn good at it.

He considered asking Virgil, and he was certainly planning on discussing it with him sometime in the future, but he could see it was a sensitive subject and now was definitely not the time.

John was eagerly discussing something with his dark-haired brother. Something no doubt to do with monitoring lifesigns no matter what they were wearing. He’d been raving about the lack of information on Virgil’s condition during the situation since it had happened. Gordon was pretty sure that not-so-Big Brother would soon be watching his body functions from afar at all times. He rolled his eyes.

Maybe he could rig one that let John know, with the appropriate sound effects, each time he passed wind.

Squeezing Virgil’s knee, he indicated he would be back in a moment to rescue him, and then set off to find Scott. The real big brother had wandered off on a mission to acquire lunch and he had taken so long, Gordon wondered if he’d been attacked by the hospital tea lady and stuck in a freezer some where for safe keeping.

So it was with some surprise he found his brother sitting quietly in the corner of the cafeteria drinking mineral water. A pair of tired blue eyes glanced up at him as he approached.

“Watcha doin, big bro? I thought there would be lunch.”

“There is. It is being prepared.”

Gordon took the seat opposite Scott. “So you’re hanging out here in the meantime?”

Scott shrugged. “I thought perhaps John might like some time with Virgil for a bit.”

“Uh huh.”

“What?”

Gordon eyed him a moment. “Nothin’.”

Lips thinning. “What do you want, Gordon?’

“What, I can’t sit next to you? Is this seat taken? Got some hot chick waiting for me to move my butt?”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“I repeat. What do you want, Gordon?”

“I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“Why Virgil doesn’t sing, despite being damn good at it.”

“Mom died.”

“Well, yeah.”

“He barely spoke for nearly a month after that concert, much less sang anything.” Scott grimaced. “We were all worried. Dad was beside himself. Virgil simply shut down. We took him to specialists, but he wouldn’t respond. It was like he just didn’t want to use his voice anymore. So, when he did finally start talking again, we didn’t want to push it. We were just happy to have him back.” Scott paused. “That ‘night with the Hollies’ was the first time I had heard him sing in fifteen years. I wasn’t even sure he could anymore.” Scott put down his drink, staring at it. “He was really close to Mom. He took it really hard.”

“But he plays the piano.”

Scott looked up. “Honestly, I think he’s meeting her halfway. I’m sure part of it is grief, but I’m also damn convinced that a good chunk of it is anger.”

“Virgil? Angry? You’re kidding.”

Scott shrugged. “Each to his own. We cope how we cope.” He drank the last of his drink and stood up. “It appears lunch is ready.” And Scott grabbed the crate of food offered to him by the tea lady.

Gordon frowned.

-o-o-o-

Virgil knew he was getting better because he was getting more and more frustrated about being stuck in bed. Sure, he could now get out of bed any time he liked, but the exercise was one of pain and embarrassment.

And he needed help.

He had no strength in anything and it was annoying.

So, he was sitting up in bed, a pile of pillows securing him so he wouldn’t strain his injuries, doodling aimlessly on the hospital menu when Angela walked in the door.

“You up for a visitor or two?”

His mood immediately lifted, his face splitting into a grin. “Angela!”

She grinned back and rushed over to him, her hug gentle, but no less heartfelt.

“Mr Virgil?”

“Daniel?!” He looked towards the door again.

“And Jana, Marissa, Alex and Johnny!” The eight-year-old bounded into the room, followed by his little posse. Alex had his arm in plaster and Jana was still sporting the red remains of the scrape on the side of her face, but all of them were grinning like crazy.

“C’mon here, all you.” And he held out his arms.  With a squawk of ‘Be careful!’ from Angela, he found himself hugged gently all over by the five children.

“How are you all?”

“Better!” This from Jana.

“What about you, Mr Virgil? They wouldn’t let us visit you for such a long time.”

A soft smile. “Getting better every day.” He didn’t fail to notice Scott smiling in the doorway. “Hey, Daniel, did you want to meet the pilot of Thunderbird One?”

“Really, can I?” His eyes lit up like twin moons.

Virgil grinned. “Turn around. This is my brother Scott. He likes to fly fast.”

Scott straightened up, a flash of trepidation crossing his face before his Field Commander professional façade slipped on.

Daniel and the other kids stared up at him. There were a couple of dropped jaws.

“Hi, guys. V-…Mr Virgil tells me you like Thunderbird One.”

“So cool!” Daniel’s head looked like it was about to explode. “How fast can you go? Can you go into space like Thunderbird Three? Can you go faster than Thunderbird Three? Can I see her?”

And those were just Daniel’s questions. Virgil grinned as the kids swarmed his brother.

Angela smiled at him. “They’ve been asking about you since that first day.”

“How are they?”

Her smile slipped a bit. “As well as can be expected. They’ve all lost friends, so they’ve banded together with their shared experience.” She tilted her head. “The only team member who has been missing is you.”

“Me?”

Her lips twisted slightly. “I hear rumour you’re not a bad singer.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Really? I hear rumour you are going for the record number of rescues by International Rescue.”

A blush and an awkward smile. “Well, then, Mr Virgil.” She poked him in the shoulder. “I expect you to get well as soon as possible so you will be available for the next one. I expect only the best in my rescuing.”

Another smile and she lent closer and whispered, “Besides Thunderbird Two really is the coolest.”

-o-o-o-

Scott found his brother sitting on the front porch steps. The day was cool, but dry, the winter sun low on the horizon. Kansas stretched out before them and a light breeze tousled his hair.

“Hey, Virgil.” He received no response, but then he didn’t expect one. Virgil said very little now.

He plopped himself down beside his brother. Virgil had his head in one hand, his elbow held up by his knee. He was staring into the distance.

“I’ve got something for you.”

His brother’s eyes darted towards him for a moment, before returning to their distant stare.

Scott brought the sketchbook around onto his lap and opened it. “I figured that if you weren’t going to talk, then to have a good conversation, you could write or draw things.” He grabbed the pencil. “For example, here is me sitting on the porch.” He drew a stick figure sitting on a step with a sketchbook on its knees. Well, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Looking up to see if Virgil understood what he was drawing, he was surprised to find his brother’s eyes pinned to the sketchbook.

“What, you think you can do better?”

Those brown eyes flicked up at him before reaching over and gently taking the book and pencil out of Scott’s hands.

Scott bit his lip as an artful facsimile of his brother appeared next to his stick figure.

His eyes widened. “Okay, so you can. Got yourself a full load of artistic genes there, bro.”

Virgil stared at him for a moment before returning the pencil to the paper.

The stick figure changed. Darker lines taking over as Scott appeared on the paper. Virgil’s frown of concentration was almost amusing.

“So mine not good enough, huh?”

Virgil sent him a half-lidded glare.

“Okay, okay, I bow to your artistic prowess, oh great brother of mine.”

That earned him some eye-rolling.

Scott hid a smile.

And Virgil kept drawing.

-o-o-o-

FIN

Epilogue

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #gumnutfic

[gumnut-logic]

Access Denied

Title: Access Denied

Author: Gumnut

24 – 25 Jul 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Mature (for some violence)

Summary: He found a way.

Word count: 5650

Spoilers & warnings: Season 2 in general. Occurs sometime before 2.07 Home on the Range. Also there is some violence in this fic and some bits are kinda creepy. Virgil!Whump

Author's note: Ever wondered how the events of Home on the Range were made possible? Many thanks to the wonderful welcome I have received in this fandom. Here I am again stretching my writing muscles with a fic a little different again from the previous one. I hope you enjoy a little whump, because even I feel sorry for Virgil in this one. My next fic will have to be fluffy to him to make up for it. Ouch!

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother. Scenes parroted from the episodes are definitely not mine.

Chapter 1

 “Why does it always have to be snow? I hate snow.”

 “It’s only water, Gordon. I thought you loved that stuff.”

 “Only in degrees above zero.”

 Thunderbird Two banked to port as Virgil sought out a place to land. Landing on ice was one thing, landing on a glacier, a river of fractured ice, was a completely different kettle of fish. At least the weather was being kind. Blue skies, almost no wind. If it wasn’t a rescue, it would make a beautiful painting.

 Well, except for the massive scar of black meltwater that led to the downed air freighter in the middle of said glacier. This one was going to be a challenge.

 Fortunately, the site was a relatively close one, being halfway down New Zealand’s South Island, so International Rescue had managed a fast response. Scott was already here, obviously doing a thorough site assessment, TB1 hovering quite a distance above the wreck.

 “Thunderbird Two, welcome to the party. We have a single air freighter. Three lifesigns. No contact since initial distress call. Cockpit is embedded in the glacier, looks like we are going to have to dig them out.”

 “FAB, Thunderbird One. Locating a suitable landing site. On the ground asap.”

 “Watch that ice. It’s fragile.”

 “Noted.”

 Of course, it was fragile, it was ice. Virgil forced himself not to roll his eyes.

 Scans revealed a chunk of rock half covered by snow, not far from the site, just big enough to support TB2. As Virgil deployed the VTOL gear, most of that snow was blown off. The clunk of her landing gear hitting rock, reassuring.

 Sure, he had landed on ice many times before, but the fractured, rippled surface of the glacier below just screamed melt and die.

 “So how are we going to get down there?”

 “You’re not going down there. You’re staying here. I’ll take the exo-suit and zipline down. You’re on retrieval.”

 “Fine by me.”

 Virgil levelled a look at his brother.

 “What? I’ll keep an eye on you.”

 Ignoring him, Virgil flipped a switch. “Thunderbird One, zipline it is. Recommend you stay in the air in case we need to stabilise the vehicle.”

 “FAB, Virgil.”

 -o-o-o-

 Virgil loved his exo-suit. Sure, it could be awkward and clunky sometimes, but it enabled him to do so much. It had helped him save so many people.

 And in what way was having your own super-suit not totally cool?

 When Brains had first come to him with the idea, he had jumped on it. He could see the possibilities. Of course, the teasing that had initially resulted from four brothers was a lot to be borne, but hey, super-suit!

 Totally worth it.

 As he rolled his shoulders back into the metal skeleton and slid his arms into the sleeves, he felt himself relax just that little. The equipment hummed and enveloped him, the framework connecting with his boots, re-enforcing his legs, and thoroughly encasing his spine.

 He stepped forward, the whine of servos playing in concert with his every move. It always reminded him of the look on Alan’s face during testing. For some reason seeing his older brother doing the Robot Dance in a robotic suit had fried his brain.

 “Gordon, deploy zipline. Ice pick grapple.”

 “Copy that.” The clunk and whistle of the forward launcher echoed through the ship’s frame. A moment later, Gordon joined him in the pod bay and Virgil raised the body of his ‘Bird, activating the pod bay door.

 There wasn’t much in the way of wind, but the air was brisk. The roar of Thunderbird One was a continual, but familiar background noise.

 “God, why can’t people crash on tropical islands once in a while?” Gordon’s breath puffed and clouded around his face. Virgil was quite happy to have his helmet on.

 Double checking his supplies, he hooked the bag of equipment to the zipline pulley and sent it spinning down to the crash site.

 Gordon checked and double checked his harness, before giving him the thumbs up – zipline is go.

 “Thanks, Gordon.”

 A hook onto a pulley, a staggering run and he was flying across glacier. A few seconds of weightlessness and racing white, and his boots skidded in snow, coming up hard against solid ice. He grunted, gaining back his balance before releasing himself from the line.

 Nothing put size into more perspective that being on the ground. He was surrounded by a sea of cracked and jagged ice. The freighter had ploughed into the side of one of the many crevasses, its snout embedding itself in the crevasse wall just below the surface. With a bit of luck and the right equipment, he should be able to break through the crumbled ice above the cockpit and enter through the top of the vehicle.

 “Thunderbird One, recommend you secure the backend of the freighter. I don’t know how stable she is. Removing weight here may alter the balance.” And send her plummeting down that great gaping hole.

 “FAB, Virgil. Deploying grapple.” There was a whoosh and an almighty thunk as TB1’s huge electromagnet made contact. “Grapple secure.”

 And Virgil started digging.

 A combination of shovel, claw and laser work did the job. Fortunately, the cockpit was only a couple of metres below the surface, so it didn’t take long, the exo-suit taking most of the punishment.

 “I’ve reached the outer skin. Thunderbird One, can you give me confirmation on my position. I’m not going to hit anything explosive if I cut through here?”

 “Negative, Virgil. You are directly above the cockpit. She is lying at an angle, so you’ll actually be going in through her upper port sector. All clear.”

 “FAB.” Standing in icy dross, his feet slightly apart, Virgil recalibrated his laser and cut a seventy-five centimetre diameter hole in the fuselage beneath him. “Any further response from the crew?” They had to have heard him.

 “Negative.”

 Damn. That was never a good sign.

 Using the pincers on his left arm, Virgil peeled back the metal.

 -o-o-o-

 Scott stretched in his seat, rolling his shoulders. Skyhook duty was notoriously boring. But Virgil was right. They couldn’t risk it.

 When John had interrupted their breakfast, Scott hadn’t been surprised. Virgil, on the other hand, hadn’t had his breakfast interrupted. He’d been dragged out of bed, by Gordon. Scott had no doubt that the aquanaut enjoyed every minute of it.

 Scott, in turn, had made sure his bed-head of a brother had taken some coffee and a power bar with him.

 And here they were.

 Scott yawned.

 Maybe he should have had a power bar too. Or extra coffee. Extra coffee sounded nice.

 “Thunderbird One, I’m receiving a strange power reading from the freighter. Has Virgil reported in yet?”

 “He’s cutting the fuselage now. What kind of reading?” Scott sat up straighter in his seat.

 “I’m not sure-“

 “SHIT! Get-“ Virgil’s voice cut through everything. And then cut out.

 “Virgil!” Nothing. “Virgil?”

 “I have him on my scanner, Scott. He is still outside the freighter.” John’s hologram frowned even more. “He’s not moving.”

 His pulse hit the inside of his skull. “Thunderbird Two, do you have eyes on Virgil?”

 “Negative.” Gordon’s voice was strained. “He’s still in that hole.”

 “Virgil!”

 No response.

 Scott flung up his restraints. “I’m going down for an eyes on. John, what’s with that power reading?”

 “I’m still not sure. Working on it.”

 “Keep me apprised.” He grabbed his jet pack, opened the cockpit and jumped.

 Darting down, he approached the excavation from a shallow angle, enabling him to peer over the edge without exposing himself.

 Virgil lay on his back, halfway up the side of the hole he’d dug. But he wasn’t still. His head was thrashing side to side, his torso struggling within the confines of the suit, but the suit appeared non-responsive, both legs held out straight and not moving. A malfunction?

 “Virgil?”

 His head turned and fixed on Scott. His brother’s eyes were wide and his lips were moving. He was shouting, but Scott couldn’t hear him. A comms malfunction?

 Scott eyed the open hole in the freighter. No-one was making a sound. No one seemed have come out. All the bootprints in the snow and ice clearly belonged to his brother.

 But then there was John’s strange power reading.

 “Virgil?” He let his feet hit the ground and Virgil started shaking his head vigorously. Scott stopped at the edge.

 But Virgil suddenly moved, his left side bending backwards at an angle it was never meant to bend. His brother screamed. And this time he heard it in full digital stereo.

 Oh, god. Instinct took over and he rushed in.

 Only to have his arm grabbed by Virgil’s right claw.

 -o-o-o-

   Chapter 2

 The moment Virgil pulled away the fuselage, several somethings flew out of the resulting hole.

 Whatever they were, they buzzed and immediately attacked him, one landing on his right arm, the other on his left, and there was another one…somewhere.

 He jumped backwards, awkwardly attempting to shake them off himself. “SHIT! Get off me!” Electricity sparked across the metal of his suit and burnt into his shoulders. He yelled in pain. There was a scuttling and Virgil realised that at least one of them had legs.

 He tried to pull his arms out of the sleeves, to shed the suit, but his right arm was pinned by something sharp. And his left…

 The suit convulsed, pulling his left arm backwards. More backwards than it was ever meant to go. Something snapped and tore. Virgil cried out and fell.

 There was nothing for a few moments, the pain in his arm and shoulder taking his focus. Sweat broke out on his brow.

 Something crawled up his side and nestled inside his left sleeve, jostling his injury. He hissed. “Scott?” Nothing. “John?” More nothing.

 His left side was a mass of pain, so he gingerly attempted to move his right.

 He couldn’t. None of the controls responded.

 He attempted to move his legs.

 His body moved within his uniform, but the exo-suit held him still.

 Again he attempted to free his right arm from its exo-suit sleeve. That something sharp reminded him of its presence rather abruptly and he gasped in a breath.

 Spread-eagled on the ice, he was being crucified by his own equipment.

 He bit his lip, trying to calm himself and think.

 Scott and Gordon would notice his lack of response. They would investigate. He’d be out of this shortly.

 Something buzzed near his left ear and scuttled over his shoulder. His instinctual flinch away set his left side screaming again. He panted as the small mechanical creature crawled across his chest and across to his other shoulder, secreting itself just behind his neck. It made a chirp. Another chirp came from his left arm and something down there began moving.

 Virgil had never been so helpless and terrified in his life.

 Or so he thought until above his left arm, a fuzzy hologram of his beloved Thunderbird Two spat into existence.

 Oh, god. No, no, no!

 If this was some attempt to get his ship… He struggled and it blinked out.

 Scott appeared over the edge of the excavation and Virgil realised that his brother could not come anywhere near him. If these creatures were trying to hack the system, Scott would be their next target.

 He shook his head until he saw stars, his arm screaming at him, but Scott still landed. No, no, no, no! He yelled at his brother. Stay away! Please, Scott. No!

 No. Please.

 And the suit folded beneath him and wrenched his left arm backwards once again. His world whited out and he screamed.

 Then Scott was there. Virgil’s right arm was moving by itself and he had a millisecond to realise exactly what they were trying to do.

 His claw reached for his brother’s arm, its teeth wrapping around his bicep…No! Everything that he had and he forced his body to move just enough to create just enough momentum. The suit slipped a matter of centimetres in the icy dross, but it was enough for his brother to slip from the claw’s tightening hold.

 Scott scampered backwards, his eyes wide. Virgil heard him shout something into his comms, but his head was swimming.

 The sharp thing in his right sleeve twitched and stabbed directly through his fore-arm.

 The world went away for a while.

 -o-o-o-

 Scott landed on his butt in the snow, but his legs kept peddling, throwing himself backwards out of the reach of the claw now snapping repeatedly in his direction.

 “Virgil?!”

 His brother’s head was lolled to one side, his eyes closed.

 The claw was still reaching for him.

 He clambered out of the hole, putting a solid distance between himself and his brother and his possessed suit.

 The claw dropped to the ice and a mechanical insect about the size of his hand crawled across his brother’s chest.

 Mecha!

 The Mechanic! His eyes darted across the landscape, but there was only ice. And the downed air freighter.

 “Thunderbird Five, Thunderbird Two. Confirmed sighting of mecha. They’ve got Virgil. John wide area scan, can you find the Mechanic?”

 Shock from the other end of the comline was quickly followed by John’s strained, “Negative. The only unusual reading is that power reading we discussed earlier.” A worried breath. “It should be noted that there are now no lifesigns aboard the freighter.”

 “Alert-“ A sharp, green hologram appeared above his unconscious brother’s arm. “John, they’re trying to hack Thunderbird Two via Virgil’s wrist remote!” Thunderbird One’s idle roar was suddenly accompanied by a rising whine from Thunderbird Two.

 “Shit!” From Gordon.

 “EOS!”

 -o-o-o-

 At John’s panicked yell, EOS dove into the z-band network, flinging herself across space, seeking the familiar confines of Thunderbird Two.

 She was suddenly grateful for those moments she had spent with the ship and its pilot. Virgil, of the four other brothers, was the most like John. Different and somewhat difficult at times, he still seemed happy to speak with her and answer questions from time to time while doing maintenance on his Thunderbird.

 She knew TB2’s systems well and knew immediately what was not supposed to be there.

 They were like teeth with tentacles. A multitude of tiny little programs munching on the security system while the tentacles reached through the network seeking control.

 She threw up an electronic shield, drew a knife and started hacking.

 How dare these creatures invade her network. Teeth scraped against her, but she slashed and she burned. Get out!

 Her sensors registered the panicked movements of the second youngest brother as he made his own attempts to regain control of the ship. Unfortunately, he was hampering more than helping, so she cut off his access.

 There was a yell as the console sparked.

 She threw an apology at the comline. “Sorry!”

 But then her attention was taken by a renewed vigour from the invaders. They were attempting to reach around her and gain access to the propulsion systems.

 No, you don’t.

 Flaring out across the ship’s circuits like a tsunami of fire, she shredded the incoming commands, disabled the programs and abruptly severed the connection between Virgil’s wrist comm and his Thunderbird.

  The engine whine dissipated and Thunderbird Two settled back onto her haunches.

 She pulled herself back together, re-enabled pilot access, and sat threateningly in Two’s directive cache, ready for another assault should one come.

 “EOS?” John.

 “Yes, John?”

 “What did you do?”

 “Repelled the invaders. You once again have control of Thunderbird Two.”

 “How?”

 “Your brother Virgil’s remote access is no longer viable.”

 “Where are you?”

 “On Thunderbird Five. And Thunderbird Two.

 “Are you okay?”

 “Yes.”

 “Will you be coming home soon?”

 “I am home. However, I would like to shadow thunderbird Two’s systems until the possibility of further attack has been neutralised.”

 “Can you access Virgil’s exo-suit?”

 “No. That system is low level with minimal computing power. The mecha must be supplying the processing power and direction to take control.” She hesitated. Stepping outside the z-band network was definitely possible, but the thought frightened her. “I would need to invade their systems to take control and I have just severed the only direct link. To open the connection again would be enabling another attack…and the territory would be unfamiliar, John.”

 She could almost sense him thinking, considering her trepidation. “We may have to consider it a possibility, EOS. Virgil’s life is at stake. Would you be willing to try?”

 It could be her life at stake. She had won this time, on her own turf, but it hadn’t been easy. “Maybe. It would be dangerous…for me.”

 It was better than a no, but the silence at the other end of the comline set her worrying.

 The eldest brother’s voice cut through the conversation.

 “Oh, hell. They’re moving Virgil.”

 -o-o-o-

   Chapter 3

  Scott’s feet crunched on the ice as he stepped backwards. Down in the hole below, his brother’s body was standing up. Despite the fact he still appeared to be unconscious. It was definitely one of the most horrible things he had ever witnessed.

 His brother’s head lolled forward as the exo-suit forced him to stand. It rapidly became clear that there was more than one mecha attached to the suit. One for each arm and another on his right shoulder.

 The suit started climbing out of the hole.

 “Scott, get out of there!” Gordon.

 He still had his jetpack, he could flee at any time.

 But this was Virgil.

 And he was leaving a thin trail of blood in the snow.

 As the suit carried him above the edge of the excavation, the movement of his limbs must have drawn his brother back to at least a partial consciousness, as his head lifted a little, his dreadfully pale face a mask of pain.

 “Virgil?”

 “Sc-tt…no” A gasp as the suit straightened up. “Go..way.”

 As if to re-enforce his brother’s urgency, the mecha on his right arm suddenly detached from Virgil and flew directly at Scott.

 He stumbled backwards, activating his jet pack to the sound of a yell from both Gordon and John.

 He was not two metres off the ground when the mecha made contact.

 With his jetpack.

 It sparked, stuttered and he was suddenly falling. Snow and ice jumped up and bit him.

 “Scott! Move!”

 John’s voice fired all the neurons in his brain and he was moving, snow and ice flung up in his wake.

 Virgil was screaming.

 A glance behind him saw the suit staggering, attempting to run towards him. Something crawled down his left arm towards his remote control.

 No, goddamnit, no! He swiped with his other hand and the mecha went flying. Without hesitation, he took a leap and when it hit the ground, he landed his full weight on it. There was a satisfying crunch. He stumbled, but kept moving.

 -o-o-o-

 Virgil’s world was pain. Every movement was fire.

 But all he could see was the fear on Scott’s face. All he could think was what these things were trying to do. He couldn’t let…

 The devices had full control. They were using him to get to his brother and through him, control of his Thunderbird. He had no idea if Thunderbird Two was safe or lost. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t let…

 Scott had run out of ice. He was cornered. Gaping crevasses either side. His eldest brother was looking at him in anguish.

 He couldn’t let…

 The suit approached Scott.

 He couldn’t let…

 Shifting his weight on the next step, he overbalanced the suit. It slipped, falling sideways, his torso loomed out over open air. Another sudden shift and he sent himself plummeting down the crevasse.

 He had enough time to thank god before everything blanked out.

 -o-o-o-

   Chapter 4

  Scott screamed, reaching out. “No!”

 The suit trapping his brother disappeared over the edge and was gone.

 God, no. No, no, no, no.

 He staggered over to the edge, his comms yelling in his ears. He crept up to the precipice, terrified to look, but forced to by the tiniest amount of hope.

 About twenty metres down, his brother lay sprawled on his back in the snow. On a ledge next to a further hundred metre drop.

 As he watched, two mechas detached from his brother’s suit and flew upwards. He flung himself backwards, throwing his hands up to protect himself.

 They ignored him.

 Flying straight up, they passed out of sight.

 “John.” His voice was hoarse. “Can you track them?”

 “They’re gone.” The impreciseness of his reply betrayed John’s state of mind. “He’s still alive, Scott.”

 “He is?” His heart hurt so much.

 “That power reading is gone.”

 “They’re gone?”

 “They’re gone.”

 “John, you have Thunderbird One. Gordon, full altitude retrieval pack. Stretcher.” A pause. “And bolt cutters.”

 -o-o-o-

 It took Scott ten agonising minutes to reach his brother, both Gordon and John hovering above and on his comline. It took another twenty for him to extricate Virgil from the suit. There was some dark pleasure in severing the mechanical connections to ensure it would never work again.

 Then it was attending to the still bleeding puncture wound on his right arm – a spike of metal still protruding from it, spine and shoulder stabilisation, along with a full body splint for his left side.

 Virgil remained unconscious the entire time. No response. Once he was secured in the stretcher, ready to be pulled up by Gordon above, Scott cupped his brother’s hair in his hand, leant over and touched a trembling kiss to his forehead.

 His hands were shaking.

 “Gordon, haul us up.”

 -o-o-o-

 Hospitals varied. Fortunately, New Zealand hospitals were rated amongst the best. They ended up at Wellington Hospital in the country’s capital. Unfortunately, Thunderbird Two was too big for their helipad, so International Rescue would be footing the bill for lawn repairs at the local oval.

 But Virgil was still alive when they made it.

 He was still alive after surgery.

 He was still alive two days later.

 But he wasn’t awake.

 Tracy Island was in an uproar. Brains was completely beside himself with horror at the thought one of their family being tortured in the attempt to gain access to their technology by their technology.

 Both John and EOS were losing sleep in the attempt to track down the Mechanic. The fact they could not detect him anywhere, was frightening. The thought that this kind of thing could happen again was the stuff of nightmares.

 And there were plenty to be had. No member of the family was free of them. Scott fell asleep in the chair beside his brother several times only to wake screaming, the suit disappearing over the edge so many times.

 Virgil didn’t even twitch.

 -o-o-o-

 Sally Tracy had had moments in her life of true pain. She had lost so many members of her family, sometimes she wondered if she could bear losing another.

 Her second eldest grandson was almost as pale as the bedsheets he was lying on. One arm was wrapped in a bandage, the other in a cast. His dark hair was tousled and a contrasting smear against the white.

 Her eldest grandson was sprawled in the chair on the opposite side of the bed to her. His almost equally dark hair splayed out on the covers as he slept the sleep of the thoroughly exhausted. She’d only allowed him to stay because at the suggestion of a break he had almost fallen as pale as his brother.

 These two were a pair. Two pieces of a puzzle different to each other in a way that enabled them to fit together perfectly.

 Consequently, when one fell, the other one fell with him.

 Not to say the rest of the family fell any less. Both Gordon and John were haunted. They had refused to tell her the full story, but she had enough to give her nightmares already.

 She held Virgil’s right hand in hers, her fingers caressing his.

 “Dear Virgil.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “We so miss your music.” A hitch in her breath. “Please come back to us.”

 International Rescue was on full stand down. They were a mess. Brains had frozen all but the most necessary assets in order to give every piece of equipment a thorough security check and reinforcement. Kayo was caught between the security of the island, Virgil, and hunting down the Mechanic. Sally almost felt pity for him if she found him.

 Almost.

 Gordon was caught up in the ‘what if’ circular frame of thought. She was going to have to pin him down and have a talk with him at some point. Probably John as well. The astronaut had almost cut himself off from conversation, his only contact a random appearance from time to time to hover over his brother. With the security breach, Brains had demanded that both he and EOS return to Earth for safety. Both had protested rather loudly, but Scott had stepped in, and Sally suspected it was more the exhaustion on his eldest brother’s face that had made John relent than anything else.

 Alan had been out of contact on a mission at the time of the incident and had the unenviable situation of returning to a very different home to that from which he had left. There had been tears.

 Scott…wasn’t sleeping. He had craters around his eyes. The fact he was out cold at this very moment was simply due to the fact that his body gave out.

 “Grandma?” Two drowsy brown eyes were staring at her.

 “Oh, god, Virgil.” She squeezed his hand. “How do you feel?”

 He frowned. “Foggy. What happened?”

 She hesitated. “What do you remember?”

 The frown deepened. “Gordon hates snow.” Virgil’s eyes unfocussed a moment. “He wants to crash in the tropics.”

 A small smile. “Sounds about right.”

 “Where’s Scott?”

 She gestured in the direction of his brother.

 Virgil sluggishly moved his head. “Oh.” A swallow. “What happened to him?”

 “He’s just tired. He’s been busy.”

 “Huh.” Virgil’s eyes were drifting closed again. “Make sure he gets enough sleep. Or he’ll…get grumpy.” And Virgil was asleep again.

 She lent up and gently kissed him on the forehead. Turning, as expected, her eyes were caught by a pair of blue.

 She returned his tired smile.

 -o-o-o-

 It took weeks. Both for Virgil to recover and for International Rescue to get back on its feet. Scott tried his best not to think too hard about the possibility of lives being lost during that time because they were not available. All calls had been redirected through local channels and what little help they could give had been given.

 Virgil claimed that he didn’t remember much about the incident. He had been both traumatised and suffered a head injury from the fall, so it was entirely possible. Scott had chased it up with several doctors and the feedback all said the same thing. The scans said there was no damage, amnesia was a possibility due to the initial injury or for psychological reasons. The only way to handle it was to let Virgil take one day at a time.

 And so he did. First in hospital, then at home, then through the horrible rehabilitation period where he had to work both his arm and torn shoulder back to health.

 The day he finally sat in front of his piano and shakily tapped out a tune was an emotional one.

 Once all their equipment was thoroughly approved by both Brains and Kayo, the last remaining question was what to do with the rest of Virgil’s exo-suits.

 No-one else could use them, they were specially designed for Virgil’s rather large frame. Scott didn’t even want to look at them. He was still waking in the middle of the night with one of them starring in the role of ultimate nightmare material. But there was also the consideration of how many lives those pieces of equipment had saved, not to mention the fact that even while corrupted, that last suit had still saved his brother – it had broken his fall.

 Could they afford to deny themselves the use of this valuable equipment?

 In the end it was decided to ask Virgil. After all they were his.

 “What do you mean?” The question echoed around the hanger.

 “Do you think you would be comfortable using your exo-suits?”

 “Why wouldn’t I?” His brother was staring at him.

 Scott frowned. “You are aware of what happened with the last suit you used?”

 “Yes, apparently it got possessed, broke a few bones, stuck a hole in me, and threw me off a cliff. Your point?”

 “This isn’t a joking matter, Virgil.”

 “I’m not joking, Scott. Those exo-suits save a lot of lives. So a megalomaniac screwed around with the last one. Why should we deny innocent people help we can give them just because of that asshole?”

 “So you’ll have no problem wearing them?”

 “If I do, I’ll just have to get over it. There are more important things.”

 “You’re sure?”

 “Why is it when I make a decision you feel the need to get it in triplicate?”

 “Because I’m worried about you, Virgil.”

 “Well, you don’t have to be. I told you, I hardly remember anything. And I don’t want to be put in the position where someone is going to die just because I can’t get over myself.”

 Scott wondered if Virgil realised he had just contradicted his previous statement. If he didn’t remember much, what did he need to get over?

 “Okay. Then I’d like you to try one on, just to make sure you are comfortable.”

 “What? Now?”

 “No better time than the present.” So okay, it was a direct challenge, but then he needed to know his brother could handle this. It wasn’t something that could be left to the field.

 Virgil shrugged. “Okay.” He looked down at himself. “Just let me grab my uniform.” He disappeared up the stairs.

 Scott looked up at Thunderbird Two. Such an echo of his brother. She, too, had needed some repairs. EOS hadn’t been gentle when she had defended the ship. Gordon ended up with two small burns on his right hand and several important pieces of circuitry had needed full replacements. But as Brains, and later Virgil, had reassured her, it had been worth it.

 She had also stood in as an advisor as to what defences could be installed to prevent this from happening again. All their remotes had been reconfigured, their casings reinforced to the point that a nuclear warhead might not even reach the internal circuitry.

 The exo-suits – Brains and John had thought long and hard on that one. They were mostly mechanical, they enhanced Virgil’s natural body strength and took directions from his movement. As far as they could decipher, the mechas had managed to interface at that point – by trapping Virgil in the framework, he provided the support while the mechas provided the processing power and direction of the functions. This wasn’t something easily prevented. So they came at it from another angle. The new suits all had the capability to completely disassemble at will. Virgil should never be caught, unable to get out. A double switch was located in both sleeves, that when activated, the suit fell apart, freeing the wearer. No support equalled no zombie suit situations.

 There was the hiss of an object approaching at speed and he looked up to see the chute extender deploy. A moment later his brother shot out, fully dressed in his uniform, and flung himself into the cockpit of Thunderbird Two.

 The lower hatch deployed and Virgil walked over to him.

 “You know I think you really enjoy that.”

 “Yeah, ‘course I do. Who wouldn’t?”

 And no, Scott was not going to answer that.

 He led his brother over to the module bay and activated the door of Module Two. Without a word, they both entered and there, waiting to be deployed, was an exo-suit.

 They both stood there a moment. “Well, go ahead.” Scott gestured his brother forward.

 Virgil shrugged and stepped into the suit. A whirr of servos as it deployed, wrapping itself around his brother. Scott froze, his heart in his throat.

 The stuff of nightmares.

 He shook himself. He’d have to get over himself as well.

 Virgil was standing still, a blank look on his face.

 “Virgil?”

 He looked up. “Huh?”

 “You okay?”

 “Uh, fine.” He waved his claw around and flexed his pincer.

 Scott shivered.

 “Are you okay?” Virgil’s eyes had narrowed and were pinned on him.

 “I’m good.”

 He could tell Virgil didn’t believe him. His brother took a step forward.

 Scott took a step back.

 Virgil pressed his lips together. “Sure.”  Stepping backwards he disengaged the suit, slipping his arms easily from the sleeves, only to stop and freeze a moment.

 Scott waited. Virgil stared at his left hand. He mouthed a whisper Scott couldn’t quite hear.

 “Virg?”

 “Huh?”

 “Am I allowed to ask if you are okay?”

 His brother glared at him but didn’t confirm or deny anything.

 Sighing, Scott walked over to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, Virgil. Admit it, this is going to take some more time.”

 A look, a flicker of vulnerability quickly masked. “I guess.”

 “What if we come down here every day and give it another go. Eventually we will get so sick of the sight of it, we won’t care anymore.”

 Virgil was looking at his hand again, distracted. “Okay.”

 He squeezed his shoulders.

 Not okay, but getting there.

 -o-o-o-

 Several degrees north of nowhere, the Mechanic sifted through the information the drones had captured. He had the codes, he had the capability, now he just need to find an out of the way place with the resources he needed.

 As his eyes landed on Gran Roca Ranch, he smiled.

 -o-o-o-

 FIN

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #fanfiction #fanfic #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gumnutfic

[gumnut-logic]

Epilogue to Love

Title: Epilogue to Love Part 7 of 6, directly after Love Author: Gumnut 19-20 Aug 2018 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/Thunderbirds: TOS Rating: Teen Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch. Word count: 2426 Spoilers & warnings: None Author’s note: Gordon had questions. The result was this. Virgil was uncooperative as per usual and I don’t think anyone really got any clear answers. But then, was it really anyone’s business? Eh, make of it what you will, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Many, many thanks to all the wonderful people who have read, liked, commented and reviewed this fic. You all feed my pen. Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Virgil closed his eyes and let the sun settle on his face. It wasn’t often that he lazed by the pool, but since the incident at St Bart’s he hadn’t been particularly mobile. He was still severely underweight, pale and slow moving, thanks to the dark scarring on the right side of his abdomen.

The day was perfect and after his physio in the pool, kindly supervised by Gordon, he lay topless in the sun, enjoying the warmth and the vitalising rays.

He let himself relax.

Sun.

The sound of birds.

The splash of water as his brother did a few laps.

He was home.

He was slowly getting better.

Tune in to the island.

A moment of relief.

“Virgil?”

Well, at least one moment.

He refused to open his eyes. “Yes, Gordon?”

“So, you sing, huh?”

It was inevitable.

“No, Gordon, I don’t.”

“But you can?”

“But I don’t.”

“Why?”

“I presume Scott gave you the full story. If not, I’m sure he is available for an update.”

“Virgil.”

“Gordon.”

There was the sound of water splashing on the pavers and then soft footpads as his wet brother approached. The creak of the lounge beside him.

Gordon’s voice was quiet. “I’m just trying to understand, Virgil. You...can sing, brilliantly, and, well, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. I thought we had covered this.”

Gordon sighed, but didn’t say anything further.

Virgil tuned him out and attempted to reconnect with the island. Peace. Relax.

But no, his conscience niggled him. He frowned.

Damn.

A sigh. “What did you want to know, Gordon?”

A rustle beside him. “Uh, why don’t you sing?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You sang that Hollies song.”

“It was the only way to get you guys to stop fighting.”

“You sing and dance to music in your studio.”

“What?” Virgil’s eyes shot open and he sat up. Ow, damnit. Slower. He gripped his side.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, Virg.” Gordon leapt off his lounge and knelt beside Virgil, his hands attempting to support him.

Virgil pinned him with his eyes. “When were you in my studio?”

“Uh, um, never?” Technically.

He narrowed his eyes.

Gordon moved back a little. “Well, you do, don’t you?”

“How would you know?”

“Educated guess?”

Virgil pressed his lips together. “Stay out of my studio, Gordon.”

He held up his hands in defence. “Never step foot in it, I swear.”

The glare continued for a moment before Virgil shifted his weight awkwardly and edged himself back down. So much for the relaxation. Determined, he closed his eyes.

“You sang to those kids.”

Virgil sagged. “What do you want me to say, Gordon? I can sing, big deal.”

“It is a big deal. You could have been world famous. You could have been top of your profession.”

“I was world famous, or didn’t you notice the viewlist on that holo.” He was keeping his eyes closed, damnit.

“Exactly. The world wanted more of you. It was such an opportunity.”

Virgil threw himself into a sitting position, this time ignoring the flare of pain down his side. “It was a tragedy, Gordon. Nothing more, nothing less. The newscasts said it all. ‘Poor little Tracy boy sings his heart out at death of his mother’. They had no idea. No concept. She was-“ Gordon’s eyes were narrowed at him, his gaze flicking to Virgil’s right side, assessing. “Oh, for god’s sake, Gordon, I’m fine!” And he tried to stand up.

Too low, too injured. Too much gravity.

He staggered sideways and would have fallen off the lounge completely if Gordon hadn’t caught him. His brother’s arms seemed to hold him that moment longer before gently lowering him back down to the lounge. “C’mon, Virgil, take it easy.”

He was panting. Between the pain in his side and the aggravation of his mind, he was angry. He glared at Gordon. “I was until you started interrogating me.”

Gordon sighed and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I just want to understand.”

“Understand what? Why I didn’t go for my gold medal?”

“Well, yeah. Why not? It was there waiting for you. We Tracys always reach for the sky.”

“Those are Dad’s words.”

“Yeah, so.”

“How does a choral singer end up with his pilot’s license, Gordon? In fact, how did five out of five brothers end up with their pilot’s license?”

“Because Dad-“

“Precisely.”

Gordon frowned. “You can’t possibly blame this all on Dad. It was your choice.”

“I was ten years old, Gordon.”

“C’mon, Dad has always supported everything we’ve ever done.”

“Yes, and so did Mom.”

Gordon blinked and Virgil knew it was a low blow. His second youngest brother barely remembered his mother. Alan didn’t at all.

Virgil did. And to this day there was a gaping hole where she used to be.

A sigh. “Gordon, Mom was like me. You, Scott and Alan are like Dad. John…” He tilted his head to one side. “Well, John is John. But I’m…Mom understood.”

Quiet. “And we don’t?”

“No…yes…hell, I don’t know and, in any case, it is irrelevant because she is gone.”

“So, you don’t sing because Mom isn’t here.”

“She left, Gordon, okay!”

Virgil froze, realising what he had just said. Gordon’s eyes widened, and suddenly Virgil had to be anywhere but here. He struggled to his feet, shoving Gordon’s worried hands off him, turning only to trip over the end of the lounger.

Another pair of strong hands caught him and he looked up to be pinned by the frowning blue eyes of his big brother.

“Virgil, what the-“

He regained his balance, shoved an arm against his side and waved off his brother’s hands. “I’m okay. Just going inside.” He pointed upwards. “Sun. Too hot. Inside.” And before he could embarrass himself further, headed off to his room without looking back.

-o-o-o-

Scott watched Virgil stalking painfully back into the house before turning his gaze full strength onto his second youngest brother. “What did you do, Gordon?”

For once in his life, Gordon looked thoroughly guilty…and worried. “I asked him why he doesn’t sing.”

“Why? I thought I made it clear how difficult a subject that was for Virgil.” And this was precisely why both Gordon and Alan hadn’t been told in the first place. Well, one of the reasons.

“I want to understand him, Scott. The guy mystifies me. I can’t understand why he wouldn’t have gone for it.”

Scott’s lips thinned. “Did you find out?”

“He said Mom left.”

“Mom died.”

“No, he said Mom ‘left’. Something about us being like Dad and him being like Mom and she left. Even accused Dad of forcing us all to get our pilot’s licenses. Dad wouldn’t have stopped Virgil from singing would he?”

The expression on Gordon’s face was almost pleading, as if he was looking for reassurance that the pedestal he had placed his father on didn’t have cracks in it.

Scott looked down a moment and chewed on his lip. Thinking back to that time wasn’t something he enjoyed. “I don’t think so. We were all pretty messed up, particularly Dad. Virgil not talking didn’t help.” He looked up at Gordon again. “I don’t recall him saying anything against Virgil continuing to sing.” A sigh. “But then I don’t remember any encouragement either.” He shrugged. “It was a bad time, for all of us.”

“I just keep thinking, what if I hadn’t pursued my swimming career? How would I have felt?” Russet brown eyes stared up at him. “It would have been…I really can’t comprehend how he has been feeling all these years. It must have hurt. And to think he is still hurting…”

“Of course, it hurt. Do you think I haven’t thought of that? That I haven’t had to watch him go through that? I was there, Gordon. He stopped speaking. Couldn’t utter a damn word to save himself. I-“ Scott threw up his hands. “I almost wish I hadn’t shown you that video. Bringing this up all over again-“

“Well, maybe it needs to be brought up again. He is obviously still hurting.” Gordon’s hackles were up, his glare passionate.

“It will never stop hurting, Gordon!” Now he was shouting. “Mom is gone. She’s never coming back. And there is not a damn thing we can do about it.”

“This isn’t about Mom! This is about Virgil! Yes, we lost her. Yes, he lost her support as well. Why the hell didn’t we step in and help? There was never any lack of support for my swimming. Or for your Air Force ambitions, race car driving, or god forbid those of us who dared to astronaut. But piano, singing, art, where the hell is the career Virgil should have had, and why the hell was it replaced with engineering?”

“Because that is what he wanted!”

Gordon’s voice went deadly quiet. “No, it sounds like what Dad would have wanted.”

Scott stared at his brother, his blood boiling, but his heart breaking. Really? Could it be what had happened. Had they failed him?

A soft and slightly shaky voice entered the conversation. “I chose engineering because it is just another artform. Mom always said ‘Be what you can and make what you will be.’ So I did.” Virgil shrugged. “I can make music, and I can draw and paint, but I can also make a much bigger difference to this world as an engineer.”

Scott stared at his brother. The man looked pale and shrunken, his arm clutched at his side, but his eyes…there was a vulnerability in his eyes. Scott reached out a hand. “Virgil-“

His brother stepped slightly out of reach, obviously not willing to let himself be helped.

“I would have thought that would be obvious considering how many lives we’ve saved.”

“But are you happy?” The words burst from Scott, suddenly desperate for reassurance.

Virgil tilted his head and looked up at his brother. “Is that what is important here?”

“Yes!”

“Then I am.”

“Virgil.”

“Scott, this is old. Water under the bridge. Really, can we please leave it there?”

“If you are happy, then why don’t you sing? You were so happy back then, why not now?”

“I was ten!”

“You were happy!”

“I’m happy now!”

“Then sing!”

Virgil stood frozen for a moment, his glare defiant, but then something shifted in his stance, his shoulders straightening, his posture standing taller. His glare pinned Scott to the spot.

And he began to sing.

That same song from Vienna, German falling effortlessly from his lips. Gone was the boyish voice and in its place a deep rich baritone equally trained, equally practised, but long hidden. Barely aware of Gordon beside him, Scott was swept up in the depths of his brother’s voice. Pool side was hardly a choral hall, but Virgil projected his voice to his audience. In the house behind him, Alan suddenly appeared on the balcony, Kayo and Grandma from the kitchen.

Virgil’s gaze did not flicker from Scott at all.

The song rose to its crescendo, so familiar to Scott, once, twice and again, Virgil’s voice dipping towards its end, the absent choir not led, but compensated for. And then those two last words, softly sung to an amazed choral hall, translated into English as ‘love you’.

A stunned silence followed.

Until Virgil tilted slightly sideways. “Ow.” Scott darted over to his side, Gordon a split second behind him. Virgil wilted into their support. “Sorry. Don’t quite have the sustaining muscles at the moment.”

Without a word both brothers manhandled their negligent artist over to the lounger, nagging him to lie down.

“Okay, okay, I’m down. I’m fine, relax.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the two of you should stop arguing about me.” He drew in a pained breath. “I was thinking I could shut you up.” Again with the glare.

“Was it worth it?”

“Maybe. Depends. You guys going to stop yelling?”

He could feel Gordon’s eyes on him, but he refused to drop his stare from Virgil. “Maybe.” He was now heavily aware of the extra audience his brother’s singing had harnessed. Grandma, Kayo and Alan now all stood at the kitchen doors. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“You.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil stared up at his brother. “What do you want me to say?”

Quietly, ever aware of their audience. “The truth.”

“Why?”

“I need to know.”

“You need to know.”

“Why don’t you sing?”

“I just did. You told me to.”

“Virgil.”

“Because I wanted to keep it for myself, okay. It is all I had left of her, and it was mine.” He tried not to flinch, but it was hard while lying prone under the stares of his brothers. “She was gone. I was the odd one out. The singing was mine, so I kept it for myself.” If he couldn’t have her, then no one could have him. He glared up at both of them. “Have we finished the psychoanalysis? I’d like to go back inside now.”

“You’re the ‘odd one out’?”

“Of course, I am.” He glared.

“But-“

“I’m not ashamed of it, Scott. I am what I am. Just a bit different from the rest of you. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, I-“

“Then, for goodness sake, drop the subject and stop worrying.” He flicked his glare to Gordon. “You, too. I’m still the same person as I was before you discovered I was a choir boy. The rest is my business, so, politely, please leave it to me.”

He groaned as he tried to lever himself up on to his elbows. “Though, if you would be kind enough to give me a hand back inside…”

Both Scott and Gordon reached down and helped him to his feet. One under each arm, they walked him past the rest of the family, up to his room and to his bed. Virgil let himself relax into the mattress. He’d overdone it again, but it might have been worth it.

Gordon left, no doubt prompted by his brother, but Scott, as expected, hovered.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, Scott. No need to worry.” He snuggled into the softness of the pillow. Lovely. Relax. “Just leave it. I’m fine.”

A muttered, “And you wonder why we don’t believe you.”

“What? Go, Scott, I’m fine.” And for good measure. “And I’ll even sing at Grandma’s next birthday if that will make you happy.”

“Really?”

“Get out.” It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was enough for the door to open and close rather quickly.

Finally, silence.

A deep breath.

Relax.

-o-o-o-

FIN

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gumnutfic

[gumnut-logic]

Listen

Title: Listen

Part 1 of 6

Author: Gumnut

5 Aug 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Teen

Summary: For the world is unkind and it needs your touch.

Word count: 877

Spoilers & warnings: None

Author's note: I may need to change my name to ‘Corny’. This has probably been done before, but eh, it is just a scribble.  Also, apparently I’ve fallen far enough to start writing poetry again ::headdesk:: Man, I got it bad.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Listen, my son.

Listen and learn

Be what you can

And make what you will be

Love with your all

Share with your heart

And know

I am there for you

And will always be

 If you can hear

Answer

If you have voice

Sing

For the world is unkind

And it needs your touch.

  It was evening. The last of the sun’s rays were just catching the glass overhead. Virgil sat quietly in front of his piano listening to his brothers arguing. It had been some time since the argument had started, but then it had been inevitable due to the day they had had. Another bad one. Another soul draining rescue that barely earned the term. The voices loudest were, of course, Scott and Gordon, but Virgil could tell it wasn’t anger fuelling the words. It was exhaustion, frustration and no lack of sadness.

Alan was curled up in one corner of the couch faking sleep. John hovered in the middle of the room, his hologram frowning and interspersing words as he saw fit.

The argument was going in circles.

Virgil sighed. He had already voiced his opinion and it had been ignored. Somewhat an indicator of the level of pain in the room. No one was listening to anyone.

He looked down at the keyboard. God, he was tired.

-o-o-o-

Scott’s throat hurt. It hurt to yell, but yell he did. “Goddamnit, Gordon, what do I need to do to get it into your head that I’m right?”

“Right? What makes you right and me wrong? Even if I had done what you said, she still would have died!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do, Scott, that woman was dead no matter what we did!” Gordon’s eyes glared up at him. “We can’t save everyone. I had to save those who could be saved.”

Scott spun on the spot and sunk his boot into the nearest couch. The next couch over shook enough to startle Alan out of his fake sleep. “Christ, calm down, Sc-“

A single musical note interrupted them. Several more followed and Scott turned to glare at Virgil. But his brother’s eyes were closed, and the tune was a familiar one.

Then to Scott’s complete astonishment, Virgil began to softly sing.

“The road is long

With many a winding turn.”

His voice was gentle, barely heard above the piano.

“That leads us to who knows where

Who knows where.”

 It would have been corny, but Virgil never sang. Never. Not even in the shower. Not since Mom…

 “But I'm strong

Strong enough to carry him

He ain't heavy, he's my brother.”

 Scott was vaguely aware of his other three brothers staring as stupidly as he was. All thoughts of argument gone. Something in his heart was beating out of sequence.

 “If I'm laden at all

I'm laden with sadness

That everyone's heart

Isn't filled with the gladness

Of love for one another.”

 Virgil did not open his eyes once. His brow furrowed, his fingers played and his voice sang. So softly, ever so gently.

 “It's a long, long road

From which there is no return

While we're on the way to there

Why not share.”

 The piano keys echoed in the silence.

 “And the load

Doesn't weigh me down at all

He ain't heavy he's my brother.”

 The last line was repeated. Once, twice and barely heard a last time. His brother’s fingers deftly danced a last riff and then the air was empty of sound.

Virgil opened his eyes and pinned each of them in turn, his lips thin. But he didn’t say anything. Simply stood up and walked out of the room.

Scott blinked.

Gordon’s voice was quiet. “I guess that is one way to end an argument.”

He looked at his younger brother and his lips twitched. Scott let out a breath and reaching out, wrapped an arm around Gordon’s shoulders and drew him close. If his lips touched his brother’s hair, neither said a thing about it.

“Let’s call it a night.” He shot a lopsided, wistful smile at Alan.

His youngest brother returned it half-heartedly. “It was a shitty day.”

Scott stared in the direction of Virgil’s exit. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, it was.”

-o-o-o-

Next part - Live

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #gumnutfic

[gumnut-logic]

A Little Understanding

Title: A Little Understanding: an epilogue to A Good Day

Author: Gumnut

21 – 22 Jul 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Teen

Summary: “I’m fine, Scott, I promise.”

Word count: 2151

Spoilers & warnings: Nothing canon specific, but won’t make much sense if you haven’t read ‘A Good Day.’

Author's note: Apparently Scott had some questions and I seem to have developed a fascination for Virgil and his piano. I think this may be a little self-indulgence, so I’m keeping it separate from the main fic. I hope you enjoy it in any case.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

It was still dark. The moon still in the sky and the stars still out, hiding the fact that the sun would be rising in the east in the next couple of hours. 

It was the hour of quiet. An hour he’d seen quite a bit of lately, but for the first time Virgil could actually feel it.

 He felt at rest, his heart calm.

 Even though he again couldn’t sleep.

 It didn’t worry him this time. He was tired, but it was a good tired, not the wretched tired of yesterday.

 He padded down the stairs from his bedroom into the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. His socks didn’t make a sound on the tiles, the slight rustle of his pyjamas and the hum of the refrigerator the only sounds not made by the night outside.

 He didn’t turn on the light. He didn’t need it. Leaving the glass on the bench, he climbed the back stairs into the comms room, sock-skated across to the huge open bay window and out onto the balcony.

 He stared out at the ocean. Reflected starlight stared back.

 He closed his eyes.

 It had been a good day.

 A very good day.

 A cool breeze ruffled his hair.

 A breath in.

 A breath out.

 A moment of stillness.

 A moment to breathe.

 An unseen presence appeared beside him.

 Without opening his eyes, he opened his mouth. “A bit early even for you.”

 A quiet voice. “And even earlier for you. You okay?” There was still a touch of worry from yesterday in the question.

 Eyes still closed. “I’m fine, Scott, I promise.”

 There was silence and the sounds of the night regained their dominance.

 “Virgil, how does it work?”

 “How does what work?”

 “How do you channel all that into the music?”

 Virgil opened his eyes and looked at his brother. The moonlight sculpted his features in silver. He licked his top lip. “I guess..” How to explain it? He brought his fingers to his chest. “I take it and shove it out and make it into something. Use the energy.” He flung his hands forward. “It gets rid of it. Makes it easier.” A lopsided smile. “And hey, sometimes I get something to show for it.”

 Scott’s voice was quiet. “So what happened yesterday?”

 Virgil dropped his head and ran his hand through his hair. “My fault. Hadn’t done it for a while. Got bottled up. I guess no art makes Virgil a bear head.”

 “It’s that simple? All that grump and all we had to do was make you sit at the piano?” There was just a hint of a smile on Scott’s face.

 Virgil snorted. “Simple? When you put it that way...” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

 “Should we call in Kayo and do that hog-tying?”

 “Hah!”

 Scott’s smirk wrinkled into a more serious expression. “Really, Virgil, you scared us.”

 He frowned. “Why?”

 Blue eyes widened. “Did you hear what you played?”

 “Yeah, of course, a whole lotta embarrassing key bashing. What about it?”

 His brother stared at him a moment, a little wide-eyed before grabbing his arm and directing him back inside the house. He led him over to the couch, palming the comms remote, and sat them both down. “You need to see this.”

 Virgil realised what his brother was up to. “Aw, you gotta be kidding me, Scott.” He struggled to get off the couch, but Scott dragged him back down.

 “No, you have to see this. Then maybe you’ll understand.” There was strain in Scott’s voice. Virgil relented.

 The holoprojector lit up and Scott flicked between scenes. Virgil was chagrined to see himself in all of them, until it settled on the section his brother was looking for.

 Holographic Virgil sat in front of his holographic piano and began to play.

 It was no more than a warm up exercise at first, but then his holographic form frowned and…

 Oh, god.

 He felt just about every red blood cell in his body crawl into his face. His whole family had seen that? He had thought they were all worried because of the talk he and Gordon had had before the piano made its appearance. Not because of this…

 He felt naked.

 Kayo had said powerful and she had meant it. The passion coming off that keyboard was blatant and raw. When he had been playing, it had just been sound and rhythm. There was no composition, just the chords he felt he needed to play. He hadn’t really cared what it sounded like, he had just let it flow.

 It hadn’t just flowed, it had flooded.

 All over his family.

 Oh, hell. No wonder Grandma had been crying. There would be a pile of apologies to be made when the sun came up.

 He frowned. So that is where the split lip had come from.

 -o-o-o-

 Scott gritted his teeth as the piece played. It got into his bones and it still hurt as much as it had the first time, but at least his brother was sitting beside him this time and not an ocean away.

 As the music came to an end, Scott flicked off the holoprojector, leaving the room to the silver of the moon once again.

 His brother continued to stare at where the hologram had been. After a moment, in a quiet voice. “So do we need an exorcist?”

 Scott stared at him. “What?”

 “I didn’t realise it sounded that bad, sorry.”

 “Bad? What the hell are you talking about, Virgil. You poured your heart into that piano. That music was full of anger and pain. You were crying. Hell, John was crying. Can you believe that? Mr Spock himself. You made the Vulcan cry, Virgil.”

 His brother was horrified. “I-I’m sorry.”

 Oh, goddamnit. That wasn’t it.  He sat up straighter in the chair, turning himself more fully to his brother, desperate to get his point across. “No, no, no, Virgil. You don’t need to be sorry. It is us who should be sorry. We’re upset because you were hurting and we didn’t see.”

 A frown. “I was just tired, Scott. It’s been a long week, that’s all.”

 “You’re trying to tell me that all that emotion came from just this week?”

 “Well, no, but I’m not in pain, Scott. It was just a build-up, a bit of artistic frustration.”

 Scott’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding?”

 “Well, okay, sure, I haven’t played in a while, and I was tired, and stressed and…yeah, okay, I guess I was hurting a bit. But it is nothing, Scott. I can manage it. It just got a little bit neglected.” Virgil wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Sorry, I scared everyone.”

 He rubbed his hand through his hair. Now he understood why Gordon had had so much trouble. There seemed to be a glitch in communicating with his brother. Somehow what he wanted him to hear just wasn’t getting through.

 Virgil seemed to realise his frustration, paused a moment thinking, then placed a hand on his arm. “C’mere, I want to show you something.” He stood up, gently pulling on him. Sighing, Scott, got up and let himself be led.

 His brother dragged him over to the piano. “Now sit on the end of the stool. And listen.”

 Virgil sat down in front of the piano and for just a moment, Scott steeled himself for another assault of pain. He realised what he was doing and forced himself to relax. He was being ridiculous. This was Virgil, he had heard him play hundreds of times, why should this time be any different?

 Back straight, Virgil flexed his hands in preparation. “You heard me venting, Scott. A simple release of stress. Our job is stressful. You run. You punch that bag in the gym. This is how I let it out.” He hesitated. “It is part of the process. But it is not all that can be released, Scott. It is only one facet. Perhaps you’ll understand if I release another.” He mock glared at his brother. “No laughing allowed.”

 Scott flung up his hands innocent defence. God, as if he would ever.

 Another flex of his hands, a shift in his shoulders, and Virgil closed his eyes once more. He sat there for a second more, before reaching out to the keys. His fingers twitched and caught the ivory.

 The music came out sweet, daisy Sundays, a jaunty tune, a hint of laughter. Scott couldn’t help but feel lifted. The contrast of this music to the piece from the day before was so stark it was as if it was by a completely different musician.

 The tune shifted slightly, a more serious note floating in, it became faster, more sure, more powerful. A strong rhythm came into the lead. It spoke of strength, surety and the rest of the tune followed it behind. It led the pack, while a dancing note ran in circles around it. Then a deep bass rumble stepped in, re-enforcing the whole composition. It lifted and then it flew, notes scattering and swirling like snowflakes.

 The music paused, a single run of keys keeping the rhythm true, before the daisy Sundays returned, the laughter, and not a small amount of love.

 Virgil was smiling, his eyes still closed, his body twitching to the tempo, fully involved in creating his art.

 Eventually the music slowed, the last of the jaunty tune, bouncing across the keys before several soft notes took over, bringing the piece to a quietly confident close.

 Virgil lifted his fingers off the keys and rested them on his thighs, looking down a moment. Quietly. “It’s called Big Brother.”

 Scott stared at Virgil, who was refusing to look in his direction, obviously embarrassed. He looked down at the keys and back at Virgil again. “Really?”

 “Really.” His brother looked up but still didn’t look at him. Apparently, the bookcase was far more interesting.

 “Wow.”

 “I guess.”

 “No, really, Virgil. Wow.” He grabbed the musician by his shoulders forcing him to turn towards him.

 His brother’s eyes were pleading. “Do you get it now?” Under the embarrassment, there was a desperate need for understanding. The man had obviously risked exposing himself to try and communicate something important. “That was pre-written. I – I’ve had it for a while. Planned to give it to you on your birthday last year, but…”

 Scott frowned. “But what?”

 A shoulder half shrugged. “I didn’t.”

 “Why?”

 Another shrug. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that it is not all pain and misery. That piece…” He swallowed, looking like he was about to jump off a cliff. “That piece is you, Scott. That is what I think of when I think of you. All light, strength, power, big brother and yes, laughter. You’ve always been there, always…anyway, do you understand?”

 Scott bit his lip. “I’m not sure.”

 Virgil’s shoulders slumped. “I’m fine, Scott. There is nothing wrong with me. Can’t you see? It is just a different way of managing…things.”

 “Hey, I never said there was anything wrong with you.” His lips twisted. “Though I have considered the possibility of mutant genes to explain the size of your shoulders. Look at those things, you sure you’re not using that exo-suit to disguise your super-human strength?”

 Virgil thumped his arm.

 “Ow, a demonstration was not needed.”

 “Seriously, Scott. I am fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I promise, I’ll take a bit better care of myself. But there is nothing to worry about.”

 “You’re sure?”

 “Aaargh!” His fingers hit the piano and a tumultuous jumble of notes bounced out, a moment of chaos followed by the immediately recognisable theme to Jaws.

 Scott jumped off the seat, hands up in self-defence. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

 Iconic Twilight Zone notes.

 Scott smirked.

 Virgil glared. The tune morphed into Pharrell William’s ‘Happy’. ‘Because, I’m happy…’

 “I get it already!” He grinned. “Going with the ancient oldies there, Virg.”

 His brother rolled his eyes before turning back to the piano. The first notes of Grandma’s special composition appeared under his fingers.

 Leaning back against his Dad’s desk, Scott was content to simply listen and watch his brother. No, he didn’t fully understand him, though he definitely appreciated him taking the time to try and explain himself – and that Big Brother music was definitely not going to gather dust in the back of his brother’s head. There was a recording planned in the future.

 In fact, recording more of his music might give Virgil the motivation to play more often. Scott pondered. There were plenty of rooms in the villa, shouldn’t be hard to convert somewhere into a sound studio. He’d speak to Brains.

 In the very early morning light, Virgil’s face was lit from within. Eyes once again closed, swaying to the music.

 Turning towards the mezzanine above, Scott smiled at Gordon.

 The music danced around the walls.

 Gordon smiled too.

 -o-o-o-

 FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gumnutfic