#thunderbirds fic

[oneyeartowrite]

Eight Steps. Five Years.

Thought I’d try something a little more light-hearted with John. 

Behold, John on drugs...

************************************************************************

“Are you ready, Scott Tracy?” The Hood’s eyes gleamed. “Are you ready to watch the world burn?”

Scott struggled to free himself from the men holding his arms. One cock of a gun aimed at Alan’s head, and he gave up the fight, sagging forward in the men’s grip. Virgil and Gordon were being held in a similar manner, and the fight left them too. They shared a look of doom, passing it around each other one by one, but when they turned to John, he burst out laughing and covered his mouth.

The Hood had his finger hovering over a button. A button to launch a nuclear bomb, the catalyst to the world’s annihilation. He had them trapped in his bunker, poised to watch the end of the world play out in front of them. The horror weighing down in Scott’s gut attempted to pull him to the floor. Virgil looked to Scott for answers, Gordon eyed the gunman in front of Alan, Alan was pale-faced, muttering pleas under his breath.

They were done. Defeated. Yet…

John laughed again and slapped his hands over his mouth. He slipped them down, making his bottom lip pop. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m being rude, I’m trying not to be though. It’s hard, really fucking hard. Fuck, that’s a lot of swearing isn’t it?”

Scott double-took, and gawped at his brother. He couldn’t find any words, and neither could the rest of his family. John was unsteady on his feet, drifting forward, only to lurch back again.

The Hood lifted his finger and stabbed it in John’s direction. “What the hell is wrong with that one.”

Scott flexed his eyebrows at Virgil. Virgil mouthed ‘shock’ back but finished his silent diagnosis with a frown. John wasn’t one to break under pressure, and if this was his breaking point, it was a little alarming it came with a dose of hysteria.

One of the men holding Gordon sighed, “I kind of…. mixed up his dose.”

The Hood glared. “Care to elaborate?”

“I was supposed to give him a sedative to get him here like the others, but…I may have given him something else. Something,” the man coughed. “I use for recreational purposes.”

“It’s LSD,” John said. “I remember. It’s like my brain is crawling. It kinda tickles.”

“You’ve taken LSD before?” Gordon squawked.

“I was curious. Lady Penelope was curious…”

“Lady Penelope took LSD!”

John gasped, and tried to catch a speck of dust in the air. “Dust. Human-made stars. How fascinating.” He cupped it in his hand. “This is definitely one of Scott’s, it screams of stress. It’s okay little speck of dust, Johnny’s got you now.”

The Hood waved his hand. “Gag him or something. I don’t want him ruining his moment. This is when the world becomes mine.” He held his finger aloft, smiling to himself, but before he could press the button, John made a wrong answer noise. The buzzer sound echoed, and all eyes fell on him.

“I thought I said to gag that one!”

“World domination is never as easy as flipping a switch, trust me, I know. I tried the whole nuclear explosion, world war three route when I was ten. “ John dodged the gag coming towards him, knocking into Virgil who attempted to grab him. “I mean, it’s dramatic, kind of exciting, but you fuck the planet, you don’t kill everybody, and you’ll be long dead before it’s safe to leave the bunker. Like…your kids, kids, kids might get out of here, but they’ll have issues when they get to the surface. What’s the point in ruling the world, when there’s nothing of it left?”

Silence descended on the room. Broken only when John decided to act out a missile launch and subsequent explosion with his hand.

“KABOOM!”

The Hood stepped away from the button, gawping. He went to speak, but John got there first.

“What’s your second step?”

“Second step?”

“Yeah,” John stumbled forward, pointing at the button. “That’s step one.”

“No.” The Hood said slowly. “That’s the final step—

“No, no, no.” John scrubbed his face. He groaned and threw a look at Scott. “Can you believe the absolute idiocy of this man?”

Scott startled, “Um—

“You’ve gone about this completely the wrong way if that’s your final step. Call yourself a villain. What a disorganised mess. Genuinely, makes my blood boil. Look.” He wiped his brow. “Look at that, exasperation. What the hell were you thinking? Sometimes I think the only way a villain can win is if I become one.”

The Hood folded his arms. “I suppose you’ve got the full plan?”

John studied his nails with a pout. “I don’t mean to brag but….”

“John,” Scott said, carefully. His brother turned to him sharply, and he recoiled at his pupils, covering all of the turquoise in his eyes. John’s orange hair darkened with sweat, and trails ran down his flushed skin. “I…I think you should be quiet now.”

John’s face scrunched up.

“Most of the time I’m told I’m too quiet. I need to be more social, I need to talk, and be articulate,” he waved his arms, knocking the gunman trained on Alan. “But when I’m like that, it’s wrong. I’m not doing it right. Tell me, Scott, is there a right and wrong way of being social? I’m anti-social, that suggests I’ve made the choice to become anti, but that’s not true, I don’t like the anxiety, and the panic, and the self-consciousness, and the fear—"

“I would like to hear your plan.” The Hood said, carefully. “If you don’t mind.”

“Give me an incentive to share it.”

The Hood clicked his fingers. A gun was pressed against John’s forehead. Scott began struggling against the men holding him again, but stilled at the sound of the gun cocking.

John clacked his tongue. He cracked his fingers, then reached for the gun, not smacking it away, he grabbed it and pressed it to his head. “That plan is in here, in my racing, chaotic, brain, and sometimes I think blowing it out is the best option. “ The gunman darted panicked glances in the Hood direction.  His eyes widened. His bottom lip trembled. John sighed, swiftly moved his fingers, and the clip from the gun dropped onto the floor.  The loud thud was enough of a distraction for John to swing back his arm and punch him in the face.

He stepped over him and headed closer to the Hood.

The Hood retreated, giving John plenty of room. “It’s really hot in here. I’m sweating.” John wiped the back of his arm over his forehead and shook the sweat onto the floor. “That’s disgusting. Is there no aircon down here?”

“World. Domination.”

The Hood said, clicking his fingers in front of John’s blown eyes. John tried to bat them like a playful cat.

“Right, yeah. First, you’ve got to ask yourself what kind of world domination you’re after. You’ve got to think of time frame, and sustainability, and repercussions, but you just think, look at that shiny button, and the big rocket, and the explosives, and really, they are minor points in the grand scheme of things,” John threw his arms out wide, slapping a man in the face. He spun around, and the Hood ducked to avoid a palm to the cheek. “There are questions you need to ask yourself before you think about shiny buttons.”

“What questions?”

“Do you want a fully functioning society, or do you want a wreck.”

“Fully functioning—”

“Then no pretty, shinny, little buttons.” John crouched down in front of it. He touched it, tapped his finger against it, and everyone inhaled sharply. He rested his chin against the desk, stroking the button. “Pressing buttons is always so tempting though, right?”

No one dared breathe.

“How something so small can trigger something so huge? It’s amazing, isn’t it.”

Scott coughed awkwardly. “Maybe…move away from it.”

“Do you think so?” John asked.

“I absolutely think it’s a good idea,” Virgil said in a rush of words.

John cupped his ear. “What’s that Gordon? I should totally push it?”

Gordon launched into the air. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Sorry, that’s my inner Gordon speaking.”

John dropped to the floor, laughing. The Hood nudged him with his foot. “Let's hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Your plan.”

John rolled onto his front and held up his fingers. “I’ve got it down to eight steps, five years, and I’m happy with that. Eos, three steps, one year, but she kills at will, and I won’t do that so mine takes a little longer, but you know, I don’t wipe out mankind with my eight-step plan I just,” John swiped at another speck of dust. “Move them elsewhere.”

The Hood crouched over John. “Move them?”

“Yeah, it really is hot in here, like, even the concrete feels like it's bubbling. Why is it so hot?”

Everyone except John startled at a piercing alarm. The source. Virgil’s wrist strap flashing up dangerous readings coming from John’s suit.

“How did you get them to…move on?” The Hood asked.

“No, no, no. That’s my plan, you’ve got to think of your own.”

The Hood pointed at the hologram of the globe turning in front of him. “I have—

“Nothing but a button. No plan.” John reached out and grabbed the hologram. It disappeared. One of the Hood's advisors yelled out in protest, but the Hood’s glare sealed his lips.

John twisted towards one of the many computers. “Let’s have a little thinking session between us, and see what we can come up with, hmmm?”

No one spoke. Virgil shuffled, showing Scott John’s readings. Scott widened his eyes and cursed under his breath.

John groaned. “Seriously, nothing? Alan, throw me a bone, you’ve got a brain cell and a sadistic streak, start us off.”

Alan glanced at Scott for permission. “Urm. A virus.”

“Brilliant Alan.”

He beamed at John’s praise.

“There are lots of different viruses, but you’ve got to make allowances for immunity. Some people will naturally be immune. There are also pesky scientists working against you, so I suggest you deal with them before releasing the virus. Some mass assassination, but that’s time and money, but then when we get past that, we’ve got to think about the type of virus.”

One of the Hood’s men cleared his throat. “When you say a virus, do you mean….like a zombie virus?”

Gordon pipped up, “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no zombie virus.”

John clutched the back of his neck. “Keep telling yourself that and you’ll sleep at night.”

Gordon recoiled. “What?”

“Let's release the zombie virus,” John said with mock cheer. “Now, we’ve got problems from the start—

“Yeah, Zombies!” Gordon shouted.

“No, the zombies are the solution, people are the problem. They’re resilient, not to mention some people have prepared for that eventuality. There are courses and everything, let's say we wipe out eighty percent.” John brought up a pie chart displaying eighty percent. “We come out of hiding, and the world, well, it stinks. Literally, all that rotting flesh and corpses are everywhere, and there are not enough people for the place to function. Then starts the infighting and the gangs, and the cannibalism because it’s far easier to hunt humans than anything else, and I for one don’t want to chow down on Scotty, he looks tough and bitter.”

“Hey!” Scott snapped. “I’d eat your scrawny ass first.”

“Virgil on the other hand, if I had to eat one of my brothers, it would be him.”

Virgil rubbed his temple. “Thanks, I guess.”

The Hood sighed. “Forget the zombies, and the viruses, I don’t want the world to be that much of a state. I need everyone to do as I say, that’s all.”

“Says Mr shiny button.” John folded his arms. “Anyone going to offer up any other ideas?”

Virgil cleared his throat. “Why dominate? Won’t being likeable and respected earn you the same rewards in the long run?”

John smiled at Virgil. “And that is why you’ve got the softest soul of anyone I know.”

Virgil flashed a shy yet confused smile.

“That will never work.” The Hood snapped.

“It will,” John answered, “But you’re talking about….” He tapped away on a different computer until a number appeared as a hologram. It climbed higher in front of them. “About thirty-six years for that to take effect.” He glanced at the Hood. “I’d say you have thirty-two, and I’m scarily accurate. I freak myself out with it. Genuinely. But thirty-two years for you.”

The Hood looked away, mouthing thirty-two.

“So we need a balance between the outright terror of a virus and the destruction that comes with it, and the nice guy smoothing out the ragged issues of the world, and that’s where my eight steps come in, but I’m not going to hand them to you. Work them out for yourself.”

“I’m starting to understand why Jeff kept you hidden away…”

John launched himself at a chair on wheels and whizzed round in circles. He stopped suddenly. “He hid me away because out of all my brothers, he liked me the least.”

Scott made a protesting noise, but John cut across him.

“It’s okay, Scotty.”

“Your father was an idiot for not valuing you.” The Hood wandered closer. “If you were my son, I’d be proud of you.”

John tilted his head, considering.

“That’s flattering and disturbing all in one.” He looked into the Hood's eyes, then hummed. “But it would never have worked out.”

“What?”

“If I was your son.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” John sighed. “I’d be the brains behind your schemes, and the world would be ours,  easily I might add, but then you’d grow paranoid knowing I could take it from you. Which I could because I’m a genius. You’d plot to have me killed, and because I would’ve already foreseen that, I’d kill you first.” He shrugged. “See. It wouldn’t work out, but thanks though, it’s nice to feel appreciated and I imagine for a few years you would be proud of me, and maybe there is a part of me that craves that, but everything has a time limit. Tick-tock.”

John leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Now, I’m tired. Hush everyone. Wake me up when you’ve figured it out.”

The door burst open. A SWAT team entered, shouting out commands. The Hood’s men dropped to their knees with their hands on their heads, but The Hood lunged, flicking the button.

The hologram of the world appeared again.

Everyone stared at it, waiting, but nothing changed.

John cracked an eye open. “That’s another thing about buttons, a snip of a wire and they’re useless…” He grinned at the Hood’s shocked face. “You have no plan, and now you have no button. Night night.”

He promptly fell asleep.

And upon waking in a bed on Tracy island, hooked up to a load of machinery,  with four worried brothers hovering over him, remembered nothing.

Scott ruffled his hair.

John looked up at him. Dazed, and still not one hundred percent on the planet. “Why am I here?”

“You had a little trip to the land of crazy,” Gordon announced. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Alan nodded. “It was totally awesome.”

“Scary,” Virgil mumbled, closing his hand around John's wrist to feel his pulse. “For multiple reasons.”

“But we’re really proud of you.” Scott kept stroking John’s hair. “You distracted the Hood with your manic talk of world domination, severed a wire under the desk to the kill switch and got an SOS out to Eos via the Hood’s network…”

“Eight steps. Five years.” John said dreamily. He closed his eyes. “And no use of zombies like Eos’s plan…” he sighed, “Then the world will be mine.”

The brothers passed around another worried look between them.

Scott continued stroking John’s hair. “I’m so relieved you’re not a villain.”

#john tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fic #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fandom #tracy family #the hood

[edutainer2022]

A cold, vicious cyclone caught me unawares in the middle of the city the other day, right as I decided it was too hot for the coat. So, naturally, Scott gets under the weather in NYC, quite literally (and is being a stubborn doofus about it). It's an Earth and Sky fluff, but in the end, John decided he wanted in, so Earth and Star have a good hearty chat too. Virgil and John are being very good brothers. Absolutely nothing hurts. A greatful boop to @idontknowreallywhy, @astranite and @janetm74 for soft fabrics and Top Gun featuring.

UNDER THE WEATHER

The perks of living on a tropical island included not only it being remote, secluded and perfect to house a state-of-the-art rescue operation. It was also the whole being TROPICAL deal. Whenever one stepped out - it was reliably warm. The downside of living on a remote tropical island was losing the habit to navigate the regular four-seasons weather. Or the fickle New York City climate.

Truthfully, Scott didn't miss it much. Of course, he'd be fondly nostalgic about Kansas and snow slides, or, would occasionally get caught up in the inherent wistful mood of early NYC fall. But he definitely didn't miss THIS - being caught up in the icy torrent and orange warning winds two blocks away from the Tracy Tower. In nothing but his dress shirt and slacks.

They were at Tracy Industries headquarters with Virgil for the better half of the week. Virgil was involved in pre-screening the latest batch of R&D pitches, before they would move on to Brains and John for the final approval and production. Scott was held hostage by the Department of Finance for budget amendments and redistribution.

When the opportunity presented itself, well into the afternoon, to escape his own untimely death by paperwork or premeditated murder of a high ranking employee, Scott ran for the hills, slipping expertly beneath the radar of Kayo's handpicked security detail.

His underlying motive was quite noble - to walk to that coffe-shop Virgil liked and get his brother and himself some decent coffee. Virgil loved coffee and Scott loved Virgil - the rationale for his sortie was ironclad. Of course, pursuing exclusively immaculate fraternal care didn't provide for ditching his earpiece and wrist com. The hasty retreat also meant his designer (and more importantly in his current predicament - woolen) jacket got left hanging on the back of his chair by the bay window. He forgot this wasn't Tracy Island, the sun outside the window and climate control in the offices and their penthouse at the top of the Tracy Tower lulled his vigilance. And now, without a comm to get a timely warning from Eos or to call a cab (or the security SUV with a profound apology, or One from the landing pad on the roof), Scott was caught in the sudden onslaught of a cyclone.

The prudent thing to do would be to go back to the Tower. So, of course, Scott decided in favor of the opposite and broke into a run for the rest of the distance to the coffee place. The relentless laws of physics - speed and resistance - made sure he was soaked through the very last thread of clothing on his body and chilled to the bone by the time he got there.

His hair plastered to the forhead, the supershiny gel having lost the round with the freezing downpour, rivers of water drained down from the top of his head all the way past the suit slacks and dress shoes splashed in muck. There were poodles of water INSIDE his shoes. His socks were wet. His shirt was drenched. The squelching of the fabric as he walked up to the counter suggested he was wet EVERYWHERE. Yuk! That, at least, he didn't know as he was getting numb all over from the cold.

Scott was aware he probably looked like a wet stray cat. It was that or his shirt became see-through in the rain - as a barrista with a cute smile tried to waive his fee for the coffee. Unacceptable! He paid for two extra large, extra strong brews,  and rushed out, stifling a sneeze. Must have been the shirt, since one of the take-away cups had a phone number scrolled on the side. Which was a small consolation, as he broke into a jog again, making his way back through the raging elements.

***

The Tracy Industries front desk in the lobby, thankfully, didn't detain him, so he snuck into the elevator, not making eye contact with anyone. It was getting increasingly hard to hold the coffee cups - his hands were numb and shaking, and his teeth were clattering in time with full body shivers. Scott was sure he had hit the executive floor button, but the elevator made no stop, gliding all the way up to the private penthouse. Figures. He'd probably earned himself a lecture not only from the on site security team, but from John as well.

The door slid open on his approach across an antechember and he was welcomed in the hallway by a wall of flannel presided by furrowed black brows. Scott brandished the procured coffee cups like a shield, instinctively. He would sound more nonchalant if he were not stuttering from the cold.

"Hey, Virg, I got your favorite coffee!"

His face muscles were too frozen for a smile.

Virgil was holding a massive towel, or maybe a full body length terrycloth sheet, like an unfurled banner, and appeared completely unmoved by Scott's heroic endeavor.

"How very kind of you! Now step on the rug and strip. I'm not mopping after you!"

Scott looked down and found himself standing, indeed, on one of Gordon's old bright pool towels. It was already soaked halfway through with all the water Scott was dripping. He felt marginally ashamed as the elevator likely sported poodles too. But it was hard to maintain several self-deprecating emotions at once, being that cold and miserable.

The styrofoam cups were tentatively deposited on the glove table. Scott peeled off his soaked dress shirt and shed the trousers more than eagerly, toed off wet (and probably ruined too) shoes. Francesco the designer would bite his head off. But that could wait. He needed something warm off the rack now! A move off the towel was aborted, however, by the reappearance of the Eyebrows over the terrycloth edge.

"Uh-uh! Everything, Scooter! You're NOT wedging your undies behind the shower stall. Again!"

Scott sighed. That was ONE TIME! He was sneaking back past the curfew and tried to conceal evidence. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out. The moment the last wet cloth on him joined the pile on the floor, he was wrapped head to ankles in the sea of soft blue fabric and steered in the general direction of the shower.

"You know the drill! Try to warm up under hot water as long as you can. If you feel lightheaded - yell, I'll be right here."

The scolding shower helped somewhat. He could still feel the freezing grip around his ribs, but his extremities were not as numb anymore, at least. There was a stack of warm sleepwear waiting for him as he stepped out in the cloud of fog. Scott smiled - it was a motley assembly of his own clean trunks and sweatpants, a well-worn soft flannel shirt and a Denver Engineering hoodie, that swapmed his frame. Hair toweled off and curling every which way, he was mostly ready to venture back out into the colder world, but felt dead tired.

There was a nest of throw pillows and a blanket, assembled on the couch, unfolded to full length, in the living room. Scott made an immediate beeline for it and tugged the blanket around his shoulders, trying to fold his feet beneath as well. The shivers were crawling back. Virgil emerged from a door that was decidedly neither Scott's nor his own room, carrying a pair of fluffy bright orange socks and an extra comforter.

***

After some gentle, yet determined, coaxing, the orange socks were tugged onto Scott's icy cold feet and a second blanket was tucked snuggly around him. Virgil settled by his side against a couple of snatched pillows, pondering idly that they would need to get a spare weighted blanket for the penthouse too. They would also owe John more socks. The Scott-sized frozen burrito shuffled closer and Virgil wrapped an arm around his wayward big brother, offering more of his body warmth. The chills worried Virgil. Scott was fit and healthy, but he was chronically exhausted and hadn't been exposed to cyclones without IR-grade water-proof gear, or at least a raincoat, in a while.

"So... you wanna watch Top Gun?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Scott's face immediately shot up, beaming with a thousand suns. He also did an enthusiastic giant caterpillar wiggle, blanket and all. Virgil thought in that moment his core memory was probably Scott, all bright eyes, gap-teeth smile and dimples, bouncing with excitement and unbridled energy. He wished he got to revisit it more often.

The opening frames rolled on the holoscreen to the sound of the all too familiar Anthem. Virgil finally reached for so hard earned cup of coffee, now reheated, and couldn't contain a snort.

"Aw, Scooter, you actually scored a number for your troubles?"

It was obvious Scott wasn't going to last through the movie - his eyes were droopping and voice slurred, mostly muffled by plaid flannel.

"M'dashin'!"

A smaller hologram appeared at that exact moment on Virgil's comm. John looked way too amused:

"Actually, that's the number of a homeless shelter around the corner from the coffee shop."

Virgil's laughter full on rumbled at that. He raised a hand to ruffle the back of big brother's head:

"Oh yeah, you're a dashing idiot."

"M'cold."

The muffled complain was exemplified by a full body shiver.

"Sure, Scotty! You're a cold, wet, dashing idiot."

There was no protest to that, just a soft, slightly stuffed snore. Virgil adjusted the hold on the now sound asleep biggest brother to snuggle him closer.

***

The F-14A Tomcat was playing chicken with a MiG-28 on the screen. John's hologram lingered. Virgil could tell the space ginger was concerned more than he let on. John finally spoke.

"Is he gonna be alright? Should I cancel his Friday?"

Untamed by the gel, the now dry and fluffy ringlets made it difficult to reach Scott's forhead, but the back of Virgil's hand found the way, careful not to disturb. The skin was cool to his touch, no signs of fever.

"He'll be alright. He just needs to warm up and sleep it off."

He moved to rub a soothing circle over Scott's back as the big brother relaxed deeper into sleep. It was sorely tempting to clear Scott's schedule for the next day and mandate more rest. But Virgil was aware it would pose a risk of Scott, not held down by a cold, hairing off to the island in One, insisting to be back on the roster, if not on TI business. That would be a shame, as a big part of the weekend, Virgil had been looking forward to, was going to see Tosca at the Metropolitan Opera with biggest brother.

John  was still hovering, unconvinced. Virgil siged, but smiled:

"Well, Johnny, unless you want to come down from orbit and join me at the box, I'd rather our reservation to a sold out six months in advance opera didn't fall through."

John looked appropriately appalled and quite earnest:

"I love you more than my life, brother, but I do draw a line at too many people doing too many loud things in a confined space. Call me Johnny and see how often I come down from orbit!"

Virgil stifled a huff of laughter, as Scott shuddered and groaned quietly, but, thankfully, didn't wake up. The warm-up circles over his back and shoulders resumed. Virgil hugged him closer. John shifted attention to the swaddled biggest brother in fond amusement.

"What did you bribe him with, anyway?"

Virgil didn't have the energy to protest.

"Apfelschtrudel from that place Gordon found. And he can preview the R&D projects I selected for Brains, if he gets bored. No call-outs, no reports, no work mail though."

The gazed Virgil fixed on John was full of fair warning. It was John's turn to smile.

"Don't worry. You love watching opera and Scott loves watching us doing what we love. He'll be fine. And locked out of his work accounts, for good measure."

Silence stretched for several moments, interrupted only by Scott's soft snoring.

Virgil looked down on the slumbering brother in his arms, then back at John.

"I wish he did more of what he loves. Just Scott. For himself - not for us, or for the company, or the world."

That wasn't an issue easily solved in a casual conversation through an impromptu movie night. If at all. John knew that too, all too well. The brother in orbit chewed on his lip, lost in thought.

"You could sugget he get coffee in that place again. She's a Hudson Uni postgraduate. Cultural Anthropology."

Virgil was mostly used to John's the Resident Genius thoughts veering in unexpected directions, but the ginger thoroughly lost him there.

"Huh? Who's a postgrad where?"

John rolled his eyes in exasperation commonly reserved to explaining things to the bristling rescuees and a five year old Gordon.

"The barrista that gave Scott a shelter number today. She works part time and volunteers there often. One time she even volunteered at the IR disaster site. Remember, the sinkhole? She seems nice."

Top Gun closing scenes were replaced by assorted social media pages and university profile pages. Virgil gulped.

"John! You can't go doxxing random people!"

John's hologram up in orbit shrugged:

"I have Eos run background checks automatically on anyone who comes in contact with you guys. We can't take any chances!"

There was sound and, sadly, field proved reasoning behind what nearly cost them barely averted tragedy on several occasions. But still... Virgil kept staring at a pretty blond smiling from the holoscreen.

"That gotta be illegal!"

"Only if I get caught."

Turquoise eyes twinkled in nothing remotely resembling remorse. He still didn't cut off the call.

"Do you wanna come down here for the weekend?"

Virgil suddenly felt the need to have more brothers accounted for and within reach. There was hope in the way John actually gave it a thought.

"Only if you don't make me go to the opera. I ordered you pizza, by the way."

A wave of warmth washed over Virgil and he tightened the grip on Scott's frame instinctively.

"You're my favoretest brother not asleep at the moment!"

He was graced with another eyeroll.

"You spend entirely too much time around Gordon. I'll have Eos screen the calls and land the elevator on the Tower tomorrow evening, your time, if there's no major catastrophe."

Virgil resisted the urge to fistpupm in the air. Definitely too much time around Gordon. Another thought occurred to him as he remembered a detail John mentioned when vetting the unsuspecting compassionate barrista.

"Hey, John! Could you..."

"Right ahead of you, brother. An anonymous donation was made to the homeless shelter and free kitchen an hour ago."

And they said Virgil and Scott were uncanny telepathic. Then again, it was to be expected. Anyone who was genuinely kind and considerate to their favorite Idiot, or attempted to course-correct his destruction path, inadvertently gained a lifelong ally in every one of them. Maybe he really needed to nudge Scott to go get more of the good coffee tomorrow. Equipped with an umbrella that time around.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #and gets one #scott tracy needs a cuff up his head #virgil tracy #did sign up for this #earth and sky #john tracy didn't sign up for this #earth and star #tracy brotherdom of love #my fic #thunderbirds 2015 #methinks i have astronomy

[hebuiltfive]

I have an idea for an AU. I have no idea if it will work at all, but it's here to stay I think. I have no idea if it's been done before either, but I'm going to attempt to write it.

Two words: Regency Tracys.

Think Bridgerton, but with a twist. A huge twist (as planned so far).

It might end up being a terrible idea. I might not write it out well at all, but this idea has got me hooked and it hasn't left me alone the last couple of days...

#i have IDEAS FOR THIS #five rambles #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #regency!au #fic: regency tracys #work in progress title there

[katblu42]

Symphony

Been thinking about this one a bit over the last few days, so I thought I'd give it a bit of a re-run.

It's just a bit of fluffy, music-related Earth and Sky.

Scott tore his eyes away from the unread emails, stretched his arms above his head, let out a long breath and turned the chair away from the desk to face Virgil at the piano.

“I like this one.  What’s it called?”

“It doesn’t really have a name.”

“I’ve heard you play it before, though.  Did you write it?”

There was the slightest hint of hesitation in Virgil’s response, although the music never wavered.

“I guess you could say that.  I haven’t ever really thought about notating it.”

“Aren’t you concerned you might forget it?”

A wry smile crept across the musician’s features, but he said nothing. 

“You should write it down.  And come up with a name for it.”

Virgil tilted his head a little by way of considering the notion, then asked “Why do you like it?  What does it make you think of?”

Scott stood, stretching more muscles, letting the music carry his thoughts away from TI paperwork as his gaze drifted upwards.

“Well, I like the way the melody climbs and swirls.  It kind of reminds me of flying.  And there’s a feeling of constant motion, fast, easy – sort of free.”  He closed his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to his brother.  “In some ways it kinda reminds me of Dad.”

Virgil’s response began with the quirk of an eyebrow and the hint of a smile.

“Funny you should say that . . .”

“Why?  Is it about Dad?”

Virgil finished the last phrase, letting the final chord hang in the air before taking a slow breath and looking up at his big brother.

“No.  It’s you.”

“Me?”  Sapphire eyes widened with surprise bordering on shock, and his forehead creased in puzzlement.  “You wrote a song about me?”

Virgil looked back at the piano. 

“Not exactly.  It’s more like . . .” His gaze drifted upward.  “It’s hard to explain.  It’s sort of how I hear your presence, or your essence or something . . . I don’t know.”  His voice trailed off into mumbles and a shrug.

Scott was left speechless, staring at his brother’s awkward uncertainty, as the significance of his own interpretation of the music and what it represented really hit home.  It took him a moment, and he had to work to bring moisture back into his mouth before he finally found his voice again.

“Do . . .  do you have something like this for all of us?”

Virgil felt the heat of a blush rising in his cheeks, and he didn’t look up from the piano.

“Uh, yeah.  I sort of do.”  His hands drifted back to the keys and a new piece of music began, one with a complimentary theme to Scott’s.  It was in the same key, had the same tempo, and still embodied that sense of soaring movement, but this one felt somehow bigger, more far-reaching – almost heroic.

Scott let out a gasp.  “Is that . . .?  This one is . . . It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

Virgil gave a single nod.

“It fits with yours.  Like the second theme in a sonata-allegro.”  Virgil glanced over at his brother, taking in the blank look at the musical term.  “That’s the usual form for the opening movement of a symphony.”  His eyes drifted closed as he played, and he sighed.  “I can hear them both in counterpoint, but I can’t play both at the same time and do them justice.  I’d need an orchestra for that.”

Dumbfounded at this revelation, Scott could only marvel at his brother’s musicality.  Here he was listening to these amazing musical creations that rendered larger than life, full-colour images in his mind, and Virgil was complaining that what he could do with the piano alone was not enough.  He didn’t think he could even imagine what this music must sound like inside Virgil’s head.

The music came to a stop and Virgil turned again to look up at Scott.

“The variations on these two themes would encompass something like what I hear for Grandma and Kayo, a little of Brains, some of Grandpa . . .” he turned away again, “then everything would come back to you and Dad.”

For a moment silence hung between them.  Virgil’s fingers flexed, as though the music within him was searching for a way out as they reached once again for the piano keys.  A new piece of music began.  This one slower, gentler, quieter in terms of movement if not exactly in terms of volume.  Scott felt this one was more thoughtful and emotional.  It brought to mind light and colour and had a sense of space, but it also somehow felt warm.

“Mom?” The smallest possible upward inflection made it a question, which was answered with another nod and the soft smile that made his little brother look so much like her.

The melody moved and changed, built, swelled, adding a complexity in the musical patterns reminiscent of a conversation, an exchanging of information.  The lightness now sparked imagery of stars. The feeling of space changed from that of a breeze in an open field to the vastness beyond Earth’s atmosphere. The gentleness was now reinforced with a sense of almost hidden strength – Scott thought that might’ve come from a stronger bass line, but he wasn’t sure.

“Is this . . . John?”

Virgil’s smile brightened.  “You’re good at this.”

“No, the music speaks for itself.  You’re the one painting these images of our family with notes and chords.”

The smile faltered as Virgil held the last chord, then he let his shoulders sink a little.  Scott silently cursed himself for bringing back that awkward self-consciousness in his brilliant brother, but before he could say anything Virgil spoke again.

“I guess they would be the second movement if this were a symphony.”  There was a brief pause, then he straightened back into his playing posture.  “No prizes for guessing who the third movement is.”

This piece of music was a jaunty, up-beat number that seemed designed to make people move – to dance, to tap their feet or clap along.  It definitely felt like a dance of some sort, and it contained hints of sea shanties, or maybe a sailor’s hornpipe.  It was the musical equivalent of laughter, sunshine, pure happiness, and it had a lilt that moved like the sea.

“Gordon!” Scott exclaimed with a laugh.

The comparatively brief third movement came to its conclusion, but Virgil barely paused before beginning what Scott guessed to be the fourth.

“And that leaves . . .” Virgil spoke softly as he began the final theme.

This one was in march tempo, strong, bright, driving forward with a sense of heroic purpose, and bringing back some of that swirling, soaring movement from earlier.  Scott could pick out hints of his own theme, and a faster version of parts of John’s, but the piece definitely had its own identity. There was a sense of urgency to it, as though the melody was trying to push the tempo into moving faster.

“Wow.  Alan would love this,” Scott found himself thinking aloud.

Virgil stopped playing after the end of the next phrase.

“There would be more.  If this was a symphony, I mean.  The fourth movement would bring in some more of the other main themes, tie everything together, finish with a bit of fanfare.”  Virgil was once again looking up at Scott, a mixture of curiosity and self-consciousness etched into his features.  “You really think Alan would like it?”

“Virgil,” Scott answered with a sigh and a shake of his head as he took the few strides over towards the piano stool, “it’s amazing.  All of it.  The whole symphony.”

Virgil gave a shrug and his brow creased a little.

“There’s a lot more to it in my mind.  Only so much can be translated through the piano.”

“Then orchestrate it.”

A sigh, a shake of the head and a hint of a smile was the only response.  Scott firmly planted a hand on his brother’s shoulder and piercing blue eyes locked gaze with warm brown ones.

“I mean it, Virgil.  Write your symphony.  Give it the life it deserves.”

Scott could see the struggle to find the right words as Virgil’s eyes struggled to hold with his.

“I . . . It’s not mine, Scott, it’s . . .” Virgil lost the battle to keep looking at the determined pride in his big brother’s blue eyes.  His gaze lowered and he focused on his hands.  “I mean . . . it’s all of you.  It’s not music I’ve created, it’s the music that you are.”  Then, almost too quiet to hear, “At least to me.”

“So, you don’t want to share it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said this symphony isn’t yours.  I think you’re wrong.  It’s very much yours.  Something that you maybe want to hang onto, keeping it all for yourself.  And that’s okay.”  Scott shifted his grip, pulling his brother close.  “After all, this is family – The Tracy Family Symphony.  And if I’m the only one who ever gets to hear even this glimpse of what you carry in your heart, then I consider myself privileged.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #fic reblog #i think he should orchestrate it #and share it with the world #and i think there should be a companion piece that's all Virgil #that maybe is built on something that's barely noticeable #and yet a fundamental part of each movement #like a heartbeat

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 2 - React

Smashed out some more words on the old commute. Am writing poor Virgil’s story from both ends now - this sits somewhere in the future where it all comes back to bite him (and happens immediately after this scene).

Train fic means unedited for now so please forgive heinous errors. Also it was a toss up between “solar flare” and “rare earth minerals” (thanks @gumnut-logic) for what is hampering Five and EOS for tension purposes - had to hamper them somehow else they are a bit OP. Also one of the other Thunderbirds has Magic so… *fudges everything*

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

“HOW CAN HE HAVE DISAPPEARED? WE LIVE ON AN ISLAND!!”

“I’m doing my best, Scott, but the solar flare is overwhelming some of Five’s sensors… there are only so many overrides EOS and I can…”

“Sorry. Yes. I’m sorry, John, it’s just…”

“I know.” The precise set of John’s jaw revealed his tension but otherwise he was projecting calm, sympathetic professionalism.

Scott looked around at the various shades of brave face the remainder of his family were wearing. Allie looked sick as a dog but stood tall and his shoulders were squared. Gordon was muttering aggressively and glaring at the island infographic as if it was deliberately withholding information. Brains was whispering to MAX and recalibrating scans at the speed of desperation. Kayo’s expression had set into neutral with the slightest tension in her frame which he recognised as her readiness to spring to their defence against… whatever was happening.

What WAS happening? It had been so fast and Scott had been so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn’t have any answer for what happened in the seconds between Virgil cheerily entering the room bearing coffee and him bolting like a startled hare.

“And he’s not been hiding an illness? His vitals were…”

“Entirely within normal range until 14 minutes ago when there was a sharp spike in heart rate and blood pressure for 6 minutes then he…”

“Disappeared.”

“Became invisible to Five’s scans, yes.”

“Maybe he took one of the boats?” Gordon ventured.

“Negative, EOS has scanned the dry dock, they are all still down there.”

“And no unexplained life signs?” Scott knew they’d covered this but he just couldn’t accept the answer.

John sighed but answered patiently “No, Scott that was the first thing we checked.”

Scott paced and tried to drag his mind out of the spiral of imagining the various scenarios in which his brother could be somewhere a life sign wasn’t. He needed to compartmentalise. This was just another search and rescue mission.

Rescue. Not recovery. Please not recovery.

“Ok. Manual search it is. Brains, you and Max use the drones to access the caldera and the more remote parts of the western slopes. Kayo, Gordon take Thunderbird Four on a clockwise sweep to check the beaches. Alan, you and I will…”

“JOHN!” EOS‘s voice was shrill and Scott’s heart froze.

“Thunderbird Shadow has commenced her launch sequence!”

Kayo’s eyes widened in shock.

“SHADOW? What? Why?”

Everyone looked blank.

“Is Virgil in there? Can you reach him?”

“Sorry Scott, she’s already cloaked and there’s no reply on comms.”

“Stop the launch then!”

“I can’t, we’re locked out.”

“I can.” Kayo, pulled up her remote access and wrestled with the controls for a few seconds before breathing a sigh of relief. “Ok, she’s not going anywhere. Um…”

Scott was already heading for the elevator to the hangars when his sister’s uncharacteristic uncertainty arrested him. He looked back. She swallowed.

“We may have a slight problem.”

“What? What is it Kayo??” Scott knew he was raising his voice but it was that or burst into frustrated tears which was… not an option.

EOS answered first.

“Thunderbird Shadow halted her sequence on the outside of the cliff face.”

Virgil was suspended over a death drop.

“Can we lock him inside?” Gordon had clearly reached the same horrified conclusion as his eldest brother had. Kayo shook her head.

Brains stepped forward “Unf-fortunately n-not as currently configured. The p-pilot’s ability to exit is always p-prioritised over remote a-access in c-case of… c-compromise.”

“I get it. Not your fault Brains. EOS?”

“I’m working on it Scott.”

“Good, in the meantime I’ll grab a couple of jet packs.” Scott headed for the hangar again.

“SCOTT! Wait!” John had dropped the professionalism which arrested Scott’s momentum faster than a brick wall.

“What now John??”

“Let the others go. You have to change.”

“WHAT?!”

“He can’t see you wearing… that.”

Scott looked down at the dress uniform he had forgotten he was wearing and ice crept down his spine. This… was the problem? He suddenly realised John knew something that he didn’t and cursed himself for not finding out what it was already. But now wasn’t the time.

“Right. You three, take jetpacks and get up there but don’t let him get out before I’m with you. I’ll be there asap.”

“FAB.”

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

continued…

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #kayo kyrano #thunderangst #earth and sky #Resurface fic

[gumnut-logic]

Incidental

Sparked by this prompt, this is for all the Scotty whump fans. A random ficlet giving our eldest boi a hard time...but then John spoke up. Johnny has a lot to say today :D

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight for reading through and discussing this insanity.

I hope it makes sense. I may have hit him on the head one too many times. Also language warning, Johnny gets potty mouth. His brothers really are going to be his downfall.

-o-o-o-

There was smoke.

It was everywhere.

But other than that, there was silence.

No, not silence. Someone was talking.

In his ear.

Calling a name.

His name?

“Scott! Virgil is on his way. Sit down and stop moving!”

What?

He turned slowly and the world turned with him. Somewhere in his midriff, something complained and he clutched his hand to his belly as if to hold it in.

But he didn’t stop turning.

Or did he? The world certainly didn’t, parading smoke blasted landscape around and around him.

“Scott please!”

John.

The voice was John. A beloved space brother ever watching over them, keeping them safe. “I love you, Johnny.” His voice was little more than a rasp.

“Scott.” His brother’s voice was ever so soft, caring and strong. “Please sit down. Virgil is coming as fast as he can.”

Virgil? Fast? Scott snickered and that something in his middle complained again.

He groaned.

But he clung to the amusing thought of his biggest little brother doing anything fast. Virgil never did anything without thought and planning. That was his job. That was him. Reliable, strong, and always there.

But not now.

Scott tried to turn but his head decided to join his belly in complaining.

Where the hell was he?

Smoke drifted past in grey shadows. It obscured the sun.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, his military training kicked in. It was like a switch being flicked, changing the world around him.

Smoke meant fire.

Or detonation.

Or collision.

He took a few steps forward, one hand swiping at the tendrils of smoke floating past, trying to swipe them away.

They danced more, but mostly ignored him.

So he had to walk further.

“Scott, please.” There was a pleading emotion in his brother’s voice, a desperation.

“I’m okay, John. Don’t worry.” It was automatic.

There was a curse in a language Scott had no hope of recognising. But he didn’t have any time to consider it as the words that followed were clearly in English.

“Fuck! He’s still alive. Scott, move!”

Scott blinked, confused. “John?”

“Threat at two o’clock, Commander. Move!”

No thought, just response. Scott threw himself to his left and rolled across the dirt to end up in some dry grass he hadn’t seen.

“Tracy! I know you’re here! I don’t die that easy. You’ve gone soft.”

That voice.

Cold seeped into his veins.

That voice.

“Come on, Tracy, you have to have more than that. You have all that tech and that’s all you can do?”

Do? What had he done?

He fought his foggy head. There had been a callout. Virgil had been painting something.

Something.

Something for Grandma.

So Scott had taken the call.

To his left an engine engaged and something moved in the smoke.

That voice yelled, panicked even.

And was suddenly cut off.

There was a hiss in his ear.

“John?”

“It’s okay, Scott. Threat neutralised.” An indrawn breath. “Virgil is on approach. Stay where you are.”

And he could suddenly hear his brother’s ‘bird. The smoke parted, the fire of VTOL and green cahelium took over from the grey. Reassurance welled inside.

Scott pushed himself to his feet as he stared up at Thunderbird Two, dropping to a smooth landing not far off.

John cursed in his ear. “For the love of-“

Scott ignored him.

Because the smoke had cleared to reveal…

A man lay limp in the grip of a pod, one of its big grippers, used for moving heavy objects. A gun lay discarded on the ground. The remains of a building, the obvious source of the smoke, lay beyond.

But the man…

“Scott!” This time it was Virgil’s deep voice in his ear. “For the love of god, sit down!” Out of the corner of his eye he could see his uniformed brother running towards him across the scarred landscape.

But the man…

Bereznik. The bastard had lured him here. He stared at the scarred face. Lured him. Or his brothers. It could have been Virgil answering the call.

It usually would have been.

But Scott took it instead.

The chances?

Fired burned in his belly, an anger, a hate. This man haunted his dreams, tortured him in his sleep.

Now here was here.

A hand landed on Scott’s arm.

No!

He struck out, pushing the hand away, stepping back from the face, the scar that…

“Scott!” Another face suddenly blocked out everything. Virgil, his hair askew, his eyes desperate brown, his heavy lifting hands gripping Scott’s shoulders and moving him gently. “Sit down. You are injured.”

Those eyes fixated on his. They wouldn’t let him look away.

“Virgil?”

“I’m here. You’re safe.”

Familiar words. Words that often followed his nightmares.

“Virgil-“ But his head was caught between dream and reality, protect and defend. “He can’t have you.” He struggled in a breath. “He can’t.”

The hands on his shoulders gently squeezed. “He won’t. I promise.”

Brown eyes, ever so faithful.

“Virg-…I…” Words were too hard.

Strong arms were suddenly holding him and gently lowering him to the ground. “I’ve got you, big brother.” A breath in his ear. “I’ve got you.”

The ground was softer than he remembered. Virgil immediately started muttering medical words to their brother in the sky. The medic poked and prodded Scott’s belly, lighting fires that took away thought.

A sting in his thigh and he was floating away.

He was consumed by the roar of his brother’s ‘bird.

-o-o-o-

He was woken by soft snoring.

A blink or two and he discovered white sheets and a mop of dark hair.

Virgil.

His brother’s name sparked a sudden fear, a need to protect. He-

A strong but gentle hand held his shoulder down on the bed and Scott turned his head to find John sitting on his other side. “Keep quiet. He’s been up at least thirty-six hours. He’s as stubborn as you.”

“Wha-?” Scott swallowed. “Situation report.”

Did John roll his eyes?

“You are in hospital. They had to remove a bullet out of your intestines.”

Scott blinked.

“Virgil?”

“Virgil is as much an idiot as you.” John relaxed back a moment letting out a breath. “He’s fine. Evacuated you, been fretting ever since.”

Scott looked over at the mop of dark hair. Virgil was still in his uniform, though his baldric and harness were draped over a chair on the other side of the room. A breath. “Situation report.”

Another sigh. “The GDF have secured the site. Lady Penelope is negotiating the retrieval of our pod. Thunderbird One is back in her hangar, safe and sound.”

Scott blinked again. His ‘bird? An image of smoke clearing and her silver hull gleaming in the dull light. Something settled inside of him. She was safe.

His family was safe.

But…

“What about-“

“Colonel De Falco is dead.”

The name etched itself into his chest. “John-“

John’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He can’t hurt you anymore.” His brother reached out and rested a hand quietly on Scott’s shoulder.

“How?” He fought his foggy memory. An explosion. The realisation. The anger.

The fear.

But Scott was a different man now. De Falco didn’t know who he was up against.

They had fought. There had been a gun, but Scott had subdued him.

Subdued him.

The pain in his belly.

The threat.

“It was you.”

Aquamarine blinked at him, calm and controlled. “He wanted you. I couldn’t let him.”

“You killed him.” His throat hurt.

John shrugged. “Incidental. There was no choice.” His brother held his gaze, unrepentant.

Scott swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, big brother.” John’s expression softened a moment, looking away, before frowning just a little and turning back to him. “Just…” Those eyes flickered to Virgil and back. “Just rest, okay?”

Scott stared at him. “Okay.”

His space brother wilted a little, tense muscles relaxing where he sat.

“Thank you.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #nuttyfic #one day I'll start writing proper fic again #this is just random

[alexthefly]

Take My Hand

This was supposed to be a @flashfictionfridayofficial , but I was a bit late and got my timezones mixed up, and then the word count went over and... well here it is anyway.

Or read it on AO3 here.

Also tagging @tagloveandthunderbirds 'cos ❤️

Fandom: Thunderbirds/Thunderbirds are Go

Word count: 1048

Warnings: feet/shoes

---------------

“You ready to do this, Sweetheart?”

Lucy took her time smoothing down the front of her dress, purposely not looking at the empty dance floor yawning in front of her.

“Are you? You know dancing isn't exactly my forte; a first dance in front of all these people just seems like asking for trouble." She shuffled in her chair. "Are trampled feet covered by the wedding insurance?”

Jeff snickered. “I checked the policy just before I came over here. We’re all set.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. But I’m wearing heels, don't forget; it's going to be like Bambi on Ice out there.”

He shrugged. 

“Well I did suggest the hiking boots instead, but you shot me down; something about ‘the aesthetic’. Which looks stunning on you, by the way.” 

He stood back to better take her in, grinning appreciatively.

“Last time I make that mistake,” she muttered, waving away the compliment. “Given ‘the aesthetic’ is currently cutting off the circulation to my pinkie toe, respectfully ‘the aesthetic’ can go jump in a lake.”

She mentally cursed the salesperson who’d talked her into putting fashion ahead of comfort.

Concern flashed across Jeff’s handsome face. “Are they really hurting you, honey? We can get you other shoes.”

She smiled up at him reassuringly. “No really, I’m exaggerating …sort of. They just kinda pinch, that's all.”

If she was totally honest with herself, it wasn't even the salesperson’s fault, really. She’d been the one chasing a dream of being perfect and ladylike, even if it was only this once. Dammit, why was dressing up fancy so hard?!

Of course it didn't help that her new husband managed it so effortlessly. He was currently working ‘the aesthetic’ to within an inch of its life, cutting a very dashing figure in his elegant new grey suit and tie, dress shirt and shoes all perfectly matched and filled out perfectly.

Seriously, where did he get off being so good-looking? 

She’d just wanted to appear worthy of him, that’s all. Jeff Tracy: ace pilot, hometown hero, handsomest guy in the county and a genuinely good man to boot. He was the prince, and just once she’d wanted to feel like she could be his match - a princess - instead of some awkward, clutzy science nerd who’d somehow managed to win the husband lottery.

She sighed. Clearly that wasn't to be.

There was a pause, then without another word her very handsome husband - God, he really did look good in that suit - knelt down in front of her and took one of her feet gently in his hands. He examined the delicate and uncharacteristically high-heeled white shoe with utmost seriousness, before removing it and flinging it across the room.

“Jeff!”

Lucy felt her face burst into flames as a roomful of eyes turned towards them.

“What? Doesn't that feel better?”

In all fairness it absolutely did. She wiggled her newly-released toes appreciatively even as she fought the urge to hide underneath the table.

“You can't just go throwing shoes around. You’re making a scene.”

He stopped and looked at her, ignoring the rest of the room, then slowly and deliberately reached out and took hold of her other foot.

“I want to enjoy a dance with my beautiful new wife, and if these admittedly pretty little shoes are getting in the way of that…” 

The second shoe flew over his shoulder, just missing a nearby waiter.

“...then they’ve gotta go.”

The room was hushed; everyone was looking at them. Part of her wanted to run and hide in the coatroom until they’d all gone, but he was holding her gaze, keeping her steady. 

“I don't want anything getting between me and the most amazing, beautiful, perfect person I ever saw, ever again.”

He rose gracefully to his feet and held out his hand to her.

“So how about it? May I have this dance?”

…

It was late spring and the cicadas were singing. Airbase staff were bustling all around, knocking into her, sending papers flying everywhere. She knelt down to pick them up, and suddenly there was a hand in front of her.

“Can I give you a hand, Miss?”

…

It was fall, and the trees around them were every shade of red. They’d talked about everything and nothing, walking side by side, until he stopped and reached out to her.

“Would it be alright if I held your hand?”

…

It was winter and the snow was falling softly. His ice skates made long swooshing noises on the ice around her, while hers clacked noisily as she tried and failed to keep her footing. Another swoosh and then he was there in front of her, hand extended.

“Okay, so not my best idea. How about we go get a hot chocolate instead? My treat?”

…

It was the last days of summer, and the clear water of the lake lapped at her toes. She’d never felt so happy in her life. A perfect day. Beside her she felt him shift nervously, and then he was holding his hand out, a little red box in it, one knee on the ground.

“I’ve got a question I wanna ask…”

…

Her head flooded with the memories of a hundred moments, small and huge, all of them important. A hundred images of him offering his hand, and at last she understood.

He'd reached out for her.

She was the one. And she was worthy, just as she was.

Smiling, she accepted the offered hand.

“Of course you may, Mr Tracy.”

He grinned and bowed. “Why thankyou, Mrs Tracy.”

She rose and he led her, barefoot and spotlit, to the dance floor without a care in the world. Keeping her hand in his, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, enveloping her like a delicate, precious treasure, safe and protected. Their eyes met and he beamed at her like his face was made of actual sunshine.

She grinned back at him.

“You’re sure about that wedding insurance now? Last chance.”

“Don’t you worry about my toes, darlin’. Just keep a hold of me and we’ll do fine.”

And with that the band struck up an old favourite, and hand-in-hand they danced the night away.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can't help falling in love with you.

#tag:love&thunderbirds #jeff tracy #lucy tracy #thunderfluff #romance #alexthefly fic #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #FFF238 #...kinda #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go fanfiction

[tracybirds]

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

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

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

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

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

A shadow fell across the desk.

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And a nap.”

“At nine in the morning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They don’t need you,” said John.

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

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

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

“Dad did his best.”

“He did,” agreed John.

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

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

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

John slung Scott’s arm around his shoulder.

“Glad to have you."

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

[phading]

Idiots. Brothers. Heroes.

WIP...

All Scott wanted to do was run.

“Don’t!” The sheer desperation in John’s voice clawed him back. “Please, Scott!”

Up on Five, John was begging … something that never happened.

Scott bit down hard on his lower lip, fists clenched around the fire line tape, and prayed. Vivid blue eyes stung and watered from the acrid smoke but they never blinked and they never strayed from the building’s main entrance where Gordon had vanished from sight in search of Virgil.

Scott’s breath stalled in his parched throat when the smoke eddied for an instant and someone emerged. Squinting, he made out the bulky shape of a uniformed firefighter coming towards him with the small, limp body of a child cradles in his arms. Scott held the tape up for them, his eyes inevitably drawn to the horrid burns on the little girl’s neck and chest where her pink, plaid dress had burned and melted away.

“A guy in there saved her,” the fireman gasped as he ducked past. “Someone else is helping him, they were right behind me. Our men are all out and no one goes back in. The roof’s about to go.”

Scott nodded woodenly, shocked eyes refocused on the entrance. Flames licked out the windows on either side as roils of smoke, a slightly paler grey than the night sky, tumbled through the doorway. Without a uniform he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Come on, Gords, get out of there! Get both of you out of there!

Scott held his breath, then sucked more in sharply. They were there, framed by flame, one walking, one trying ...

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #a phade fic #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #phading

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Grannies - part 3

A/N: Sorry this took so long. Unedited.

Summary: Gordon’s committed to the bit. The bit just happens to be an obnoxious amount of granny squares

Part 1 here | Part 2 here

Also just added to AO3

In this part: Virgil

“Your brother,” Virgil says, sinking heavily across from Scott at his work desk. The words trail… “Infuriating.” The chair was only there some of the time - mostly when more than one of them had to be on a conference call. 

Scott raises an eyebrow, his typing unhindered by his younger brother suddenly resting his cheeks on the wooden desk in defeat. “And? What did Gordon do now?” 

It’s of no consequence to Virgil that his big brother can tell just who’s the problem. It's obviously Gordon. They all have their little tiffs every now and then, but none of them would ever headdesk over the youngest, John's too far away for arguments to linger, and since Virgil is coming to Scott…

Virgil and Gordon work together too closely sometimes.

The interesting part is Gordon's off duty; he was called out to Eddington to spend some time on site with his marine research and would continue to be on leave for another four days.

“He leave you with a parting gift?” Scott asks. “Replaced your hair gel with Vaseline? Reorganized your paints? Switched your phone to pig latin?”

“Ugh, do not put those ideas out in the Universe,” Virgil warns, warily raising his head from his hands to glance around the villa. He doesn’t put it past Gordon to have ears around, especially those named Alan. Feeling safe that no one is hiding nearby, he swings back to Scott, his eyes narrowing as he catches sight of familiar stitching resting on the desk underneath Scott’s coffee. “You!”  

Virgil clambers for the square, pushing the mug to where the desk is bare. Luckily, Scott’s mostly drunk it through and so the liquid barely swirls halfway up the side in his haste to grab for the fabric below it. 

He glares at Scott.  

“It’s finished.” He raises the granny square up to Scott’s eye level, his fingertips white where he holds up the coffee-stained yarn. “How is this one finished?”  The confusion on Scott’s face dissipates, and Virgil notices the quirk of his smile that tells him Scott is biting the inside of his cheek to keep his expression in check.  “Why are you laughing? Stop it,” he says. 

Scott takes this as permission, of course, to crack a smile, and Virgil’s eyebrow twitches indignantly. 

“This is about the blanket, then?” Scott calmly and gently pries his coaster from Virgil’s fingers and straightens it back on the desk, followed by the mug in its proper position. “Before you start shouting betrayal, Gordon is still a shit and equal-opportunity pest. John wove in the ends for me last time he was here.” 

“John did?” 

“Yes.” 

Virgil deflates; the sigh deeply lodged in his chest as he squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Do you think he’d be willing to do about, oh, 200 more? And how do you know about the blanket?”

“Neither one of you are entirely subtle.” 

“Gordon figured it out, didn’t he?”

Scott hesitates. Nods. “There’s really only so much you can do with them. Retaliate, or make something. Gordon knows you well enough to know you won’t discard them. So…”

“So, he already knows I’m making something. Left all of these ends unwoven on purpose? Chose the most offensive colors known to humankind, specifically to annoy me?” Virgil shakes his head, groaning. “Nevermind, I don’t need you to answer.” 

“You know who he is,” Scott says with a grinning shrug. “I can’t let you disown him.” 

“Pity.” 

“Is that what dragged you down here all defeated?” 

Virgil points a finger. “I am not defeated. I’m frustrated. And I’m not sure there’s a point to all of it if there’s no element of surprise.” 

“Virg-”

“I’ve been trying for,” he checks his watch, “five hours to arrange these squares together, and nothing looks right. So what do I do? I take a break, weave in some ends, come back to it after. And after - I have more ends and still no design.” 

“That sounds pretty defeated to me.” 

“He wants me to go insane!” 

“He wants you to embrace his chaos,” Scott amends. “Come now, Virgil. You got this. Let us help,” he encourages, and Virgil has no choice but to sigh as his brother reaches for the comm to Thunderbird Five. “John, we have a situation.”

Their brother smirks when he answers. His hair is a shade darker than usual and waving in its wet, unstyled shape, indicating that John’s only recently gotten out of the shower. He’s dressed, but hasn’t switched his glasses for contacts. “You know, that’s my line,” he responds dryly. “Good Morning, Virgil.” 

It’s 3PM. 

But it is the first time Virgil has had a chance to speak to John since he spent the bulk of his morning with the project at hand. Virgil usually checks in with their distant space monitor during his morning coffee, so Virgil internally scolds himself for the rude gesture he was about to make and recognizes the irritation he feels is not John’s - or even Scott’s - fault. He waves instead. 

It’s easier to let Scott explain. As the oldest of them, he has a way of focusing on facts and details for emotionally charged situations. It’s one of the reasons he’s a great commander. Of course, if he’s the one emotionally charged, that’s a different story.  

“Show me his stitches, again?” 

Now, John however, he’s concise - often three steps ahead before he clues the rest of them in. 

Scott picks up the coaster and pushes his chair back to come around the desk to give John a better view. Once Virgil spins his chair to fully face John’s hologram, Scott places a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, you’re not doing that,” John tells him, matter-of-fact. “Crochet what ends you can when you join squares together. Measure everything so I can get enough fabric, and I’ll help you put a lining on it.” He says the list of instructions with the same inflection as when directing a rescue, his hands flying across the resources in front of him. 

It’s not a bad idea. With a lining, the most weaving he might need to do would be ensuring all ends were on the “wrong” side of the squares.  

“What about if something pokes through the spaces of the granny square?” 

John raises an eyebrow at Virgil’s question. “He’ll deal. He knew what he was doing when he didn’t finish them off properly. Don’t worry, we’ll find something so obnoxiously fishy, he won’t care. I found a pattern here with anemones in little hats.” 

Virgil can’t help but giggle at that, and John smiles at him brightly, his eyes larger behind the wire frames. 

“I’ll keep looking,” he tells him. “We can keep workshopping ideas.”

“Thanks, Jay. Now about the arranging,” Scott says. “I have some ideas about that, Virgil, if you’re willing to show me what you have.”

Grateful, Virgil nods. “Another set of eyes would be great.”

“F-A-B! Let’s go make order out of chaos.”

#fic: grannies #gavii scribit #Gordon tracy #Virgil tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #crafty tracys

[oneyeartowrite]

Broken Promise/Memory Loop part 5

It’s been a while, but I’m back with another chapter. It’s a John and Virgil one. EEEK! Bit of an unusual pairing for me, Scott and John hurt and comfort are my absolute favourites, but I thought I’d give Virgil and John a scene together. It’s a shame they didn’t get more interactions in the series, I always felt Virgil was harsh on John in the Slingshot episode, and made me sad. That’s a one watch ep for me. Not a fan of John feeling guilty and getting told off for it, but meh, maybe I’m just over sensitive when it comes to poor Johnny </3

Anyway, I’m rambling! To the Fic----->

The spike of adrenaline subsided, and the loss bought back the droning pain in John’s skull. The constant hum against his nerves served as a warning for things to come. The dark-haired Tracy with the big brown eyes continued to smile at him while they lay sprawled on the ground, but something must have given John’s rising panic away.

He was supposed to get thunderbird two and bring it back to base, not leap out of the craft to save one of the Tracy brothers. John gasped as he stumbled to his feet. He looked out over the ocean, squinting to see the green thunderbird disappearing into the distance. 

“Hey…” The warm voice brought out a snarl on his face. He didn’t understand why the man's comforting tone did things to his insides. It made his heart ache and his stomach squirm, and he backed off before a hand could grab at his shoulder. 

“Easy, John, deep breathes.”

He was the reason John couldn’t suck a full breath into his lungs. He’d gone against his orders to save this man but couldn’t even remember his name.

“My name is Virgil.”

Apparently, the dark-haired Tracy was a mind reader. John flashed him a cautious glance, but it hurt his chest to look at him for too long.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” John said.

“Done what? Saved me?”

“Yes.” John scrubbed at his face. “I mean no. I don’t know.” He looked to the horizon. “She’s gone.”

“There are systems in place. When she runs out of fuel, she’ll automatically look for the closet place to land.”

John felt like he knew that, but didn’t know why, but still, it wasn’t the reason he was hyperventilating. He was supposed to bring the thunderbird to the hood. He’d failed, which meant he would get his brain repeatedly scrambled, and grow delirious with pain. The hood would sneer down at him as he withered and spluttered and begged for mercy. Again.

Vomit attempted to rise up the back of his throat, but he kept it at bay, moving away from Virgil.

The pain, the humiliation, the vomit and the blood were all worth it to save Virgil. Somewhere deep inside, John knew that, but at the same time, he feared the inevitable punishment for his traitorous actions.

“Are you hurt?” Virgil asked.

Every step he took towards John, John took a step back. He didn’t make eye contact with Virgil, but he heard him sigh and felt the waves of frustration coming off him. 

“I can see you’re hurt,” Virgil said. “Your arm.”

Now Virgil had drawn attention to it, John felt the sting in his forearm. A deep gash dripped blood onto the floor. He clasped his other hand around it, keeping the skin together.

“Don’t do that,” Virgil said. “You’ll get dirt in the wound. We need to wash it.”

John shook his head. “It’s fine.”

They’d deal with the injury back at the base like all the others John had obtained on missions. 

“I wish you lot would let me do my job, not tell me you’re fine all the time when you’re clearly not.”

“You lot?”

Virgil hummed. John sensed him approaching but didn’t back away. “Scott, Gordon, Alan. Even Brains sometimes is a tricky patient.”

The names plucked at his brain, pulling a different emotion into his chest. They all ended in heartache though, a deep endless heartache he’d attached to any mention of the Tracy’s. The hood hated them, but that wasn’t the emotion that assaulted John’s senses whenever their names were spat in his direction.

“Scott gets hurt the most, but it’s you that worries me more, always high above, so independent, and stubborn when it comes to your own safety. I wish for once you’d tell me something was up, rather than waiting until you’re unconscious on the floor. Ask for my help, that’s all I want, for you to ask for my help when you know you’re in trouble.”

There was no mistaking the barbs in Virgil’s voice. The repressed anger. John frowned at his feet.

“Do you not like me?”

“What?” Virgil pulled John back by his shoulder and spun him around. John looked at his face. There was anger there too, just a flicker of it amongst the shock. 

“Of course I do, I just worry that's all. I love you. We all do. You’re our brother.”

John winced at that. He hated when they called him their brother. It wasn’t true. Even if it had been once, there was nothing but phantom emotions and gut feelings left of their brother, and if John could rid them from his body, he would in a heartbeat. 

“I’m not,” John said, pulling his arm away before Virgil could reach for it. 

“John, please. You said you trust me.”

“I never said that.”

“Jumping out of thunderbird two kind of implied it.”

John took a deep breath. “I only jumped after you because I couldn’t let you die.”

“Why?” Virgil pressed.

“I don’t know.”

“And if I had of died,” Virgil said, pointing at the patch of disturbed dirt where they’d landed. “If I’d smashed into earth…”

John winced, curling away from Virgil. Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob broke through his lips. If Virgil died….if he’d killed Virgil. No. John shook his head. The heartache he associated with the Tracy’s would’ve morphed into something un-survivable. It would’ve stopped beating in his chest. He would’ve curled up into a ball, unable to function no matter what the hood tried to make him.

“It hurts.” He whispered.

“That thing in your head?”

“No. Being around you. It hurts more than the humming inside my skull. I understand that. It’s pain, white-hot scalding pain, but this other one, this one in my chest.” John shook his head. “It’s like being crushed. It’s like not being able to breathe, but it doesn’t make sense.” He looked up at Virgil. “You’re not doing anything, you’re not even touching me, but it feels like you’re corrupting my body, making it weak. The hood does it with a snarl, but you do it with a concerned frown. It’s worse.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

John swallowed. “Then you’ve got to let me go.”

“Back to the hood? Absolutely not.”

“I would take the hood scrambling my brain over you crushing my chest with a single look.”

“I’m not letting you go back to him.”

“He’ll come looking.”

Virgil took a deep breath. “And so will Scott.”

“Then it’s a case of who gets here first. I know who I’d bet on.”

“That’s only because you can’t remember, Scott.”

John looked away. He started walking towards the woods and heard Virgil following.

“Where are you going?”

He lifted his wounded arm. “You said I’ve got to clean it. For that I need water.” 

****

John tried to lose Virgil in the woods, but he was persistent and stayed glued to his back. He waited for the roar of jet engines to stop over the island, but there was nothing but the leaves shaking in the wind and the trickle of water from the stream they found.

When Virgil wasn’t watching him, he was looking at the woods with an expression of wonder on his face. John felt that in his chest too. Being around Virgil left him tired, worn thin, but he couldn’t make sense of it. All he could do was turn his back on it and hope it faded to a more manageable level.

“It’s getting dark,” Virgil said.

The sun had gone down, and the air temperature had dropped. John parked himself on a fallen tree, touching his arm tentatively. He’d washed, and bandaged his arm as best he could, ripping a strip of his black uniform to use. Virgil had offered him an actual bandage from one of his many pockets, but John had declined.

His refusal earned him a sigh, and a flicker of annoyance across Virgil’s forehead. 

“I’m going to gather some wood,” Virgil said. “Stay put.”

He moved off through the trees but stayed in sight. John thought about making a run for it, but he slumped, utterly exhausted. He needed to lose Virgil. If the hood found him. John scrunched his face up, picturing what might happen. In the worst-case scenario, he’d scramble Virgil’s brain too, make him scream and beg.

John shuddered and dropped his head into his hands, plagued by nightmares he never remembered having, but they were fresh and raw, and so strong he gritted his teeth. Virgil screaming. Virgil in pain. Virgil dying. A barrage of them assaulted him, leaving him struggling to breathe.

“Hey.” Virgil skidded to a stop in front of him. John allowed Virgil to take hold of his face, and lean him back. His cheeks were wet with tears, and he all but fell into Virgil’s deep brown eyes. There was so much concern in them it stole the air from John’s lungs. “Talk to me. What's wrong? Is it your head?”

“No. I…I don’t want you to die.” Accept that wasn’t quite right. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I was thinking about something happening to you and…” John sniffled. His eyes flooded with tears again and ran down his face. “You have to go.”

“Go?” Virgil wiped his thumbs over John’s cheeks. 

“If the hood captures you, he’ll hurt you, Virgil.”

“He’s not going t—”

“He will.” John pushed against Virgil’s chest. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Virgil grabbed one of John’s hands. “You’re freezing.” His frown intensified as he took hold of John’s wrist. “And your pulse is all over the place.”

He helped John off the tree, and onto the floor. “I’m going to get a fire going. It’ll help Scott find us, and keep you warm.”

John had no more energy to fight. He laid down on the ground and watched as Virgil busied himself with the fire. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Virgil was shaking his shoulder gently, waking him up. 

“Drink some water.” John let Virgil sit him up, drank the water on offer, and then sunk back down. Virgil stepped over him. “Move closer to the fire.”

John did, and Virgil lay down beside him. They both lay on their backs, staring up at the night sky.

“Good night to see the stars,” Virgil commented. 

John felt Virgil looking at him again. He turned his head to look back. It was somehow easier to look his way with only the flicker of fire on his face, but Virgil’s expectant expression left him frowning.

“What?”

“The stars, John.”

Virgil lifted his finger towards the night sky. 

John looked up and frowned. “There’s nothing there.”

“What do you mean there’s nothing there?”

“It’s black and endless.”

Virgil’s thick eyebrows met in the middle as he studied John. “The stars.” He whispered, again, putting so much emphasis on those two words.

The stars.

John had no idea what Virgil was talking about, or why he was so persistent. The night sky was dark and vacant as it had always been. He didn’t look at it.

Virgil shut his eyes, and his voice came out hollow, and sad.

“He took the stars from you too?”

"What stars?"

"The ones up there." Virgil waved his hand above, but John didn't look. He shifted an inch away from Virgil, thrown off by the bite in his voice.

“There were never any stars to begin with.”

“Yes, there was,” Virgil said firmly. “There is. Please, John, just look.” He pointed to the sky again, but this time there was a tremble in his finger.

“I have looked—"

“Please. Look again.”

He refused.

"For me." Virgil pleaded. He leaned closer, and the fire reflected from the tears on his lashes.

A knot tightened in John's chest. He sighed through his nose and rolled his head against the ground. He'd look for Virgil despite not knowing why.

He stared straight into the darkness, aware of Virgil’s gaze locked on him, and the upset he hadn't meant to have caused.

“There’s…” he trailed off. There was something, flecks of light on the black canvas. He blinked, and they remained. The more he looked, the more he saw until his eyes could distinguish between faint and bright, what was close, and what was so far away. 

All the emotions that suffocated him were lost in the darkness. John focused on the light, and it filled his chest with something new, something free, and special and John let out a slow breath.

“The stars,” Virgil repeated. “You love them.”

John couldn’t remember them. For him, it was the first time he’d ever seen them, but what Virgil said was true. He loved them. The awe he felt about them filled up his inside and he shot Virgil a smile. His smile was returned.

Virgil began pointing them out, naming the constellations, and telling John stories about the stars. He didn’t interrupt Virgil and tell them he knew. He didn’t know how he knew, nothing made much sense, but listening to Virgil while he looked up at the stars with no pressure to remember anything made him relax all tension in his body. The humming in his head almost faded to nothing, so consumed by the stars and the comforting tone of Virgil's deep voice.

Virgil’s waving hand stole John’s attention. He stopped admiring the stars and admired that instead while Virgil continued to talk about mythology. John reached up and caught Virgil’s hand. He stopped talking with a hiccup of a gasp, and let John manipulate his fingers

John stretched out Virgil’s long fingers and ran his thumb over his knuckles. Virgil’s concerned gaze bore into the side of his face, but he ignored the look in favour of studying his hand. John knew it was crazy, he knew it made no logical sense, but he could hear music in his head when he touched Virgil’s fingers. 

He heard notes that soothed him. And like the stars, John fixated on them rather than the darkness and oppressive emotions all around. Virgil’s hands made music. Music he enjoyed. Music he’d missed. Music he remembered.

“What is it?” Virgil whispered.

“The piano.”

And once he’d said those two words aloud, he could see it. The piano. Virgil sat at it, playing music, a slow, soft piece that instantly left his eyelids drooping. He yawned, and lowered Virgil’s hand to his chest, holding it hostage against his heart.

“You…you remember.”

“It’s…it’s not really a memory.” He flashed Virgil a glance. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, it’s more like a glimmer of one, a slither of one in the void. You at the piano, filling the room with music. It’s…calming.”

Virgil smiled. “Music is to me, what the stars are to you. They give us peace.”

John hummed. He forced his eyes open and took another look at the stars. “I think they’re extra special when they’re combined.”

He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. It wasn’t the first time he’d looked at the stars while he heard Virgil on the piano. It wasn’t the first time he admired their brightness while Virgil helped him drift off to sleep.  

“Thank you for giving me back the stars.”

When he stopped concentrating on the fragment of a memory, he feared it would vanish altogether, but it stayed. The first bright star in the endless darkness of his memories. Virgil at the piano. 

****

He fell asleep and woke with his face towards the fire, and Virgil pressed against his back. He’d slung an arm over John’s side at some point during the night, and snored directly against John’s nape. 

John didn’t wake him, he sighed deeply, content to stay in the place between sleep, and awake, drifting back and forth, warm and at peace for the first time in forever.

He could trust Virgil.

He'd returned the stars after all.

Maybe he could trust the other Tracy’s too.

John flinched and let out a scream.

The pain spiking in his head forced him to curl into a tight ball. He hissed, clawing at his temples. Virgil was on him, trying to uncurl him, speaking fast, and firmly, but John couldn’t make out a word.

“What do we have here?”

The hood had found them. John lifted his head enough to get a look at him, twiddling the dial on his wrist that made John’s head feel like it was about to explode. Virgil launched at him, but a gun aimed at his chest made him back off fast.

“Stop it!” Virgil yelled.

“That depends on you…”

“Me?”

“Are you going to come with us quietly, or are you going to cause a scene?”

Virgil’s eyes found John on the floor, withering, and gasping as a fire burned through his brain.

“I’ll come quietly, just stop hurting him.”

The pain in John’s head retracted to the familiar hum. He glanced around at the hoods men, all armed, all sneering at Virgil.

John turned to him. “Run.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He helped John to his feet and wiped away the trail of blood from his nose then he slung John’s arm over his shoulder and dragged him close by the waist. “I’m not leaving you.”

The hood rubbed his hands together. “Two Tracy’s for the price of one. This is going to get interesting.”

John's stomach rolled. He glanced at Virgil, and the nightmares of the night before raced toward him. Virgil hurt. Virgil screaming. Virgil made into a weapon like him.

He couldn’t let it happen. 

He wouldn't let it.

 TBC

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds tag #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds fic #john tracy #virgil tracy #thehood #tracy brothers

[edutainer2022]

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

AUTOPILOT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hebuiltfive]

My head has been everywhere the last few days and I missed WIP Wednesday, but here's a little something that is definitely not a new WIP, whatever do you mean? *nervous laughter* 👀 (Seriously, I need to stop pouncing on new ideas before I've finished my other ones).

--------------------------------------

"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?"

The voice was faint and distant, hiding behind layers of ringing and distortion. Alan could barely focus. He felt as though he was falling... flying... surfing... His head span.

"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?"

The voice grew more agitated, more demanding, but Alan couldn't move fast enough to respond — he didn't want to. His body ached as though he'd been hit by a London double decker. His eyes were still closed but he knew that if he opened them, even for a second, that vertigo would become worse. His vision would swim and he'd probably lose consciousness again.

Oh, yeah. He'd been unconscious.

His arms floated up beside him from the lack of gravity; the only reason he remained seated was because of the harness keeping him in place.

"Alan, Scott? Respond."

That voice was different. Less familiar than the first, older and gravelier. A younger version of that voice existed in Alan's memories. He surged towards the voice to keep him concious.

"Here."

It wasn't Alan that responded to their Dad's request for a response. It was a groggy Scott, also battered and bruised, coming around from unconsciousness, and who was still belted into the seat beside him.

Alan groaned.

"What the hell happened up there?" Jeff was soft though the natural demand made Scott wince.

Their first space mission back with Dad at the helm and they'd already messed up badly.

To save Scott from having to answer, John interrupted. "GDF on-site teams are coming back online."

Jeff turned his focus back to John. "Did they all make it?"

Their brother's silence was enough of an answer, and Scott and Alan quickly exchanged a mournful look.

What happened hadn't exactly been their fault, but if they'd been just a few minutes sooner then maybe...

"I want you both back home." Jeff ordered. "John, make sure they have a safe flight."

"FAB, Dad."

When Jeff's hologram blinked away, John let loose a sigh. He rubbed a gloved hand over his face. Besides him, Alan sensed Scott's tension easing.

"Is he mad?" Alan asked, his voice croakier than he'd have liked.

They'd only just got Jeff home and Alan was still learning who their father actually was, seperate from the version of him he'd created during his youth. The last thing he wanted to face was a disappointed Dad.

"No. He isn't mad. We were both worried you'd been ... It doesn't matter. You're both fine. I'll get EOS to guide you home."

"We can fly, John." Scott insisted but backed-down at their space brother's flat look. It was an unusual response from the leader — former leader now, Alan supposed. That was still something they were all trying to get their heads around.

"Dad's orders." John shurgged before gently adding, "It's safer this way."

#wip not wednesday #five fics #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #scott tracy #alan tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfam

[such-a-random-rambler]

Susurration - Part 1

John’s in trouble once again. A simple malfunction or an attack on the station? Either way Scott and Virgil aren’t going to sit back and wait to find out, even if getting him to safety isn’t going to be as easy as they first thought.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #john tracy #fan fic

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 4 - Reel

EVERYTHING IS FINE!

Previously (in case this jumpscared you and you have no idea what’s going but I’ve clearly gone a bit feral over this today - apologies for flooding your dash!)

First scene, second scene, third scene

(And the history of this is this one)

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

The first thing Scott noticed was Shadow stationary and clamped firmly to her ‘roost’ on the cliff side, with two figures buzzing around the cockpit.

The second thing he noticed was Alan perched on a rocky outcrop about 40m below where Shadow clung to the cliff.

The third thing was that there were tears running down his baby brother’s face as he squinted into the sky overhead.

The fourth thing was the telltale glint in the rosy blue of early evening that meant the space elevator was on its way down.

He flew over to Alan and made a hurried enquiry as to his health. Alan dashed the wetness from his face and said he was fine. Scott didn’t believe him and said so. Alan shrugged and clamped his lips together but then his face crumpled and he blurted out:

“They said I had to leave. That Virgil wouldn’t want me to see. But I already did so what’s the point. I want to help! What use am I down here?”

“Alan, what did you see?”

Alan looked guilty. Scott looked up to where Gordon and Kayo were hovering either side of Shadow’s windshield which appeared to be partly raised.

“Alan!”

The response was barely a whisper.

“He thinks you’re flying Shadow to… to…” nothing but a strangled sound came out here but Scott knew exactly the word Alan couldn’t bring himself to say. “He says he has to go too… but there’s nobody in the pilot’s seat Scott.”

“Right.” Scott had no idea what to do with this information and hovered impotently in midair for a moment.

“I’m scared.”

Big brother instinct triggered, Scott snapped out of his panicked indecision and took change.

“I’ll look after him I promise. Please go and fetch the big blue first aid kit, Allie? The one with the… uh, the everything in it.” The word “tranquilliser” was almost as dirty and unspeakable as “Bereznik” was in the Tracy household, but at that height Scott wasn’t going to take any chances with his stronger, heavier brother.

“FAB Scott.”

He watched his little brother leave then made a beeline for Shadow, popping up beside Gordon who was pale and ever so young-looking and Kayo, unflappable Kayo who… whose face was as tear stained as Alan’s had been. Scott swallowed hard and peered through the semi-raised hatch to meet his best friend’s eyes.

“Virgil?”

“Dad!”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #thunderangst #Tw: mental health #Idontknowreallywhy fanfic #Resurface fic

[gumnut-logic]

Five times Virgil tackled loopy family members, and one time they tackled him (Part Six, Bit 1)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six - Bit 1

This is an attempt to finish this fic off. Unfortunately, this last part is big and I was unable to fully complete it this morning. But there is some Tracy boy action in this, so I hope you enjoy what should be the first half of the last chapter of this fic.

Now I have to go to work, drat it.

-o-o-o-

…and one time his family had to tackle him.

It was another fire.

Virgil had seen so many wildfires now they were at Tuesday status. Didn’t mean they weren’t tiring.

It was a full team effort and they had been at it for hours in the Californian hills. Virgil wanted to curse the eucalypts that weren’t supposed to be here, but honestly the native pines burned just as much, both full of flammable sap that just set the fires roaring.

At first he had stayed in Two, water-bombing with local fire services and laying down a firebreak to stop it all from getting into suburbia.

There lay the nightmare. The few times a wildfire had breached a city limits were all on Virgil’s most hated rescues list. Not that fire anywhere wasn’t horrible, but the city increased the density of human lives and ever so many more were inevitably lost.

Once the firebreak was set, he went back to slowing it down, but then some fire personnel were trapped and he had to leap out of Two to save them. A family who should have evacuated earlier also found themselves trapped on their property ahead of the fire front and again Virgil was the only one able to reach them.

By this time he already had his firesuit on and with a second thought also grabbed his exosuit. There was no indication it was needed, but he felt much more secure with it on.

Gordon called it his ‘wooby-suit’. Well, once, Virgil’s reaction had been sufficient to nub that one in the bud.

His brother still snickered on occasion when Virgil announced he was suiting up.

His fish brother really was a little shit at times.

A loveable one, but a shit nonetheless.

The house was a two storey at the very end of a cul-de-sac. Its driveway disappeared into the trees and as Virgil landed Two in the path of the oncoming fire, he had a few curse words for those who didn’t follow wildfire prevention protocols.

Two barely fit on the dead-end road, her backend almost nudging one of the other primly neat, ordered and now deserted homes.

At least one garden gnome met a gruesome end.

Virgil barely noticed. Moments and he was running down that winding dirt driveway. It appeared that it was one of those hidden pathways to a lot bigger property. Fortunately, John was in his ear with clear and concise directions.

A house appeared after a decent jog through the trees, Virgil frowned. There was no car packed for an emergency retreat. It all appeared deserted.

Only the backdrop of smoke and the ash drifting on the air gave the landscape any urgency.

“They are sheltering in the basement.” He could hear the frown in John’s voice.

“Well, get them out here. I don’t have time to dig them out.”

“I have been trying. They are quite panicked.”

John was interrupted by Scott. “Thunderbird Two, you are needed on the south-west flank, we have break through.”

“FAB, Thunderbird One. Retrieving two rescuees. ETA in ten.”

“Make it five, we have unevacuated civilians in the fire’s path.”

Again?

What the hell?

“FAB, Thunderbird One.”

Damnit.

The house itself could have stood in for one of those horror films. Tall, two storey, made of wood, not maintained too well. Even its paintwork screamed black and white Hitchcock.

Virgil didn’t bother with the front door, instead scooting around the side of the building to a set of external cellar doors. He banged on the wood with a claw. “International Rescue!” No response. “You called for help?”

“Virgil!” John’s voice was panicked.

A man appeared out of nowhere, yelling something incomprehensible. Virgil staggered backwards at a sharp pain in his arm. Someone else tried to grab him.

What the-?

“Get the damned machine off him! Cut the hydraulics!”

Virgil reacted, spinning where he stood, exosuit arms coming up in defence. Kayo’s instructions chanting in his mind, unbidden.

Disable and run. That’s all you have to do, Virgil. You don’t want to fight. Don’t fight. Run!

He wasn’t very manoeuvrable in the suit, but he was practised. Keep moving. Don’t let them immobilise you!

His right claw was a huge weapon and it barrelled into two men as he spun.

“Goddamnit! Get it right the third time, you idiots!” A woman’s voice and Virgil realised the cellar doors were open. She was climbing out to join the fray.

He spun, hitting someone else. How many were there? What did they want?

Why?

John shouted something in Virgil’s ear. Something about Scott.

Someone jumped onto his back, a hand blocking his vision as it gripped his helmet.

Pain as cold metal cut into the shoulder of his uniform.

Virgil set his feet and disengaged the exosuit, flinging himself away.

He hit dirt as the woman yelled at the men again, but he didn’t give himself time to register what she said, instead launching himself off the ground and running just as Kayo had told him to do.

“Get him, you idiots!”

Virgil’s breath was harsh in his ears as he put everything into his legs towards the safety of Two. His fire suit hampered him and he wished for the umpteenth time in his life that he had Scott or John’s long legs. But life had gifted him with strong, sturdy, and a damn sight shorter. He was literally made for heavy lifting.

And not for running.

But run he did.

For the trees.

His brain screamed at him about the fire hazard, about the glow above those trees, the ash dancing in the air, but he needed cover. A mix of eucalypt and pine waving in the hot wind.

Sparks drifting lazily past.

He wanted to stop and gaze at them but there was a voice urging him on.

And that horrible woman screeching far behind.

The scrub swallowed him whole.

-o-o-o-

“Scott!”

“Thunderbird Two will be available momentarily. We have pods to deploy and slow progress.” Scott stared at the map, suddenly missing Virgil’s input. This was definitely Virgil territory. Maybe he should switch out Gordon for Virg and assign him to control. One could take up the slack. “Yes, Thunderbird Five?”

“Virgil has been attacked. Code Green. Sending you coordinates.”

“What?!” He straightened so fast his back cracked. A glance at the fire chief and he was grabbing his helmet and moving. “Alan, I need One now!”

He didn’t need to ask for further information. As he slapped on his helmet, John threw it at his HUD. A live feed of five assailants chasing the staggering green dot of his brother.

“Virgil’s vitals indicate he may have been drugged. I’m seeing spikes in his heart rate and his direction of retreat has become erratic.” John’s tone was clipped but full of tension. “He will not reach Thunderbird Two before he is overtaken.”

“Call in Kayo and notify the GDF.” He barely heard his own words as Alan dumped One precisely down beside him. Her ladder lowered and his feet were on it before it could hit dirt.

Dust welled up around his ‘bird as Alan launched her back into the air. Scott grabbed the cargo bay railing and secured himself.

“Gordon is inbound with the Dragonfly.” Alan’s voice was as clipped as John’s, not even turning to look at Scott. “ETA twenty seconds.”

“FAB.”

One shot through the thick smoke of the fire front, leaving swirls of grey atmosphere behind it, and emerging out into the clear air of the yet to be burnt.

Evacuated suburbia lay quiet below as Alan threw the Thunderbird to the right and spun down for an abrupt and determined landing in the front yard of someone’s wannabe mansion.

“Stay with One. Keep her secure.” Scott was moving before his littlest brother could protest.

A tactical readout appeared on Scott’s HUD as his feet hit dirt. Gordon’s dragonfly pod touched down beside him, his fish brother’s eyes catching his.

Without words, Scott grabbed onto the pod and Gordon launched her to skim across the ground, closing the little distance between them and the trees.

Thunderbird Two sat quiet beyond the property, her green hull gathering grey ash as firefighting aircraft buzzed about the fire front, a closing distance away.

“Shadow is inbound, ETA ten minutes. A security team in on their way. Colonel Casey has confirmed a response from the GDF as soon the fire has been controlled.”

“What?!” But as Scott’s boots hit the ground again, he didn’t have time to discuss the GDF’s inadequacies. “Virgil’s status?”

“I’m getting no response. He is speaking, but not to me. He appears incoherent.” A pause. “Approach him with caution.” Another pause. “Five assailants still closing.”

Rage leaked through Scott’s composure, but he had no more time for that than he did for the GDF’s failings. “Gordon, you have my six.”

And they were swallowed by the trees.

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #nuttyfic #how can I leave a 10 000 word fic hanging for two years #I guess the same way I've left a 48 000 word fic hanging #::sigh::