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hebuiltfive · 10 months

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The Alaskan Train Crash: The Letter

Fresh off the mission, Scott joins Jeff in the family's private office. Apparently it would seem more mysterious are afoot.

Words: 2,450

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Additional Tags: Artist!Virgil, Post season three, slight AU, Mentions of hospitals, Mentions of Blood, description of train crash, Light Angst

Series: Part 1 of The Long Game

Notes: Disclaimers as usual: I own nothing but the words to this particular story.

We're finally at the end of part one! I finalised this chapter back in May, so posting it now just feels like it's been such a long time. Anyone who read the short I posted for Scott's birthday back in April (called Thirty) might remember a certain letter being mentioned. It's finally made it's appearance here! But what does it all mean? What new situation will International Rescue be thrust into next?

The next part and subsequent chapters are very exciting, even if I do so say myself, so I hope you stick around. I will be posting it very, very soon!

Read it below or on AO3 here.

Part 1:

Chapter 1 found here on Tumblr, or here on AO3.

Chapter 2 found here on Tumblr, or here on AO3.

Chapter 3 found here on Tumblr, or here on A03.

Dawn had only just broken over the island. Usually Scott would have been out at first light, getting in his daily exercises before the rest of his brothers woke. Gordon occasionally joined him and together they watched as tropic birds swooped around the trees, their cries echoed throughout the blues and pinks of the early morning sky. There was nothing more beautiful in the world than a sunrise, Scott often thought, but today he was still indoors, sitting in his father’s office whilst he waited for him to arrive. From the window ahead of him, the rising sun cast bright golden hues of daylight into the otherwise darkened space.

Though he was naturally well kept and tidy, it was Jeff’s years in the United States Air Force that helped hone his trait. His office was spotless. Everything was organised. Bookshelves were lined with all sorts of books from aerospace dynamics to a few older treasures, such as Torchy, Virgil’s favourite childhood story, that he kept for memories sake.

Scott sat in one of the plush leather armchairs that sat in front of his father’s grand wooden desk. Compared to the rest of the villa, Jeff’s private office was much more ornate. Whilst the villa had been built with the technological advances of the late 21st century, the private office felt more in keeping with the late 19th century. With the dark wood-panelled walls, and furniture made of wood rather than plastic or glass, Scott never understood why Jeff had designed the space in such an un-Jeff-like way. His father had always been about advancements and up-to-date designs. It was a question Scott had always wanted to ask his father and now perhaps, with him home again, he might finally be able to ask why.

The thought was thrown from his mind when Jeff finally appeared in the doorway of the office. He entered in a hurry and, with both of his hands full, each holding a plate, he closed the door behind him with a soft kick of his foot. Jeff set one of the plates down in front of Scott. The smell had travelled to him long before he saw what was on the dish. Pastries. Fresh looking pastries, that smelt… unusually good. He cautiously took in the sight of the food in front of him as his father took the seat on the other side of the table.

Noticing Scott’s apprehensive look, Jeff quickly eased his worries. “Don’t worry, it’s edible. Do not tell your grandmother but I got Virgil to get these a few days ago. They’re the last in the batch. I figured you’d be wanting some breakfast too.”

His stomach grumbled as Jeff spoke and Scott managed to hide his smile. One bite of the sweet pastry wrap and he was in heaven. Bless Grandma Tracy, but her cooking skills were in dire need of improvement.

Together Jeff and Scott sat in silence, munching away on their food. The seconds-hand on Jeff’s ornate mantle piece clock ticked away in the quiet.

“What’s with the Lord of the Manor vibes? I’ve always wondered why it’s so… old in here, but never found the time to ask.” Scott queried in between mouthfuls.

Jeff quirked a brow in question, glancing around the decadent room when his son gestured. He placed his pastry back onto the plate in front of him and wiped his hands free of the flaky crumbs. “When I was a little boy, Pa and Ma used to take me to visit my old grandaddy. He had an office that was as grand as anything.” Jeff chuckled fondly as he remembered. “That space was where I first began to draft up the ideas that were to take Tracy Industries into the future. That space was where I took my call from the Space Agency to be the first man on Mars. That space held so many memories that I had it implemented into the designs when I built this place. In a way, it’s an homage to your great-granddaddy, but it also acts as a reminder, to myself, of some of my most monumental accomplishments.”

“That’s…” Scott trailed off and smiled as he took in his father’s words. He could tell there were emotions that the memories had brought forward. As Jeff took another bite of his pastry, there was a glint in his eye. Family had a way of bringing out the best in people, but occasionally it could also create the most haunting of feelings. Memories with loved ones of times long since passed always remained cherished, but those same memories could also sometimes sting. Bittersweet, that was what memories of family long gone were. Reminders of what someone had, long ago. Scott thought back to those years when Jeff was absent, of the many memories he had of his father that often crossed his mind. None of them had really acknowledged it in the months following the Zero XL mission, but they had been so close to losing their father forever, and they wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Had the Calypso not been on a crash course with the earth, had Brayman not been saved from the watery depths, had they not received Jeff’s SOS…

Scott was tired and his brain was wandering through thoughts he didn’t want to think about again. Quickly he finished up his own pastry and decided to change the subject. “You wanted to talk? What’s new to report, dad?”

Jeff hesitated, and that single act alone had Scott panicked. “I’m heading into the hospital later on today.”

Oh.

Scott tried to keep his face neutral. “Everything alright?”

“Fine, they just want to do some more tests. You know how doctors are, always concerned about something.” Jeff chuckled but the smile didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m leaving at noon with Grandma.”

“How long will they keep you this time?”

He was trying to not sound irritated, but Jeff seemed to pick up on it anyway.

“Scott, I’m fine…”

“If you were fine, dad, you wouldn’t be needing half a dozen hospital trips every month!” He finally snapped. Not only was Scott physically exhausted from being awake for over twenty-four hours now, but he was tired of having to make the same argument over and over again. Why was no-one listening to him? Why would no-one take his side? Jeff needed to rest, to recover. Despite his father’s constant reassurances, Scott knew that he was nowhere near fine. He knew it wasn’t an easy fact to tackle, but he felt like he was the only one who even dared suggest it. It made him angry, yes, but also so worn out.

“Son…” Jeff began, but was abruptly cut off by Scott, who had since risen from his chair.

“No, dad! You need to listen to me, okay? You need to start being more honest with how you’re feeling and you need to take a break. All these stresses and strains from work aren’t going to aid in your healing and—”

“Sit down.” Jeff didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Scott recognised the commander’s tone in his words.

He immediately stopped his rant and did as his father ordered. He didn’t care if he came across as rude or impolite. It wasn’t disrespectful to someone if it was the truth, and he’d stand by that if his father accused him of being such.

But to his surprise, Jeff didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead, a look of calm reflectiveness crossed his features and his father sighed. “Look, son, I know where you’re coming from, but the truth is I have to keep busy to stop myself from worrying over whatever the hell is happening to my body.”

Scott could understand that. When they had thought Jeff dead, Scott found himself often burying in International Rescue work. The distraction not only helped him from going insane, but it also had the added bonus of helping other people around them.

“Trust me when I tell you,” Jeff continued, “that I only do what I feel I’m capable of, Scott. You don’t need to worry about me overdoing things. I know my limits.”

An understanding passed between father and son, then. Eight years in the Oort Cloud hadn’t lessened Scott’s trust in his father. He wasn’t about to start letting something break that bond now.

Jeff cleared his throat. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about as well.” He bent down to reach the bottom drawer of his desk and, for a moment, Scott could only see the top of his father’s grey head. How much greyer had he grown in his desolation? Scott could swear his father had more colour to his hair before he’d been stranded…

“You can’t mention this to the others.” Jeff reappeared and in his hand was a crisp envelope. It was whiter than snow, suggesting to Scott that it wasn’t the kind of old, yellowing paper he was used to seeing from his father’s childhood. “I don’t want them to… panic.”

“I can keep a secret.” He was intrigued now. Scott took in the mysterious envelope. “Paper? Who uses paper these days?”

“Someone who doesn’t want to be easily traced, I’d imagine.” Jeff slid the envelope over the table toward his son and then leaned back into his chair. “Tell me what you think of the letter inside.”

Picking up the envelope, Scott peeled back the opening. He noted that it had already been opened, he assumed by his father, and pulled out the sheet of paper. It was equally as fresh as the envelope. The words were not printed on the paper but rather scrawled in black ink. Thankfully, it was still legible enough for Scott to read.

Mr. Tracy!

We hear the patriarch has finally returned home.

Some will be pleased. Some not so much.

We imagine some competitors will be glowing green with envy at the news.

July 8th.

Fiftieth Floor. Vienna Plaza. New York.

Your old pal Shipman is having a party.

Dress for the Press, dear Tracy.

It will be a night that will go down in history.

Oh, and wondering who we are? Attend and all your questions will be answered.

Or don’t. We don’t control you yet.

Continue living in the dark if you so wish.

But things have changed oh-so-much since you left. It’s about time you joined the sport.

Trust us, you won't want to miss the fireworks.

Signed, deeply concerned citizens.

Scott turned the sheet over, but the message had indeed finished. He reread the note over twice more before slipping it back into the envelope and handing the whole thing back to Jeff. “A little dramatic, don’t you think? Who sent it?”

“I don’t know.”

He could tell his father was just as curious as he was. Their previous heart-to-heart was a mere memory now as both their minds turned entirely to the puzzle the envelope presented.

“It arrived on my desk back in Kansas. Marie found it this morning — I suppose it would be yesterday morning now — and she had it mailed over here for me. I sent a copy over to Penelope whilst you boys were out this evening. She’s usually good with this sort of thing but even she’s turning up blank at the moment.”

Scott’s fingers drummed rhythmically against the wood of his father’s desk.

Jeff noticed and quirked a brow. “I’m assuming they mean Colin Shipman. What came of that guy whilst I was gone?” At his son’s quizzical look, he quickly clarified, “Well, last I heard of him he was struggling to sell his backwater business to even those who didn’t value safety and regulation.”

“He was shut down, a few years back now.” Scott confirmed with a nod. “His business was deemed unsafe by some new military outlet and was quickly forced to liquidate.”

“Well, Casey certainly had no time for unsafe—”

“No, it wasn’t the GDF who shut him down, dad. He’s actually just been granted a new contract with them. Exclusive.”

Jeff blinked. Scott knew exactly what he was thinking before he burst out, “Over Tracy Industries?”

“Apparently Casey’s concerns about Shipman weren’t heard, and the board were concerned about her ‘apparent favouritism’ with us. So far, according to Casey’s updates, he’s actually shown vast improvements in his business. He’s now going under Shipman Robotics last I heard.”

“What exactly is he doing for the GDF?”

His father was suspicious, Scott could tell, but he could only shrug. “Supplying components for whatever projects the GDF are working on, I think. It’s all very hush-hush. Even Kayo can’t get a good look in. Details are only available to those in-the-know.”

There was a gentle knock on the door, and a head appeared in the crack. “Dad?”

Jeff quickly hid the envelope in the lapel of his jacket, his concerned features transforming into a warm smile. “Come in, son.”

Still bleary eyed from sleep, Alan padded into the office. His eyes crossed from Jeff to Scott. “Was I interrupting?”

“No.” It was Scott who answered. He stood from his seat as Alan made his way toward their father’s desk. “I was just leaving.” Scott ruffled his youngest brother’s hair.

Alan made a whining sound and flapped his arms around in an attempt to shake Scott off. “Stop it!”

Scott chuckled, ceasing his actions, and turned back to his father with a knowing look. “I’ll try and speak to Penny later, see if she’s got anything. That date is fast approaching. I’ll see if I can clear my calendar for—”

“No-one is going to that event, Scott.” As though he’d forgotten Alan was present, Jeff went deadly serious once again. “Not until we know exactly what this is about.”

“What event?” Alan yawned, wanting in on whatever his father and brother were talking about.

“Nothing.” Scott tried to ruffle Alan’s hair again, but he was too slow.

Alan dodged him and took a seat in the chair Scott had vacated. “Ha! Oh.” The change in position had highlighted the bags under Scott’s eyes and Alan frowned. “When did you last sleep, bro? You should go try and catch some zees before the day truly begins.”

Though he was far from finished talking to his father about it all, Scott knew Alan was right. Lack of sleep would render him a liability. Besides, no real conversations were going to be had whilst his younger brother was present. Scott made for the door. “We’ll speak later, dad. I’ll try and catch you before you leave for the mainland.”

#thunderbirds are go fanfic #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #fic: the long game #scott tracy #jeff tracy #alan tracy #five fics

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thunderbirdthree · 10 months

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go (Cartoon 2015) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alan Tracy & Scott Tracy, Alan Tracy & Tracy Family Characters: Alan Tracy, Scott Tracy, John Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Grandma Tracy, Tanusha "Kayo" Kyrano Additional Tags: Time Loop, Minor Character Death, Alan Tracy Whump, Alan Tracy Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues Summary:

This was Alan's first ever solo mission, a right of passage for a Tracy Brother trying to be a full-time member of International Rescue. When it all goes wrong however, all Alan wishes is that he can could have a second chance to put things right. Be careful what you wish for.

Chapter two! I only have a few chapter’s pre prepped, so updates will slow, but I’m trying to get to the stuff that I enjoyed writing more quickly haha

#maybe ill be fine (this time)#rhi writes #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfic #thunderfam

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alexthefly · 1 year

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Hi! Thankyou so much for the ask @amistrio! I might divide these into two posts if that's okay?

Gamma Crisis

This came about from a challenging myself to whump the one person that nobody dares whump. But because I'm a chicken who lacks discipline, it turned into a silly little sickfic instead. Still, I'm planning to include a little bit of angst further in, if I ever get that far.

It's the protocol they all dreaded. Protocol Gamma. Grandma's sick.

As the elevator doors opened onto the main living area John was greeted by the most delicious smell.

It was a bad sign.

“Alan!”

His youngest brother started and almost dropped the bowl of steaming hot water he’d been concentrating so hard on carrying.

“John! Glad you made it. We weren’t sure if-”

“Of course I was going to come down. This is important.” He motioned to the bowl. “Want me to take that?”

“Nah, best not. It’s hot and you’re clumsy.”

John shot him a look, but held his tongue. There would be time for brother-dragging later.

“So is it-?”

Alan’s brow furrowed.

“Yep. Full-on flu.”

Dammit.

He’d been afraid of this, ever since Gordon came home from London with a temperature last week. He’d shaken it off pretty quickly (good thing too; he was a terrible patient) and the rest of them had managed to avoid getting too close, but Grandma was never one to let an infection risk get in the way of her Hippocratic oath.

“Is Scott on soup duty?” John asked, purposely turning his wayward thoughts towards the practical as another waft of deliciousness found his nose.

A shake of the head. “Virgil. Scott was flapping, so Virg took over and sent him to run inventory in the med bay instead.”

Med bay?

“It’s not that serious, is it?”

“Nah, he’s just being thorough. He’s got Gordon checking for extra blankets too.”

It sounded like Virgil was in full field marshall mode.

Scott might not be the only one guilty of flapping…

“Okay, I’ll head down there first and give him a hand. Are you sure I can’t carry that for you?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he replied. “You could get the door for me though.”

John pressed the button to summon the elevator, which opened immediately, and reached through to make sure the door couldn’t close...

…Which was unfortunately exactly when gravity decided to bite him in the ass. Hit with a sudden wave of vertigo, he found himself stumbling sideways just as Alan was stepping through. Elbow clashed with elbow, and steaming water sloshed out onto the floor and all down Alan’s shirt.

“Ow, hot!”

“Oh god, Al, are you al-”

Alan shook his head quickly. “Don’t panic, it’s not hot enough to scald. I’d probably better go get cleaned up though.” He nodded his head towards one shoulder, on which he was carrying a small towel. “Could you grab that please? I’ll get another one upstairs.”

Understanding, John took the towel and laid it over the puddle of water.

“Thanks,” said Alan, “I’ll come back for that once I’ve delivered this.” He cocked his head as something occurred to him. “Uh, John? Exactly how quickly did you come down?”

Uh-oh. Busted.

“What do you mean, exactly?”

Alan gave him a look that was so Scott it was scary. John pursed his lips and considered his words carefully.

“Fast enough to reflect the seriousness of the situation,” he hedged. “Not so fast as to be actually dangerous.”

Alan snorted and held the look, but John didn’t back down. After a few seconds of impromptu staring contest, Alan conceded.

“Fine, but if the others find out, I know nothing.”

John’s lip twitched. “Always.”

“Rude. Just take it easy and stay away from anything breakable, okay? We’ve got enough going on already.”

#wip ask game #alex answers #thunderbirds are go fanfic #thunderbirds are go #alexthefly fic

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chenria · 7 months

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I wrote a small 870 words oneshot thingy of Virgil and Sam (and nothing is going awry here!!)

#chen tries to write #thunderbirds are go fanfic #virgil tracy #virgil tracy x oc #oc: samantha knight

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m-calculus · 2 years

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A glass of milk

Scayo fic. Scott is working late, but Kayo knows what's best for him. Scott is ridiculous when he's over-tired. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39789651

#scayo #scott tracy x kayo kyrano #kissing #physical affection #thunderbirds are go fanfic #scott tracy #kayo kyrano

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idontknowreallywhy · 2 months

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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

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pareidoliaonthemove · 1 month

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Left for Dead

Part One

Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.

His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.

As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.

He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.

Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.

He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.

Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.

But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker

Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”

Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.

When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.

Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.

The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.

Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.

Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.

Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.

Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.

Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …

Nothing.

As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”

No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?

Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.

Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.

No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.

No matter. He could manage.

Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.

His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.

Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.

Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.

Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”

Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.

There!

Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.

He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.

This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …

Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.

Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.

His luck held all the way down.

He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.

Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.

And Scott became a passenger.

He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!

Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.

The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.

It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.

Impact was hard.

Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.

Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.

It was the last thing Scott saw.

Notes:

This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.

And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.

#thunderbirds are go #fanfic #my fanfic #scott tracy #febuwhump2024 #better late than never #plane crash

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tracybirds · 4 months

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Awwww, thank you for all the lovely responses to the first part of this <3 I tried to reply like four times and Tumblr kept eating my responses so I gave up lol but *hugs you all* Again, many thanks to @gumnut-logic for reading through and egging me on! Now it's starting to feel like Christmas!!

[Day 1] | [Day 2 - you are here] | [Day 3]

Five Days Where Christmas Didn't Seem To Go As Planned

Day Two

“What do you mean you’ve never made a gingerbread house?”

Brains didn’t even blink, his unwavering focus honed in on the microscopic computer chip he was building.

“I’m n-not likely to lie about that, Virgil.”

“But, what about Christmas?”

“My family didn’t celebrate Christmas.” Brains glanced up, putting the robotic controls aside. “Besides, baking wasn’t s-something my parents r-really did.”

Virgil sighed. “We made such good houses as kids and they were absolutely drenched in icing because Gordon always tried to grab the piping bag so it exploded. And you had to do it just right, otherwise the walls would all fall in. But I think that was mostly because Scott wasn’t patient enough to let it set long enough and Mom wanted everyone in bed already.”

“Are you sure that you d-don’t want to make a gingerbread house this year?” asked Brains.

“Of course I want to make one!” said Virgil. “Don’t you want to give it a go? Think of it as an engineering challenge.”

“Hmm…” said Brains, reaching into the desk drawer and twirling a pen absent-mindedly. “A storybook house wouldn’t present much of a s..structural challenge, but if we attempted a more m-modern home.”

The pen flew across the tablet as Brains muttered to himself. It wasn’t long before Virgil recognised the shapes that were emerging, and he opened the drafting program and began making edits and suggestions.

They’d done this before, but always it had been with someone’s life at stake as they designed equipment and new materials to assist International Rescue’s mission. Brains’ eyes didn’t usually sparkle as his hand flew across the screen, and Virgil rarely allowed himself a moment to enjoy the process of creation in those more serious designs.

This, he decided, was something he wanted to do more of.

Before long, they had a blueprint.

Tracy Villa, Gingerbread Style.

Virgil grinned.

He couldn’t wait to see it for real.

***

“How’d it end up like this?” asked Virgil, clasping at phantom hair in despair.

Brains rubbed his glasses clean, replacing them with a look of astonishment. “I d-don’t understand, we f-followed the recipe to the letter.”

“To the letter,” repeated Virgil.

Before them lay a poorly constructed gingerbread house, its walls sagging outwards and its second layer resting against the cake stand with an ominous lean. They stared together in silence, eyes following the jagged lines of icing that oozed down the joinery into a brilliant white puddle that might have been snow if it weren’t so… sticky.

“It doesn’t look much like the villa, does it?” said Virgil glumly.

Brains shook his head.

“M-maybe it will look better with some d-decoration.”

“What do we have to lose?” asked Virgil, leaning forward. He popped a peppermint swirl in his mouth, sucking hard as he considered their next step. “At least the roof over that first floor will look fantastic,” he mumbled around the sweet. “It looks like real glass.”

Brains ducked his head with a slight smile, clearly pleased with the praise. “That was a good program, wasn’t it? M-MAX did all the hard work of c-course, but sugar’s s-such a d-delicate ingredient.”

“You did great,” said Virgil. “Candy?” he asked, offering the bowl.

“We’ll run out if you’re not c-careful,” warned Brains, but he picked out a gumdrop all the same. “What do we have left while that sets?”

“I’ve got the jelly for the pool in the fridge already,” said Virgil, consulting their carefully drawn schematics. “I think it’s just the walls, the second roof, and the landscaping.”

“Well then, let’s go before another c-call interrupts us.”

“Once was enough,” agreed Virgil.

They worked steadily, each determined to bring their shared vision to life.

Peppermints and chocolates and gumdrops and more. Their real home was all sleek lines and sharp angles, but Virgil didn’t think it mattered much if the candy looked out of place, not when the rest of the family was sure to decimate the result as soon as they were given the word.

He sneaked a couple of M&M's from the pile and grinned. Chances were the house would be eaten long before Christmas Day anyway.

Virgil reached as one for a candy cane, his hand scrabbling for that final touch of decoration to pull the design together, and startled as he brushed against warm skin instead.

Brains looked up. “I need that,” he said firmly, taking the last stick and pressing it carefully onto the side of the roof piece.

“Hey,” said Virgil, “I also needed that!”

Brains only looked at him, then pointedly stared at the candy cane in his hand, sharpened to a point. “You already t-took your piece.”

Virgil glanced down and then grinned at him. “I probably should stop eating the decorations, huh? I figured that without Gordon and Alan working, we wouldn’t need the extras.”

“G-good engineering always accounts for mishaps,” said Brains. “Isn’t that the most b-basic rule – humans make mistakes?” He pulled out a second bowl from the pantry and passed it across the table. “F-fortunately, I know you’re as bad as your brothers.”

“I’m not as bad as them.”

“You are,” said Brains. He prodded the edges of the gingerbread villa, watching for any movement that would indicate instability. “You’re also the expert here, is this ready f-for the roof?”

“It’s been a couple of hours, right?” asked Virgil, jostling the base. He shrugged. “Looks alright to me.”

Brains exhaled slowly, eyes darting between the decorating station and the cooled roof pieces, dappled with air bubbles and shining in the kitchen lights. The wooden slats were made of chocolate, piped with a steady hand before cooling, and the angles had been measured to precision.

“Gloves,” he said succinctly, placing a pair in Virgil’s hands.

Virgil didn’t argue, knowing that this was the moment that would make or break their design – literally.

They lifted the base, each holding their breath as the structure wobbled, knees bent and frozen as though they’d be able to save it if it fell.

The walls held.

Slowly, slowly they brought the villa across the room to the counter where the sugar glass roofs rested.

“On three, we lower,” murmured Virgil, and Brains nodded slowly in agreement.

“One, two, three.”

They stepped away quickly, not wanting to disturb the construction any more than necessary.

Brains looked it over with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t as s..structurally s-sound as I’d hoped. Maybe we used the wrong butter? The m-material impact between unsalted vs salted could be greater than we r-realised.”

“Maybe next year we could run tests on the guiding chemical principles of baked gingerbread,” said Virgil. “But it’s holding up pretty well. We made houses a quarter of this size that couldn’t support their own weight.”

“Yes, as children,” muttered Brains.

Virgil ignored him. “I’ll hold the roof steady, you ice it in place,” he said. “We’ll start at the front so that any overhang is at the back.”

He carefully eased his fingers beneath the fragile roof, waiting for Brains’ command.

“R-ready!”

In one fluid motion, he lifted the roof and lined up the front edges, holding it steady as Brains iced and smoothed and iced and smoothed.

“Oh n-n-no.”

Virgil froze, taking stock. The roof hadn’t shattered, the walls were still upright, they’d been about to meet with triumph only…

“The roof’s too s..small,” said Brains, his gloved fingers running sadly in the gap between the side walls and the roof. “How d-did that happen? We m-m-measured three t-times before baking!”

Virgil dropped his head with a groan.

“We’re idiots, that’s how,” he said. “We measured before baking and didn’t do any tests to account for the dough growth.”

Brains frowned at the error, as though it would spontaneously fix itself if only he glared hard enough, and swore.

“An undergrad knows b-better than that,” he said crossly. “We’re b-both b-b-better than that.”

“Well, either we come up with a solution quickly, or we break the roof,” said Virgil. “I can’t stand here holding it forever until Christmas.”

As if on cue, the siren rang out and Virgil groaned. “I can’t stay, Brains, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” said Brains. “Of c-course you c-can’t, it’s just a...”

He trailed off looking glum.

Virgil shot him a brief smile. “I know,” he said. “This was fun.”

He looked down and took a deep breath.

“You were magnificent while you lasted,” said Virgil with no small amount of sorrow, then he dropped the roof and ran.

Brains flinched at the resulting crack, the tinkle of small sugar pieces echoing in the room.

“I g-guess we’ll simply have to try again,” he said to himself. “I suppose it was too much to hope that the prototype would be our f-final design.”

[Continue to Day Three]

#virgil tracy #brains #thunderbirds are go #sometimes i fic #blegh i have to do vacuuming bc people #off I go xD #fanfic 🥰#virgil 💚#brains 🤎#2015 #🎄🎄🎄#fluff

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scribbles97 · 6 months

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Listen

Whelp... after one hell of a haitus Scribbs is back writing for the Thunderbirds Are Go fandom again! It's been a while and what I've produced is only short, but it felt good to get back to my comfort characters again. Thank you @gumnut-logic for the hugs and support that you continue to give me <3

Virgil had known as soon as Gordon had sunk into the co-pilot seat on Two.

A run of back-to-back rescues was the final nail in the coffin on a week that had seen them reach six out of eight continents, and more ocean than he dared to count. He wasn’t sure when he had last seen Scott, their paths crossing less frequently than normal with the financial year end meaning the board were demanding more of his older brother’s attention when he himself wasn’t out on a rescue. Grandma had caught them each time they had returned to the Island, hot food cooked by MAX readily available for them to wolf down as the ships refuelled.

John had assured them as the retrieval mechanism had wound Four back into the module that there wasn’t anything else to demand their immediate attention. Their space-bound brother confident that they could all take a much needed break - world ending disasters notwithstanding.

The way Gordon had paused as he had sat down and not immediately stretched his legs forwards as he always did on their way home was enough of a tell.

Virgil had been piloting with the aquanaut at his side for years, and had known his brother for nearly two decades before that. They had seen the swimmer through rehabilitation after two life-altering accidents that had left him scarred and fragile - but not as broken as doctors would have anyone believe.

Yet, he knew better than to comment.

It wouldn’t be received well.

Not when Gordon was still well enough to climb out of Four and make it back to the cock-pit of Two. There was clearly a niggle, something somewhere apparently sitting just not quite right, but that must have been all.

Virgil hoped that a hot bath and some yoga once they got home would see his younger brother right. Gordon hated the bad days, the worst ones when his back locked up and the tension in the same muscles that provided much-needed support left him crippled.

Virgil hated those days too.

Hated that there was little any of them could do to help.

It was the same reason Gordon was always so prickly when his back did decide to play up, knowing full well that painkillers and patience were the only real options when it came to riding out the ache.

That he was quiet most of the ride home, save for the occasional sigh, simply served to assure Virgil he was right in his diagnosis.

Gordon had two extremes when he was bothered by something - full throttle chatter, or deadly silence. Not that he’d ever admit it, and not that Virgil would call him out on it in the moment.

Still, it was a big brother’s prerogative to at least ask.

“You good?”

Gordon’s sigh was heavy next to him, answer enough in itself.

“Ready to be home.”

Which was code for tired.

Which was code for hurting.

Because, for all Gordon was prickly when it came to his back, he wasn’t stupid. He was perhaps the most aware of them all as to how close he had come and how far he had to drag himself back. The rest of them had merely been spectating supporters, very much aware of the problem and its implications, but with no real idea of what it was like.

None of them had a spine that was a third artificial.

Gordon knew his limits - even if he did sometimes push them too far - and knew when to ask for help. An athlete at heart, he knew when to listen to his body and how to look after himself. He knew when enough was enough, and what was needed to reset himself to best function.

He knew when to ask for help.

Scott would have heard the coded response and immediately had any of them down to the med-bay. Big brother, ever protective over his brood, would have needed a full explanation and a med-scan before he had been convinced that it was just an ache that their little fish had been feeling.

He meant well, but sometimes their oldest brother was blinkered by his need to keep younger brothers safe and well. Not that Virgil blamed him, Gordon had given them all enough grey hairs to warrant wrapping him in cotton wool for the rest of his life.

Virgil knew he himself could be guilty of just the same, but he’d been working on it over the years. He’d taken the time to figure out the more subtle signs and listened to what Gordon was really telling him.

Ready to be home, was an answer.

It wasn’t stubborn silence - I’m hurt but I don’t want you to find out.

It wasn’t inane chatter - I’m really hurt and you’re going to take me to hospital whether I like it or not.

And it wasn’t an outright admission - I’m hurt but I already patched myself up so it’s fine.

“Want a heat pack?” He offered, glancing across to gauge how well the question would be taken.

Gordon’s grimace said enough, “I’ll get it - probably best to keep moving.”

Virgil simply nodded, returning focus to keeping the flight of his ship as smooth as possible. They’d get home eventually, little brother would get his bath, some painkillers, and with any luck a few days off of rescues to recover fully.

Whilst he did, Virgil would do what he did best, and listen.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #thunderbirds fanfic #scribbles writes

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lisas-song · 3 months

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Hey, have I missed the prompts for #FabFiveFeb? I started trying to put something together, and then I realized I was using last year’s prompts!

Edit: Yay!

#fabfivefeb #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfic

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blinktwicebaby · 1 month

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“Talk to me Scott” John said after a few moments of dead silence.

“The stupid helmet makes you seem far away!” He complained, ignoring his real problem.

“We can fix that when you get home.” Optimism. “I’m seeing a finger about to break, what happened?”

“Stupid fingers got stuck on my stupid collarbone. I’m going to die looking like a pretzel!” Pessimism. He hadn’t even meant to say the ‘d’ word, it had just slipped out.

Read the whole thing here ❤️

#ao3 fanfic #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanart #art #digital art #scott tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds

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hebuiltfive · 11 months

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The Alaskan Train Crash: Alaska.

It's just another average day at International Rescue.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Additional Tags: Artist!Virgil, Post season three, slight AU, Mentions of hospitals, Mentions of Blood, description of train crash, Light Angst Series: Part 1 of The Long Game Summary: It's just another average day at International Rescue.

Notes: We're getting into the thick of the action (for this part anyway)! Not a lot really happens,. Sorry it's a shorter chapter than the last, but I had to begrudgingly make it a separate chapter so the next one didn't seem so chunky. We'll call it a filler chapter.

Read it below or on AO3 here.

By the time Virgil and Jeff arrived, Scott and Brains had already taken seats in the sunken round area of the lounge. Alan and Gordon had long since put their game away and they too were now sitting. Worried faces filled the room. Hovering over the central table was a blue hologrammatic scheme of what looked to be a freight train. Beside it, hovered the image of John from Thunderbird Five. All eyes were fixed on them.

Jeff took his seat at his desk whilst Virgil joined Scott on one of the couches. “What’s going on, John?” Their father asked, voice full of authority. Some days it had felt like he’d never left.

“Derailment in the Northern Alaska region.” John replied. “A freight train crashed around an hour ago. Initial research showed it belonged to the GDF. I can’t get a reading of anything on board.”

“Crew?” Scott asked.

“Three, apparently. Initial scans I made after I received the call showed none, but the woman confirmed two unconscious alongside herself. She was…” John uncharacteristically trailed off.

“John?”

“Let’s just say that ‘distressed’ is a mild term for how she sounded. Whatever you guys do, I suggest you be as gentle as possible.”

“You can update us as we fly.” Scott said as stood from his seat. “Gordon, you go with Virgil. Alan, stay here with Brains. Try and see if you can find something in the schematics that could have warranted a crash. I’m sure the GDF will want to know where the fault lies.”

“I’ll try and get in contact with Casey. If she doesn’t already know about this, I have a feeling she’ll want to.” Jeff added.

“FAB.” Scott nodded toward his father as he pressed his back up against the wall, hands rising to hold the light fixtures. Jeff watched from behind his desk as the three boys launched into action.

Debris littered for miles. The devastation was worse in person than what the scans had shown. Scott had flown Thunderbird One at top speed to arrive as quickly as he could. Once he arrived, he performed a quick fly-by. Only then did the realisation of the extent of the crash sink in. With the whole thing buckled and broken, he was surprised that anyone had even survived the wreck. It looked a mess. Having plowed into solid mounds of snow that had been gathered on the sides of the tracks, he figured the train must have been going at some speed when it had derailed.

“Brains, what speed was this thing travelling at?” Scott asked when he’d opened up a comms link between himself, base and Thunderbird Two.

“It’s impossible to tell without d-data.” International Rescue’s engineer, one of the best in the world, replied hesitantly. Scott could practically hear the cogs of Brains’s brain working, trying to find a suitable answer with the data that had been presented. “This isn’t a vehicle I’m f-fam-familiar with.”

“The GDF rarely use freight trains to haul their stuff around.” Virgil added from his ship that was still flying to the danger zone. “Planes are much more convenient and efficient, not to mention safer.”

“So that begs the question as to what was so special about this stuff that warranted them going the old-fashioned route?” Scott mused, mostly to himself.

“That still doesn’t answer how the crash happened.” Gordon chimed in from the co-pilot’s seat of Two. “The GDF are sticklers when it comes to safety.”

“Maybe it was sabotage?” Alan suggested.

The word sabotage never sat well with Scott. Too often was that word linked with their arch-nemesis. One would have thought that after the stunt the Hood had pulled in their mission to retrieve their father from space, and his subsequent arrest, Scott shouldn’t have been so worried about him being a possible factor. However, the news Captain Wayne Rigby had broken to Kayo about The Hood’s breakout from prison a few months back meant that it was again possible for the The Hood to have been the cause. No-one knew how he’d managed to get out of such a high-security holding cell, and Rigby had taken the blow personally. It had taken Kayo weeks to convince him not to quit over it. Since then, the GDF had pulled out all the stops in trying to relocate the criminal, with no success. Despite Casey’s constant reassurance that they’d soon catch him again, the mere fact that The Hood was out there left Scott feeling weighed down. Thoughts over the possibility of him being involved were now swirling around his mind. It was instinct. He couldn’t help it.

No, that was no good. He had to adopt Brains’s logic; no evidence, no proof, no conclusion. Scott couldn’t allow himself to get distracted by possibilities. Right now, there was only one thing he knew for certain; there were people down there who needed his help. “I’m gonna to jetpack down, see if I can find our caller and take it from there when Virgil and Gordon arrive.”

“Be careful, Scott.” Jeff’s voice, Scott noticed, was laced with concern more than command. Perhaps Scott wasn’t the only one who was worrying over possible causes.

It took them almost an extra half an hour to reach the danger zone, but eventually the roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines echoed through the snowy gorge as it came into view over the wreckage. It hovered over the site, Virgil performing his own fly-by to assess the damage, before the ship came in to land next to her sister. The powerful VTOL engines were enough to make the ice on the mountains shake.

Scott’s voice came through the comms in a shaky laugh of his own. “Careful, Virgil. We don’t want to cause an avalanche too.”

“An avalanche?” The unfamiliar voice came from behind Scott on the comms. The woman, panicked and afraid, began to hyperventilate. “Please. Please! God, I don’t want to die here. Please, help me! Please!”

Gordon’s brows creased with worry as the woman’s pleas echoed through the cockpit of Two. “I take it you found our caller.”

The brothers in the green behemoth exchanged worried glances. John hadn’t been wrong about her being distressed.

“Remember what we said, Barbara.” Scott was clearly talking to the trapped woman now, his hologram that hovered over the instruments in Two showing him turned to his side. “Breathe in and breathe out. Try to stay calm.” Scott emulated the breathing with her for a few minutes, and only when he was convinced she was calm again, did he turn back to his brothers. “We need to get them out of her ASAP. Virgil, I need you and your heavy-lifting talents down here now.”

“I’m on my way.” Virgil unbuckled himself from the pilot’s seat. He turned to his co-pilot as he began his descent into the depths of his ship. “Gordon, stand by. We may need you if the snow does decide it wants to come down and join the party.”

“FAB.” Gordon replied, already assessing the virtual scans of the scene that John had sent down from Thunderbird Five. They were all in for a long night.

#thunderbirds are go fanfic #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderfam #thunderbirds are go #chapter two is finally up!#this one is shorter than the last but hopefully it will set up the next chapter nicely #fic: the long game

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alexthefly · 1 year

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WIP Ask Memre:

Parker Gets Sidelined

Hi! Thankyou so much for the ask! (And thankyou to @tikatu and @myladykayo , who also requested this one.)

This one-shot is a response to @tracybirds One Prompt Challenge , although I haven't actually gotten to the prompt bit yet. (I swear, I 100% intend to finish it... someday...) As it stands though, it's still very fragmented and piecemeal.

That said, here's a little snippet:

Lady Penelope is away on a very special solo mission, and so poor Parker is left alone with only his thoughts - and a concerned Alan - for company...

“She’ll be alright, Parker.”

Mister Alan's words broke through his thoughts like a cricket ball through glass, sending unwelcome splinters of worry shooting into his heart.

“Well of course she’ll be alright! Soft lad. Why on earth would you think she wouldn’t be alright?”

Methinks the chauffeur doth protest too much.

Because that was the fear, wasn’t it? Her Ladyship was as fierce and as strong as any woman - any person - he’d ever met, but you never knew, did you? These things happened, after all…

He brushed the thought off with a shake of his head. Of course she’d be alright! As if her Ladyship would tolerate anything less. Honestly, if she were here right now she'd give him what-for and no mistake. He could hear her in his head now: “Do stop worrying and try to get on with something useful, would you Parker?”

“She’ll be fine,” he said again, ignoring the slight croak in his voice. “Right as rain. You mark my words.” The wind whistled through the alleyway, calling him out.

…God, he wanted a cigarette. Of course, Her Ladyship had put a stop to all that almost as soon as she’d met him.

Or at least she thought she had. The Grey Ninja still had a few secrets.

The day she discovered all of FAB1’s secret hidey-holes was the day he’d finally retire.

He shuddered at the very thought. Not needed anymore. Perhaps he would take up golf instead. He shuddered again.

Of course, she didn’t really need his protection any more now; hadn’t for a long time. Plenty’s the time she’d been the one to save him from disaster, be that from violent gangsters or the wrong side of Lil’s sharp tongue, but even so…

Back in the beginning, when she was a young slip of a thing and he was only just removed from that old, dirty life of his, he’d felt deeply - viscerally - the enormous responsibility he’d been given by His Lordship; guardianship of his most precious treasure. Anything even slightly untoward happened, and he was to protect her no matter what; that was the deal.

He turned his collar up at the chill that chose that moment to creep up his back.

If he really couldn’t be beside her during this, perhaps her most perilous mission to date, then he would just have to make do with being as close as he could. Cold weather be damned.

Because he felt the weight of it even now, deep in his marrow.

The promise he'd made.

No. Matter. What.

#wip ask game #alex answers #aloysius parker #thunderbirds are go fanfic #thunderbirds are go #alexthefly fic

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haveyoureadthisfanfic · 4 days

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Summary: thebaconsandwichofregret asked: John and Hugs?

Author: Kirekitty

#official fic poll #haveyoureadthisfic #pollblr #fanfiction #fandom culture #internet culture #fanfic #tumblr polls #fandom poll #Somatosensory #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015

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darkestwolfx · 1 month

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It's a Long Story about the Topiary

I have nothing to say about this that hasn't already been said. @tsarinatorment as I promised you this series was always going to have more written, and as you requested it, I got straight on with it!

I'll add fanfiction.net link once it generates! Notes: I don’t know how long awaited this may be for everyone who reads it, but I know for some it will be very important to them! So I hope you enjoy whether you are new or old to this little universe (that will not be staying little at all)!

This was something I fully intended to write before going away, so I’m pleased to have the chance to finish it and bring it to you all now. It seemed like the appropriate next add-on, but there are a few others also that I want to add also.

Might be best read after ‘A Seed Once Sown’ and ‘Afternoon Tea’ but it’s not a necessity as this fic will contain everything you’d need to make this a stand-alone read also.

And if anyone had noticed, yes, the title is a play on the song “long way to Tipperary”.

Also ages don’t particularly matter, but I’ve worked out based on what rough idea TAG did give us that when the boys rescued Jeff they were around the following give or take: Scott - 28, John - 25, Virgil – 23, Gordon – 20, Alan – 17 In case this is something people like to have in mind when reading.

Words: 6226

Summary: After Jeff returned home, there were a few things that needed explaining. Like the intriguing garden furniture…Chronologically, this is looking to be part 6 of International Gardening Services, but for now it's only the 3rd part written.

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There were many things to get used to again by being back on Earth.

Gravity was a noticeable first and combined with sunlight – a noticeable second – they had quickly become his bane for several days. Jeff had never had the same struggle with returning to gravity that John did as a young man, but now he felt a little of his second son’s difficulty. No– a lot, he understood it a lot.

He knew the boys had worried, but after a week or so, he’d managed to prove to them that he was right as rain (if not a little unsteady if he rose too fast, but that resolved itself again in another week).

The third – almost sadly – was his mother’s cooking. After surviving on rations, the thought of a meal was heavenly, until it was “meatloaf surprise” served up before him. This was a new take on the dish, something his mother had obviously developed in his absence, but it was no improvement to her known poor cooking - nor the standard “meatloaf” which had come before it - and Jeff had to admit he (momentarily) wondered if he would be better off on rations again.

The fourth, was the realisation that his boys… weren’t really boys anymore, not even the youngest. In his absence, they’d grown up by themselves, taught each other what they needed to, and – whilst he could look upon them now with as much love and pride as he ever had – the realisation that they didn’t need him anymore was (more than) a little soul-breaking. He couldn’t say that to them either, not after everything those developments had allowed them to achieve, which included rescuing me.

No, it would be an insult to say he wished for the sons he left behind, but… he did miss– no, regret what he’d lost. He supposed the boys likely felt the same way, to have lost him for eight years, only to gain him back now when… well, when they didn’t really need him anymore.

Logically, he knew that wasn’t really true. Although he may have missed the formative years to still play the role of father, he would always be their father, and they would desire he be around as much as he wanted them to outlast him. That was the truth, but emotionally, it hit hard still.

That’s why he’d tried so hard, desperately fought to think of anyway to get home, and yet, no matter how much he tried, he still wondered whether it would be too late – for him or the boys, or the years they’d have lost.

It could’ve been worse: it could’ve been better, of course, also.

You could’ve never gone…

No, Jeff knew – as much as he knew his family did – that he could never have not taken that mission to stop The Hood, no matter what it cost. But if things could be different, just one time…

That was no longer worth torturing themselves with.

The fifth – and well, everything else that came after – was a mix of the more little things. Letting former friends know that he was alive and a bit less of the “former” could come back into play.

Making time to see all such people was a head-rush and not something he’d yet got round to even thinking about arranging. Except for Lee was going to return to the island. Jeff had been intrigued to hear the tales of the adventures his sons had with his old friend in his absence and Alan had eagerly agreed that he could make the trip to pick the Captain up as soon as the weather conditions on Mars cleared up again.

There was redoing his wardrobe, because for all he’d tried to keep his physique, it hadn’t been an easy mission and some of his shape had dwindled away, if not his strength.

There was learning all about the “new” things that had come into play over the last eight years, like home-made AI’s and Hypercars, and gecko gloves and deadly space lasers. Not to mention weather drones and giant allegators!

The drama wasn’t just limited to the field either, as apparently there was quite the stack of films he’d missed the release of that the family had watched on their movie nights (sometimes afternoons – “depending on the type of week we were having”, he’d been informed by Gordon) that they now needed to rewatch with him. The first of such had been two weeks into his return when the holo-screen just about looked straight, and it had been enjoyable to spend such effortless time with his family again, even if he didn’t understand why Virgil and Scott no longer shared the popcorn, each having to have a bowl of their own instead, nor why John had to sit tediously (it seemed) in the middle of them both whilst Gordon seemed to snigger even when the movie didn’t prompt it.

No, he didn’t understand that, but then, it was another thing he knew he must’ve missed.

------

It was in his third week of being back – balance and vision somewhat back in coordination – that he ventured outside. The poolside smelt of chlorine and chemicals, and yet it was welcoming in its own odd way. The deck chairs were still covered the same and clearly hadn’t taken anymore burning’s from Scott’s launches of Thunderbird One. Jeff supposed he was thinking quite some way back to when the eldest was first learning to pilot the craft: and of course there would no longer be such issues. There barely had been when he left!

It seemed easier to remember the past, because he’d not made many memories over the last 8 years, only the previous twenty lived on repeat for him: from the day Scott was born to the moment he left them to go on the Zero X mission.

Only those years had existed for him.

Sitting beneath the sun, feeling the warmth on his face was glorious and something else he soon realised he’d missed. Moving their lives to the island had been necessary for so many reasons – for International Rescue to be possible, for the secrecy, and for them to start again. And the sun and the sea had seemed a good thing to encourage some of that healing.

He felt it now keenly.

It was only after a while sunbathing that he opened his eyes, blinked twice and finally took in the growth of trees opposite the pool. The island was full of trees, yes, an entire jungle worth of assorted sprouts to be more specific, so these shouldn’t be anything worth noting, but there was something… they hadn’t been there when he… left.

They seemed now to border and block in the little garden area he’d cut aside for his mother when she’d insisted if they were moving to a tropical island that she still wanted a normal garden. So he and Kyrano had put some paving stones down from the stairway he’d made around the back of the buildings, and maintained a lawn amongst all the fast growing greenery. Kyrano had planted a couple shrubs in the centre and some plants around the edges, but that was the best Jeff knew he could manage to maintain. It wasn’t really a garden as such, but it had worked to keep his mum happy.

He’d wondered, maybe once or twice, how the boys would maintain it, considering they seemed to inherit his skill in gardening from what he’d remembered and so the last thing he’d expected to see were trees.

Curiosity piqued, he rose and strode around the pool’s edge to take a closer look.

The stone pathway still seemed to run towards the stairs and through to a gap in the trees near the pool, but once you stepped through, the enclosed space originally set aside seemed to double in size. The middle of the path was now replaced with a pond, but the slabs of stone curved around the circular feature and broke off to each side, making four straight paths away from the pond. There were a series of chairs on one part of the lawn and a rockery to the far side that seemed to be full of an army of– were those geraniums?

He hadn’t been aware when he left of any of his family having strong feelings about the pink flower, but hey, he’d missed eight years’ worth of development and choices.

It was better maintained than he’d expected from the boys and some of the plant varieties Jeff couldn’t even name! It was fascinating, and intriguing. From everything he knew and all that he’d recently seen, he didn’t doubt the boys had the artistry and heavy lifting to make such a thing, he was just… bemused, he supposed. Last he remembered, Scott couldn’t even keep a cactus alive, so this much had to be a challenge.

Maybe he was giving the credit to the boys when it had all been his mother’s or Brains’ work. Although, saying that, neither of them would have been able to do something like this alone he didn’t think.

It was all a mystery, but it had a nice view!

He’d made a note to ask the boys, but that evening also brought in the revelation of Kip Harris when he rang on the holo-channel to confirm when he was next coming for dinner, and that was the start of a whole new conversation – led mostly by Gordon (for Virgil was a little starstruck and Jeff didn’t think his mother was faring better) with Alan and Scott chipping in obligatory sound effects and John rolling his eyes from where he didn’t think he could be seen, tuning in up on Five as he ran a check of all the monitoring systems and caught up with EOS.

Apparently, the red head had only come away for a few days at a time in recent years, but from the day Jeff returned with the boys until early this morning, his second child had remained firmly on the ground with them all and he’d promised to be back on the morrow.

Jeff knew John loved Thunderbird Five from the moment it successfully found orbit in space, but he hadn’t ever thought the boy would take to spending so much time up there in recent years.

But then, once again, you haven’t been here for eight years.

------

It wasn’t until the week almost turned into the fourth one since his “return to earth” – as Alan and Gordon had begun to tell time on the calendar, using “before leaving earth” and “since returning to earth” to reference pieces of conversations (and it was helpful for him, not that Jeff would admit that to his trickster pair of children) – that he remembered he’d never asked about the garden.

They’d been swept up in Alan’s graduation and a proper catch up with Lady Penelope and Parker. The old chap never changed and told him all about how he’d taught “Mr Gordon and Mr h’Alan Sir, to drive”, both of which were interesting tales.

Then, Colonel Casey had finally dropped by to visit – after Scott bashfully explained how the island’s location got revealed to her, but Jeff assured him he didn’t care about all that. In all honesty, the woman was a family friend, and he should’ve told her long ago, and most importantly, he was just glad to hear his family came off safe from their encounter with The Hood finding the island.

He and Casey had spoken for a while up in the roundhouse and by the time he headed back in, he was surprised to still hear the chatter of the boys coming from the lounge. Not surprised because that was unusual at all – the five of them had always known how to make noise when together and that didn’t seem to have stopped. It was joyful, a cacophony that he missed in his solitary grey cavern. No, what was surprising about it was that the boys were being so loud so near to dinner time! If there was one thing he’d learnt since being home, it was that the boys were hard to find (unless there was a rescue call) in that dangerous hour their Grandma occupied the kitchen before serving.

So, curious, he carried on up past the kitchen and into the lounge, trying to see if he could earwig what was captivating the boys so, and that was when he heard it.

The sixth voice.

It wasn’t his mother, or Kayo or Brains. They were all voices he was familiar with. Even The Mechanic, who had remained with them for a short stay, had gruff tones that would sound less surprising to hear than the odd, chirp reaching his ears.

As he walked in, it was easy to see his sons gathered round; Alan lounging across the leather chairs with John sat on the sofa beside him whilst Virgil and Gordon sat across from him. Scott was perched on the table and, stood between the eldest and John, taking up the centre of the room, was a complete stranger.

‘Oh, hey dad!’ Gordon called, spotting him first with the vantage of being directly opposite him. Alan promptly dropped his head back as though to confirm that his brother was right, looking at him upside down before blinking in recognition and slinging himself back up with enough speed to give him head rush, Jeff was sure.

‘Hey.’ Alan waved, almost as a way of recovering his near plummet to the floor as he barely managed to catch his grip on the side of the chair.

Gordon and Virgil were sniggering, Scott and John smiling, and the stranger… well, he seemed to fit in amongst his sons… seemed amused at the scene before them also.

For all he seemed an odd fellow, there didn’t see to be anything immediately harmful about the man and from the conversation he’d heard on the way in, it seemed like the boys had met him before. But how did he get here?

‘Uh, dad?’ Virgil’s question floated over to him, and Jeff jolted himself back into the present in time to see his middle child levering himself from the sofa, ‘You ok?’

‘I’m fine, Virgil,’ He held up a hand to halt his boy from approaching. He knew they all worried about him since his return, but he genuinely couldn’t be better. But if Virgil got started now on vitals and temperature there’d be no stopping him. No, he was fine. He was just trying to understand the conundrum of– ‘There’s a man holding a pot plant in my lounge.’

‘Ha, yeah,’ Scott started, filling him with confidence (not), ‘That’s Gladys.’

‘Him?’ He knew it was 2063, and their world had come on leaps and bounds, but–but by the laughter of his sons he’d very much misjudged this one.

‘No, the plant.’ Virgil corrected, motioning to the pot which the man extended further from his chest in response.

‘The– Boys...’ Jeff drawled, lost beyond belief, and wondering a little if he could be dreaming. None of this was making sense.

‘Dad, this is Ned Tedford.’ Finally, he supposed his second son had seen his confusion and John made the formal introduction, rising to stand beside the darker skinned man. ‘He’s our gardener.’

‘Gardener?’

Maybe that made a little bit more sense of the design that seemed to have gone into the outgrow.

‘Yep! That’s me!’ The man – Ned – cheered again, voice loud and bright, before he seemed to stumble, eyes almost visually backtracking over his words. ‘Sir.’

‘You don’t have to call him Sir!’ Gordon chastised, but the gardener was already passing off the pot plant to Scott who fumbled a moment over gripping the ceramic and all the boys seemed to start at the possibility of him dropping it (and it didn’t seem to be over concern for the soil going on the carpet, for goodness sake) whilst Ned – completely unaware of the chaos behind him – held out a hand.

‘Ned Tedford, Sir, at your gardening service.’

‘Right…’

It would be rude not to shake the man’s hand, but he was still trying to process all of this information. Of all the things he’d expected his sons to do in the time he was gone, finding a gardener, hadn’t struck him as one of them.

‘Ned,’ John continued, pulling him back into the room once more, ‘This is our dad, Jeff Tracy.’

Quickly he reached out and shook the man’s hand. He could feel Virgil’s eyes hovering heavily on him with clear question.

‘Jeff Tracy.’ He affirmed, surprised to find that the man had a stronger grip than he’d expected.

‘Mr Tracy. Ned Tedford.’

‘Yes, you said.’

‘Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I.’

But maybe the man wasn’t as confident as he tried to be, given the current bashful display, his eyes suddenly searching round until they landed on his pot plant again, which Scott seemed hasty to return to him and the rest of the boys breathed a sigh of relief at it being returned to the gardener’s hands.

The next thing he knew though, “Gladys” was before his nose.

‘This is Gladys.’

Scott had said… but when the man seemed to feel a little awkward, that seemed a little rude to say. Besides, he couldn’t deny that he still felt a little baffled himself.

‘A geranium?’

‘Yep! The world’s best travelled geranium, Sir!’

Gordon’s palm hit his face, with the mutter of, “you don’t have to call him Sir” again, just about audible.

‘Travelled?’

‘Gladys goes everywhere.’ Alan explained. ‘Like everywhere.’

‘Like, boys?’

‘You know,’ Alan continued, ‘Space.’

‘Underwater.’ Gordon added.

Virgil nodded. ‘The military.’

‘Back to space.’ Scott’s eyes were almost rolling.

‘The North Pole.’ John contributed.

‘And back to space!’ Alan finished.

‘It’s a long story.’ Ned added for himself.

Jeff was just trying to keep up with the brief explanations bouncing between his sons, aware there were many stories he was missing concerning this Ned Tedford.

‘And now earth?’ He assumed given the man’s presence before them.

‘Firmly planted, Sir.’ Ned reassured. Gordon sputtered into laughter that needed Virgil to whack him on the back to steady. ‘It’s all gardening now for us, isn’t that right, Gladys?’

Jeff felt himself blanch. Scott had risen from the table and now passed beside him, close enough for him to mutter, ‘He talks to the plant?’

‘Ah, you get used to it.’ The eldest dismissed, like it was an everyday occurrence.

Scott’s exit didn’t go unnoticed by the youngest who was craning his neck to follow the elder’s steps, his eyes narrowing as the brunette turned towards the stairs before widening as he suddenly vaulted over the back of the chair and zoomed past him.

‘Scott, keep your hands off!’

‘I’m getting the plates, Alan. Just the plates.’

‘If I catch you with a fork in your hand…’

Jeff blinked again.

He knew his boys liked food – in all honesty, they’d probably inherited that from him – but this was his mother’s cooking they were talking about. And he’d been back for a good few weeks: if she’d learnt to cook, he thought he would’ve tasted the difference by now. Which begged the question why an argument seemed to be brewing over what, no doubt, was more “meatloaf surprise”.

‘Alright, have I missed something?’ He asked finally, knowing he had no chance of working this out alone.

‘Uh, yeah!’ Gordon cheered. ‘Ned, can cook.’

Well, that was another revelation he hadn’t been expecting, but it seemed to be something else his boys were accustomed to with the same ease as they were Ned being their gardener.

The man nodded, the pot plant swaying with the motion, still held tightly in his grasp. ‘I brought lasagna. It’s in the oven at the moment.’

‘Lasagna…’ Jeff muttered, feeling more like gravity had done a number on him in these last five minutes than in the five hours immediately after his first foot was back on solid earth.

‘Family favourite.’ Ned pointed out. ‘So I’m told.’

‘Right!’ Gordon cheered, ‘You can’t go wrong with lasagna.’

‘Unless it’s Grandma’s.’ Virgil added and Gordon’s nose scrunched up as the pair of them rose and followed Ned – and Gladys - towards the kitchen.

‘Should be ready about now.’ The gardener agreed as they headed for the stairs. ‘Oh, how’s Gloria and the family doing? Gladys has been wondering.’

‘Oh, they’re doing great!’ Gordon replied immediately, seeming to be well aware who this apparent “Gloria and family” were meant to be, ‘I’ve been following what you said about watering in tropical climates…’

Because that didn’t leave him with more questions than answers at all…

‘Come on dad,’ John encouraged, setting a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the world of the lounge. ‘Scott and Alan shouldn’t be left in the kitchen alone.’

No, that much he did remember.

------

It was, several hours later, when Jeff was laying in bed that he remembered the pink geraniums in the garden.

But no, surely… maybe he had to consider that the boys had named them.

Yes, Gloria and family indeed.

Although, it was also as he lay there, contemplating sleep, that he had to agree with the boys. Ned could cook.

And it seemed his mother – “do call me Sally, Ned” – didn’t seem to mind being outdone for once.

------

Ned, and Gladys, were still on the island the following morning and serving breakfast he discovered!

And breakfast seemed to be a civilised affair for once with china teacups, and plates of assorted cakes. Well – civilised besides from Scott swatting at the hands of the youngest two every time they tried to reach for a cake, insisting they needed to finish their breakfast first.

Ned seemed to be most in synch with John, but he had his own way of interacting with each of the boys and Jeff was surprised to see someone from outside the family fitting in so well. The air of secrecy to their lives and of living so far out from civilisation were both his doing, and though his sons had never seemed to mind, he’d still had reservations over their schooling and whether they’d have the chance to make any solid friends in life like he had found in Lee and Casey. But it seemed after all this, those reservations had been needlessly placed, for every son was a graduate and seemed to have found their own friends.

(Even if that was a grown man and a pot plant).

Each son was also highly skilled at what they did in the rescue business, yet that one went without saying or concern after all they did for him, to bring him back.

They’d never given up.

And he couldn’t be prouder of them for that.

Now, it felt foreign to eat food without worry or horror for the second time in a row, and to wonder instead at the taste of it.

He learnt that Colonel Casey had brought Ned to the island with her, the boys quoting that it was best for keeping the island secret. He could agree there, but he wasn’t born yesterday and sensed there was something unsaid. It was – when they were finally on the cakes (to Alan and Gordon’s delight) that he got the rest of that story.

Ned was something of a “magnet for trouble”, Gordon had explained, to which Alan had merrily chipped in, “more so than me”!

After initially being hired by John it seemed and working on the garden for a while to turn it from a “jungle-lawn” into what it was today, Ned had made fortnightly, then monthly trips to the island to manage the upkeep of the garden. Scott had explained that if Colonel Casey wasn’t stopping by, he tended to pick Ned up.

‘Can’t the man get a plane?’ He’d asked, and that seemed to be his foolish mistake, but even Ned was laughing.

Scott was outraged, ‘Dad, you’ve got to be joking! International rescue would only be called out to it.’

‘Ned here has a loyalty badge.’ Gordon quipped, and it was then Jeff realised there was clearly a lot more to his son’s acquaintance with this man than he knew, what with so many stories on hold to be told in full.

‘We are sorry about that, aren’t we Gladys?’

Jeff wondered if the man was actually thinking the plant would reply when he left these pauses.

‘We know, Ned.’ John reassured.

‘Besides, it is our job.’ Virgil added.

‘And we haven’t rescued you since you went back to gardening!’

‘Don’t jinx it, Alan!’

‘I’m just saying Gordon–’

‘Well don’t!’ The four elders chorused and even Ned seemed to blanch at the thought.

‘Okay, okay!’ Alan insisted, ‘I’m just saying–’

‘More cake?’ Ned offered quickly, holding a plate of Battenburg round to Alan who took one immediately, previous thought track forgotten.

‘It’s nice of you to bring all this every time you visit, Ned.’ Virgil praised. Jeff wondered just how many visits there had been for this to seem as easy as daily routine to the boys.

‘Yeah,’ Scott agreed quickly. ‘It’s gets us away from the mercy of Grandma’s cooking.’

‘I heard that young man.’ It was Scott’s poor luck it seemed that the very woman was on her way past as he spoke. Jeff saw the way the eldest’s eyes rolled as the youngest pair sniggered.

‘Why is it always me!’

‘Why do you put yourself in that position, Scott?’ John questioned instead, and he wasn’t wrong. For though the eldest could keep himself out of trouble, Jeff remembered Scott had always had a tendency to accidentally fall into the mix. Just like now.

Ned chuckled. ‘Well, after all you’ve done for us, it’s the least we can do for you. Isn’t that right, Gladys?’

The plant didn’t answer. The plant wouldn’t answer! It was infuriating and Jeff was trying to mind his manners not to roll his eyes every time. It was true testament that his boys were used to this as not one of them seemed to blink at the plant being drawn into the folds of conversation. Maybe more concerning should have been that his son’s didn’t tend to speak in these immediate pauses either…

‘I’m just glad you’re not hiding it all away on Thunderbird Five.’ Gordon stated, taking two slices of cake from the proffered plate.

‘That was one time.’ John answered firmly as Ned set the plate down and rose with the kettle to refill their cups. Jeff noted that the man seemed to know exactly how his sons liked their relevant teas and coffees, moving round them and serving faultlessly.

‘Um, I count Two.’

‘They’re never letting you live it down, bro.’ Scott murmured.

‘Its’s a good thing Thunderbird Three was refuelled!’

‘It was a good thing you didn’t crash it in your rush, Alan.’ Virgil stated, bringing the volume of the younger right down as Scott’s eyes flicked over also.

‘You guys wanted cake too.’ Alan mumbled in a moan, arms folding over his chest in a – compared to what Jeff remembered of him – contained strop.

‘How is Gladys’ good friend?’ Ned asked finally and Jeff blinked, frowning. What friend could a pot plant possibly have?

‘EOS is good, thank you.’

John’s AI. Of course. That only made sense, the father supposed.

‘Gladys can’t wait to come back up. Try out our space legs again!’

Jeff wondered if he should be worried about the man going up to Thunderbird Five – given all the stories he’d half-heard about the boys rescuing him, but John didn’t seem bothered by the man inviting himself back (which wasn’t like the red head not to bat an eye at) – because without needing to be told, he could hear it wouldn’t be the first time.

‘EOS will be glad to have you. She’s got a timer set to remind me about the plants.’

‘I still can’t believe you’re managing to grow space flora.’ Scott muttered, his tone saying everything he thought about it.

‘You’re just annoyed they’ve proved you wrong.’

‘Of course I am, Virge! It’s space and flowers. When have those two ever gone together?’

‘Well–’

‘I don’t need the science again, John.’ Scott ceased the younger promptly. ‘It gave me a bad enough headache last time.’

Jeff saw the way John smirked and sneakily accepted the homemade ginger biscuits from Ned as the gardener set the kettle back and snuck behind the second child on the way to his own seat at the table where Gladys still rested on her pedestal. Hmm, yes, whether it was because John was responsible for getting Ned the job (as he’d learnt) or whatever connection the plant and the AI shared, it seemed certain that of all his sons, Ned and John had the strongest of friendship. Jeff was honestly just pleased to see John have a friend outside of the family.

‘It will be one of my great achievements.’ Ned cheered. ‘Me – first gardener in space!’

‘Don’t forget first gardener for International Rescue!’ Gordon chirped in, sounding equally as excited about it, and Alan was nodding around his mouthfuls of cake.

‘International Gardening Services!’

Jeff blinked, confused, but relieved that Ned didn’t seem to be trading under that name. His confusion was clearly noticed as the youngest pair chuckled, and Scott waved it off as another “tell you later”, along with the myriad of rescues they’d clearly undertaken for the man in the years he’d been gone. Gordon – of all the boys! – was adamant it was rude to retell the rescues whilst Ned was with them. Virgil had later suggested to him that what Gordon actually meant was that it would be rude to retell them as they’d come to remember them. Jeff could only imagine what chaos they meant had been ensuing whilst he lived in another galaxy.

‘I am most thankful to you boys for the job.’

‘We’re thankful you took it.’ Virgil replied, and Gordon was all sniggers again.

‘Yeah, before any more plant murders happened.’

‘There could still be one Gordon.’ Scott seethed, but Ned carried on like the argument wasn’t occurring – as was most uncivilised – across the table between his two boys.

‘Oh, it’s been an absolute honour–’

If he spoke to the plant–

‘– Isn’t that right, Gladys?’

–that was it!

------

Jeff was surprised – though relieved - they’d managed to go without receiving a rescue call for the duration of Ned’s stay so far. It wasn’t so much the man knowing their secrets that concerned him at this stage. It was rather the fact that it was nice to see his boys being boys. Well – men for the elder half, but still. These were sights he’d missed for too long, and he’d happily be greedy for once in his life and soak them in as easily as Gordon did the sun when sat by the poolside.

After Scott and Gordon’s argument had been peace kept by John, the eldest had snuck off, insisting he needed to check all the maintenance was done on Thunderbird One, just in case of a call and Gordon had insisted it was time he went for a swim anyway.

“With the amount of cake you’ve eaten, yeah,” Alan had cajoled and Gordon had thrown a tea towel at the younger as he went by, causing the blonde to race after him. John and Ned had headed up to the lounge. John was itching to check in with EOS and make sure everything was okay, and Ned had decided to tag along because “Gladys would love a chance to say hello, wouldn’t you, Gladys?”. And just like that, he and Virgil were left in the quiet of the kitchen, and “with all the dishes too!” as Virgil had pointed out, his very tone sounding wronged.

A few hours passed before they were all back together. Ned had been waylaid a little while by his mother insisting upon catching up with him also. Jeff soon realised their heading was the kitchen and that gave him some hope that dinner tonight could be edible also, especially when Ned came back with the idea that they would be eating fish pie – which his sons reassured him Grandma didn’t tend to cook.

By then tensions between Scott and Gordon seemed to have defused somewhat and Jeff was ready to be able to tour the gardens with them in peace.

The boys were pleased to show it off to him now, pointing out the places that had been remodelled and anything they’d done to assist. Virgil had drawn up a lot of the plans it seemed with John in charge of the calculations. Scott, Gordon and Alan had ended up on the supply runs, and Ned had done all the real work in telling them what to buy and what would or wouldn’t be plausible.

‘There were many options once I cleared away the jungle, Mr Tracy.’ Ned finally finished the explanation.

‘Was it that bad?’ He asked.

John shrugged. ‘We never took a photo.’

‘I knew we should have!’ Alan moaned.

‘There was nothing photo-worthy.’ Was Virgil’s returning argument.

‘It would have been interesting to look back on.’ Scott mused.

‘What? The results of your murder scene?’

‘Gordon I am serious about the Geraniums!’

‘You leave Gloria, Gillian, Giles, Gerry and Ted alone!’

Yes, Gordon was indeed pointing to the rockery family of pink geraniums, where the potted Gladys was also currently residing. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Jeff that Gordon was the one with the attachment.

‘Scott.’ John cautioned.

‘What? I didn’t start it!’

‘But you don’t have to antagonise him.’

‘Dad, you have to see what we did with the stairway!’ Virgil interrupted, latching onto him and dragging him forward.

‘Mine is the best!’

‘Shh Alan! Don’t ruin the surprise for him.’

‘It is very good, Mr Tracy.’ Ned insisted. The man had finally stopped trying to call him sir, but the formality of the address still hadn’t changed.

‘Oh boy, here we go.’ He heard Scott mutter from behind them as John and Gordon followed along. He noticed that unlike talking about the pond and the geraniums (as the youngest pair had happily done), that this interest seemed to be primarily Virgil’s and it made him wonder what they could be going to look at besides a set of stone stairs. Not that he wanted to say that when the excitement was so palpably felt by his sons and the gardener.

The boys led him to the end of the stone pathway within the garden lawn and towards the stairs on the far side and through the trees that obscured the staircase. And ready as he had been to see this “grand feature”, he’d truly not expected it to be… well, topiary.

And not the topiary you would expect to find in the average garden, he was sure.

It left him more than a little speechless.

Following the stairs up, rows of trees has been planted on each side and, in matching sets, topiaries of the Thunderbirds cut: Thunderbird One all the way up to Thunderbird Five up towards the top of the stairs.

Jeff blinked again but the sight didn’t change.

No, he was actually looking at what he thought he was.

Goodness help him.

‘What do you think, father?’ Virgil asked, face full of glee. ‘I made the Thunderbird Two’s.’

‘They’re very good son.’

‘We each made our own Thunderbirds!’

‘They’re all good, Gordon.’

‘But what if you had to pick a favourite, dad?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly, Alan.’

‘Ned helped. He taught us how to make the shapes.’

‘Virge, you had a head start.’ Gordon grumbled.

‘I learnt nothing from that gardener like I learnt from Ned!’

‘Doesn’t change the fact you made a Thunderbird Two topiary before.’

‘It was smaller than this!’

‘It was still topiary.’

‘Yeah, and I still haven’t forgiven you for–’

‘Is this another long story?’ Jeff muttered to John beside him, for he was the only one (besides Ned) still close enough and of who would avoid the non-sensical answer: for Ned seemed to be torn between laughing and shaking his head, his arms folded as he looked on; Alan was lost to fits of giggles; and Scott had tried to intervene before it became a “scrap” only for Virgil to accuse “you’re just as much to blame!”. To which Scott had retorted, “What did I do? Gordon was driving”. Which had been promptly and unhelpfully followed with “you two always were Parker’s worst students”. And Jeff didn’t think much of anything had been avoided.

‘Yeah dad, it’s a long story about the topiary.’ John answered, ‘Although, the way this is looking, I may have time to tell you.’

‘I’ll save your brothers then shall I, and you can tell me later over cocoa?’

‘I’ll hold you to that, dad.’

Jeff nodded, looking forward to another late evening with the second child. It would remind him of when they used to stargaze together. But first, he was going to be reminded of the days his son’s squabbles were still for dad to resolve.

‘Alright boys, settle down. I don’t need any more “long stories” to add to the list.’

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