#thunderbirds are go fanfiction

[stitcher001]

The Return

I read Decisions ( Decisions - JMount74 - Thunderbirds Are Go (Cartoon 2015) [Archive of Our Own]) by JMount on AO3 back in February, and thought it was wonderful, but Feb is a bad month for me, and I couldn't let it rest there, so I wrote The Return.....

“H – how long?” John asked desperately, savagely wiping the tears away as he watched Virgil pushing down on Scott’s chest, then pausing to blow air into his lungs, Alan checking for a pulse, shaking his head and the cycle started again.

Gordon checked his holocomm.  “Eight minutes give or take,” he replied, his voice wavering.

John grasped his arm urgently.  “G – get the defib unit and some adrenaline… hurry!  I’m not… I’m not gonna let him get back to the house!”

“What?” Gordon asked totally confused.  “House?  What house?”

“No time, Gordon!  No time!  Get the damn defib and adrenaline!  Please, hurry!  He mustn’t reach the house!  He just mustn’t!  Move!”

John was sounding hysterical and Gordon looked at Virgil for guidance.

“Fine!  I’ll get it myself!”  John struggled up onto his knees ignoring the agony in his chest, then staggered weakly to his feet.  Gordon jumped up and grabbed him before he fell back down again.

“Whoa!  You’re not going anywhere!  You weren’t breathing a couple of minutes ago!”

“Get the fucking defib, Gordon!  Hurry!  We don’t have a lot of time!  PLEASE!”

“Go and get it and the adrenaline, Gordon, before he throws a hissy fit or something!” Virgil gasped.  “Come on, Scott!  For chrissakes come on!”  He glanced at his eldest brother’s face, the slightly parted lips tinted blue, and the half open unseeing sapphire eyes.  “P – please Scott, don’t do this to me… to us!”  He could feel a stinging sensation in his eyes.  “Time?” he barked at no one in particular.

“Eleven minutes,” Alan said quietly, and watched as Gordon ran as fast as he could towards Thunderbird 2.

“Nineteen minutes,” John gasped.  “I have nineteen minutes.”

“To do what?” Alan asked.  “What are you going to do?”

“Bring Scott back before he reaches the house.”

And there it was again, the mention of ‘the house’.  What was he on about? What did it even mean?

“What do you mean, go after him?” Alan questioned.

“I’m gonna go back and get him.  Stop him before it’s too late.”  John crawled over to the three of them, and took hold of Scott’s cold hand.  “I’m coming to get you, Scott.  I’m not letting you go; it’s not your time!”

Virgil glanced up and saw Gordon heading back.  “Alan, help me, we need to get the top half of this uniform off…”  Together, they unzipped Scott’s uniform and roughly stripped him down to the waist acutely aware they were not treating their brother gently as they carried out their task, but time was of the essence.  Virgil resumed CPR, ignoring the bruising appearing on his brother’s chest.

Gordon threw himself down opposite Virgil and began preparing the pads.  Alan grabbed the adrenaline to administer 1mg, checking the time just before he did so.  The pads were placed on the top right side of Scott’s chest and the mid-left side.  The machine beeped and spoke, then said, ‘Stand clear’ and Scott’s body convulsed as the shock was applied.  As soon as he relaxed, Gordon felt for a pulse.  A few seconds passed.  Nothing.

Whilst the machine reset itself, Virgil resumed CPR.  Another shock was administered.  Still nothing.  “Damn you, Scott!” Virgil cried.  “Don’t do this to us!  We need you!  COME ON!”

When the third shock failed, John pulled a small screwdriver out of his baldric, removed that, stripped to the waist, switched the defib off, unscrewed its casing and fiddled with a wire.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Alan shrieked, watching as John pulled the wires from the pads on Scott, replaced them with new ones and positioned them on his own body.

“I’m going after him.  I want you to shock me and stop my heart.  I’m going to bring him back.  I don’t know how to explain this, but Scott and I… we were together just before you revived me!  He’s going the wrong way; I need to get back to him and bring him out with me.  PLEASE!  We’ve nothing to lose!”

“Except another brother!” Virgil panted.  “No, John!”

“Keep my circulation going, but don’t revive me until you’ve got Scott back.  I’ve got…” he glanced at his holocomm, “…thirteen minutes.  Just switch the machine off once I’m down and reconnect the wire and carry on working on Scott!”

“John, NO!” Alan cried, but it was too late.  He’d already switched the machine back on.

“I love you all,” he said and pressed the manual button.  His body convulsed and then he fell back, blue-green eyes open, unseeing…

… Desert.

He was back in the desert at Gran Roca, near enough in the same spot he’d been snatched away from before he’d been able to turn Scott around.  A little distance away, he could see a man on a horse… Scott and Blackbird… he began running.

“Scott!  Wait up!  Scott!”

Scott halted Blackbird and turned to face his brother.  “Hey, Johnny, I thought you’d left me.”  He gave a tired, exhausted smile.

“Never!  I’d never leave you, Scott.  I need you to listen to me, please,” he pleaded.

“Sure.  I’ll listen all you want when we get back to the house.”

“NO!”  John grabbed Blackbird’s reins to stop the horse moving anymore, then reached and grabbed Scott, dragging him from the saddle.  “I really need you to come with me, Scotty!  You have to come with me, back to Virgil, Gordon and Alan.  They’re waiting back there!”

“They can come to the house.”

“No, they can’t.  You need to go to them.  Please.”

Scott looked into his brother’s eyes, his own filled with total and utter exhaustion and weariness and shook his head,.  “Johnny, I’m so tired, I need to rest.”

John shook him.  “Listen to me!  I know you’re tired—exhausted even—but you can’t go back to the house… not if you want to live!  Dammit Scotty, you’re twenty-nine years old!  It’s not your time!  Mom said you had to make a decision.  Don’t make the wrong one!  Don’t choose to die, I – I couldn’t bear it!”

“I’m not gonna die, John.  I just want a little rest.  That’s not too much to ask is it?  I’ve given everything I have.”

“I know you have… and so much more but… we Tracys aren’t quitters, no matter what.  I need you to do one more thing for me… for all of us… I need you to come with me, back the other way.  If you do that, then we can all take a break, whether it be a week, a month, a year, ten years, however long you want, but only if you come with me.  I’m begging you Scott, please just come with me, back this way, you’ll see why.”  John was openly crying now.  “If – if you don’t like it, then next time, I’ll let you go to the house, if that’s what you want, but please, this time, come with me!”

Scott gave him a huge hug, taking a step in the right direction.  “Don’t cry, John.  If I come with you, I can rest?”

John’s breath caught in his throat.  “Yes, Scott. YES!  As long as you want, providing you come with me.  I promise you and you know I’d never lie to you!”

            “No, you’ve never lied to me, ever.”  Scott took a huge breath and let it out slowly as he looked back towards the house where his mom and grandfather were waiting, but something had finally begun to niggle him.

John edged him another couple of steps in the right direction.  “You want to live, don’t you, Scott?  You don’t want to leave us, do you?  What would we do without you?”

His brother looked at him again.  “Of course I want to live, John.  I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Then come with me, Scott.  Live… live…” he beseeched.  “Come on, Scott.  Let me take you to where you can rest.”

He began to gently lead him down the path away from the house.  Scott looked back one last time, and as he turned away, the house and the occupants faded into nothing….

“Scott!  That’s it!  Come on damn you!”

Virgil’s strained voice came out of the peacefulness, screaming at him as an excruciating pain hit him in the chest.

“YES!  That’s it!  COME ON SCOTT, COME BACK TO US! COME ON!  YES!”

Scott gave a cry of agony as his eyelids fluttered.  The desert had disappeared and he was vaguely aware of lying on the ground, his chest a mass of pain; Virgil’s tear streaked face leaning over him.

“J – John?”  the name was barely whispered.  It hurt to breathe, but he forced himself to do so.  “John…”

He saw Virgil looking to his left and slowly managed to rotate his head in that direction, to see Gordon working on his brother.

“John!” Scott said again.

That seemed to be a signal, for John suddenly gave a cry, and coughed.  He immediately turned his head to the right and looked into tired, sapphire eyes and smiled.  “Wel – welcome back, Scotty,” he whispered as he reached a hand out towards him and their fingers entwined.  “Welcome back.”

o0o0o0o

[thundergirl007-writes]

Product Development Pitch

Here's something I had some fun with :D set in @thebirdfantasy's evil!Virgil AU, here's an insight into how we... un-Virgil-d the Tracy!

POV: Dr Alfred Slepfield, head researcher.

Dr Slepfield recieves an important client, and decides to show him the progress of his research...

Cw's: creepy unsettling captor POV, facility whump, science/medical whump (kinda), referenced/implied torture, sleep deprivation, dehumanisation/depersonalisation.

“Doctor Slepfield.”

The voice on the intercom called out, and the good doctor dutifully looked up from the neatly arranged paperwork in front of him to see the projection of his PA outside his office looking up at him.

“Yes, Ms Glenfield?”

“A Mr Gaat has arrived to see you, Doctor. He does not have an appointment in your calendar.”

Mr Gaat. The Doctor sighed and hoped it was not completely obvious to his PA why this was.

“Send him through, Ms Glenfield.”

There is no keeping a man like Mr Gaat waiting.

Not when he's such a key figure in this facility’s research funding.

The door to the office opened and the PA invited the gentleman inside. A tall, bald man with sharp cheeks and a sharper stare stepped inside. His dark silk suit glistened against the light yet blended in amongst the mahogany walls on either side of the door. A man the good Doctor has known for only a year, yet with all he has done for him, he knows that this relationship ends with either his death or his own.

He was rather hoping that it will be many, many mutually beneficial years before that happens.

Despite the name of Mr Gaat, the Doctor knew that it was an alias, for extremely wanted criminals are not normally permitted to invest in projects like this one. No, the Doctor was not stupid, even if he did care who he was or how he acquired his fortunes. This man was known to the GDF by another name.

The Hood.

Yet the Doctor knew better than to address him as such.

The good Doctor rose from his desk and wore his best smile on his face, one he’s spent years perfecting when dealing with businessmen, since convincing wealthy people to part with their money is an art few possess and yet is so horrifically necessary to stay afloat in the science world.

“Mr Gaat. So good to see you again, sir. How is everything?” he walks around the desk and holds a hand out for him to shake.

A gesture he does not return.

“Spare me the pleasantries, Doctor. You know why I am here.”

Ah yes. The Board of the Foundation for Research into Alzheimers, Dementia and Other Deteriorative Conditions had been informed of this particular investor’s lack of patience and wanted the good Doctor to step in and prove that everything was on track - and provide some additional reasons to continue funding them, whilst he was at it.

“Yes, well. Your support in our research has been invaluable, I think you’ll be impressed with our progress.”

“I hope so, for your sake, Doctor.”

The journey from the office to the lab isn't a long one, but there is such a stark difference between the dark yet warm, welcoming environment of the upstairs offices and the starkly clinical and bright cellars where our research is conducted.

“The latest drug has been a phenomenal success,” the good Doctor explains as he straightens out his lab coat, “our subjects are responding very well to them, exhibiting changes in behavior a lot quicker than previously -”

“Doctor, I am not a patient man,” he sternly interrupted, “I do not appreciate your efforts to draw out suspense. I want to see the fruits of your research. Otherwise you will find me a very unhappy investor.”

“If you insist, Mr Gaat.”

Pulling out the ring of keys from his belt loop, he unlocks the first door into the… private areas. As much as the Foundation for Research into Alzheimers, Dementia and Other Deteriorative Conditions has advanced into the modern age with technologically advanced locks and facial scanners, there truly is nothing quite like an idiotic, foolproof lock and key.

Beyond this first gate is an armed guard, who watches the both of them carefully as the door is closed and locked behind them.

“You'll forgive me for our security measures, Mr Gaat,” he explains, making his way to the bio scan at the other side of the antechamber, “utmost care must be taken with our line of work.”

The man simply grunted in the affirmative as he waited for the second door to be unloacked.

A few seconds later and they're through. The hustle and bustle of the upper levels replaced with an eerie silence, save for distant footsteps.

The walls are stark white with no features on any of them. Absolutely no recognisable markings on any, even the door he closes behind them. No windows. No signs. No numbers. Not even colour. Just a black door and a white wall. Can't risk any escapees figuring out where to go.

They’ve never had an escapee, in large part because of this overabundance of caution.

These first few doors are to the staffing areas, the chemical storage room, and a few laboratories that develop the drugs we work with.

Beyond these doors are testing chambers. Each of them have their own control room, and five isolation cells under their control. Not a sound is heard out of any of them, the soundproofing is state of the art. And that's a good thing too, quite a lot of the acquisitions like to create a scene.

We have room for 50 cells down here, but currently, only a fraction are in use. This is what Mr Gaat's future investments will provide for.

And the good Doctor knows exactly what will help him secure years of funding from this man.

“Our newest acquisition may be of some interest to you,” leading him through the fifth door on the left, the guest raises an eyebrow at the comment.

The colleagues of the good Doctor within the lab all turn to look at me as we enter, before silently turning around and focusing on their work. They know not to be intrusive with questions whilst he is with such a valued client.

In the control room are the relevant documents and histories of every subject brought into these cells in specific. These subjects are all quite far into their treatment, and do not need as much guidance as the ones further down the corridor.

Reaching out, he pulls the file for Subject 22-031, and passes it to the guest, “here you are. The file for Subject 22-031.”

He makes my way to the empty computer and started tapping away at the keys, bringing up the video feed for Subject 22-031.

“The occupant of this cell.”

Said occupant is in a sorry state. Its hands are restrained high above its head with thick manacles. Its head lolled down, limply sagging in its restraints. The Subject is shirtless and only wearing black shorts for what little modesty we allow it to have. Dark hair matted and sweaty, skin pale and clammy with bruises dotted around like a painting on a canvas, yet methodically applied for maximum effect. A thick, heavy collar is tied tightly around its neck, the soreness clearly visible beneath.

If it wasn't so sleep deprived one would be able to see those umber eyes that spent so long defying the treatment we were providing.

The esteemed guest is staring at the figure on the screen, which he takes as the cue to begin.

“Brought in three months ago, and is at a stage of its conditioning where its mental walls are breaking down, making it very susceptible to any new ideas. A malleable mind like this means that we can train it into behaviours we want to see it perform."

The good Doctor lifts up the cap over a yellow button and presses it down.

Suddenly the Subject on the screen jolts to life, muscles spasming in the harsh restraints. A cry out is audible, as it is looking around its harsh, empty white cell, its face looking up at the one way glass in front of it.

Pain radiating from its features, the Subject's eye areas are a deep red amongst its pale complexion.

A shock collar is a remarkable tool to keep the Subjects in a submissive state.

“Previously it was under a heavy dose of Mexatonin, which kept it confused for an extended period of time, thus allowing this transformation to the state you see it in now.”

The Doctor left the live feed on screen 1, and using screen 2, was able to pull up the logs from last week, not long after the transition to this stage.

The same Subject, restrained in the same way, except a thick black blindfold over its eyes. The video shows a white-coated researcher making their way inside alongside someone else. The Subject tries to speak, asking who is there, but all this accomplishes is the black-clad figure to land a harsh punch to the stomach, winding it. The researcher repeats the main focus for this stage of the process.

You will not speak unless spoken to.

“In addition to the drugs, we have been forced to use physical punishments, mainly in an attempt to teach it to speak only when spoken to. The subject had an unfortunate habit of trying to speak to my researchers. But we think we have reached the sweet spot, as it were, where it will not speak unless addressed directly”

The glance the Doctor is able to steal from the honorable Mr Gaat is one that makes him very excited. He seems enraptured with the process, and this is good. It’s something the Doctor can use. Something to sink his teeth in to.

And like a vampire, suck the money out of him to keep this racket going.

The Doctor has had quite a few parties interested in the results of this process, but Mr Gaat is by far the most powerful, most influencial, the richest by miles.

Even a fraction of his money would set them up for years. Not to mention the profits from the end products being sold to other wealthy individuals.

Oh yes, this was going to go wonderfully in his favour.

“Sleep deprivation?” he nods at the live feed, where the Subject is already trying to go back to sleep in their restraints.

He nods down at the button, and Mr Gaat does the honour of pressing the same one he did.

Sending powerful shocks into his body once more.

Mr Gaat is most pleased with this, the smile on his face is one that shows he is taking some joy out of this experience. A far cry from the stern man who seemed very ready to deal with him earlier.

“And what do you address him as?” he asks as he leans back away from the screen, the figure trembling from all the pain.

The Doctor simply gestures to the folder. “Its designation is Subject 22-031, but for ease, my researchers simply call it 031.”

He chuckles in response, murmuring something just loud enough for the Doctor to hear, “oh how far he has fallen…”

The Doctor can practically feel the thrill in the air at the prospect of such a happy investor. The board will no doubt be pleased with all this.

All the same. It's almost like Mr Gaat is familiar with this Subject, or rather, who it was before.

The Doctor only gave a passing glance to the Subject’s previous identity because he really did not care to learn who they were. It didn't matter anymore.

What did matter is what they will become.

“I must say, Doctor,” Mr Gaat began, turning back to face him, “all of this is very promising. I would certainly like to see this one through to the end of his training, how about a little demonstration?"

"A demonstration of what it can do when fully trained?” he asked “Well, it of course isn't there yet, but -"

"I completely understand, Doctor. I want to see what you're doing to him now. He's strung up in there waiting, what do you do to him now?"

The Doctor knows exactly what he wants to see.

And he will oblige his honoured guest.

A quick buzz into the pager and barely a minute later, a tall, muscular individual enters the room the same way they all did. Clad entirely in black, a mask covering the lower half of its face, its steely silver eyes staring at its Master.

The Doctor gestures to the new arrival, "Mr Gaat, this is Subject 22-014. It’s already been out on a few successful missions. You may have heard of the assassination of the Swedish Banker in Morocco? Well, that was their handiwork."

And what a spectacular job it did. But a key part of its downtime between jobs is to assist in the training of the new Subjects, which helps to keep its skills sharp.

He raised an eyebrow, "well, she doesn't look like much."

"Just you wait and see, sir," the good Doctor turns from the esteemed Mr Gaat over to the more professional Subject, “go to 22-031’s cell and await my instructions.”

It wordlessly nods, silently moving through the control room, opening the bolted doors, and then unlocking the cell to Subject 22-031.

The figure in the video stirs at the sound.

The Doctor presses the intercom in that cell. “Subject 22-031. Wake up. Time for training.”

Subject 22-031’s legs were trembling beneath them. Shaking their head as 22-014 entered the room and sealed the door behind them, simply standing there, not even having to move to get such a startled physical response from the sleep deprived 22-031.

"N...no..." it calls out, yet no one in this entire building holds any weight to what it has to say any longer.

“Silence, 22-031,” the Doctor sternly orders, “You will not speak unless spoken to.”

[hebuiltfive]

WIP Wednesday!

The air around him became hot and acrid and impossible to breathe. He gasped, his lungs betraying him. He was unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe, and still the clock on the mantlepiece remained unmoving.

John's legs numbed and buckled. He crashed to the floor of the drawing room, with only the plush rug underneath his knees to cushion his fall. His fingers tore at that rug desperately, his mouth wide open as his lungs continued to work against him.

Not like this. Not like this.

And he pleaded with a God he didn't believe in. Again and again, he begged for his life to be spared. John Glenn Tracy was not a selfish man by any means but he wasn't ready to go yet, he wasn't ready for it all to end.

His ears rang and all he could hear was roaring static. His heart was racing, hammering against his sternum.

This was it. This was how it ended.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Voicemail

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Friendship Characters: John, Az (OC) After a day of frantic rescues and close-calls, John had a voicemail waiting for him. I started writing this fic in 2021 as an introduction for my OC Az. Four years later I reopened the doc to look something up and ended up finishing the fic instead, so here it is! I know nothing about astrophysics so please forgive any vague science-ing going on here... Also I'm very out of practice writing TAG fic, whoops...

He had a voicemail.  The little icon flickered at him innocuously in his periphery, peeking out from behind a whole stack of holograms he’d finally, finally been able to close down.

John eyed it, tired.  It had been a long day, one of those days where the entire world seemed to implode all at once, leaving him scrambling to deploy his brothers wherever they were needed the most, whilst simultaneously strong-arming the GDF and local authorities into handling anything else, because his siblings were fantastic, but they could only be in so many places at once.

That place, now, was home – or getting there.  All five Thunderbirds were converging on Tracy Island at last, a race that none of them truly had their hearts set on because John wasn’t the only one that was tired.  They all were, and he was side-eyeing the holographic representation of Earth wearily, just waiting for it to throw up one more rescue.

The voicemail icon kept flashing at him.  He could, of course, dismiss it and leave it for later, when he wasn’t so tired.  Only a very select group of people had his personal number, and all of them knew what he did for a living.  They’d understand.

But while John was tired, it wasn’t the sort of tired he could sleep away.  Not all of the rescues had gone perfectly, either, and if he sat in silence for too long he knew he’d hear Scott’s cut-off cry as rocks had given way beneath him.  His brother was fine; a single flick of his wrist had kicked his jetpack into gear and left him completely unharmed, but that didn’t negate the brief spurt of terror John had felt when his big brother had fallen.

And that wasn’t the only incident of its kind that had happened in the past spree.  All of his siblings, at one point or other, had had their own scare, and John was seriously starting to consider getting in the space elevator and going home for a while.  Letting the events of the day and their respective what-ifs circle around in his head in silence would do no-one any good.

He’d been there before.

Several times.

Flash, flash, flash, went the little voicemail icon.

Hardly anyone had that number, and most of them never used it while he was on Thunderbird Five.  They didn’t need to, when their comms system was far superior.  It could be Lady P., he supposed, if she had something non-urgent to tell him and hadn’t wanted to interrupt International Rescue’s communications while they were so busy.

He considered the little icon again.  If he went home, he’d see all his brothers and be reassured that they were fine, but he’d also find himself on the receiving end of the smothering of an equally panicked big brother who was no doubt gearing himself up to check up on each and every one of them after the near misses of the day.  Maybe the message waiting patiently for him to acknowledge it would give his mind something to focus on without the need to go back to Earth just yet.

It was unlikely, but if he could even just delay exposure to Scott’s smothering, John was content to count that as a win.

Floating over to the icon lazily, he tapped it.

“Hey, Ginge!”

The words echoed around Thunderbird Five almost before the hologram appeared.  Bright blue hair, as ever styled into a ridiculous, gravity-despairing shock that John knew from experience took even more hair gel than Virgil or Scott used to keep in place, topped the pale face and blue eyes of one of the few people John considered a friend.

“I’d ask how you’re doing,” they continued, “but as you’re not picking up, I’m gonna guess the answer’s ‘busy’.  Give me a call when you get a break from saving the world, yeah?  I could do with a second opinion on the latest data.  Az out.”

The hologram vanished again after a cheeky gesture somewhere between a wave and a salute, leaving John to ponder if he should leave the message as unread and get back later, or make the call now.

At a year older than him, Az had been the closest to a peer he’d had during his PhD research, helped by the fact they were studying similar enough topics that it had been worth John’s time to put up with the loud, extroverted bundle of energy that was Az.  They were, in many ways, rather reminiscent of Gordon in that regard, and John dreaded the day that the pair of them eventually crossed paths.

As it stood, he had somehow managed to keep his brothers and Az separate, although he was certain Kayo had thoroughly investigated them at some point, and intended on continuing to do so for as long as he could get away with it.

The request for a second opinion on some data wasn’t unusual – the two of them had collaborated on several papers, and Az’s latest project once again held a little bit of overlap with John’s area of expertise.  Enough that they’d wheedled their way into getting him to use Thunderbird Five as one of the data collection points.

What Scott didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  It wasn’t like John didn’t do the exact same thing for his own research.  Thunderbird Five could handle it.

John had been too busy dealing with his day job to pay much attention to the data quietly streaming to Az’s network in the background, though, so he had no idea what his fellow astrophysicist was looking at.

Should he call back, or mark the voicemail as unread for later?

A check of the time said it was midnight for Az, which meant they’d still be up.  Their respective timezones made communication at regular hours difficult to arrange anyway, so both of them were used to talking at so-called unsociable hours, even without both of them liking to stay up late to watch the night sky.  All in all, there was nothing stopping John from calling them if he wanted to.

Diving into the world of data for a while sounded like exactly the sort of thing John needed, and despite their innate extravert-ness, if focused on something, Az was easy enough to handle.

Besides, silence was a bad idea, anyway.

John tapped the return call icon and waited, allowing the zero-g to cradle his body.

“Hey, Ginge.”  In a mirror of the voicemail, Az was talking almost before their hologram appeared.  Dressed in their usual space-themed regalia, and hairstyle starting to droop as the end of the day approached, from their posture, John assumed they were sitting at their desk again.  Whether they’d been working or watching Saturn through a telescope was another matter entirely.  “The world all saved for the moment?”

“For the moment,” John confirmed.  “So, where’s this data?”

“Right here,” Az shrugged, flicking a finger lazily to bring up a string of numbers and charts that they must have been keeping open, ready for John’s call.  They didn’t ask if he was sure he wanted to go through it right now, despite the fact John knew he had to look far more exhausted than they were.

Az could be rather mothering in their own way, when he was Earthside, but unlike Scott they backed off and let him be when he was on Thunderbird Five.  John appreciated it immensely, as he accepted the requested file and watched it download onto his Thunderbird’s systems.  It was automatically scanned for viruses, of course, but that was an automatic formality rather than a serious concern.  Most of the gathered data had been generated by Thunderbird Five in the first place.

“So, what d’you think?” they asked instead of making any comment on his appearance, leaning forward towards the holoprojector as though John was sat in their study with them, and not twenty two and a half thousand miles above their head.

John had been looking at data all day, strings of numbers and maps and other holographic symbols overlapping until they almost blurred together, except he couldn’t let that happen because that was when mistakes happened, and mistakes meant fatalities.  Mistakes meant threats to his family’s lives, to say nothing of those that had called for help.

This data was different.  This data had no life or death decisions attached to it.  It was scientific curiosity, nothing more, enough to keep his brain ticking along without the pressure of his vocation crushing down on him.  He could drop it, if he wanted to, and that freedom made it easier to focus, a welcome distraction from the what-ifs that lurked in the waiting silence.

It was fun, to talk through scientific data about black holes, strings of information that suggested a new one – and that explained why Az had begged the use of Thunderbird Five, because there wasn’t another satellite that could do such detailed data sweeps so far off, not in civilian access and John doubted in military, either.  Even at midnight, Az had no problems keeping up with him as he spotted patterns and pointed them out, letting the other astrophysicist draw conclusions and agreeing or disagreeing with them depending on how much sense it made.

They talked for hours.  To John’s relief, the world remained silent, a much-needed respite from the earlier chaos, and their conversation was finally brought to an end when Az’s head started nodding forwards, eyes brightening with moisture as they began to lose their battle against sleep.

Neither of them were strangers to pulling all-nighters, either for stargazing or for research, and John suspected Az had been up for a couple of nights in a row to be flagging so much, but out of the two of them there was no question who could last longer without much sleep.  Thunderbird Five demanded no less.

“Get some sleep, Az,” he told them after a particularly violent nod of their head.  The gel in their hair was failing, entire sections drooping so much they were almost falling down.  “Don’t you have a class to teach in the morning?”

Az shrugged a little sheepishly, letting out a massive yawn.  “’Swear you’ve got my schedule memorised better than me,” they mumbled, rubbing their eyes.  “Yeah, nine o’clock.  They haven’t stopped forcing astronomy students to get up at dawn yet.”

They’d never been a fan of that, or mornings in general.  If they had their way, they’d be almost entire nocturnal, so they could stargaze better.

That was one of the things John loved so much about Thunderbird Five.  Permanent stargazing, no matter the hour.

“Or astronomy TAs,” he said, and Az let out a tired chuckle.

“Yeah,” they agreed.  “Or us.  Guess I’d better try and catch a couple of hours before class.  Thanks for the-” they interrupted themselves with a yawn that almost split their face in two “-the chat.  Was really useful.”

“I’ll send you the transcript,” John promised, because everything was recorded on Thunderbird Five and no doubt Az was tired enough to have missed some of their theories in their note-taking.  “Check it over when you’re awake.”

“Thanks.”  Az yawned again.  “Catch you later, Ginge.”  They made a V shape with their fingers and flicked it like a wave.  “Az out.”

The call dropped.

John rubbed at his temples for a bit.  He was tired, too, but no longer the aching tired of earlier.  This was a tired that could actually be slept off, and John wasn’t one, to stay up when he didn’t need to.  Not anymore.  He got his sleep between rescue alerts, and the data discussion had soothed his brain enough that he could, now.

There was another alert, a signal that Tracy Island had tried to contact him while he’d been talking with Az and had his other personal, non-emergency lines set to do not disturb.  Only one, so Scott – because of course it was Scott, trying to check in – must have figured he had already gone to sleep.  Hopefully by now, even though it wasn’t the early hours of the morning like it was for Az, his family were all taking their own much-needed sleep while they could.

A quick check of his cameras showed his suspicions correct, to his relief.

John would call them back later, then.  For the moment, he’d follow suit and take his own nap for a few hours.

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 10

⚠️ Trigger Warning for angst

This could have probably been an earlier chapter, but hey, better late than never! Alan and Gordon arrive home post-TB4-mission.

❤️💛 🚀

Alan let the warmth of the shower seep into his bones. He was sure his squid brother was secretly cold-blooded. Stepping into a shower after Gordon, was akin to performing the ice bucket challenge - the water barely more tepid than the sea itself. Alan, was the polar opposite - disassociating in the molten mist until he'd generated his very own steam room.

The teen grabbed a towel and headed for the lockers.

"Gordon, what the hell?"

He slammed the locker door shut.

Asshole had taken his spare clothes.

He searched through the other lockers. John's was empty, Virgil's; locked. He opened Scott's and pulled out a finely pressed shirt and jeans. 

Gordon had better hope that Four had no further call outs today or he'd drown the fish himself.

The designer jeans were far too long in the leg. He had to fold the ends up twice to avoid tripping on the excess material as he waddled. The shirt was equally ridiculous. He looked like a child trying on their father's work clothes. It wasn't too far from the truth. But he was nineteen, not nine. And he loathed anything that could be used as ammunition by his brothers to remind him that yes... he was the baby of the family - he got it, alright?

He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of Scott's jeans, desperate to protect himself from further embarrassment and shuffled his way back to his room. Brothers sucked ass.

*.  *.  *.

The astronaut's mood subsided a little on seeing that Grandma had been and spruced his room in his absence. His favourite green guitar top had been washed, ironed and laid out on the end of his bed.

Scooping up the casual wear; he buried his face into the soft fabric and inhaled its floral scent. Grandma was one of the few members who actually bothered to remember to add the softener to washes. He was so used to the Birds, bedrooms and gym smelling like...well, a gym; that it was a secret pleasure to enjoy the floral scent of cleanliness. Alan decided that it was the little things in life that brought the greatest pleasure.

He headed to his closet to grab his go-to shorts; pulling the tee over his head as he walked.

"FUCK!"

The floor beneath him shifted. 

His room, the villa, maybe even the island shaking with a ferocity usually reserved to a Two Bird callout.

Alan was flung to the floor. He groaned. Where was his super-plush rug to cushion his fall-

His world suddenly tipped.

Blindly reaching out; somewhat encumbered in his half-dressed state, Alan managed to grasp the doorframe to his closet. 

"GUYS! HELP!"

It sounded like a volcanic eruption...

His room roared like fracturing rock.

Steel screamed and splintered above him.

"Agh!" The sound was deafening, but he didn't dare let go.

Alan's thoughts were racing faster than Fireflash.

John. John would not have missed an impending  eruption?

...Other than that one time with Professor Quentin Questa at Hrómundartinhurmindur. 

No, this was nothing like a volcano. So what then?

His mind flitted through other possibilities. .

Earthquake? Landslide?

His room stopped shaking with one last feeble quiver.

Alan dared to pull his head through his top with a singular hand - the other still firmly glued to the doorframe.

The teen blinked; not trusting his eyes with the reality they presented him with. 

One of his bedroom walls...

His floor length windows...

They were just... gone.

A wall of silver filled the space.

[m-calculus]

Scott Tracy does some Easter Shopping at Fortnum & Mason:

Scott pursed his lips as he considered the iced biscuits. Were they too cute to eat? Then again, only the best would be suitable for tea with lady P. He added a box to his shopping cart.

Scott continued to peruse the aisles of seasonal goodies, finding a festively decorated tea caddy. “Rhubarb and orange” he muttered to himself, before shrugging and adding the Easter tea blend to his basket as well.

On his way towards the checkout, a pretty pink chocolate egg caught his attention. Naturally that was coming with him as a gift for Lady P as well.

[melmac78]

Here’s chapter seven of the Lexington story. The picture on the left is from the main entrance, but shows a good picture of the flags discussed in this chapter. (If it looks familiar, this is the background that @lenle-g used as the backdrop for the amazing artwork based on this story, but you can get this on the flight deck too. The flag on the right is W and sourced online.)

The photos below include the bridge, which accesses the flag area, the flag bag and information about it, and a T-34C mentor which is at least painted like a Flying Tiger. This plane, however, would’ve trained pilots and not for battle. (This is a plane model I’ve flown in.)

Previous Chapter 6

••••••

About and hour and a half later, after treating patients in the wardroom and checking up on others, the Tracy brothers discussed options on what to do next.

Each brother started discussing means to contact other ships minus using Four.

This lead to a huge argument between Scott and Gordon, especially as the latter postulated he could use sonar to make his way to land.

Virgil tried to mitigate the argument via walkie-talkie.

John, who was sound asleep fighting off his illness, didn’t hear a peep.

The youngest, who was already feeling a headache and warm in his uniform, was fed up. Alan said he’d start searching the flight and bridge deck.

Miffed when neither brother was listening, he started on his course, stumbling slightly on the fairly smooth floor. Shaking his head he pinched his nose to stave off the uneasy feeling he had.

A few minutes later, the older two brothers realized he was gone.

Scott contacted the youngest, who explained what he planned to do.

The eldest confirmed the idea might work, and Scott and Gordon, along with Jacob, started working on ways to prevent more illness.

Little did they know a person had overheard as they treated a camper, and left before the duo did to keep eavesdropping on the Tracy brothers, particularly the aquanaut.

They had been told to let this run its course, and work on a way to explain any hospitalizations… or worse. After all - the product needed to be refined, and the less known how much of a disaster this test was, the better.

•••••••

Alan looked around the flight deck, and saw nothing but the blue water of the Atlantic Ocean.

"I've got to find some way to get an alert out to people we're here," he thought and looked at the one of the planes still blocked on the flight deck.

He looked at one painted like a Flying Tiger and placing a hand on it, sighed.

"I really wish we had some jet fuel - Scott could go and fly, but we don't know where…" he started then paused when his head again swum slightly, making him take a few fast breaths.

Alan didn't quite get why he felt like a fish out of water so to speak. It seemed simple climbs were a little bit more laborious, but his breathing now was clearly panic in his mind.

He took a deep breath and sighed. "OK, need to calm down… hyperventilating won't do John any good,” he said, ignoring the niggling feeling in his gut something was wrong.

The youngest then turned to go back up to the main bridge to get a better look of the area around the ship for possible means to signal help.

As he started he felt the wind blow again, making him shudder as though he had a sunburn and the air conditioning was on.

He rubbed his face tiredly and turned to his right where the T-34C was, sitting heavily on the stairs.

"I don't believe it Virgil … I'm frying in this outfit," he said to the vehicle, tapping his comm briefly. "You know, like one of those Astro Dogs at the Astros game we went to…"

The comm clicked off when he leaned toward the plane again and patted it, trying to get it to laugh.

When the plane naturally didn't say anything, he frowned at the painted on snarl. "Come on Virgil - don't snarl. That was supposed to be a joke," he said, playfully punching the plane.

He recoiled in pain from the punch, and had a moment of clarity he hit a plane.

Shaking his hand, he confirmed he hit the plane. “That isn't Virgil…I'm getting to be as bad as John did with those dummies..." he said, pausing and wincing as a wave of dizziness got him.

It was starting to make sense… and that uneasiness came at him stronger. Double with the recollection of the night before…

Alan realized to his horror he had it too. "And John also is… no, not me too. I need to get us help - and fast,” he said, shuddering in the wind. “But how..."

The astronaut braved a glance upward to the bridge, and saw the colorful flags in the air. They were doubling… or blurry… but they seemed to be important.

“The tour yesterday - Gordon said….”

His eyes widened in fevered delight as a plan formed in his head. It was risky with his health but it was a way to get help.

The youngest astronaut hit his sash. "Gordon, you're a genius," he said and started up the ladders to the bridge.

Gordon who was at the open bay near the fo’c’sle, frowned, confused at the comment.

He was thankful however there was one spot the baldric comms worked.

“How am I a genius Alan?" he said through the comm.

All he got was a cut off speaker, hit again when Alan bumped into a railing from vertigo and caught himself.

The aquanaut frowned. "Alan... you OK?" he inquired again, tapping his sash. This time he didn't hear a response.

The youngest astronaut however groaned from collision, but continued as though the others could hear.

"I'm going to set up a signal flag! There has to be a ship nearby - maybe even WASP - that could see it and get help," he said, pausing at the top of the bridge area when he felt a bit dark and unlevel.

He steadied himself. "If I can get there… take it slow Alan, don't pass out,” he said, half feeling his way to the door leading to the flag bag area.

Alan made it to the spot, a small lookout like area where the signal flags were and, tracing then rope with the flags, was able to free it from the tie-down.

He quickly lowered the flags, pausing only a moment when the world spun alarmingly. Alan rested his head against the wall, appreciating the coolness. "I could get used to this…" he started, and started to slide down a little.

A slight burst of friction heat woke him up and he straightened, tilting wildly. Fortunately the flag box was sturdy and wide enough Alan was able to catch himself and keep from flipping over the side to an unforgiving flight deck..

"Nope! I've got to stay awake - John, the others… I need help, and we can't get it … without the flag," he said as he removed the decorative flags until there was a bare rope.

The youngest Tracy then rummaged through the flags, searching for the "W" flag, and whooped faintly with joy when he found it.

Alan's hands were starting to shake as his body fought to keep him alert. He fumbled with the clips, and was thankful the design was the same no matter how he pinned it up.

He felt his vision again start to go again as he grew more ill, but he was going to raise that flag. It was their only chance.

Thanks to the growing darkness pulling at him, every hand pull felt like like he was trying to lift TB5 from underwater.

Still he was determined to get the flag raised, even if he became a human anchor again.

"A little more," he said, gritting his teeth, but finally, he felt the rope not move and secured it to the holder in a figure 8 formation.

Alan looked up and blearily saw the "W" flag waving clearly in the breeze.

"I did it," he sighed wearily, only to feel the world around him darken and waver once more.

He tried to fight it, tried to even hit his sash's comm, but his arms wouldn't comply. Alan realized this time he was going down.

So, he used those fleeting seconds of awareness to stumble toward the wall, rolling onto his back to help him through this part safely.

"I hope the guys …. can find me," he thought vaguely as he felt himself slide down, aided by the wall. He then fell sideways into the massive amounts of flags on the ground, cushioning the now oblivious teen's head.

•••••

Gordon tried his sash comm again. "Alan, will you please respond?" he said urgently.

"What's the trouble Gordon?" said Scott instead, who had arrived to where his aquanaut brother stood.

"I don't know. Alan said I was a genius, but when I asked what, he just disconnected the comm," said the aquanaut. "Seemed a bit odd for him to say that though. Kind of out there -"

"No kidding, just like that frying Astro Dog comment earli…" started Scott, who then frowned.

The younger man also frowned. "Frying?... He did sound a bit out of it," said Gordon, who then paled. "You don't suppose he's sick now?"

Virgil, who had been listening to both communications, pursed his lips. "It's possible. He's been around John the most, plus had to keep him from falling into a medical storage bay," he said.

"Starting to sound more than likely," said Gordon. "We need to find him, and fast before he tries to swan dive off into a storage bay.”

Scott immediately went into action. "Gordon, you take the captain's quarters tour,” he said. “I'll take the fo’c’sle."

Virgil heard a different squawk on the radio. “This is Virgil, go ahead Jacob,” he said.

“Virgil, do you or your brothers need my assistance?” Said the older man.

The medic looked at his other ill brother and sighed. “Can you keep an eye on John?” He queried. He knew the older man had wrenched his shoulder earlier catching a football playing college student when he collapsed, and couldn’t assist in a rescue.

“10-4 Virgil. Will be there in 5. There’s an extra radio for Scott on the front desk in the office.”

Virgil switched off the radio. “Did you get that?”

"FAB Virgil. You head to the flight deck when Jacob comes over,” said Scott as he and Gordon started their search. Each grew frustrated as their searches were not proving fruitful.

••••••••

A few minutes later, Virgil had reached the flight deck and started searching.

After searching bow to stern, he growled. "Come on bro, this is NOT the time to get lost," he said, hoping he did not succeed in doing a nosedive off the ship.

He looked up as though in prayer.

It was answered… just not the way he'd expected.

Virgil saw one flag now on the mast of the Lexington - and paused for thought.. "Scott, Gordon, do you know if they were going to change the colors today?" he said.

"I can't believe the 'oh so polite' Scouts managed to spell a curse word in the order they flew them," said Gordon with a chuckle on his radio.

Virgil narrowed his eyes. "Not the time Gordo - were they for sure?" he asked.

Hearing both men grunt in the negative, he nodded firmly. "I think I know where Alan may be. If I'm right, and he's down, I'll need your help to lower him."

"Lower him?" said Scott, concerned.

"No time to explain bro, just head to flight deck. I'll contact you as soon as I know," said Virgil as he rushed up the bridge ladders.

He hoped that Alan was where he suspected and didn't try to go another 50 feet up to higher parts of the ship with their grapples.

Virgil carefully made his way around the steering wheel and chairs to the exit where the signal flags were stored.

There, in a bundle of nautical flags, was Alan, unmoving.

"Alan!" he said and quickly kneeled by the youngest, checking his pulse.

Feeling the heat radiating off the younger man through his gloves, Virgil shuddered, then switched on the radio. "Scott, Gordon, Alan's in the bridge area,” he said and started checking teen’s vitals.

Scott, who was in the office, pursed his lips. "How is he Virg?" he inquired as he hurriedly left the office and headed toward his brothers.

Virgil gently lifted one of Alan's eyelids and checked the ill man's eye response. "Out cold and burning up," said the medic.

"Darn it," said Gordon on his radio, growing angrier. "Scott, we've got to use Four and seek help."

The eldest shook his head, and remembering the others couldn't see it, spoke up. "Belay that Gordon. Right now we need to get Alan to safety," he said.

“But…”

“Gordon, it’s too risky. We can’t have you drive off in Four and end up falling ill too,” he said.

"FAB," said Gordon, who turned off his radio and started to head up to the flight deck, and upon arrival, then turned to the bridge entrance.

He paused, shaking his head. The risk was great yes, but the reward greater, he mused, and decided to ignore the order.

With that, Gordon turned another route, toward the bow where Four was located.

"John has been out of it most of the morning and his fever keeps going back up despite our efforts to cool him down. And he’d be angry at Scott if we didn’t try to get help for the kids," said Gordon sternly to himself as he jogged to his beloved sub. "Now Alan is sick too, I'm going!"

Gordon climbed into Thunderbird Four and using the emergency thrusters pushed his craft off of the flight deck.

"AaaWeee!" Gordon cried as Thunderbird Four fell the few hundred feet into the waves below. Under other circumstances he would have thought it fun, even though his yellow sub landed on its top in the waves.

"Oof! Don't want to do that again," groaned the aquanaut as he rubbed a bruised shoulder where the harness hit him.

Gordon used the thrusters and soon righted his Thunderbird. The duo dove down deep, hoping to escape detection from his brothers.

Little did he know: he already had a stowaway - one who had already overheard his idea and was in a life pod inside, ready to give him help.

Just not the aid needed.

••••••••

Meanwhile, Scott had arrived to the flight deck and looked up to the bridge area. "Virgil, I'm here. Where are you?" he said through the radio. “What do you need?"

Virgil leaned over the railing briefly to show his location. "See if there's a stokes or something we can carry him in," he ordered.

"Do you need any rigging to get him down?"

"No, I’ve got my grapples and they’re designed to carry double my weight,” said Virgil. “The winds up here are a little stronger - but we’ll have to risk Alan colliding with something. Meet me on the hangar deck."

"FAB, I'll be back shortly," said Scott as he went to search for the items needed.

Virgil finished removing the last flag when the youngest murmured briefly and opening his eyes, blearily looked up. "Are you my guardian angel," Alan asked innocently.

"Not quite bro - I'm still alive for one," chuckled Virgil as he checked Alan's pulse. "Do you know where you are?"

Alan looked at the flag in Virgil's hand. "I think I've either lost a fight with MAX and the laundry again or I got that flag up and passed out," he said.

Virgil smiled. "No on the former - though I want to hear that story someday, but yes on the latter. Crazy move brother, but it just might work," he said, leaning forward to lift his brother. "Now, I'm sure you know the drill now right?"

Alan saw Virgil's body language and winced. "You're not going to carry me are you?" said Alan, whining like a three year old.

"Yeah - sorry Al, I'm going to have to in order to rappel down. There's nothing but ladders here and if you collapse again -" he said, and again checked the younger man's pulse and response.

"Not going to," said the younger, weakly brushing off the hand.

Frowning at his finding, Virgil continued honestly. "Sorry bro, but I'm afraid you will from what I'm seeing. Even if you don't, in your condition we don't need you falling down the stairs from a dizzy spell and get hurt worse."

"No I won't…" Alan murmured and tried to sit up. He sagged back against the wall, supported by Virgil. "O-K, FAB… you win…" he said tiredly.

"I'm glad to hear that. Now, let me do the work this time," chided Virgil as he gently pulled his brother into a standing position.

The move unfortunately was too much of a position change and Alan indeed once more blacked out, sagging into his brother's shoulder with a soft, barely heard moan.

Virgil held on to his brother as he felt the teen go limp. "Easy Alan, I've got you," the medic said in reassurance as he swiftly stabilized his brother and connected the two baldrics together to rappel.

Scott, who had been able to get a backboard to carry their brother, had seen some motion at the spot and frowned. "Virgil? What's wrong?" He half shouted in the radio.

Virgil chose to wait briefly as the feedback faded, then responded. "Alan passed out again."

"Panic attack?" asked Scott. He didn't blame Alan if he did have one at the thought of being rappelled down against his will, ill or not. At least they could carry him down the long frozen escalator.

"No, I think from orthostatic hypotension."

"FAB," said Scott, understanding now it was from a drop in his blood pressure standing an ill Alan up to connect the harnesses.

"I am heading to the fight deck," Virgil said as he carefully connected a rappel charge to a sturdy pipe.

Once assured of its security, he went down the “exit” route with his precious cargo. "Do you have everything ready?"

"FAB, and what I could find to cool him down," said Scott as he laid the items out on the hangar deck.

A few minutes later, Virgil landed on the flight deck, and after removing the harness link, lifted Alan into a fireman’s carry.

Virgil walked a few yards to where Scott was with with a gently moaning Alan. "He's been mumbling on the way down," said the medic as he carefully lowered their brother to the ground. "I think he'll be like John and wake up a little more when we cool him down."

Scott covered Alan with the cooling blanket and checked his pulse. "Why was he up there in the first place?" said the pilot.

"Probably to put that one flag up to get attention," Virgil said, pointing. "I think that one means 'quarantine' or 'medical help' if I've kept some of Gordon's ramblings in my head."

Scott gave an exasperated chuckle. "You're right Virgil - it is one. That crazy kid - no wonder he said Gordon a genius," he said. "Hopefully it'll get us some help - a local trawler, a cargo ship, WASP."

"I hope so too. In the meantime we need to get Alan to the berthing quarters and out of his uniform into something more comfortable," said Virgil.

They both knew like John's suit, it was designed to keep in warmth in a space environment. Alan's fever combined with the suit would cause further issues.

There was a soft groan from the deck, and the two eldest looked down. "Alan, can you hear me," said Virgil gently. "Just relax, we'll have you cooled down soon enough."

The youngest looked at Virgil with dizzy eyes. "Hate being an Astro Dog, Mr. Cheeseburger. Can you hold the anchovies?" muttered Alan before subsisting again.

Scott looked at the teen and gave a weak grin.

"FAB, Astro Dog," said Scott, looking at a slightly bemused Virgil. "Come on Mr. Cheeseburger... let's get Astro Dog here some nice cold ice water to cool him down."

"Definitely," said the medic as he and Scott picked up the stokes to take the youngest to the berth.

In their haste to get Alan cooled down, neither of the fully alert men noticed TB4 was not on the deck.

[misstanktracy]

Memories

[A small fic featuring @the-cooler-tb2]

[tags: Grief, loss, angst]

~~~

The evening views on Tracy Island were always something to behold. The Pacific sunsets pleased the eye, the perfect merging of pinks, reds, blues and oranges as the sun dipped below the horizon. Jeff Tracy had always liked to watch the sunsets. After a long day of mechanics, maintenance and repair work, he finally collapses into one of the couches in the lounge, letting out a deep and weary sigh. As much as he loved working on new machines and aircraft, it sure took a toll on the body. His eyes scan the room slowly, coming to fall onto his 14 year-old daughter, Valentina. She is standing by one of the many windows of the villa, whispering soft words to his youngest son, 8 year-old Alan, sitting in her arms, his legs wrapped around her waist. The boy’s head droops onto her shoulder as the pair stare out to the view of the sunset. By the dimming light reflection, Jeff can see how exhausted she looks. Since Lucille’s passing in 2050, Val had no choice but to step up to be the ‘motherly’ role in Alan’s childhood. He had always thought it was because he didn’t really get much of a chance to know her. Jeff smiled a little proudly, she had done so well for him. After taking another moment or two to himself, he gets to his feet, walking over towards the two, stopping just a few paces behind them. The sounds of Val’s quiet whispering meets his ears.

‘Can you see the sky?’

‘Yeah…’ Alan nods, muttering the quiet confirmation to her.

‘You see all the pretty colours?’

The small boy nods again, uttering the same quiet words. ‘Yeah…’

‘That’s your mama’s way to say hello, you know?’

Jeff see’s the way Alan’s face lights up. He’s always been such a sweet kid.

‘Hi mama…’ Alan reaches his hand out towards the window, giving a small wave to the sky.

Jeff feels tears prick in his eyes, his hand instantly coming up, brushing them away. Val had always been so nice to her youngest brother, taking over the motherly role flawlessly. He knew that sometimes she struggled with the job, but he also knows she’s stubborn. She would never show her struggle. He could see how hard Val worked to try and make Alan’s life as normal as possible, even if she was quietly struggling with her own grief. He continues to watch the pair from behind, his chest tightening slightly in grief.

Val reaches out her own hand, waving towards the sky with Alan.

‘Hey mama.’

Alan grins from ear to ear, waving his hand vigorously from side to side.

‘Hi mama! Hi mommy!’

~~

As the sun continued to fall under the horizon and the stars started to appear, the small boy yawned. Tiredness had finally caught up to the youngest Tracy. Val tears her eyes away from the sky, smiling at her baby brother.

‘You ready to say goodnight, kid?’

Alan groans quietly, nodding again to her words. Val looks back towards the sky again.

‘You wanna say goodnight to mama?’ she whispers to him. Alan matches her gaze to the sky, seeing the colours fade to night. He reaches out his hand again.

‘Night-night mama…’ he whispers, the tiredness clear in his quiet voice.

‘That’s it, squirt. That’s it, and you know what the best part is?’

‘What?’

Val looks back at him again, seeing the sky reflected in his bright eyes.

‘Your mama is gonna be there for you in the morning as the sun rises. Doesn’t that sound nice? Mama being there, just for you, to wish you a good morning?’

The boy nods, his eyes finally drooping closed.

Jeff smiled, the familiar clench of grief tightening over his chest again. She'd always been so good at keeping her mother’s memory alive. Even if it was simply by the sun, or the stars, Val would always try to find a way to reassure her youngest brother that their mother was still close by. As they utter their final goodbyes and head away, Jeff glances out towards the windows, spotting the first few stars appearing in the night sky. The grief finally hits in full force, and he can’t help but let his tears fall as he stares outwards at the small, twinkling lights in a vast, dark canvas.

It’s beautiful. Just like Lucille was.

~~~

OOC// I’m not much of a writer, so I’m sorry if some of this doesn’t make sense or flow. It was a cute little idea I had at 2am.

[alexthefly]

WIP Wednesday

*******

“EOS, situation report!”

“I don't knazzzzzzzz…. …hard toffffffffffzzzzzzgffffff…”

John propelled himself through the bowels of his 'bird, trying to ignore the flickering lights in the corridor around him and the rising sense of dread in his chest.

“EOS? What's happening? Are you alright?”

“Kkzzzzzrchkkkkkkgggg…”

“EOS!”

Dammit, not her as well! Everything around him seemed to be shorting out or otherwise malfunctioning, and he had zero clue why. Every screen was blank or glitching, and from somewhere behind him a loud siren told him that his celestial home had started to drift ever so slowly out of orbit.

Above him, a cable suddenly gave way for no perceivable reason, sending out a shower of sparks over his head. Dazzled by the sudden brightness, he reached for a nearby console - dead, like the others - and heaved himself forwards out of harm’s way, moving even faster now towards the central hub.

“Tracy Island, can you hear me?”

The silence on the other end of his comms chilled him more than all the rest of the chaos combined.

[stitcher001]

Charity Performance

“She’s what!” Scott exclaimed as John finished giving him the message.  “We agreed we’d attend the next gala to put in an appearance for support of the charity, but this is a step too far!”  His voice was rising partly in panic at the thought of what she had announced they were going to do as part of the fundraising activities.

His three other brothers suddenly appeared in the lounge, frowning at the fact that Scott’s voice was rising in pitch and his head was in his hands.  He didn’t lose his cool like that for a rescue.  He might get angry, go into full military mode or shout, but he never sounded as if he was losing it like a hysterical schoolgirl.  It must really be a bad situation!

They gathered round the desk and waited… impatiently for more information.”

“NO!  We’re NOT doing it!” Scott almost screamed.  “Absolutely NOT!”

“It’s too late bro,” John said apologetically, “the programme has been announced and gone out.”

“Damn! Shit!  Fuck!  Do you wanna do it, John?”

There was a bit of a pause.  “We – ll… not really but I don’t see that we have a choice.”

Virgil, Gordon and Alan looked at one another totally and utterly confused.  “What the hell’s going on?” they asked in unison.

“You don’t wanna know!” John replied.

“Er… yes we do!” Virgil immediately came back with.  “We can’t refuse a rescue, Scott!”

“Who said anything about…” Scott suddenly realised how high his voice had gotten, stopped and took a deep breath before continuing at his normal deep pitch.  “Um… who said anything about a rescue?” he asked them.

“We er… we assumed it was a rescue,” Gordon said.

“Well it’s not.”

“So if it’s not a rescue, what is it?” Alan asked.

Scott heaved a huge dramatic sigh.  “It concerns Penny’s annual charity gala,” he finally replied.  “She’s advertised she’s putting us all on stage…”

“Wait, what?  She has an auction every year… oh God, she’s not auctioning us off to the highest bidder again, is she?” Virgil said cringing.

 “No, worse,” Scott said.

 “She also has acts on stage…”  Virgil suddenly went pale.  Penny often remarked about how good looking they all were and what great physiques they had… she hadn’t… she couldn’t… she wasn’t suggesting they… “Shit!  She’s not making us do a strip tease, is she?” he squeaked.

“Worse!” Scott said.

“What could possibly be worse than that?” Alan asked looking totally and utterly lost.

“Yeah Scott… what could possibly be worse than being a male stripper?” Gordon asked, mentally thinking if his abs were tight enough.  “Actually, it wouldn’t be that bad… come on bros, I mean we’ve all got pretty mean looking bodies… apart from John!”

 “Hey!  I resent that remark!  I’m just lean muscle, not fat muscle!” John retorted indignantly.

 “So what the hell is it?” Virgil demanded.

 The silence was deafening as it stretched on… and on… and on… until….

 “Scott!  What the fuck is it!”

 His eldest brother sighed over dramatically and shook his head in denial.  “She wants us to… to… to sing.”

“I’d sooner strip,” Virgil muttered to himself.

“Sing!??!!” Gordon screeched.

“Cool!” exclaimed Alan, his mind wandering off, imaging himself as a famous racing car driver and pop star.

“Sing?  What?” Gordon asked.

“That song we were all playing about with a few months ago… what was it called again?” John asked.

“What that oldie?  Um… Heal the World?” asked Virgil.  He went to the piano, thought for a few seconds then tentatively played the first verse.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” John replied.

“Hey guys, it’ll be fun!” Alan enthused.  “We just need to make sure we’re all in tune… do some rehearsals, we’ll be fantastic… I can see us now…The Tracy Brothers…. Or … oh oh how about… The Thunderbirds!”

“What?” Gordon was asking, staring at his younger brother like he was mad.

“Well, we’ve gotta have a name,” Alan insisted.

Virgil was frowning.  “Okay, so we’re lumbered.  We need to make the most of it… let me work on some simple harmonies and sort out who’s doing what,” he said grabbing his manuscript pad and the pencil that was always attached to it.  “John, did Penny say if we have to play instruments or what?”

“She’s got a small orchestra providing music, so they will provide the backing.  If we let her know what we need, she’ll sort it.” John replied.

Virgil wandered off to his bedroom to do some thinking and play around on his small keyboard, leaving the others all looking at one another.

o0o0o0o

Thankfully there were no emergencies that day, and Virgil reappeared later that evening with his suggested format, harmony and who should sing what and told everyone they were going to rehearse because they couldn’t be allowed to look foolish at any cost.  They were going to be professional, polished and know what they were doing!

Rehearsals began the following day when rescues allowed.  Virgil warned them they were likely to be sick of the song by the time he’d finished, but they had a month to get ready.  He took the liberty of recording the harmonies for each of them so they could go away and sing to it to learn it

The boys sang in their rooms, in the shower (wow they sounded good in there!), outside; they listened to their parts whilst in the gym, running, swimming or whatever else they were doing.  Hell, they even listened to it when they were travelling to rescues!

A fortnight later, Scott and Virgil tried their parts together whilst travelling to a minor rescue.  It sounded a little odd because the rest of the brothers weren’t there with their parts, but they managed to hold key and not sound too much like strangled parrots!

By week three they were almost singing their parts in their sleep and were finally singing in a group.  EOS had joined in, telling them to listen to one another for balance and then, towards the end of that third week, she had recorded them and took great pleasure in playing it back and the boys were shocked.  They didn’t sound too bad… in fact it was pretty passable, but they could do more, so the final week, they really threw themselves into it.  Again, EOS recorded them and it sounded… good!

However, singing it at home was completely different to actually performing it in front of total strangers.  EOS informed them she had been doing some research and recommended they all have a small glass of port to help relax the larynx.  It seemed it was an old trick dating back over two hundred years.

The final thing they had to do was sort out their attire.  They decided to dress in identical tuxedoes (well it was a black tie affair) but with cummerbunds the colours of their baldricks.  Scott being Scott, experimented and found the bow tie a bit restrictive, so he undid it and let it hang loose from around his collar, undid his jacket and three buttons of his dress shirt and mussed up his hair slightly and surveyed himself in the mirror.  Yep!  That was most definitely the look he was going for, and went in search of his brothers.  Just to make sure, he asked Kayo for her opinion.

Her diluted pupils and the hint of colour in her face was enough for him.  Oh yeah! They were going to nail this!

o0o0o0o

It looked like every single light was on at Creighton-Ward Manor that night.  The brothers had flown in earlier that afternoon and taken the opportunity to do a rough rehearsal mainly to get the hang of using microphones, then gone and hidden in their rooms until the evening.

There was a stage at one end of the banqueting hall where the small orchestra were located, with space at the front so the various ‘acts’ could perform, or the host for the evening or stand and speak, then a dance floor, and tables behind.  Food was along one wall and a bar the other side.

The evening started quietly enough, people started to arrive, get drinks, mingle and eat.  The Tracy brothers all met in Alan’s room for a final briefing, then went down to do what they did second best (when not rescuing people) and made polite talk, mingled, engaged with the other visitors and downed just a couple of drinks to help themselves relax before ‘it’ started.

Penelope went up on stage and started her speech, thanking everyone for coming, hoping they were enjoying themselves, and that the other entertainment was about to begin and asking who would bid on the first act.  Penny was hoping to raise about ten million pounds over the evening.  Someone generously bid five hundred thousand for a dumpy little woman to sing ‘Over the Rainbow’.  She did pretty well and everyone clapped politely.

The next act was a pair doing Irish dancing.  They may not have been foot perfect, but the toe-tapping tune they were dancing to more than made up for that and the audience were clapping along enjoying it and were generous in their applause.

When the penultimate act arrived on stage, five small glasses of port arrived at the bar, and the Tracy brothers knocked them back in one gulp.  Alan nearly gagged, Gordon pulled a real face, but the elder three just accepted the slight burning sensation that travelled down their throats, before heading exiting the hall and going down the outside to the side door that would give them access to the steps of the stage.

The act finished and Penny went back onto the stage, gleefully saying they had reached their lower target of ten million, and now she hoped people would dig deep for the final act, but there would also be an opportunity to add something after if people wished to do so.  In the side room, Scott pulled his bow tie undone, undid his jacket and the three buttons of his shirt and his brothers followed suit, then they all fiddled a little with their hair and took several deep breaths.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for our last act this evening, I present to you, The Tracy Brothers!”

Scott gave a nod to his brothers, and a hard stare at Gordon, who looked like he wanted to be sick, then led the way up onto the stage.  There was polite applause and a few wolf whistles as the boys faced their audience.  Scott did what he did best… smiled those dimples and smouldered.  At the other end, Alan tried to do the same with the smoulder.  Gordon almost rolled his eyes; Virgil did a pretty good imitation of the smoulder and John surprised them all with an almost sultry look.  With all the testosterone oozing from the stage, quite a few women headed towards it as if mesmerised.

They all grabbed their microphones and lifted them from the stands.  Virgil glanced behind him and nodded at the orchestra, who began the opening introduction.  Scott cleared his throat, took a deep breath….it was now or never…

Scott

*There's a place in your heart

And I know that it is love

And this place could be much

Brighter than tomorrow

And if you really try

You'll find there's no need to cry

In this place you'll feel

There's no hurt or sorrow

There are ways to get there

If you care enough for the living

Make a little space

Make a better place

All through his verse, Scott continued to smoulder as his eyes made contact with every woman in the room and he threw himself completely into the song and was rewarded with a few sighs from the women below

All

Heal the world

Make it a better place

For you and for me

And the entire human race

There are people dying

If you care enough for the living

Make it a better place

For you and for me

John

If you want to know why

There's love that cannot lie

Love is strong

It only cares of joyful giving

If we try we shall see

In this bliss we cannot feel

Fear of dread

We stop existing and start living

The it feels that always

Love's enough for us growing

So make a better world

Make a better place

All

Heal the world

Make it a better place

For you and for me

And the entire human race

There are people dying

If you care enough for the living

Make it a better place

For you and for me

Virgil

And the dream we were conceived in

Will reveal a joyful face

And the world we once believed in

Will shine again in grace

Then why do we keep strangling life

Wound this earth, crucify its soul

Though it's plain to see

This world is heavenly

Be god's glow

Gordon

We could fly so high

Let our spirits never die

In my heart I feel you are all my brothers

Create a world with no fear

Together we cry happy tears

See the nations turn their swords into plowshares

We could really get there

If you cared enough for the living

Make a little space

To make a better place

All

Heal the world

Make it a better place

For you and for me

And the entire human race

There are people dying

If you care enough for the living

Make a better place for you and for me

Alan

Heal the world

Make it a better place

For you and for me

 And the entire human race

 There are people dying

 If you care enough for the living

 Make it a better place

 For you and for me

 Heal the world

 Make it a better place

 For you and for me

 And the entire human race

 There are people dying

 If you care enough for the living

 Make it a better place

 For you and for me

 All

 There are people dying

 If you care enough for the living

 Make a better place for you and for me

 There was a long stunned silence.  The brothers looked rather nervously at one another.  They hadn’t been that bad, surely?  Then a woman shouted:  “MORE!”  And the cry was taken up.

Penny came onto the centre front of the stage and basically told them if they wanted more, they would have to dig into their pockets.

Whilst this was going on, the Tracys had a little meeting and decided they would sing the verses together and get the audience to join in the chorus.  Scott gave them orders to keep on smouldering, then they returned to their positions.

Pledges completed, Penny gave the brothers a devastating smile and exited the stage again.  Scott announced to the audience that he’d like everyone to join in the chorus, and they went through the song again now feeling even more relaxed, finishing to cheers, applause and a lot more wolf-whistles.

Bowing once again, they walked offstage and decided to make a break for their rooms upstairs, only to find they had to fight their way through a hoard of women who were thrusting pieces of paper into their hands, their jackets, their trouser pockets.  One grabbed Alan and proceeded to give him a smacker of a kiss and had to be rescued by Virgil.  John had his bum pinched which made him give an exclamation, which made Scott grin until he got the same treatment, and someone else swiped Gordon’s bow tie.

 Kayo arrived at that moment with a couple of other security and rescued them, bustling them upstairs to safety and into Alan’s room, which was the nearest to the stairs.

 “I think we can call that a success!” Alan exclaimed beaming from ear-to-ear.

“I know… but REALLY!” John exclaimed rubbing his backside where he’d gotten pinched.

Gordon started pulling bits of paper out of his pockets and inspecting them.  Kayo rolled her eyes and said, “I think you lot had better lock your doors tonight to prevent unwelcome visitors!”

“Probably a very good idea,” Scott said, then, with an absolutely wolfish wicked grin added, “I didn’t bring that many packets with me.”

“Scott!” Virgil admonished, then realised his brother was winding them all up as he gave them the most innocent look he could muster.

“I’ll post guards along this corridor, so you can all get a good night’s sleep,” Kayo said and left them, rolling her eyes as the brothers all started talking at once.

o0o0o0o

It was two days after they had returned from a particularly arduous rescue that Penny contacted them.

“What’s up, Penny?” Scott asked, his hair still damp from the shower.  The brothers had all collected in the lounge, and John was on holographic connection next to Penny’s.  It was almost Christmas, and they hoped it was going to be reasonably quiet.

“I just thought you’d like to know, you’ve made the Christmas number one spot here in England.  All proceeds from the sales to be added to what was raised at the gala.  Happy Christmas, boys!”

They all looked at one another, totally gobsmacked.

o0o0o0o

*Lyrics by Michael Jackson

[hebuiltfive]

WIP Wednesday!! (on an actual Wednesday, huzzah!)

Update on the Regency AU for anyone wondering where that's gone: Fifteen chapters (15!!) deep and I've hit a sizeable brick-wall with it, so I'm debating what's the best next move. Not sure whether to post what I have, making it clear that it's an unfinished piece (and might never be completed), or just to pretend like it never existed in the first place. Can't lie, I am leaning more towards the latter at the moment.

This story is one I've been working on for the past year now (mainly just conjuring up scenes in my head and not doing a lot of writing - writing has been really rough recently). I'm not sure if I've actually posted any snippets from this yet (but I probably have). It's still rough and unsure of itself, but here's a reasonably chunky snippet to whet the appetite of anyone interested!

Virgil tried to control his breathing. “But my brother, he would have been wearing—”

The man cut him off with a hiss. “I heards what y’said the first time, Relic!”

Another jab of his weapon, pushing the barrel harder against Virgil’s skull, and Virgil lost his balance.

He stumbled to the side, catching himself from falling at the last moment. He was, however, out of the man’s grip now. It was a small relief; the gun was instead pointing directly at him.

Virgil had never been so up-close to a weapon outside of the mandatory training back home. It was a far more harrowing experience than he’d allowed himself to imagine, not least because the man on the other end of the gun might very well decide to unload real bullets. His hands raised in surrender once more.

At least, from this new angle, Virgil could assess the stranger better. He tried to not make it too noticeable as he took in the disheveled look. The man’s hair was tussled and greasy, his tanned face saggy and worn. 

“I just want to know if he’s passed by here.”

“An’ I’m telling you that we don’t answer to you here. Haven is a free town!” He yelled. If the man had spat any harder, Virgil would have been hit with saliva.

As a jerk reaction Virgil stepped backwards. 

“I’ve done answered yer bastard questions. Now leave, if you know what’s good for yer!”

“But—”

The firing of the gun shook Virgil to his core. In a split second, the man had raised his weapon and fired towards the ceiling before lowering it back down level with Virgil’s face. “I said leave!” 

“James?”

Footsteps heralded the arrival of another voice; a woman, mid-thirties, who was carrying a basket full of miscellaneous items. Virgil assumed they were new stock items.

The man, who had his back turned to the staircase the woman was descending, appeared to recognise the voice, for he sighed deeply and lowered his gun by a fraction. 

Virgil took the brief second she’d given him to glance around at the decrepit shop.

The sign outside — “Jimmy’s tech” — had implied the store sold technical goods, but now he was inside, Virgil realised it was more like a bric-and-brac shop he’d read about it books. Cluttered shelves and counters of junk domineered the relatively small area. Pots and pans, metals and plastics, foodstuffs and tattered bits of clothing… Everything was covered in the same post-apocalyptic grime.

“James, what have I told you ‘bout bein’ more welcomin’ and friendly to possible patrons, hm?” She lowered the basket onto the counter and placed one hand on her hip.

“He’s one of them, Catarina!”

“So was that last one but you happily sent him on his merry way, didn’t ‘ya?”

[shirubie]

WIP Thursday

Another part of this fic, that I've temporarily titled "Virgil's Vacation".

-----

"Here Virgil, take this," Grandma said has she handed him a brown paper bag.

"Oh, Grandma, you didn't have to make me a snack," Virgil replied as he grabbed the bag the same way he would handle radioactive material. Maybe he should use some gloves just in case and later dump it into the ocean on the way.

"It's not for you, it's for Kip! My best double chocolate cookies!" Grandma beamed with pride at her work. Alan's expression of disgust told Virgil everything he needed to know about if this newest batch was any better than the previous ones.

During Kip's visits to the island, Grandma had turned on the Tracy charm to its maximum level in hope of catching the eye of the 'silver fox' firefighter, even changing out of her favorite casual onesies into rather nice dresses.  

But unfortunately, Kip seemed immuned to Sally's efforts. If he was oblivious to Sally's advances or simply not interested in a relationship, Virgil wasn't sure. But that didn't mean Sally Tracy was giving up on her crush. Tracy stubbornness seemed transmitted even to Tracys by marriage.

"You know the old saying:  'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach'." Grandma said. "Tell him to eat them while they're fresh and to call me!"

"Well, I'll make sure Kip gets them." Virgil said. He wasn't making any promises about Kip eating them, though.

[lenna-z]

I'm back after a long time and this is not something I wrote new, it's something I've had in my drafts for months... I still have the urge to write, there may or may not be updates in the future.

I hope you enjoy this!

...Collision...

The damage was greater than expected considering the asteroid that was currently rolling with Thunderbird 3.

He had failed at keeping people calm just as he had failed at protecting his brother. And now - miraculously - those who were not injured were running towards the escape capsules in panic.

Their efforts were in vain, most of the escape pods had been used before the collision and and the rest were damaged by the collision.

EOS had predicted this, and Alan was trying to prevent it.

It had been difficult to get people away because most of them could not understand why their only way out was blocked.

John was trying to persuade the last few people to move away before the collision.

It was a miracle that he survived where they were, but it was very painful. It couldn't be said that he could walk properly because of a piece stuck in his calf, but he was still trying to move in the opposite direction while everyone else was running to the escape capsules.

In fact, he didn't care about the piece stuck in his calf, his shoulder complaining with every movement and his chest aching when he breathed were the least of his worries.

He needed to be able to send a signal to someone again as quickly as possible. That's why he ignored his blurry vision.

As the ground began to slide under his feet, his body could not even struggle to find a place to hold on and and he was slipping to the ground. But before he hit the ground, a pair of hands grabbed him, and the gripped areas ached painfully.

"Hey... u are ...of those -ho came to -ave us..."

He couldn't understand what the woman was saying and couldn't find the strength to stand upright again.

"Can- Can- u... help me..? My... brother's ship -is drifting with- that asteroid... "

He wasn't sure if she answered, but she was still there, her grip still painful, but the weight must have been too much because his world was shifting further and further.

"I- I have to- save him... please..."

I'd love to know what you think! Maybe I can clarify the ending of this story...

[phading]

Thunderbirds Light!

I've been all about angst lately so I thought it was time to serve up a little palette cleanser ...

Part of Nutty's FAB-FIVE-FEB Challenge 2024: "Scott" and "quiet".

[whatgaviiformes]

Trick or treat!!!

Hello Nonny! Happy Halloween! How about a little Earth & Sky?

“I don’t know how you do this.” At Virgil’s work desk, Scott floundered over the array of colored pencils spread across the fine mahogany.

From the neighboring easel, Virgil spun towards him, his black smock adorned with chaotic acrylic.

“Easy. Pick a color, place it point side down on the paper, and keep it in the lines,” he chuckled. But as Virgil came to a moment to step back from his own work, he walked up behind his older brother to glance over Scott’s shoulder. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked kindly, placing one hand on the back of his chair, while the other he rest on Scott’s shoulder to check for what tension was there.

“I don’t know what color to choose. You’re so good at knowing what works together.” The frown on his face reached his eyes – completely the opposite of Virgil’s goal in dragging him away from the office.

“Don’t try to be me.”

The idea came to him quickly, and he knew he had the perfect coloring book in one of his drawers if he could just find it. He had to shuffle through them, and naturally what he wanted was in the last one he checked, but afterward he triumphantly held up the alternative.

“What’s that?”

Virgil slid the elaborate image away from Scott and opened the new book up to the first page. “You’re a patterns guy. Try a mandala instead. Just start with a color and math it.” With a wink, Virgil turned back to his easel.  “I have faith in you.”

[melmac78]

Here’s part 6 of my USS Lexington story. I had to do some rewrites to the original because the original location didn’t work right (at least anymore: it’s based on my memory of the ship in 1994).

Pictured are areas mentioned in this chapter: chow lines (breakfast here, but they have lunch too), sick bay, medical storage area*, and engine room, and from the CIC tour, a porthole that uses the climate control to keep things cool, and model airplanes. The hallway I think is the loop around for lower decks.

(Note: this is where I’m having to start major rewrites, so… please be patient.)

Chapters: Five Four Three Two One

•••••

The rest of the day was a bit cloudy, but for everyone aboard the Lexington, there was quite a bit of fun.

Several of the groups were on the flight deck, looking at the planes and other artifacts.

A couple of the kids noticed a bit of water in one of the wheel wells and, thinking it was from rain, pretended it was the perfect dramatic landing for one of their toy planes they got from the gift shop.

A ship leader, seeing the mess they were making, ran up to them and stopped the action. They took them to a scout lead, but didn’t miss a college student also touching the water.

The scoutmaster made them put the toys in a plastic bag that he held out, scolding the boys that they needed to be cautious around the planes.

As far as the Tracy family, John took a nap and tried to eat a little bit more the others had brought down from the party in the break room.

He was able to eat a couple more of the seafood stuffed mushrooms and potato skins, washing it down with a Sprite.

Feeling a little bit better from both, he elected to again to the captains quarters and CIC tour.

If he decided to stay by a couple of the climate control ports to cool down a little bit every so often it wasn’t a big deal he decided,

Besides, there were a lot of model planes to enjoy, and it would take longer than a few minutes to see every one.

The others enjoyed other paths and then took a break to enjoy some of the other food in their quarters as a snack.

Grandma Tracy had elected to go off board for the evening and spend time with Kayo. She knew that the young woman was interested in eating at one of the restaurants on the ocean and spending the afternoon windsurfing at the National Seashore at Padre Island… if only because Sally’s bones had ached going up and down the ladders.

The cloudy evening turned into a slightly drizzly night, although for those who were still aboard for Lexington after it closed for the evening still had a lot of adventure coming.

Mess had come and gone, with the brothers eating various amounts of their meals. They spent the rest of the time of the meal visiting with campers and answering questions they had about the Thunderbirds. John was a bit quieter than normal, but would answer the few inquiries directed his way.

The cake was also well received after singing Scott the “Happy birthday song,” though Scott made sure that Virgil got all the credit for the idea.

The rest of the night’s events lead up to the big event - the scavenger hunt.

The campers, Tracy brothers and others were looking forward to this hunt as the top prize was custom-made dog tags.

Scott had a set from his days serving in the Air Force, however, these were done in the old typewriter embossed tin back in the 1940s. So, ever the history buff, he was looking forward to trying his luck.

The brothers paired off in twos, with the space brothers teamed up, then Scott and Virgil as a team.

Gordon ended up paired with a young woman who was interested in becoming a member of WASP so he didn’t mind being the odd man out.

The five teased each other trying to say who would win – though John reminded them that it could be anyone who won, including the other groups that were on the ship.

Jacob blew the start whistle, and each of the teams could go to any of the tour paths and any order they wanted to answer their questions.

Alan was so excited about trying to win this prize however, after the hangar deck questions were answered, he led John on the lower deck tour – the wrong way.

In spite of that, the two started the tour and just answered everything backward.

Made sense too as they realized the flow of the paths made this a wise choice.

Little did they know that going backward would be one of the best and worst decisions they could’ve made.

“OK, it says 'The crew’s mess hall served breakfasts X many hours per day.' Do you see the answer John?" asked Alan.

The astronaut narrowed his eyes as he looked at the display in front of him. "Yeah, it says '316'," said John, blinking his eyes. He wasn't sure if that was the right answer everything seemed a little blurry. *I should've brought my glasses,* he thought. He occasionally had trouble with his eyesight after spending a bit of time in space.

Alan however glanced over his shoulder and laughed. "Bro, that's the number of calories on the sausage," he said and, seeing the placard at the end of the line, wrote the correct answer.

John smiled weakly as he reread the number. "Yeah, you're right," he said, rubbing his neck.

The youngest brother paused seeing the older man’s gesture. He scrutinized his fellow astronaut, and his laughter faded.

“John... you sure you're alright?" asked Alan. "You've been acting odd since din - uh, mess this evening. Why don't you turn in for the night and I'll finish this up?"

The redhead shook his head. “No, I'm fine Alan. Besides, we can get back at Gordo for calling us space cadets," he said with a faint grin, looking at the display again.

The youngest Tracy laughed. "Yeah - just because he was in WASP and knows ships doesn't mean he's got this won," he said and started down the path.

John however stared at the Mess Hall display, as though a bit dazed. "Can you help me," he said to the mannequins, frowning when they didn't respond. "Hello, can you guys hear me?"

A squeaky voice broke through. "Very funny John - these don't talk like the 'captain' did in his quarters," said Alan, remembering the tour.

John shook his head, clearing it. “Right,… just making sure they’re not Autons… though they’d be better than the projected face ones,” he said.

The youngest smiled. “Yeah… ‘Doctor Who’ did animatronic plastic better,” he said, and checked his watch. “Look, we've got to hurry so we can win."

John nodded. "You're right, they just look real. Anyway, this is about a third of the way through the tour, and we've still got to go through the other routes…” he said as they headed down toward the sick bay area.

Privately though, John was worried something really was wrong. He still felt weak, even after the nap and food. John dismissed it initially, as that could be from the space sickness and not eating a lot in the mess.

Now he wasn’t as sure. His ears buzzed slightly, and while he chalked it off this time to the fluorescent lights lighting their path, he wasn’t so sure.

Then there was the fact John felt warm on the tour route, which was odd as he knew it was air conditioned.

"Then again, anything on the ship is warmer than the sleeping berth," he muttered under his breath as they stopped by the pre-op and operating rooms in sickbay to answer questions.

Alan asked him something, but it sounded slightly blurred. "Yeah Alan - it says they used ether and halothane for anesthesia," he said, looking at the machinery, "doctor" and "patient" in the surgery.

"Um... John, that's not what I asked. In fact that isn't even a question on the hunt," said the youngest, looking through the list.

Confused at the non-sequitur, Alan looked up at his older brother. Seeing John's pallor and dazed look, the teen gently, but firmly grabbed his brother by the arm. "Let's take a break - you look like you really do need one."

John nodded and leaned against the wall, running a hand over his face, wincing at the slight headache he had. "Good idea," he said tiredly. Seeing Alan's look of concern, he smiled. "I'm fine Alan..."

Alan scoffed in a way that closely sounded like Scott's. "Yeah, sure. John - you're a bit pale - well, more than normal, and your cheeks are still slightly flushed," he said, reaching out to check his brother's wrist pulse. "Plus, you're acting funny again, and I don't mean in the Gordon's failed joke way."

John shied away from the younger man's icy touch. "Funny? How?"

"Your answer listing two anesthetics to the question of 'How many towels are in the surgery'. You're never that far off on an answer, even concussed," said Alan.

The older man quirked an eyebrow at the remark. “Hey, it was interesting they had drugs that if they weren't careful could knock out more than the patient in the room," said John, shrugging.

"Maybe," muttered Alan, who was more concerned about the present day issue. "Look, I know you don't want to disappoint Scott, and want the 1940s style dog tags… even if for me… but…”

“But…?”

“But you can't keep pushing yourself too hard there."

"I'm not pushing myself too hard Alan,” sighed John, though he was doubting himself.

The youngest scoffed. "Bro, I love you but let's be real - astronaut to fellow astronaut. You haven't been at 100 percent since you came down from Five," he said bluntly. "You passed out in the living room shortly after you arrived home, then you almost missed this because you had trouble boosting up your levels….”

John reluctantly nodded. "I know - but I'm eating everything that you guys tell me to..."

"Not quite John. You only ate half your hamburger and one Oreo cookie out of six tonight - plus left the chips untouched," said Alan pointedly. "That isn't everything."

"You guys also made me eat the meal Elmo’s brought today ... about two hours before mess," retorted the older brother. “Then a few of the appetizers from Scott’s party…”

"That still isn't a whole lot John, even for you but…"

Seeing Alan pause for thought, John placed a gentle hand over Alan’s mouth.

Seeing the youngest twitch his nose in irritation, John removed it, and continued with a smile. "But this is Scott's birthday and I didn't want to disappoint him being stuck on Tracy Island,” he finished.

The youngest however was not convinced of it was worth his brother’s health.

"Yet Scott would much rather you be 'stuck on Tracy Island' than scaring him like you did yesterday," Alan said pointedly.

Seeing his brother start to speak, Alan put his hand up. "No John… you freaked him and Virgil out - not to mention Gordo and me - trying to take an unconscious header off the flight deck.”

John narrowed his eyes in challenged. "But - again - I didn't lose consciousness yesterday..."

Alan however put a hand on John's shoulder, making him look into his younger brother's blue eyes. "John… contrary to your opinion, you nearly did."

The elder Tracy paused for a moment, and then ran a hand through his bangs. "Not you too," he said, sighing in frustration. "Virgil told me his diagnosis after mess yesterday, then ordered me to lie down again for an hour before the evening programs. I still don't believe him though..."

"You need to John. When Virg said you looked worse than a zombie he meant it," said Alan, shuddering. "Bro, you really looked like the ones in my game - even I know that's too close to out cold."

The astronaut brushed it off. "But Alan, I'm feeling far, FAR better than yesterday. The rests and food have helped a lot," he said. Seeing his youngest brother give a skeptical look, he chuckled. "But, since you insist I'll snag some of Virgil's gummy bears when we get done with this part of the tour."

"Promise?" inquired Alan, quirking a skeptical eyebrow.

"Yes, I promise. I'll leave the white-eyed zombies for the video games," John crossed his heart, smiling as he glanced at his watch.

He then straightened up. "Look, we've got an hour to finish the hunt. We'd better hurry or Squid Kid could get the last laugh."

The youngest nodded reluctantly, but admitted that John's dazed look had faded. He smiled and patted hod brother on the back. "FAB John, but let me know if you need another break," he said, then snapped his fingers. “Of course, we can get a soda from the machine at the dining room area.”

The older astronaut nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed, and they continued their scavenger hunt. They answered the questions for the Sickbay area correctly this time and continued.

After a few confusing turns in the chapel, leading them in circles and briefly going the wrong direction, the duo finally reached the hatch that lead to the engine room.

Alan frowned as he saw the notice. "Caution: Engine Room has low overhangs, narrow pathways and tight spots. Proceed with caution," he read and turned to John.

"Tight spots?" said John, wincing. He didn't want his mild phobia to set in.

Seeing his brother pale a bit however, Alan started putting together a possible issue and placed a hand on his shoulder. "John - if you can't handle small spaces with opaque walls, I can do this one on my own," he said.

Seeing John's surprised look, the younger man shrugged. "Going to bed or waking up in the morning not being able to see sky or stars can make anyone mildly claustrophobic," Alan admitted. "I've had some issues with it on this trip."

"Huh - you sawed logs all night. How did you get over it?" said John, amused.

"Slept on my stomach - the top bunk for some reason feels a lot like the rug on my bedroom floor that way," Alan said, chuckling. Seeing John was still indecisive, he gave a kind smile and gestured to the stairs. "But your call here bro - wait or go?"

The red-head shook his head. "No, I'll go. You might be 20 but that's ONE place we need the buddy system," he said. "Don't want you falling over the side into the engines - again."

Alan rolled his eyes as he started his descent. "Seriously, tripping over sofa cushions onto MAX does NOT count as falling into any engines," he said sourly, but seeing John crack a smile, joined in on the humor.

Once John reached the deck the two started on their scavenger hunt. As they walked through the path, John started to feel warm again - but this time it was different.

The path seemed to be a bit more uneven, and John had to steady himself several times. John dismissed it as minor buckles and floor imperfections caused by 118 years of tourists and sailors walking the paths.

Alan however was so interested in the large machinery and dials that he too didn't notice John's growing unsteadiness.

They reached a wall with wheels, valves, dials and other machinery. "EOS looks good," said John seriously. He was starting to feel even warmer and was confused as to what his favorite AI was doing on the Lexington. He half expected to start being pelted with bagels and have the gravity ring turned off.

Alan however hadn't heard the EOS part and chuckled as he touched the surface of one of the valve wheels. "Yeah, she does look good for 118 years old. Still - there's enough panels on this wall that they probably would've wanted something like EOS to control them," he said as he answered another question at that location marker.

John however was fascinated with the dials, touching a few to see how they felt. In his mind he thought he was really on Five, and wondering why EOS used holograms to look like a 1940s ship. The images kept switching from both themes, confusing him to the point he paused.

When John didn't move, Alan pulled his shirt sleeve. "Come bro, we're almost done, then we'll take another break before finishing up," he said.

The older Tracy snapped out of his hallucination and realized he was on the Lexington. He heard Alan's comments, slightly distorted. "Good, glad to hear," said John, nodding and they continued walking down a longer hallway that lead them on a catwalk over several larger engines.

Shortly after a jump… at least to John it felt there was one, they were in a hallway again, heading to the main crew dining area.

This was where there was a soda machine with refreshments he needed… he remembered, looking forward to another Sprite.

But… as they were heading through more of the medical area, John started noticing some was definitely wrong.

He paused when he realized Alan's voice sounded more like a literal chipmunk's chatter than his still slightly squeaky voice.

“That's odd," he mused and started assessing how he felt again - really felt.

John noticed he was even more tired than he had a few hundred yards earlier, even compared to the engine room, and on a normal, even path.

Looking down, he saw his hands were shaking slightly.

"Alan's right... I have low blood sugar again and need that Sprite," he thought at first, but then came a heatwave - and the trembling got worse.

The combination of the two then alerted him to a more troubling issue. "That's not right - I usually end up chilled," he thought as he looked at the hallway with a medical storage hatch not too far to his right.

It was still in front of him, but the now only sharp thing in the room in his vision.

The rest of the started to blur into a tunnel, growing darker...

It was then John had a moment of clarity. He knew those signs, having fallen victim to them a few times.

He wasn't hypoglycemic he vaguely realized - he'd eaten enough foods to stop that issue.

This was worse - and this time he wasn't going to escape its clutches.

"Alan... I-I n-need...rab-bits," he tried saying as loudly as he could, but it came out as soft as a whisper.

Feeling his muscles quiver, trying to keep himself standing on the narrow hallway, John realized then his estimation was drastically wrong and tried to prepare himself...

Alan however was looking at an answer, not sure if was correct. "Hey John, I think this is wrong. Do you think the X-Ray room…” he said, and paused hearing his brother murmur something wildly offbase.

"Rabbits? Bro, what? -" Confused, the younger Tracy heard a stumble near the hatch he passed.

He turned just in time to see John's eyes roll back as he passed out.

John had been trying to get to the wall to sit down when he collapsed, but fell backward and toward the right, landing in the netting.

While it kept him from hitting his head, when he kept sagging, most of John's weight fell into the net.

To Alan's horror however, the nets there to protect guests - several decades old, then started to tear under John's 180 pounds.

John landed on the plexiglass, which at its age started to crack under him.

"John!" shouted Alan, as the cracks got louder. Diving, he barely caught his brother around the legs and knees as the net tore fully.

Alan succeeded, if barely, keeping his older brother from going completely over to the floor 30 feet below them.

The youngest did shift slightly as gravity pulled John down until his knees were over the thin lip of the hatch.

Fortunately for John, there was enough clearance under the hatch to avoid smacking his head on any item underneathwhen he stopped being a human pendulum.

Unfortunately for John, Alan's position in saving the older astronaut made the younger essentially a human brake, unable to do anything except keep the duo from falling.

"John! Can you hear me?" Alan persisted, only to frown when his brother didn't respond.

Alan carefully worked himself into a position to try and help pull John back over onto the walkway, but quickly stopped when he felt John start to slip further over the edge.

Feeling his own feet slip on the flooring when he slide some, Alan turned his head to find a secure leg hold. The teen saw what was left of the guard supporting the net. It was not floor to ceiling, but any little bit until aid came had to be enough.

He then put his other leg around his ankle, putting himself in a variation of a figure four leg lock. He was able to reach the other side and hold on to it, creating a more secure human brake. The younger Tracy then readjusted his grip around John's legs.

Alan let out a slight sigh of relief as he kept hold of his senseless brother, but knew he couldn't do it indefinitely.

"OK, plan B," said Alan, who used a special whistle code he had Brains program into his watch to turn the communicator feature on. "Alan to Scott, Virgil - anyone," he said in his rescue voice.

Virgil's bass timber spoke up, chucking. "I read you Alan, did you get -"

The youngest just interrupted. "John's collapsed!"

The medic's tone abruptly changed. Alan never joked when it came to John's health. "Where are you?"

"Lower decks - sickbay - medical supply hatch - I'm hanging on to him," said Alan, grunting slightly when he felt John's body shift slightly.

"Hanging on? What..." said Virgil, growing even more worried.

"He's fallen halfway into the hatch. I have him, but can't move without risking him - and me - going completely over."

Scott, who was at the machinery fabrication portion of the route, started running through the lower deck tour. "FAB Alan - just hold on to him. I'm on my way," he said, into his watch. "Gordon, go find Jacob and tell him we have a man down in the lower deck tour."

"FAB Scott," said the aquanaut, who had been studying the "Pearl Harbor" movie display in the Foc'sle. He fortunately was near the end of that tour so he wouldn't have too far to run for supplies and help.

The medic, quickly followed his eldest brother. "Alan - I'm right behind Scott. How is John now?" said Virgil, who then heard some minor shuffling and Alan's voice.

Hearing no further response, he grew even more concerned that he might be treating two patients. "Alan do you copy? Is John awake?"

"FAB, I copy," said Alan, to his older brother's relief. "But John's still out like a light."

Virgil frowned. "You sure? You can’t see ..."

"FAB… I bit him to be sure."

The medic did a double take. "You *bit* him?" said Virgil, not sure if he heard right.

"Well, I've kinda got my hands full - how else am I going to check?" snapped Alan.

Virgil started to argue, then shook his head. Given Alan was holding onto John for dear life, he admitted it probably was the only thing Alan could do besides yell to test his brother's awareness level.

The medic continued. "Understood Alan, but don't bite him again," said the medic as the two continued running down the hallway. "When John starts coming to, keep him calm so he doesn't cause you both to fall."

Alan started to say something when he felt John again try to slip through his grasp. "Hurry Virg! I don't know how long I can hold on," he grunted, holding on tighter and praying his brothers got there in time.

8888888888888888888

Three minutes later, Scott and Virgil quickly approached the area. “Alan, give us an update on John," said Scott as he passed by the Missing Man table.

"He's moaned softly a couple of times, but that's it," groaned the youngest, pained. The discomfort in his shoulders and legs securing his brother was agonizing, but he vowed to let his joints dislocate first before risking John's safety.

The two older brothers frowned as they continued down the hallway. "He should've come to by now," said Virgil.

"Why hasn’t he?" asked Scott, thinking space sickness and the long night before took its toll.

"Not sure," said Virgil, having thought of at least 10 more serious reasons at the moment. "Of course Alan can't really tell if John's woken up though…”

The pilot nodded grimly, understanding. "Let’s get them safe first..." said Scott as they arrived. They froze in their tracks briefly, assessing the scene.

Alan was on the floor and using his weight and grip on thin - but bolted down, pieces of metal to secure John's legs, doing what he could to keep his brother from becoming a pancake.

John's legs from the knees down were the only part visible on the high walkway. Leaning over the hatch, they saw John was upside down facing the an empty, but no less deadly, 30 feet or so header to the floor. Between his lax face and limp body language, John could almost be mistaken for a washcloth hanging from a laundry line to dry.

Scott and Virgil were thankful Alan was there to catch his brother, but worried as it had been several minutes since John's collapse with no known signs of awareness.

The oldest Tracy shook his head and quickly walked forward. "Alan, we're here," he said as he reached for John's legs, hoping to lighten some of the strain on Alan. "Did he hit anything going over?"

Alan by then could only whimper slightly in pain from his locked muscles. Scott pulled a MiniMAX from his pocket he had used to take aerials of the ship, and launched him to assess the situation below them.

Virgil however carefully stepped around his youngest brother and got on John's other side. He knelt over and unabashedly grabbed the waistband of John's Bermuda shorts and what fistful of shirt he could grab safely.

The man paused in the action - he had to be sure before risking further injury to John. "Scott, what did MiniMAX find" he said.

"The area under the hatch is clear. John couldn’t hit anything. Still unresponsive," said Scott.

"OK Scott. Now, this isn't the way I'd like to move him but we have little choice," the medic said. "On the count of three, you and I will pull John up and adjust positions until I can get him around the ribs to turn him onto the hallway."

"What-about-me," said Alan, who finally caught his breath as Virgil lessened John's weight.

"Keep a hold of his legs and pull as we lift," said the medic gently.

Scott nodded as he knelt down to assist. "FAB Virg," said the pilot and on three, they carefully pulled up their brother. Virgil would grab as much of new shirt as their brother's position changed.

Once John was high enough, Virgil had Alan move out of the way so the two older brothers could carefully remove their ill brother.

Getting a firm grip, Virgil was then able to reach around John's shoulders and head safely. The duo then gently turning a further 45 degrees, gently laying John on the hallway floor.

After dragging him a few feet back to not risk anyone else falling through the hatch, the medic then checked John's vitals.

“His pulse is fast and his skin is hot," said Virgil as Scott lowered the storage hatch. "He might have heat exhaustion."

Scott nodded. "We need to move him to a cooler location," he said, lifting his watch. "Gordon, meet us at the medical storage hatch near sickbay. If Jacob is there, ask he get…”

"FAB - Jacob is getting the trauma kit. I’m on my way with a stokes if needed and a first aid kit,” said the aquanaut as if reading Scott’s mind.

Scott looked at Alan, who was sitting behind Virgil, and rubbing his shoulder and knee. "Alan, can you help us carry him?" said Scott. "Three people would be a more secure way to get him to safety."

Alan nodded weakly. "Yes, but I'd suggest I just help with his legs," he said. "I think I've hurt myself stopping him."

The eldest frowned. "Any other injuries - you or John?" asked Scott again.

The youngest shook his head in negation. “He just hit the net. Kept him from hitting his head… just not landing on the plexiglass,” Alan said.

Virgil nodded. "I'll check it and your shoulder too after we get John sorted out," he said.

Alan nodded as the two older Tracys got on either side of their unconscious brother. Virgil put his arms under John's armpits, protecting his head. Scott put his arms underneath John's lower back and knees while Alan secured their brother at his ankles.

On the count of three, they lifted their brother, who gave a mild groan but didn't do much else. "Easy bro, you're safe," reassured Virgil, though he had a feeling John couldn't quite hear them yet. If the man did though, Virgil didn't want him to panic being carried.

They carefully moved John the rest of the walkway to an open area and placed him on the ground, trying to make him more comfortable.

Then they saw Gordon coming down the hallway. “Jacob’s ETA is about 4 minutes.”

"Understood Gordon," said Scott as he used what was in his water bottle to cool his younger brother.

Gordon kneeled next to the group as Virgil reassessed John's condition. "How's John?"

Virgil frowned as he finished checking John's pulse and eye response. "He's a bit too warm, possible heat exhaustion," he said, concerned as he and Scott then moved their brother onto the metal stretcher. "We've got to lower his temperature down."

Gordon nodded, pulling out a small cooling pack from the first aid kit as they heard running footsteps. Turning, he noticed Jacob run to their location with the larger kit, which would contain more, and larger, instant ice packs.

He then knelt next to the group. "I've closed this path to the other groups so they don't interfere," Jacob said.

"Thanks," Virgil nodded and opened up the rescue box, pulling out a cooling packs to place on John’s pulse points.

Jacob then gently grabbed John's wrist and checked his pulse. He was a certified EMT just in case there was an accident on the ship. "Gordon said you had a man down, but what exactly happened?"

Alan took a breath and explained as he helped Scott place cooling pack behind his insensible brother’s neck. "John and me were in the sickbay hallway doing the scavenger hunt… when he all of the sudden he passed out," he said. "I had to keep him from falling to the bottom of the medical storage hatch..."

Seeing Alan’s shudder, Jacob decided to distract the younger man. "Any other injuries - particularly you?" asked the ship leader gently.

The youngest brother shook his head uncertainly. "May have strained my shoulder and something in my knee… but Virg's going to check it out," he said.

"I can help - I'm an EMT," said Jacob, who gestured for the youngest to come over. He gently checked the injury as he continued. "Was there anyone or anything else affected?"

"A set of security nets tore under his weight when he fell. The plexiglas also broke, so you’ll need to replace them and check the others for age before reopening that display," said Alan, hissing slightly at the elder's ministration.

Jacob nodded. "Right now, I'm thankful they worked long enough for you to keep him from falling in," he said.

Privately, the “hangman’s humor” of his EMT side stayed mute.

Jacob had fun with people talking about the ghost in the engine room during the ghost story part of the event.

He didn't want that to actually become fact…. Even if the incident was higher up.

Feeling Alan shiver in memory, the ship leader cleared his head of the darker humor, then gently put a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like nothing's seriously hurt,” said Jacob. “I'd say use an ice pack on it and take some aspirin tonight."

Alan nodded while Virgil again took his John's vitals and checked his temperature.

He smiled softly. "The cooling packs are working some," said the medic.

As if in reply, John groaned and stirred some, partially opening his eyes.

Scott leaned over and smiled. "Hey John, how do you feel" he said simply, wanting to check John's reaction.

The astronaut winced at the metal under his back and sighed. "Fizzy," he said almost deliriously. “Am I in sick bay?”

Virgil shook his head. "Not exactly. Do you know what happened?" he said.

John tried concentrating, but it was too hard for him. He understood enough between that and the “fizzy,” feeling what that usually meant.

"I fainted… pretty certain... in the near a hatch heading from sickbay… I think?" he said, more as a question than statement.

"Yes, you did," said Virgil. "Alan called for help and we got you to safety."

The astronaut however didn't understand and winced. "Still so tired though..." he said, closing his eyes to rest.

"You're going to be - you know what fainting spells do to you," said Virgil gently, much to Jacob's confusion. "John has had issues in the past with low blood sugar."

Jacob furrowed his brow. "Does he need a glucose pack?" he asked, looking through the IR medical box.

The medic shook his head. "I don't think his collapse was from that, not with the past two days being as rough as they’ve been for him," said Virgil.

“Heat exhaustion?”

“Possibly. I think it's space sickness combined with the heat," said Virgil, putting a hand on his brother's cheek to check his temperature. "Look we need to move him back to the berth to cool him down more in private. Is there a way we can get him there with the stokes?"

John cringed… “Don’t wanna stokes,” he muttered.

His plants went unanswered as his brothers continued.

"Or having the Scouts save Sam freak out seeing him," said Gordon. Seeing Virgil's look of disapproval, he shrugged. "What? - It's true."

The ship leader however merely nodded. "Sure, there's an old sailor path through this part that leads to the berths. That's how they'd get to their stations during the service," said Jacob. "You gather up your supplies and I'll lead you through them. Most of them are air conditioned as well so they'll help cool your brother off."

The medic nodded. “Thanks," he said as he and Gordon adjusted the cooling packs on their brother. "OK John, you get to go for a little ride now,” he said, as Virgil and Scott moved him to the stokes.

John looked at his brother blearily. "Great - I hate being carried almost as much as EOS with bagels…” he said groggily.

He however then sighed as the packs cooled him further, appreciating the cool temperature against his warm skin. "Though it's worth it if she has the same coolness in the gravity ring..."

Jacob quirked an eyebrow. "You *sure* you don't want me to take him to the hospital?" he said.

Virgil also shook his head. "I don't think it's necessary. He's just more susceptible to exhaustion than the rest of us because he works in space so much.”

“But EOS…?”

“A private joke between us regarding TB5,” said Virgil. They didn’t want the AI’s existence to be known. “I think he needs just rest and fluids.”

Scott nodded. "I trust Virgil's assessment - he wasn't out long. We should be able to treat it here," he said.

The ship leader nodded. “Aye-aye - just keep me in the loop in case you need me to assist further,” he said. “My radio is on all night.”

The four conscious Tracy brothers finished gathering their items and tucked the kit onto the stokes at John's feet. On the count of three, they gently lifted the stokes, hearing their brother mumble some in protest, but didn’t try to get out.

They followed Jacob through a series of halls that lead them to the women's head and doorway to the berth, not noticing someone else was in those halls.

After gently maneuvering the basket through the doorways and down the stairs, they entered the sleeping quarters.

John still rested quietly, if a little bit annoyed as Virgil and Scott helped transfer John to his bunk.

Virgil sat on the floor next to John, who had dozed off again, and checked his vitals. "His temperature's down another couple of degrees. We can reduce the packs some so he doesn't get too chilled," he said, starting to remove them. "We'll have extras on just in case they are needed again."

Alan nodded and bundled the packs in an unused bunk to be ready for reuse while Gordon gave Virgil a light blanket to swap it out.

Scott took a close look at Virgil's reactions when he gently lifted an eyelid to check John's awareness level. "He is asleep right?" he said quietly.

Virgil nodded. "Yes, but it's a little restless physically - probably because his body is in shock from the heat and tumble," he said, adjusting the blanket over his brother.

"Could it have been exacerbated because John's pushed himself too far to come here?" asked the eldest. He felt guilty not telling John to wait a day and move TB5 to lower an elevator there instead.

"Maybe, but Scott… it isn’t your fault you know. Between yesterday and the late night and weather today…” said Virgil, but then shook his head, choosing to not continue. “Too many factors.”

He pulled out a gel pack for John's forehead and placed it on his head to gently cool it down. "As long as he stays cooling down, we’ll stay the night.”

Virgil then yawned and looked at the time. It was Tattoo, nearing the time they'd have to go to bed anyway. "Guys, we may as well turn in ourselves. I'll stay watch for the first few hours and we can swap out just in case John wakes up in a panic," said the medic.

The others nodded. "FAB Virgil. If you need us anytime, holler," said Scott.

The four uninjured Tracys, along with the Boy Scouts, college students got ready for bed and laid down in their berths. Within a half an hour they were fast asleep.

Little did they know in the next few hours, their trip through history was going to make some more history...

*A note - very minor liberties were made to the hatch: I don’t remember if there was a ladder in it or not, so I went headcanon 2060s there’s not. This is however reversed tour.