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tagsecretsanta · 5 months

Text

From @womble1`

From @womble1 to @alexthefly

1. Colours in nature. 2. Food as an act of love.

Snow cover

They were high up on a mountain, overlooking a little gem of a ski resort that didn’t get as flooded with tourists because most people stopped at the more easily accessible towns you had to pass to get there. Or would have to pass if you took the more conventional route by road, rather than getting dropped off by something a little more specialist and with some attention grabbing paintwork. The cabin the boys had rented was private and well appointed, and used most of the year by the owners extended family. Generations of passed down sledges and ski paraphernalia huddled for space on the back porch, piles of well worn board games cluttered the mismatched bookcases. It didn’t scream VIP clientele. It was part of its appeal, sure they had to share rooms, but if they were off on the mountains most of the time, what did that matter? And it was worth it to avoid the paparazzi and get some quieter slopes.

The snow had really settled in for the night, softening the glow from what would have been a bloated full moon. After a full day of skiing they had all agreed on an early night, the heavy falling flakes blanketing the cabin like it too was ready for bed. The warm glow from the cabin windows was the only colour picked out in the whitewashed landscape. But with nightfall so too fell the temperature. The building had frittered away any remaining fragments of warmth from the cosy fire the night before, leaving the air bracing to say the least.

Alan leaned over the edge of his bunk, he and Gordon were sharing a family room with John, but the space noodle had claimed the king size bed for himself, leaving Gordon and Alan to battle for top bunk. Alan had won, mostly by physically climbing over Gordon after decking him with a pillow, and launching himself onto the higher bed. One look at Alan's determined white knuckle grip on the bed rail and Gordon has admitted defeat, trying to style it out that he hadn't really wanted it anyway.

Gordon looked content enough with his choice now though, wrapped up like a burrito in the quilt. Try as he might, Alan couldn't pry the spare blanket out from Gordon's grasp. The squid only snuggled deeper in his sleep, completely unaware of his poor freezing brother's plight.

Alan looked around the room, sparse details picked out by slithers of moonlight coming from miniscule gaps in the curtains. No promising solutions presented themselves. Alan had already stolen John's hoodie from where it had been draped across the foot of the big bed. Alan was so cold he was starting to believe he could see his own breath as draconic clouds before him. Brrrrr.

Realising there was nothing else for it, Alan shimmied down the ladder and creeped out of the room. He tiptoed down the stairs, partly to avoid making them creak and disturb Scott, who had claimed the double room sat in the eaves of the building. Well, at least until kayo arrived, she was due to join them tomorrow, and then Scott would be unceremoniously ousted to make room. Scott would have the choice of sharing with the starfishing spaceman ( they had joked that the velcro sleeping bags often used in space should be deployed on earth), or risking his eardrums with the snoring bear. Virgil had been allocated the ground floor bedroom because it was the furthest from anyone else. Virgil hadn't minded, he got a room to himself and could spread out on the pushed together twin beds.

Making it to the bottom of the stairs, Alan shuffled his way across the living area, his way illuminated by the sparse light from blinking electrical items around the room. He stumbled into the bedroom door, less worried about disturbing this brother's slumber.

Virgil was doing a passable impression of a log, or even a felled tree, taking up most of the bed. Alan huffed, but wasn’t to be put off so easily. He was freezing and he was not going to give up on his chance of warmth. He wedged himself onto a spare bit of mattress on one side, tucked his feet up, and then directed his iced feet right at his brother's exposed ankle. The reaction was immediate, Virgil flinched away and curled onto his side on the far side of the bed, still not conscious enough to wake. Alan wriggled into the warm bedding right in the middle and was just congratulating himself when Virgil started snoring. Alan groaned, and stuffed his head under a pillow, there was no way he was giving up the warms! Soon Alan found himself lulled to sleep, some combination of cosy bedding and rhythmic snores, or probably more likely extreme tiredness from a long day on the slopes had Alan drifting off to dreamland.

John was awoken by his bladder, which he ignored for as long as possible because he didn’t want to leave the relative warmth of his bed. But as he lay there thinking, it dawned upon him that he wasn’t actually that warm, it was just that his head and shoulders outside the quilt were FREEZING in comparison. The sheets were clinging on to the cold and John felt like he was being refrigerated for freshness like a chicken breast.

It hadn’t been a problem the previous night, they had stoked up the fire in the main room high enough to chase away even the most stubborn of chills lingering in the bones of the building. Add to that the added warmth that came from sharing a room with the two youngest and John had found it positively stuffy. Now he sneaked an arm out of the bedding and groped blindly for the hoodie that he had left draped on the end of the bed, but try as he might, his fingertips were unable to find the familiar well worn fabric. Maybe it had fallen off the bed. Sighing, he crawled out from under the covers, creeping down the bed until he could peer over the edge, hoping to spy the darker fabric in the gloom, but no, nothing. Well he was even colder now, and his bladder could no longer be denied.

The cold bit into his ankles as he left the bathroom,exposed as they were by just slightly too short pyjama pants, he tugged at the sleeves of his thermal base layer, which really wasn’t up to the task. Detouring he went downstairs, hopeful that one of his perpetually messy brothers would have left a sweater lying around when it had been so warm the previous evening.

Trailing his fingers along the wall to help guide his steps and hopefully avoid a collision course with the coffee table, he drew out the rest of the building layout in his head. He only just stopped himself from “swiping” with his hands to zoom in when he had a sudden thought. Virgil's room sat behind the central fireplace and, by John's guess, was probably also near the route the heating pipes must travel to get to the boiler. Maybe that room had retained a bit more warmth. Yes, it might be noisy, but John had some very good noise cancelling earplugs in his sleep pants pocket. Always planning ahead being a learnt trait for his job and it wasn't something you switched off like the gravity. Also, Virgil may have topped the decibel's when sleeping, but Gordon was no slouch in that area, which John had learnt from bitter past experience.

John stepped softly into the room, it seemed marginally warmer. He also didn't much relish the idea of having to retrace his steps upstairs, it suddenly felt too far away when there was a bed right here.

John's eyes strained in the pale, snow reflected, moonlight to pick out where the edge of the bed was. He had stubbed his toes against enough furniture this trip already. You did not have this problem with a space station fold out bunk. Virgil was easy to spot, a dark lump where he had curled up on one side of the bed. So John stepped carefully to the opposite side and gracefully slid under the covers, pulling them right up to his ears.

Definitely warmer, but as he rolled over onto his side he spotted an abandoned beanie on the bedside cabinet. John's arm shot out from under the quilt and retrieved it. Knowing that you lose most of your body heat through your head. The thick cable knit pattern didn't tally with the hat that John had seen Virgil wearing that day. It was more likely one of Gordon's, which probably meant it was a hideously bright colour, but all of this was bleached out in the weak moonlight. So John rammed it on his head and snuggled once more into the pillows.

Virgil woke with a stabbing point of pain in his side, his brain tried to triage possible causes; kidney stone? Appendicitis? Sudden cracked rib? No, that didn’t fit. It almost felt like someone was digging their elbow in his back. He tried shifting his weight to see if he could ease the pressure. There was a snuffled grunt from behind him and the pain was gone. Virgil froze in place, only half jokingly praying that he wasn't about to find a bear had got in during the night. Peering cautiously over his shoulder he breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the top of John's NASA hoodie, just peeking out from the mountain of pillows. The bed covers shifted as he rolled over towards the middle of the bed, leaving just enough space that Virgil could inch away from the edge of the bed where he had been pushed during the night. He moved carefully onto his back, you never quite knew where limbs ended with the space noodle. His movement dislodged the bedding that had been pulled tightly around his brother, allowing a tuft of blond hair to become visible around the hood.

So it was the mini space noodle, that explained why his personal space had been invaded quite so emphatically. Disgruntled by the cold air hitting his face, Alan snuggled down further, grumbling in his sleep and shuffled towards the nearest heat source. Virgil found himself pinned by boney elbows, he couldn't account for it, but Alan certainly seemed to be in possession of more boney elbows than should be humanly possible. Virgil let out a pained huff as an equally boney knee cap collided with his own. Attempting to wriggle away only seemed to increase the ferocity of the grip upon him. Virgil gave up and let his head fall back on his one remaining pillow, the rest having been purloined by his baby brother.

A flash of colour on the far side of the bed, just picked out by the early morning gloom, caught Virgil's eye. An unnatural garish yellow something was nestled in the pristine white sheets. Making Virgil think of the equally unnatural mental image of Thunderbird 4 parked on the snowy mountains outside the cabin window. He was clearly still sleepy enough to be verging on the fanciful. Upon further squinting the yellow abomination revealed itself to be a cable knit beanie, that had taken up residence on the far side of the bed. It had to be Gordon, just like when they were children, the youngest two always came as a pair. Virgil wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t had to be the butt of so many snoring jokes the previous night. It was the reason he was relegated to the furthest room after all. But here they were, back when they needed something, ironic really. Or was it? John would be able to articulate it better.

It wouldn't have been so bad, but in his last lot of wriggling Alan had managed to steal what little of the quilt remained after two greedy brothers had taken more than their fair share and now Virgil's left side was getting distinctly chilly. He groped around blindly for his phone on the cabinet beside him to find out how atrociously early it was so he could decide how tolerant he felt like being towards his heat seeking siblings.

7am, well it could have been worse, but 7am had no right in existing without caffeine. A lumpy elbow, twitching in sleep, reminded Virgil how hopeless his dream of coffee was. He let his phone fall down on his chest as his head flopped back onto his too flat pillow. Objectively he knew he had a pretty good life, but right now all he could think was “why me”?

Then he heard it, the soft clattering of cups and cafetiere being retrieved from the draining board. The rustle of the packet of coffee. His prayers were answered. Scrabbling in his haste he retrieved his phone. He tapped out a garbled message:

“Scottyyy, coffeeeee! Thx”

There was a muffled buzz from the other room, and then a quiet chuckle, but the sounds of coffee preparation continued, so Virgil was optimistic.

A few minutes later Virgil's door was nudged open with a toe and a coffee mug pushed into view through the crack.

“Didn’t know you were looking to hire a servant.” Scott's face followed the mug into the room.

Still pinned as he was, Virgil stuck out his free arm, hand grabbing desperately.

The movement was enough to startle Alan who jerked away, limbs flailing, possibly he was falling in his dreams. He hit the join where the twin beds had been pushed together with enough force to shunt them apart and send him tumbling into the void, the fall in his dream suddenly gaining real permanence. Grabbing hands clawed at armfulls of duvet, but offering no resistance they were dragged down with him until he hit the floor with a soft bump.

Scott had smartly sidestepped to avoid getting run over by the sliding bed base, and now sat down on the exposed mattress near Virgil's knee, handing him the coffee as if they hadn't just watched their baby brother disappear with quite such a cinematic flourish.

“Dramatic much?” Scott said, taking a sip from his own coffee and peering over to the quilt stuffed ravine, while Virgil took the opportunity to pull himself into a sitting position and take possession of the other mug of coffee.

Any answer from the uncharted depths was drowned out by the grumbling from the other bed. The quilt having been so unceremoniously stolen, revealed not a heat seeking squid, but the full sized space noodle. His traditional sprawl of limbs hastily retracted into a foetal position to preserve warmth. The colourful language that accompanied it was enough to singe the air.

Huffing and turning over in a jumble of knees and elbows, John's arms tapped blindly over the fitted sheet in search of a blanket. Touch being his only available sense, as the god-awful yellow hat had shifted during his sprawling sleep and was now stretched lopsidedly over his eyes

Scott and Virgil watched in silence as John shuffled his way across the mattress.

“...should we?” Scott whispered, tilting his head towards the less than graceful spaceman.

Virgil shook his head violently enough to risk spilling his coffee, a barely repressed smile spreading across his lips, Scott couldn’t help but smile along too.

John's fingertips met with blanket fibres and he grabbed at it with both hands and tugged. A muffled shout came from under the bed which sounded suspiciously like a threat to bodily harm. It would have been more convincing if it hadn't been delivered in such a high and squeaky pitch. The blanket jerked back into the void. John was not to be deterred, shoving the hat out of his eyes with his shoulder, he dug his fingers into the last corner of fabric. Sitting up, he braced his feet against the opposite bed, and pulled.

Maybe it was too much time spent on a space station that had screwed with his sense of fixed points. Or maybe it was just that he wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders yet. Whatever the reason, John braced, John pulled, the blanket stayed put, the bed slid, John slid. Spaceman went down, legs went up.

Scott laughed, tucking his feet up onto the bed as it was shunted further across the floor, novelty fluffy socks on full display. There was more muffled cursing from between the beds, which Scott decided not to hear because he couldn’t be bothered with reprimanding the culprit, or even narrowing down the perpetrator. Alan's grasp of foreign languages was really coming on, even if he really ought to focus on more polite conversation starters.

Virgil leaned over the far side of the bed and tried to peer under into the gloom.

“Where is Gordon?” he glanced around suspiciously, this kind of chaos looked right up Gordons street. “Should we be worried?”

“Fingers crossed the cold has slowed him down, that’s what happens with fish isn’t it?” Standing, Scott downed the last of this drink, and only received a shrug in reply from Virgil.

“Should we?” Virgil climbed out of the bed, hissing slightly as his bare feet hit the cold floor, jerking a thumb towards the still cursing knot of bedding.

“They’ll work it out. I think our more pressing problem is trying to warm this place up.”

Scott knew exactly what he was doing, presenting Virgil with a problem was a surefire way to get him up and active. He could almost see the gears turning as his brother thought through possible causes and most of them led straight to the boiler.

Scott followed, more for the look of the thing as Virgil shuffled out of the bedroom, pulling thick socks on as he went by way of a few shuffling hops. Once the boiler cupboard was located, Scott stood to one side of the small space, offering the occasional “hmmmm” or “uh huh,” as Virgil worked through his troubleshooting of the massive antique boiler. It was emitting some alarming clunking sounds, but Virgil was making positive noises, so Scott figured he didn’t need to be worried about an imminent explosion.

Scott watched as Virgil got down on all fours and wriggled into a space that by all rights should not have been able to accommodate his chonky brother, leaving his legs poking out. There was an almighty bang and puff of sooty dust shot out of a vent in the front of the casing.

“You ok in there Virge?” Scott crouched down and tried to peer through the settling dust.

There was a low whistle from Virgil, which at least confirmed he was still breathing. But before Scott could demand further proof of life, the legs started shuffling back providing that Virgil was also still mobile, another good sign. When Virgil finally reappeared there was a massive grin on his face. Also, being Virgil, he had also managed to get enough dust and muck on himself to make for a convincing Victorian street urchin disguise.

“Fixed?” Scott asked, stepping back to avoid the further clouds of dust Virgil was kicking up.

“Uh huh.” Virgil nodded, causing a small shower of soots to fall out of his hair.

“A ‘Tracy Fix’?” Scott gave him an appraising look, one eyebrow raised.

Virgil's smile increased and then he launched into a precise and very technical detailed account of the fix that had been required.

It all flew right over Scotts head with all the grace of a winged seagull. He nodded along initially and then, spotting Virgil shiver, Scott decided to intervene and start steering them both back towards the main body of the building.

“Ok, why don't you go take a shower.” Scott brushed at some of the debris on Virgil's shoulder, then thought better of it when his hand came away black.

Virgil went rigid and flatly refused Scotts attempts to herd him towards the bathroom.

“No Way!”

“You're filthy!”

“I’ll go after breakfast,” Virgil offered, his audibly growling stomach adding its voice to the argument.

“No chance, this is a rental place, your butt is not going anywhere near those chairs!” Scott waved his arms to try and shoo Virgil back into motion.

“Weren’t you listening, Scott? There's not going to be any hot water for at least 45 minutes,” Virgil put on his best puppy dog eyes, which would have worked better when he was 20 years younger, but the wobbling bottom lip was the thing that swayed it. He looked so genuinely sad, and having thrown the accusation that Scott hadn’t been paying attention to anything he had said, Scott didn’t stand a chance.

“Oh…. fine,” Scott relented, “but you’re still not trashing the soft furnishings, wait there and Don’t Move!” he fixed him with a stern look to drive home the command, and also to try and not seem like too much of a push over.

He hurried off, ideas pinging around his head to try and solve the problem at hand. Maybe Virgil wasn’t the only one motivated by problem solving. The argument of whether it was nature or nurture was one that Scott was going to pack away to dissect another day.

Inspiration struck and Scott fumbled with the lock on the french doors. During the summer season they opened out onto a paved patio complete with bbq and picnic tables, but now they were a portal onto a swirling frozen hell. Spiteful sharp snow bit into his face, causing him to squint into the biting wind. Taking a deep breath he darted out into the wild, plotting a course towards his goal. Numb fingers brushed away at a pile of snow until he spotted what he was after. Snatching it up he sprinted back inside. Taking just a moment to tap off the worst of the snow before diving through the doors and slamming them shut behind him.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and parked the soggy plastic garden chair squarely in the middle of the flagstone tiles by the garden doors. A quick diversion for a couple of hand towels from the kitchen and he mopped up the worst of the snow melt from the chair.

“Virgil!” Scott bellowed, safe in the knowledge that Virgil would respond to his command with a habit born of long practice.

Right on cue, a sooty Virgil edged his way into the room, arms tucked up to his chest and carefully avoiding all surfaces.

“Sit!” Scott commanded, pointing to the sorry looking plastic chair.

Virgil sat.

Scott left. Pausing at the doorway to look back and scowl at Virgil when he looked like he might get up from his perch.

Virgil slumped lower in his seat, accepting his fate and wondering how well he would be able to estimate the passing of 45 minutes without a watch.

He was up to roughly 10 minutes by his count when Scott came back into the room, carrying a plate piled high with hot buttered toast. That was enough to make Virgil perk up a little, although, when he reached out to take a slice he had his hand slapped away, which brought a pout to his face.

“No! Your hands are filthy” the other hand was slapped too and it wasn’t even near the food.

Virgil folded his arms in a huff, but set his strop aside when Scott held out a piece for him to take a bite from, he nearly bit a finger off in his eagerness.

“Ummmm, ‘fanks” he mumbled around toast crumbs.

“Well I was worried you might wake up Gordon with how loud your stomach was rumbling” Scott joked, popping the remainder of the slice in his own mouth.

Virgil pointed towards the next slice, jabbing with one grubby finger until it was lifted towards him.

“Where is’ee?” there were more crumbs sprayed by the question.

“Burritoed under at least three quilts in the middle of John's bed, snoring loud enough to wake the dead, can’t you hear him?” Scott tilted his head to one side to listen.

“What? Dammit, I thought that was the hot water pipes starting to warm!” Virgil stood up, snatched a fresh slice of toast from the plate, ignoring Scotts protests, and stalked back in the direction of the boiler.” Scott followed at a more sedate pace, as he was still stuffing his face with food, you snooze you lose after all. By the time he caught up with Virgil he was just in time to witness another shower of dust, a loud clang and some furious coughing which probably obscured some choice swear words.

Virgil exited quicker this time, the smile completely absent. “ better restart that 45 minutes.” he grumbled, stomping back to his isolated seat.

“The snoring has stopped,” Scott commented as he followed Virgil. “Maybe it was the pipes?”

Further consideration was cut short as a yodelling yell cut through the air coming from the direction of the main bathroom.

“Or, Gordon is awake and testing the water temperature for you!” Scott surmised with a wicked grin.

John and Alan came stumbling out of the downstairs bedroom, John still clinging to the hard won duvet that was tightly wrapped around him toga style.

“What was that?” Alan asked, “it sounded like an animal in pain.”

“Just a frozen fish fillet.” Scott grinned back. Alan frowned, having no idea what he was on about.

“Or frostbitten fish fingers” Virgil added, drawing their attention to himself and thereby raising even more questions.

“What? Just what?” John asked, waving his arm in Virgil's general direction and looking to Scott for some sort of explanation. “Does it have anything to do with this? And do I want to know.”

“Broken boiler - fixed” said Scott, pointing at Virgil with the final piece of toast. He let it get too close though, and Virgil was able to lunge forward and steal nearly half of it in one bite, sprinkling a little extra dust on the floor with the sudden movement.

Scott snatched his hand away before he really did lose a digit and pointed up at the ceiling with the stump of toast that remained. “No hot water - yet.”

“Oh” nodded Alan and John in unison, it was a testament to their close working relationship that those few words were enough to dispel the panic and catch everyone up on the events of the morning. John slumped onto a nearby couch, kicking his duvet swaddled legs up so that he took up all the available space. Alan tried to nudge John's legs aside to make space for himself, but was booted towards the kitchen by one of the feet he was trying to shift.

“So nice of you to offer to get more toast.” John said, settling down comfortably in his nest.

“Thanks Al!” Scott handed the empty plate to Alan as he passed, looking slightly confused at the turn of events.

“Huh?!” he waddled off, feet swamped by clearly stolen fluffy socks.

“Better make extra, Kayo should be here soon!” John prompted.

When Kayo arrived she was greeted by the sight of all five brothers huddling around a freshly built fire, munching their way through two loaves worth of toast. Virgil was sitting on the floor in front of the blaze, prodding it intermittently with a poker. He was covered in muck and dust, and even had a few cobwebs in his hair. It seemed an unlikely side hustle given his size, but it looked like he had attempted a new career as a chimney sweep.

Gordon was sitting in the closest armchair to the fire, mummified in towels, bare legs swinging over the armrest, damp hair sticking to his forehead.

Alan was wedged into the corner of the couch, tucked under John's legs, and was eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon.

Scott was stretched out on his back on the rug in front of the fire, arms folded behind his head and was snoring gently. Several toast crusts were balanced on his forehead and some mucky fingerprints pointed to the guilt of at least one of the perpetrators.

At Kayos quiet cough to announce her arrival, Scott jerked awake and ended up with dry crusts in his eye. Virgil turned in her direction so fast that a shower of dust came down from his hair and caused a sneezing fit.

“I thought you guys were here for an action packed winter sports holiday,” she asked, arms folded and one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Scott clambered off the floor, hurriedly brushing himself down. “We were just about to, weren’t we guys?” he called over his shoulder as he left towards the kitchen.

“Speak for yourself Scotty. I haven’t even got underwear on yet!”

“Too much information Gordie.” Virgil chastised, and then was forced to shield his eyes as Gordon made a big act of folding and refolding his legs and readjusting his towel wrapping. “Gordon!” and he threw a scrap of kindling in Gordons general direction.

“So what exactly happened to him?” Kayo pointed at the soot gremlin by the fire.

Virgil looked up, smiled and proclaimed: “it was the hood!”

Kayo was instantly on guard, her stance dropping and her hands coming protectively to her front. “Situation Report!” she barked, eyes scanning the room.

Virgil’s eyes went wide, realising his mistake, he scrambled to his knees, palms held up placatingly. “No no no!! I mean, it was the extraction hood cut off for the boiler!” Kayo relaxed, but still looked puzzled. “It was jammed, right at the junction, now it’s not. Sorry.” He rushed the explanation out as quickly as possible and then sank back onto his heels.

Kayo’s whole posture softened. “Dare I ask about Gordon? Was it the Chaos Crew?”

“Chaos is right enough,” Virgil laughed, glad to be changing the subject, “He was too early hitting the showers, the hot water hadn't caught up.”

“Oh sure, laugh about it, hypothermia is no joke guys.” Gordon grumbled, fastidiously adjusting a corner of tucked towelling.

“So this is what happens when you’re left unattended, is it?” Kayo looked around the room. They all had the decency to look slightly abashed. “I bet you haven’t even decided on a film yet?” she punctuated this with a hand on her hip.

“Huh?” Alan mumbled incoherently around a mouthful of peanut butter. Which earned him a prod in the side from John’s foot. Kayo caught John’s foot before it was lowered again, and used it to flip John's legs out of the way, making room for herself on the middle seat cushion. She plucked the jar and spoon out of Alan's unresisting hands, placing it out of reach on the floor. Holding out her other hand, she waited expectantly until Scott returned and placed a fresh plate of toast on her upturned palm.

Alan didn’t even try to hide his impressed astonishment off his face at how she had orchestrated the whole manoeuvre perfectly. Gordon even gave a little round of applause. Scott wasn’t quite sure how he had once again lost his toast, but he accepted it and trudged back to the kitchen to try again. By the time he got back with his latest attempt at breakfast, Virgil had been sent for a shower, Gordon had been sent to find pants and a film had been lined up. They all settled down to enjoy a more relaxed “snow day” and Scott was eternally grateful to Kayo for creating more order in the few minutes she had been there than they had collectively managed the entire morning.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #tag team secret santa #thunderbirds fanfiction #tag team secret santa 2023

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