#Thunderbird One has a Fine Tank

[idontknowreallywhy]

Tried but failed to reach a conclusion on what I’m loosely calling the paint mystery but the majority of the chapters have deviated so wildly from any kind of plot that I may have to rethink whether it’s a story or just a collection of scenes.

Unrefined, unedited previous bits for reference:

Bit the first

Bit the second

Bit the third

The interlude after the third where I lost control of the characters and everyone went a bit nuts

Now, Bit the fourth which was supposed to be the end but that still eludes me… ALL the thanks to @astranite @womble1 and @sofasurf for the beta reading and suggestions and encouragement and to the Thunderfam generally for being a friendly safe community to practice a new thing within.

Light

A rush of harmonics drowned out Two’s steady hum as her sister raced up beneath her and barrel-rolled overhead before shooting off into the Californian twilight. Virgil watched as her vapour trail angled up, up, up and over backwards before taking a steep dive and spiralling back towards where he and Gordon watched in various shades of amusement and baffled awe.

“How is he still conscious?” Gordon murmured. “I’d be either sick… or dead. Ugh… nope, definitely dead.”

Virgil watched as his elder brother steered the rocket plane into the vertical zigzag he recognised as the signature move of the ‘Vomit Comet’ Scott had piloted for the trainee astronauts during his 6 month NASA secondment from the Air Force.

“He doesn’t have a… normal relationship with G force, Fish, you know that.”

As if to prove the point, One screamed past them, spinning, and doubled back to overtake at a distance which set Two’s proximity sensors blaring.

Again.

Virgil cringed and covered his ears.

John’s wry smile materialised in front of them. 

“Aunt Val is going to be inundated with emails from the alien spotters again isn’t she?”

Virgil snorted. Then sighed.

“Should we… you know, rein our dear flyboy in a little?”

There was a delighted snicker in the background as John coughed uncomfortably.

“He couldn’t doooo it” came the familiar singsong voice of Virgil’s digital niece. John, who now appeared to be heavily focused on brushing non-existent dust from his baldric, frowned slightly.

“I did open a comm with him, yes.”

“And?”

“He was… whooping, Virgil.”

It was Gordon’s turn to snort. He looked up from his tablet where he’d already accessed the usual conspiracy theory websites to check for new flying saucer sightings over Arizona.

“What, Scott? Pfft, seems unlikely”

John raised an eyebrow and patched in the audio from One’s cockpit.

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat as he was accosted by a sound he hadn’t heard since his brother was a teenager. Warm, hearty, unfettered laughter punctuated by… yes, that could only be described as a whoop… and then an elated giggle. 

Virgil was aware that to most people sound didn’t have colour but it was second nature to him. Scott’s usual speaking voice was a familiar steely blue, rich and dependable. It could deepen to almost navy if he was angered or concerned, or gain highlights of cerulean when he was amused or speaking affectionately. Now it was as if an arc of blazing summer sky was overlaid on the late evening clouds ahead of them, marred only by the static effect of the comm. Virgil was overwhelmed by a sudden longing to hear his brother laughing properly, truly, untainted by digital interference and simultaneously afraid the opportunity to do so would never arise.

Nobody moved, not waiting to break the spell. Then One did it for them, as her pilot pushed her into yet another feat of aerobatic madness and her own burning white squeals of delight muffled those of the man at the controls.

John muted the feed. Virgil releases the breath he was holding and swallowed, glancing at Gordon whose jaw had almost parted company with his face, his tablet hanging from a limp hand, his mission of winding up the ufologists forgotten. 

It was sobering to realise how infrequently a website tracking the rare and precious phenomena of happy-carefree-Scott would be updated. He met John’s eye and inclined his head. He couldn’t intervene either. Drop kicking a puppy would be less morally questionable.

“How’s his fuel?”

John’s gaze shifted upwards as a graceful sweep of his left hand obviously brought up some kind of display and a swift flick of the right closed something else down. Virgil was momentarily distracted by the image of his elegant brother conducting a symphony orchestra from space, his attention snapping back as he noticed the slight furrow in John’s brow.

“Low, I take it?”

“At this rate he’ll drop into F tank in about 10 minutes. Which will get him home if he flies in a straight line…”

“If.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s F tank when it’s at home?” Gordon had abandoned his tablet and was observing his elder brothers’ with overt curiosity.

John rolled his eyes. Virgil bit his lip and radiated guilt. Scott had never been told about that particular upgrade to his ship and it always made him uneasy to keep such a secret but the secrecy was necessary for it to work as intended.

“Gordon you have to swear to keep this to yourself… but you remember all those times when the paragon of caution that is our big brother has reassured us his fuel supply was “Fine” when One was actually running on fumes?” 

More like the distant memory of fumes in some cases. His little brother of course knew all too well because he’d flown enough missions himself to take fuel to whatever godforsaken location Scott had stranded himself in.

“Well… Brains and I installed a little extra tank about which the fuel gauge is ignorant and so is One’s primary pilot.”

Gordon appeared to ponder this for a minute.

“Won’t that just make him believe he really can fly on fumes?”

“Precisely what I said” John threw a hand in the air. “I had suggested a flow rate limiter instead, so she can’t do more than Mach 6 once the gauge gets below a certain level”

“But that’s slower than the Big Green Mom Bag!”

“Oi!” the Mom Bag’s pilot objected “But, yes. Can you imagine what his reaction would have been if…” Another screech of scram jets announced One’s return from who knew where and she decelerated with a shudder to match Thunderbird Two’s more sedate pace, flying above and just a nose ahead with her pilot looking down at them and flipping a cheeky salute. Virgil nudged the comms open again:

“Having fun, you big show-off?”

Scott’s hologram appeared, all shark-like grin and wildly dilated pupils. Virgil found himself leaning back into his chair, slightly intimidated by the intensity of his sibling’s manic expression.

“Well?! What are you going to PLAY?!”

Three younger brothers performed a perfectly synchronised double-take.

“P-play?”

“The concert, short stuff! What are you going to play in the concert? You should play that one that that goes ba-da-da-da da da ba-da-da-da da da da dum…” and then One was spiralling off again in a roar of jet engines, her pilot’s hologram blurring into incomprehensibility from the vibrations and leaving his younger brother blinking in confusion.

He shut off the comm before it gave them all a headache. At some point prior to the spontaneous post-tornado-rescue singalong in the school hall, their old teacher Ms Knighton had accosted Virgil and persuaded him to be the guest soloist at a benefit concert she was already planning to fundraise for disaster relief in their hometown. ‘Persuaded’ wasn’t quite the right word. He wasn’t aware that he’d actually been given any kind of an option. The woman was a tidal wave of organisation and he’d been well and truly swept along.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it anyway. He’d not played in front of anybody but family since their Mom had passed and he hadn’t planned to either, for all that the idea gave him a tiny flutter of anticipation. He’d been meaning to send an apology citing work commitments later that week.

THIS was what had got Scott so excited?

He squirmed guiltily as he’d begun to theorise that his renowned flirt of a brother had encountered an old flame during the course of the evening and that was what had caused the adrenaline spike. But, it seemed Scott wasn’t celebrating for himself at all. This vanishingly rare level of joy from his big brother, was on HIS behalf?

He suddenly pictured Scott sat in the front row of every little school performance, even the ones Mom couldn’t get to. He’d always put the constantly jiggling denim-clad legs down to frustration at having to sit still and listen rather than climb and run but then… maybe that wasn’t it at all?

There was the gift of the electronic piano… and that time his brother flew back from college to talk round his father who’d objected to Virgil’s nervous suggestion that maybe he could do joint honours music alongside his engineering degree. Granted, when he realised IR on the horizon, Virgil had changed his mind and decided to keep music just as a hobby but thanks to his brother, it had been HIS decision to make. 

Now he thought about it, he couldn’t think of a single occasion when he’d sat and played the lounge piano where Scott wasn’t either at dad’s desk, on the sofa, or leaning against the body of the instrument chatting or just watching with a fond smile.

Scott had been his cheerleader at every step.

“Earth to Viiiirg!” Gordon leaned over and poked him in the side of the head. “So what are you going to play then?” Virgil smiled awkwardly and rubbed away the sudden excess of water in his eyes.

“Guess I’d better figure out what “ba-da-da-da da da” is.”

[starman-john-tracy]

mmmmSKSKSKSKSK I sent this to the wrong blog but,,,for the prompt list thingy you reblogged, misc 13 with 2 characters you want

(I HOPE TO JESUS IT'S YOU WHO REBLOGGED IT THIS TIME)

“I’m worried about you.” [From this Ask meme]

The best response John can manage, at that precise moment, is a vague, dismissive flick of his fingers as he swipes his older brother’s hologram off of his screens, ending the call.

He’s busy, damn it, Scott.

Alan and Kayo have taken Thunderbird Three out to an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter to help a returning deep-space shuttle with engine failure and Alan’s got twelve minutes of air left in his tank, blood-red holograms ticking the numbers down at the corner of John’s vision. Thunderbird One’s been deployed to the Alps in the sub-zero temperatures of a snowstorm following reports from the family of a missing skier, and John could really have done with all the little comments about their Mom that Scott had decided it was a good time to slip in amongst receiving his instructions, probably in an attempt to keep it together himself. To crown it all, Gordon’s in the middle of a risky deep dive with Thunderbird Four in one of the darkest parts of the Atlantic Ocean, trying to find a missing ocean surveyor, with Two coasting overhead despite the fact there’s not much Virgil can do but clutter John’s airways with his worries. Penny’s apparently in the middle of some kind of bank heist in England, and so can’t take FAB1 to help. John, in an almost Scott-like fit of insanity, is almost itching for The Hood to turn up, just because he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to hit something very hard with the mooring claw…

It’s been like this for a week solid. John’s not slept in thirty-two hours and colours are desperately trying their best to become audible. His mouth tastes stale with jumbled numerical readings and directions and what-his-brothers-need-to-do-nexts. 

The astronaut takes a deep, ragged breath and rips his hands from the blue glow of his holographic array. He rubs the textured blue fabric of his fingertips hard against gritty eyes, trying to force away the tired moisture that’s gathering determinedly there from trying not to yawn.

This should all be routine by now. He’s got a schedule. A delicate balance of exhaustion and focus. John knows his body’s limits and how to push himself past them - swaddling himself in a cocoon woven of holograms and the loud, urgent voices of people who need his help until he’s lightheaded from the brightness and downing enough caffeine to make his hands shake is the only thing keeping him going.

It’s not a good system, but it works.

Well, sort of works.

John scrubs at his eyes harder, pushing against his closed lids until phosphenes bloom fractal galaxies across the darkness from the pressure. He’s so tired but there’s no way he's gonna be able to sleep this one off. Not with everything going on all around him right now. 

Not until these people are sa…

“John.” Fantastic. Scott’s back. Calling on his wrist Comm this time, and big brother doesn’t exactly sound pleased about being hung up on. John thinks better of ignoring him twice, though he rolls his eyes about it. “You’ve been running Comms for three days straight now, you need to take a break.”

“I’m fine, Scott.” John’s mouth shapes the words even though he feels anything but. He has to be fine. “I’m just doing my job. Go get on with yours. And fly a little lower, the wind speed’s up.” The holograms had started swimming alarmingly over two hours ago, most of their words blurring beyond legibility, but John knows what the warning orange blob and its proximity to the logo of Thunderbird One means regardless. Focusing is getting harder and harder and that’s probably dangerous because what if he slips up, what if he gives one of his brothers the wrong instructions and something bad happens, what if...

John really wants a coffee. Another coffee. That’s probably a bad sign in itself because John, ninety-nine per cent of the time, doesn’t drink coffee. Certainly not like his brother’s do. Thunderbird Five’s got a massive range of teas vacuum packed in little silver packets, mostly courtesy of the Lady Penelope, because John far prefers it, but there is a sturdy metal tin of strong, Indian coffee in the galley, waiting ominously for him like a red break glass in case of emergency box.

John’s been choking down up to three mugs of the stuff, black and thick as tar, spiked with crushed caffeine pills, every other hour, in an attempt to keep himself with it enough to do his damn job.

The system works.

He grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying futilely to prevent his pounding headache from getting any worse. He thinks there’s a bottle of painkillers in the first aid kit, Brains’ good ones, and mixed with another mug of caffeine John reckons that should get him through the rest of today even though he’s hungry and exhausted, and all his muscles have a dangerous, creeping ache that warns of atrophy, of too much time spent in Zero G. John just knows his whole body is going to kill the minute he relaxes, and that, if the constant chatter of the globe weren’t enough, makes taking even a little break just not an option. He ignores it all like a pro, slipping out of the segment of Five’s ring with the globe in, and drifting toward the galley, his fingers uncoordinated and clumsy on the handrails.

Coffee. Black. Two capsules of painkiller and another of caffeine, crushed into a powder with his fingers and dumped in.

He snatches up the plastic cup of coffee and heads back toward his globe, lifting the cup to his lips.

“John,” Scott says in his ear. “You can’t seriously be going to drink that…?”

John does, in fact, drink that. He knocks back the boiling beverage so quickly he doesn’t even need to swallow and chases the scald down with another cold cup of coffee that’s been left on his countertop from who-knows-when in the past three days. It’s gritty in the bottom from the drugs. John swallows hard at the acrid taste, coughs, and shakes out his shoulders.

“Alright,” John manages, suppressing the urge to throw it back up. “I’m good.”

Scott just blinks at him like he’s clearly a moron. Which, John thinks, is a bit rude when he’s the one with two PHDs.

“How long has that mug been there?” Scott asks, gaping slightly. It’s not at all like John to leave liquids out in the open, and especially not in space. “John, it had a layer of mould floating on it.” Not like him at all.

“Yeah,” John offers him, with a weak, crooked smile that doesn’t make sense on his face. “Penicillin. Adjust your tail flaps thirty degrees, you’re coasting too low. You need to compensate for the way the wind’s being channelled between the rocks.”

“John,” Scott’s voice comes back dangerously low, “John, when did you last have a proper break?” John’s head throbs and he’s saved from trying to work out any kind of reply to that because Gordon takes the opportunity to check-in. It doesn’t matter that John’s vision is blurring, as long as he can hear his little brother just fine. 

Crackling static buzzes in the spaceman’s ears long after Gordon clicks off again.

The newest shot of caffeine is slowly starting to soothe his frayed nerves, though everything’s a bit… hazy, if he’s honest.

“John!” Oh, Scott’s still here, huh. “Ok, little brother,” The elder of them puffs his chest out and folds his arms, but John’s not paying enough attention to his hologram to notice. “If you string yourself out much longer, I’m going to put you on medical leave until you die, alright? Nothing can stop me.”

“I don’t need med leave!” John exhales all of the air in his paper-bag lungs at once. “I’m fine and I’m doing a damn good job monitoring everything! I never take sick days…”

“You never take vacation days, either.” Scott cuts pointedly across him.

“Irrelevant.” John dismisses him again, flicking the point away like it’s a hologram he’s done with, “I’m just doing my job. If you want to come down on me for working hard, then you’re the one with the issue here.”

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Scott growls. “Your exhaustion and carelessness puts everyone who works under you at risk and I don’t know what the answer to your workload without Dad around is, but it sure. isn’t. this.” A sweeping hand encompasses his brother head to toe - taking in the coffee stains on John’s blue fingertips and the darkness smudged under his eyes. “We’ve got to, I don’t know, there must be something that can take some of the pressure off. Alan was talking about wanting to try a rotation.”

“Alan’ll be bored to death within five minutes alone up here,” John points out, “he’s still too young.”

“Gordon then, or Virgil, hell I’ll do it. I’m sure we can scrape together something.”

“Scott.” John’s voice comes out much softer this time, certainly softer than intended. “We’ll work something out but… just… not right now, ok?” It sounds almost pleading. A little broken. Perhaps Scott shouldn’t have brought up their Father, or perhaps there’s already too much for John to focus on without throwing himself into the mix. “We can pick this up later if you want, when we’re finished,” He goes on to offer, hollowly, “but right now you need to check your heat scanner and find that missing skier before those kids who called lose a parent.”

There’s a harsh intake of breath from Scott at that. He knows as well as any of them why they, why John, does all this. If they can keep together just one family, compared to their own loss, anything seems worth it.

Doesn’t mean Scott’s got to like it though.

He clicks off and John closes his eyes for one, very long moment - the residual Comm chatter swirling in his ears. It’s tempting to just press his forehead against the cold glass beneath his feet and just not exist for a few hours... But Alan needs to get back aboard his Thunderbird with the crew members, and Gordon’s discussing going EVA with Virgil in the background and Scott’s thermal scanner has just picked up an orange blip amongst all the blue.

There’s always a later. When everyone’s safe. John can rest later.

[gumnut-logic]

Two Birds with One Stone (Bit 2)

Bit 1 | Bit 2

Still @godsliltippy​ ‘s fault :D Unfortunately today went sideways, so I don’t have as much of this written as I would like, though this is a decent chunk. I’m quite enjoying writing this...my writing has lost a bit of its spark lately as I think I’m buried under all those WIPs and it is messing with my muse. But this is a shortish one that is pure indulgence.

Also, I forgot to link to the artwork that inspired this! The Wonderful Tippy’s art of these two knuckleheads trying to treat each other :D Though I will admit, I upped the whump level, just a little :D

Many thanks to @godsliltippy​ @tsarinatorment​ and @scribbles97​ for all their reading, inspiration and support ::hugs them madly:: And also to all those thunderfam who commented on Bit One. You guys keep me happy and writing ::hugs you all so much::

I hope you enjoy this bit. Hopefully I can write some more later tonight.

-o-o-o-

Gordon hated tornadoes. Since he was little, they had haunted his dreams. Stories from kids at school, news on the broadcasts and several mad scampers down into the storm shelter with his mother and a brother or two, absolutely terrified for the brothers who weren’t with them, pretty much cemented in a decent wariness.

And the sound. Oh god, the sound. So loud and screeching.

There had been the one time it had only been him and his two eldest brothers. Mom had been with Johnny somewhere else. Gordon had been too young to remember where, but what he did remember was Virgil.

Scott had held Gordon while the wind blasted overhead and his brother’s arms around him helped ever so much. But Virgil had been so jumpy and the emotion in his eyes had frightened Gordon enough that he never forgot it.

He had asked Virgil about it sometime after but his big brother had no idea what he was talking about. There were hugs and reassurance a-plenty, but Gordon was not convinced.

He was determined that Virgil liked tornadoes even less than Gordon.

So, it was with a familiar sense of apprehension that Gordon faced landing in a volatile tornado zone.

Two was equipped. Equipped to withstand almost anything. She was a tank. But there were plenty of things in a tornado zone that Brains might not have been able to predict.

If Gordon found himself eyeing the dark sky as Virgil secured his ‘bird, literally clamping her to the ground with her grapples and drilling pitons deployed from her struts, he felt justified in his uneasiness. Virgil even muttered something about the type of rock he had landed on, probably to try and reassure his co-pilot.

It didn’t work.

But Gordon was used to being afraid. It was healthy and just needed the respect it was due so he could work around it.

Today it was a factory and an unconfirmed number of people trapped beneath its collapsed structure.

They were both moving, down the hatch, and running over to do an initial site assessment before deploying a pod or two. Virgil had just reached the edge of the debris zone, Gordon a second behind him when John yelled in his ear and the world suddenly darkened.

That familiar and dreaded screeching wind leapt up and the earth roared as a twister hit dirt far too close to them and obviously unpredicted by anyone. It blanked out everything with torn up landscape.

John was still yelling in his ear.

It began to hail.

Huge chunks of ice that clamoured against his helmet and bruised through uniform.

The noise.

God, the noise.

Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed for Virgil’s uniform only to glimpse a darker shadow in the chaos.

A split second later he was fighting the wind both to keep his feet and to move himself and his brother out of the way.

It was a combine harvester.

An airborne combine harvester. He had only a split second to recognise the shape before it was on them.

Gordon threw up an arm to protect himself as the machinery threatened to land on their heads.

It didn’t.

It missed, bouncing just enough to fly over in a mess of screaming metal.

His arm snagged on something sharp, tearing his uniform, but he was so happy to not be dead that when the twister abruptly disappeared just as fast as it hit, he found himself collapsing to the ground as much as the falling debris around him.

The hail switched to rain.

Dirt turned to iceberged mud.

He still had his fist knotted in Virgil’s baldric.

His brother was face down, helmet sinking into the sludge.

“Virgil!”

The rain petered off abruptly and the world around him fell silent bar the ominous rumble of the clouds and the soft splats of small pieces of debris returning to earth.

“Virgil!”

His brother did not respond.

But as Gordon reached over to assess him something twitched in his arm, a spurt of red forced him to clamp a hand down on a suddenly very serious injury.

Shit!

“Virgil!”

He nudged his brother with an elbow and prayed he wasn’t seriously injured.

As if in answer, Virgil groaned and rolled over.

Gordon’s eyes widened.

There was a huge chunk of metal sticking out of his brother’s helmet.

Words failed him, absolute terror shaking him to his bones.

“VIRGIL!”

His brother groaned again, a hand wavering towards his broken visor.

“No, Virgil, stay still! Thunderbird Five, emergency, we need assistance, Virgil is down!”

“FAB. Help is already on the way. Scott is en route.” His brother’s voice was calm, familiar and professional, but the tension was there. “I’ve alerted local services, but they are overwhelmed.” And there was the worry that echoed Gordon’s. “I will do my best.”

The aquanaut didn’t bother to acknowledge that. He knew John would do everything.

Gordon edged closer to Virgil only to have to scuttle out of the way as his brother suddenly sat up, threw off his helmet and emptied his stomach onto the mud.

It was unpleasant but unfortunately not unfamiliar. Virgil groaned, an arm clutching at his gut and his other hand reaching for his head.

“Virgil!”

His brother looked over at him and Gordon was forced to swallow bile.

The right side of Virgil’s head was matted in blood. His cheekbone was already beginning to swell and his eye with it. Brown eyes looked at him blearily a moment before blinking and focussing…

…on Gordon’s arm.

“Gordon!”

It was like a switch had been hit and Virgil was moving reaching for Gordon’s injury, medical concern his only focus. Eyes ascertained the extent of the damage and against Gordon’s protests, Virgil soon had his fist around it stemming the bloodflow and wrapping it in a pressure bandage. Gordon knew time was limited and restricting his circulation was a bad thing, not to mention the lack of oxygen to particular parts of his body that artery actually fed, but the sight of blood dribbling down the side of his brother’s head completely ignored as he smotherhenned over Gordon, was just simply distressing.

And now he wanted to try and move them both to Two. What?!

“I’m fine! The bandage is secure. For Christ’s sake, Virgil!”

But he was ignored and next Gordon, who despite a little dizziness due to blood loss, felt he was quite capable of walking on his own, found his brother’s considerable shoulders under one arm and they were moving through the mud to the massive green ‘bird fifty-odd metres away.

“Virgil!” God, please, don’t do this to yourself.

Okay, vertical wasn’t the best position and his head spun. Gordon had a sudden wish for his biggest brother to suddenly appear to save them all. As if hearing that thought, the world decided to make his life even worse and everything went sideways as Virgil went down like a ton of bricks.

Gordon went with him.

 TBC

[enviedear]

that damn american ᶠᶦᵛᵉ

don’t exploit our friendship

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which y/n and draco go on a ‘date’, meet harry potter, and come to conclusions in the owlery.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 3k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

gonna rec golden hour - kacey musgraves , teenage fantasy - jorja smith and playing games - summer walker for this chapter ;)

“i’m not taking her to madame puddifoot’s.” blaise sighs, exasperated.

“why? i’m sure april would love that tacky shop.” draco snickers, earning a jab from you.

april, who’s far ahead of you all, is making her way for the joke shop. she said something about how she and blaise are going to be pranking quinn. you suppose it’s only fair for what he did to her in fourth year.

the air is cooler now, and the four of you are all clad in warmer garments. the boys sporting slytherin quidditch sweaters and draco wearing a black turtleneck underneath. while april looks straight out of a damn brandy melville ad with her thunderbird sweatshirt tucked into her tennis skirt.

you on the other hand decided it best to wear a simple green tank with a loose cropped cardigan with mom jeans. 

you’re now regretting the decision as your upper body is becoming unbearably chilly.

“blaise, look! i got some hiccoughing candy. i think we could give him one after breakfast tomorrow.” april laughs.

draco groans from the bench the two of you are sat on, playing with the silver rings on his fingers.

“this is bloody demeaning.” the boy complains.

“you know, you could be third wheeling. at least i’m here, and i could always leave you here. alone.” you huff.

draco narrows his eyes at you, “if you dare try, i’ll make sure you never get back to america. i refuse to be alone with these two lovesick idiots.”

“jesus someone is in a mood.” you snort, ruffling his perfectly done hair.

“shut it l/n.”

blaise and april walk into tomes and scrolls, leaving you and draco outside.

“screw this, come on, let’s go to gladrags. i want a jacket.” you say, hopping off the bench.

draco gets up, “damn americans and never dressing for the weather.”

“i think that’s more of a me thing.” you retort, heading into the shop.

as you take a look around you find a small section full of coats, sweaters, jackets, and sweatshirts. 

“you know these are ridiculously overpriced, right?” draco scoffs.

“well i’m cold draco. and like my mother always says, ‘a fashionable witch always dresses in which she is comfortable’.” you say, reciting a line from one of your mother’s books.

she’s a popular fashion designer, and never let you or quinn forget it.

“excuse me, is your mother, the eliza l/n?” draco gasps.

you nod, a little confused as to how the boy knows her.

“hold on. you’re the daughter of one of american’s best designers and you never thought to tell me? what’s next? is your father the bloody president.”

you laugh, “no, but he is a retired quadpot player for the new york nogtails. you seriously didn’t know? my parents are the wizarding equivalent to victoria and david beckham.”

draco looks bewildered, “this whole time you’ve had prestige, and i didn’t even know? oh, just wait until i owl mother and tell her i’m friends with her favorite designers daughter.”

“don’t exploit our friendship, you fucker.” you say, slapping his shoulder.

he rubs his side and glares at you, “you were the one that begged me to be your friend. at least let me reap the benefits.”

“i’m starting to regret my decision, you’re a shit friend.” you tease.

draco lets out an exaggerated sigh, “fine, i was going to give you my sweater so you wouldn’t have to buy one, but since i’m such a shit friend.. nevermind.”

“i was kidding bitch. hand over the sweater!” you order.

he rolls his grey eyes and slips the garment off, exposing his tight fitted black turtleneck. it’s a sight to behold, honestly. it makes your mind slip into visions of the two of you actually together and on a date. 

“well take it, and come on. i want a butterbeer.” he says, snapping you out of your daydream.

you put the sweater on and trail behind your friend. when the two of you enter the three broomsticks, draco immediately scowls.

“what’s the matter?” you ask.

“stupid potter. he’s sitting in my spot.” draco huffs.

“just sit somewhere else, you big baby.”

draco looks annoyed but complies, sitting beside you at a nearby booth.

you want to question why he’s not sitting on the opposite side, but ignore it. you like being this close to him.

“why do you hate harry?” you ask instead.

“he’s a brat. he thinks he so special because he killed a dark wizard when he was a baby. and his stupid parents are always at family events because of my bloody cousin, sirius. they’re the strangest people.” he tells.

“ah, how annoying. the boy saved the world in infancy.” you deadpan.

draco waves you off, “okay, i get it. but he is annoying.”

you laugh as a waitress comes over to take your order.

“two butterbeers.” draco tells her, handing her money.

as she walks away you give him a look, “i could have paid.”

“the guy always pays for the first date, y/n.” draco rolls his eyes, before adding, “not that this is a date. i wouldn’t take you to the three broomsticks.”

you smile, a little shy, “i wouldn’t mind sharing a first date here.”

“then potter is your soulmate. he takes ginny here every date they go on. honestly i don’t know how does he has a girlfriend and i don’t. the irony” he pouts.

you glower at him.

the waitress comes back with your drinks, and draco watches you expectantly. you roll your eyes and take a sip.

“oh shit this is good.” you gasp.

“told you.” he says, smug.

the two of you continue talking and drinking your butterbeers for a few more minutes before april and blaise make their way into the shop.

“look at this pretty necklace blaise got me! oh, and i got momma to mail me my old phone for him to use. he’s with the times now!” april beams, rushing into the booth.

blaise trails behind her, looking very confused by the cellphone in his hands.

“well hello you two. i’m glad you’re enjoying your date.” you smile.

blaise looks up at you, “seems like you’re enjoying yours as well.”

“draco and i are not on a date.” you say, glancing at the boy beside you.

“well we just thought you were since you’re wearing his sweater and sitting in the same bench. couple behavior if you ask me.” april shrugs.

“why do you people think i would take someone on a first date here. i’m far too good for that.” draco sighs.

april laughs and gives blaise a knowing look. 

you don’t like that. it makes you narrow your eyes at the two of them, but they continue giggling.

“draco! i’m glad i caught you,” a voice calls. 

you look up to see harry potter, followed by a redhead.

“are you coming over to sirius’ for christmas?” harry asks, resting against the booth.

“of course potter. he’s my family.” draco grunts.

“i was just making sure,” harry retorts. he looks at you, “are you bringing your girlfriend? sirius asked.”

draco coughs, “excuse me?”

harry smiles, “y/n, your girlfriend. snape owled my mum about it and dad told sirius. don’t worry, he’s letting you surprise your parents. he just wanted to know if she’d be with us this year.”

draco is fuming as he stares at harry. it’s quite enjoyable.

you grin, “actually, i’m going to be with my parents this christmas. but i don’t see why i couldn’t portkey here. i’d love to tag along.”

draco glares at you, “we are not-”

“great! i’ll owl sirius. come on ginny.” the brown haired boy gleams, walking away.

draco’s still glaring, “you’re dead. i’m going to hex you until you can’t remember your name.”

“oh come on. it was a joke. plus it’d be fun to have christmas with me. can’t you imagine it?” you say, nudging his arm.

“but explaining to my mum that we’re not dating is going to be a hassle. and you’re going to have to meet my crazy aunt bella.” draco groans, rubbing his eyes.

“to be fair, his aunt is mad. but think about it draco, what’s the worst that can happen? y/n would be a great addition to your family, even if it is just as a friend.” blaise says.

“just as a friend my ass.” april whispers.

draco rolls his eyes but gives you all a smile, “i hate everything about this.”

blaise narrows his eyes before smirking, “sure mate.”

once it was time to go back to the castle you told everyone you needed to head to the owlery first to pick up a package your parents had sent you. draco offered to come along and you let him, obviously.

you liked being alone with him. 

by the time you get to the tower, it’s deserted, save for you and draco.

“you’re such a menace.” draco speaks, breaking your focus from your letters.

“big word for such a baby of a man.” you tease.

“shut up. i’m being serious. i know the minute i tell everyone you’re not my girlfriend, potter and his friends are going to have a field day.” draco says.

“harry doesn’t seem so mean. i follow him on instagram. he’s always so nice online.” you retort.

“you’ll see. he’s going to be a prat come christmas.” draco sighs, leaning against the wall.

you huff, “stop being so dramatic. if you want i can always just say i’m your girlfriend.”

draco gets off the wall and comes over to you, “you’re serious?”

you laugh, “yeah, i mean, everyone’s right. be basically act like a couple already. we’re really close for friends.”

“i guess..” he trails off, looking away from you.

you bite your lip and examine him. his pretty blond hair, pink lips, flushed face, and perfect posture. of course you wouldn’t mind pretending to be his girlfriend. you love him.

everything about him. you love the way his face contorts into a scowl after any inconvenience. you love how he looks at you when he sees someone doing something stupid. you love how he always has something for the two of you to do. and you love how he shows you the real him. 

“but maybe it could be like a trial run.” he mutters, finally looking at you.

“what?” you breathe, voice catching in your throat.

“i mean, it would be stupid to not try. you’re my best friend y/n. i think we could, uh, work together.” 

“are you saying you have a crush on me?”

“merlin. this is not as easy as i thought it was. of course i fancy you l/n. why else would i act like an utter buffoon?” he sighs.

you snort, “you act like buffoon even without me present, dickwad.”

“i’m trying to have a romantic conversation.”

“right, sorry,” you grin. “i would love to try to be your girlfriend.”

draco nods, “good. i mean, thank you?”

“come on, you can’t freeze up now. i definitely didn’t sign up for a shy boyfriend.” 

he quirks up his eyebrow, “that you didn’t.”

the words and his gaze make your knees weak. and in an instant, draco’s lips are on yours. the wind outside is loud, but as you kiss him, you can’t hear a thing. your sense of smell is attacked with his cinnamon vanilla cologne. the boy is like one of the high end stores your mom shops at in the winter. 

and his lips, his pretty full lips. the way they move with yours reminds you of something you’ve always needed but never knew. his hands take hold of your face and he brings the kiss deeper. the two of you oblivious to the world around you.

when you finally pull away, a smirk takes over his face.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that.” he says, satisfied.

“come on, we’ve got to get back to the common room. we have classes in the morning.” you grin, grabbing your letters.

“please, the minute i get to the common room i’m kicking everyone out of my dorm and sneaking you in.” he states.

you look at him, shocked. silently thinking.

“stop staring at me like that. you can speak.”

glaring you say, “we’re going to have to tell everyone.”

draco groans, “maybe we should just wait until tomorrow.”

you nod, “tomorrow.”

[tracybirds]

Trials Without Error #3

:D :D :D I have been having literal conniptions over this fic for the past few days but!! we are there :DD Huge thanks to @gumnut-logic for all the encouragement on this one :DD How :D excited :D am :D I :D about :D finishing :D ?! :D

John’s POV following a failed rescue. Covers the same events in [1] and [2], but as before you don’t need to read them to read this part and the order literally does not matter

This has been really fun to explore different perspectives on the same events :D Be well!!

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

His suit clung to him, secure against the ravages of space. There was no filtration system connecting him to the environment outside, no way for the smell of burning flesh to penetrate the boundary between skin and nothing.

Nothing. That was what he could do for most of the passengers.

There were those who had been flung into space alongside the venting atmosphere, their deaths short but not fast enough.

There were those that he hadn’t reached in time, their blackened forms twisted in agony.

There was the compartment where he found the atmosphere thick with smoke but undamaged by fire, bodies strewn around the room and synthesised poison in their blood.

There were those he never saw as the fire reached the secondary oxygen tanks before he did.

Eight minutes and forty-three seconds.

They had never stood a chance.

In his dreams, he turned off the radio but still the screams haunted him.

Charged to witness his failures over and over again.

Folded into the nightmare were flashes of other rescues. The face of a little girl in the touring station’s window he’d last seen at the bottom of the Indian Ocean. The mayday cry of a doomed pilot in the Arctic intertwined with that of the tour operator. The proximity alarm as Five hurtled into a field of meteors mixing with the fire alarms ringing uselessly over his comms.

The sound wouldn’t stop, only growing more and more insistent no matter how he fought for control in his head.

He could feel it now, his body was waking up, the soft sheets beneath him, the light scratch of Velcro rubbing against his chest. The sounds faded into the familiar beeps and gentle whirring of Thunderbird Five. The ghosts of yesterday remained fresh even while the vivid images of the dream world faded to grey.

John wrenched his eyes open with a gasp. Hauling himself from the bed, he scrambled to get out of the small bedroom, refusing to look down into the endless dark.

“Lights.”

The bathroom was the only space in the gravity ring with a solid floor, and as he braced himself against the door, he could almost imagine he was back on Earth.

He caught sight of himself in the small mirror and flinched. Dark smudges set deep within pallid skin stared back at him as he tried to slough off the remnants of the long night.

He needed routine, a quiet stability around which he could structure his life for the foreseeable future. Breakfast. Exercise. Systems check. Maintenance. Hope like hell the day was a quiet one.

John stumbled from the bathroom towards the galley. His ears pricked up as he got closer, the familiar sound of the comms closing off audibly in the next section.

He hadn’t heard the chime of an incoming call, but someone must have just missed him. He quickly checked the comm-mail. No message which meant it wasn’t urgent.

He jabbed at the door lock again. This time the galley doors opened with their familiar swoosh and he made his way inside.

He stared blankly at the food storage unit.

Virgil. It must have been Virgil.

John’s eyes roamed over the offerings, trying to imagine eating without them turning to ash in his mouth.

After yesterday, he didn’t have much of an appetite.

The stench of rocket fuel and third degree burns filled his nostrils again and he was trapped, as though acknowledging the day caused it to start over in his mind.

He gripped the handles tightly, trying to breathe through his mouth and regain control over the day.

Routine would be going out the window, he could see that now. This was a problem that demanded attention and he knew what he needed for that.

Abruptly, he pushed away from the food storage unit and left the galley. The more the memories pressed against him, the more he wanted to escape. He didn’t want to see anymore, didn’t want to feel. He broke out into a run, his feet picking out the familiar route to the observatory.

The doors swished open as he put the call through, collapsing on the bench as it connected.

He needed a distraction, he needed a listening ear. He needed a brother.

He could see Virgil, working busily away and barely glancing up as he answered the call.

“Hey, Virgil.” He was too exhausted to hide how heavily the day before was weighing on him.

His brother started, eyes locking on his immediately. He blinked.

“John?”

John hadn’t expected the sudden tears that sprang to his eyes at the sound of his brother’s voice, a calm and steady harbour against the storm.

“Who else?” A laugh stifled the sob that threatened to burst from his chest. He knew he had nothing to hide from Virgil, but with the vast solitude of the universe stretching before him it felt too open, too vulnerable, and too far from home, to entirely let go of his careful control.

“You don’t know any other space station operators around, do you?”

“No, it’s just…”

John’s heart dropped. Automatic apologies and fumbled farewells sprang to his mind as he reached out to sever the connection. He didn’t want to bother Virgil if he was busy.

His brother breathed in deeply and John looked up into a warm smile that swept away all doubts.

“Did you need something?”

“Just some company. Think I could float around for a while?”

Mercifully, Virgil nodded and John slumped forwards against a complicated knot in his heart filled to the brim with anger and grief, balanced by the cool balm of reassurance that he was not alone.

He was content to allow gravity to weigh him down despite his earlier words. Content to stare at the stars and know that his brother would be there if he was needed.

“They really did a number on you yesterday.”

Virgil was quiet and the statement was more pensive than probing, but it still sharpened every memory like a dagger in his mind. He couldn’t stay in that place for long, he hadn’t built up his defences enough for the conversation he knew Virgil was pushing for. He just didn’t have the capacity for a drawn out debrief.

“I’m choosing to forget yesterday.”

A warning, a hope, a prayer that Virgil would drop the subject.

“Scott told me. He wanted to haul you down.”

John looked back over at Virgil, trying to gauge his own thoughts. His brother’s brow was furrowed in obvious concern and he was chewing on his lower lip. John wasn’t ready to return, didn’t want to face the looks of sorrow and pity as he healed.

“Thank you for stopping him.”

“Hold on, I haven’t decided yet.”

“I’m fine.”

Virgil snorted in clear disbelief.

“Yeah, you said earlier.”

He blinked, unsure of the implications of that statement. Was his brother referring to the last time they’d run into such troubles? Had he said something in the haze between mission’s end and deep, dark sleep?

“Did I?”

Virgil’s face fell into a deepening frown.

“John, you signed off with me not twenty minute ago.”

“I was asleep not twenty minutes ago.”

His response was automatic and certain. He hadn’t lost any time. He would have known, he wouldn’t have woken in his own bed otherwise. There had been no confused wanderings in the night, no sudden startled awakening in the hallways leaving him wondering about the time that had slipped away.

In front of him, Virgil was shaking his head.

“We spoke for half an hour, it was definitely you.”

“It can’t have been.”

It can’t have been because John refused to believe things were getting that bad again. Because he refused to live in a world where he couldn’t trust his own mind.

“Well it was. Unless you’re hiding a clone up there to do all the heavy duty. And I haven’t received any panicked calls from Alan about finding you hiding in a cupboard while you were meant to be on the island.”

“Maybe.”

Because Virgil’s voice was light-hearted and masking his worries, and he refused to believe that his brother would lie to him.

He looked up at the camera array, wondering at what his ‘bird had seen. Wondering whose memory it would corroborate and if he truly wanted to know.

Virgil cleared his throat, interrupting John’s thoughts.

“You should come down if you’re sleepwalking again.”

“You don’t think it’s sleepwalking.”

The strain around Virgil’s eyes grew more pronounced. John could see ancient history reflected back at him, those long nights of failure still a point of tension and regret.  

“You already know what I think,” said Virgil. “Come home, John.”

The electronic whirring in the background seemed to grow more intense, as if the entire station was waiting for his answer. This was his home although his brothers didn’t like to hear him say it. He knew every protocol, had made every program and she seemed to hum with renewed life the more complex she became. Station and operator growing together.

The thought of his ‘bird coming alive around him held him back, a surge of energy still thrumming in his veins. He wanted to be there, wanted to watch. He wanted to forget the memories sitting heavy in his gut.

“Just for today?”

There was a desperate plea in his voice, whispering to John that he needed to go home. If only for his brother. He closed his eyes, wrenching himself away from the wild fantasy that gripped him and tied him to his station.

“Okay.”

[shinygoku]

Top 10 CSatM Episodes (1/2)

Ahhh, Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons...! Probably only Second to Thunderbirds when it comes to the most popular and beloved Supermarination programme, with only Stingray able to compete for that coveted Silver Medal. But for me, it’s my Favourite!

I could go on and on about it, but for now I’ll go over my personal picks for a Top 10, which may give some insight into what about the way the series ticks makes it so enthralling.

Without further ado, let’s jump in! I’m not ordering them by preference, but rather the Episode order as I watched them on my DVDs (tediously the ep listings never seem to be consistent :T) Spoilers for all eps covered! ✂

Winged Assassin

Starting off my Favourites is the 2nd episode of the whole show, featuring a good condensed version of the events of Ep 1 if ya missed it and probably the best explanation on the workings of Retrometabolism that canon media is ever gonna grant us. The plot is fairly straightforward, but what elevates this is the aforementioned Exposition, which feels more organic than it did last episode, the interactions between Scarlet and Blue, and even the shocking twist at the ending, where the mission that had been going so well falls at the very last hurdle, in spite of Spectrum’s best efforts.

One of the most chilling visuals in the series is a surfaced shard of a downed passenger plane floating up from the sea, before the camera pans out to show the duplicated plane flying through the air, and another dark shot later on, of Scarlet’s limp hand with blood running down after he died in the effort to prevent the massive explosion that occurs regardless.

Winged Assassin sets a lot of standards of things to follow; traits like massive collateral damage just as part of the Mysteron’s grander scheme, the close partnership of Scarlet and Blue, Scarlet’s seldom used Sixth Sense and even the occasional downer ending, where the Mysterons manage to sneak a victory in and actually kill or destroy their stated target.

White as Snow

This episode shines a very interesting light on the dynamics between Col. White and Scarlet. It’s obviously one of a superior giving orders most of the time, but in a twist from the somewhat strict nature of Jeff Tracy over his sons who show respect to their father by not arguing back, with these two there’s actually the occassional spark of friction, that Scarlet will voice when he doesn’t like the commands and will only reluctantly go through the motions in the situation. I’m referring mostly to the first Mysteron attack, where a satellite is on a collision course with Cloudbase, but Scarlet unsubtly opposes the plan as there’s the possibility of innocent people on board who would get killed if Spectrum shot it down first. However, he’s overruled... and it turns out that it was indeed a trap, the people on board had been exploded hours ago and what was shot down was a Replicant copy. And that’s just the first half of the episode! But I find it interesting that again, back in Thunderbirds, the call to not remotely destroy something like that on the offchance it was populated would be the Correct course of action, but in this show pragmatism is needed, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

Anyway, the episode has another Mysteron attack aboard a submarine, with plenty of tension... but yet, there’s something of a comedic bend to the episode, such as a furious White shouting at the currently dead Scarlet, much to the Naval crew’s confusion, and the scene at the end which I’ve taken the picture from. The weakest part of the episode is probably Blue in charge of Cloudbase, as he doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing and I feel they coulda done more with him. Oh well! At least we got the fantastic music insert, which is also titled White as Snow.

Operation Time

Probably ranking in my Top 3, Operation Time is pretty remarkably both one of the most tension filled... yet an extremely funny episode. I guess some of that’s just due to my own odd sense of humour, though some moments are clearly intentional. Both the operation scenes, the Mysteron’s pursuit of the Doctor, and finally Spectrum chasing the Mysteron!Doctor are all played very suspensefully, and I find myself holding my breath. But then the funny scenes, like everything with Magenta and how hilariously pissy and unsubtle the Fake!Doctor gets leave me in stitches! [pun unintended lol]

I dunno, maybe some of the amusement effect is enhanced by the strong contrast between the scenes. Also we get a very grisly death for the Fake!Doctor and this episode establishes weaknesses for the Mysterons that will come up in future instalments. There’s a lot this ep has to offer, even something of an insight into 60′s medicine (though the series is set in 2068). While an extremely minor point, both the scenes with operations have the pssssshh.....fsssssshhhh sound that I associate with ventilators even though they ain’t being used, what’s up with that? But it’s another thing to add to the Atmosphere so s’all good, man.

Odd that I can’t think of much else to put here, I love it so much but maybe it’s so solid in the couple of things it does that’s all there really is to say? I’m feeling frustrated at how I don’t seem to have written enough for it, but trust me when I say it’s excellent and that it’s absolutely a Must Watch if you’re giving the series a look. (Though again, I’m spoiling each ep covered so uhh... read at your own risk if you’re using this to judge it!)

The Heart of New York

An interesting tale that I’ve actually Heard more than I’ve watched, as the audio adaptation is a free sample on the official Gerry Anderson site! [At least at the time of writing lmao, it’s worth a look anyway. This message was not paid for.]

This story is somewhat unique in that the Mysterons’ plan is pretty tame by their standards. They want to blow up... a Bank. Sure, it contributes to the long game they play, causing disruption and destruction, but compared to the casual massive collateral damage they inflict as part of a more focused murder attempt (again, see Winged Assassin and the passenger plane) this is small potatoes. But still, they end up feeling more moral in this episode than the actual ne’er do wells, a trio of would-be Robbers. These guys are pretty assholish, deliberately using the horrible cosmic war that’s already taken lives in the triple digits to hide behind while they take their pickings from a vault. Captain Black locking these morons in with the explosives feels like poetic justice, that they really did get what they wanted and are punished in kind.

Maybe this feeds the Mysteron’s point, that humans are aggressive, corrupt and selfish... though Colonel White challenges this view at the end of the episode, stating the robbers aren’t indicative of humanity as a whole. The whole shebang is a lot like The Twilight Zone, honestly. All we need is Rod Serling to open and close the episode...

Point 783

This episode is a bit harder to go into depth on, to be honest, it’s not one with a particular gimmic that makes it more memorable, but it’s a very solid ep all the same. There’s still a fair few layers that keep me thinking, like how it seems one of the Methane Trunk drivers had seemingly been Mysterionised offscreen to enable the Mysteron’s main pawns to me made. Then the first attempt to kill the Supreme Commander is thwarted by Scarlet’s (somewhat inconsistant) Mysteron Sense and perspex tubes that take their sweet time to descend and don’t even prioritise the actual target lol

Anyway, the meat of the episode is focused on the guest vehicle, the Unitron implacable unmanned Tank that can be controlled remotely by human operator or programmed to destroy something particular, and it will not stop or slow down no matter what’s thrown at it. Something something Proto-Drone Warfare commentary. The Mysterons’ last big attempt to assassinate today’s dude has one of their Mysterionised guys from earlier become the target, unknown to everyone else until he draws his gun inside the SPV (who even points out the 6th sense didn’t activate!). Scarlet gets shot 3 times but manages to eject himself and the Supreme Commander, which leads to the above scene, which offers a nice, human response.

Mr Supreme Commander later chews Blue out as it emerges instead of Scarlet going to a Hospital within 10 minutes, Spectrum insisted on waiting for one of their Helicopters to pick him up, which took 3 hours. Poor Blue has to try reassuring the army guys that Scarlet will be fine, truuuuust hiiiim. It makes me wonder if Spectrum is making things easier or harder overall by keeping his Retrometabolism under their hats, though I can understand they’d have reservations, but just trying to gloss over it with a ‘no no, it’s fine, he’ll get better.’ type answer doesn’t seem all that convincing. But I enjoy that it’s semi challenged here. And this episode summary ended up longer than expected cause all the Thinking I’ve done, haha!

=======

This has gotten a lot longer than expected and will be Two Parts! Find the second half here~

[darkestwolfx]

Path of Destruction - Re-Review #55

So, firstly this episode title comes directly from the TAG episode of the same name. In that, we saw the Crablogger go on rampage, and although that is not the case here, there are still many similar elements. And of course we do get to see the Crablogger in this series (in the end, as it did take some time for those episodes to finally air) which is a nice touch.

It was all going well to start with, like many scenarios.

And then this happens.

Well, the boys did want more rock slides.

“I’ll call for a lift.”

But we’re at the top of a mountain. Who’s going to reach us?”

“I know just the team.”

Yep, we all do.

Now, I’ll be honest, this is a scene I didn’t remember and it is a scene I never thought I’d see. I’m so glad we did get to see it though! I mean, other than showing us that the boys do other things as opposed to just waiting around or hiding away from Grandma’s cooking, I’m not sure what purpose this snippet really serves.

(You know, apart from complete fan fulfilling happiness which is totally worth everything).

And back to the episode. Gosh, John must be used to interrupting some really odd moments on the Island.

“As in the dangerous tends to blow up if you look at it in the wrong way kind?”

Because that sums up a dangerous explosive perfectly.

“I’ll head over in Thunderbird Two.”

“Want me to tag along?”

“Mmmm.”

The sounds, the expressions, the body language. It’s perfect.

“What?”

“It’s just... the mission may need a delicate touch.”

“I can be delicate. When am I not delicate.”

“Are you coming or not?”

I love this so much. We’re not even that far into the episode and I’ve fallen in love with the opening scenes. That’s the way it should work.

“That’s my trainee, Sophie, waving, in the back.”

“Hiya!”

“Damage report, Greenhorn.”

“Oh right.”

Because that’s what you do when you see International Rescue. You wave for your life.

Never fear, the boys have a plan. Clear the rocks and take the scenic route.

“Were you always this brave?”

“Hardly. You get the hang of it after a while.”

Isn’t that just so true of life.

These mountains are a little creepy. They remind me of the mountains in TOS’ ‘Edge of Impact’.

“John, run a scan near the pod. Are you seeing this?”

“It looks like a detonator.”

“This was no accident. Someone cause d that rockslide.”

“It’s Chaos Crew alright. It’s Fuse.”

Yes, yes it is.

“Hand over your cargo, or something goes boom.”

Hmm... I wan’t all that afraid of him.

“Thunderbird Two’s engines could trigger a rock slide even worse than before.”

“I’ll take the Mountain Pod. Gordon, was one of features a speed enhancer.”

“I think so.”

Because Gordon never reads the product specifications, of course.

Fuse has a driverless car! That’s encouraging for the future (really not, that idea scares me).

“Be very delicate.”

Not careful, take note.

“I will. Guys, a little trust here!”

And then Gordon triggers a rockslide. Very delicate.

But our boys don’t go down that easily, thank goodness.

“I love causing chaos!”

Because your choice of name didn’t make that obvious?

“That can’t be good.”

How many ‘good’ situations do you end up in, Virgil?

“How did you know?”

“The kid wants our cargo, right?”

Good thinking... and now it seems the Mountain Pod is in the truck escort business.

“I’m trying, but they’re being stubborn.”

That’s a good description.

“It’s not every day we can take down the Tracy’s.”

You know, I had hopes for The Hood’s story in this series. He’s been evil before, and we’ve seen that, but with his lair now and the giving of all the orders, he really appeared like an evil mastermind. I mean, we didn’t know at this point why he was out to get the boys, but I really believed his intent to do them harm.

“Take out whoever’s in the way.”

And I think it’s a shame where that story ended up.

Maybe staying on top of that tank wasn’t Gordon’t best idea ever. And Virgil being taken out by all those rocks was not nice to see.

And does Fuse have to say “power punchers” every single time?

“Thunderbird Five to Mountain Pod.”

“I’m fine, John.”

“You’re buried in a rock pile. That’s not fine.”

He has a point. See, these are the sort of scenes that even without showing John, show what he has to face with his brothers on the ground.

I thought Fuse was a piece of work in these early episodes. I mean, I like what they did with his character and how they fleshed him out, because it did real justice to Scott’s view on the world - that people can make some pretty evil mistakes, but still be human. But that just makes me even more bitter as to how The Hood (and to some extent The Mechanic’s) story lines ended

“Here’s an idea: what if we all step away from the dangerous explosives?”

“No.”

Exactly, because no one ever sees the sense in doing as Gordon suggests.

“This will be fun to watch.”

Bye, bye, Mountain Pod.

“Aren’t you glad I tagged along?”

I love little scenes and moments like these. They’re such little actions, but they make the biggest of differences.

Sophie ended up quite the good little driver.

Bringing the GDF in... not so sure about that when Fuse has already tried his damnedest.

“I’ll bring in Thunderbird Two.”

“Maybe I could take the controls for a while?”

What do you think the answer will be, Gordon?

I love this shot as well. It’s just so nice to see the pair of them together. They work really well together, as usual.

[melmac78]

Virgil’s story for FABFiveFeb

This is based off a Whumptober story I wrote, “A different perspective of ‘I Can’t Walk’,” but this one from Virgil’s point of view regarding Gordon’s surprise prank on Virgil. You don’t have to read it though to enjoy this story. The names of the locations are current.

Virgil prompts: “I’m trying,” shimmer, duck, hard.

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

Virgil smiled as he finished the last few strokes of his charcoal sketch. It had been hard to get that detail of the AutoZone Park’s Christmas tree in proportion, but he had to admit it was nice to sketch one in front of the Minor League baseball stadium in Tennessee.

Hard for him to believe it had been just four and a half hours earlier he had finished his 10K race with his brother Alan.

Scott had completed the full marathon and was likely still finishing up his deep tissue massage in The Peabody’s Spa.

The artist himself had taken a nice long hot shower and was now in his robe and boxers, drawing.

Gordon and John and finished the half marathon about two hours ago, and were doing their own recovering.

Virgil chortled at the last part: Gordon had bet John about whether or not he could complete the half marathon - and lost.

The look on Gordon’s face losing still made him smile, especially with John finishing it with an injured ankle falling into a pothole…

“Speaking of which,” he muttered, and got the mediscan out. John was napping in his room in the suite.

The astronaut said his ankle wasn’t bothering him anymore, but if there was one thing Virgil learned from his brothers, it was adrenaline was going to come into play. He was already going to feel the pains from lactic acid walking 13.1 miles, but if his ankle was hurt worse…

Virgil shook his head at the image of John grumbling as he was being carried, and quietly walked into the room.

John was still resting on top of the bed, pretty much dead to the world as he slept from the long walk. The medic was proud of his middle brother, especially all the training he’d done to win the bet.

But at the same time, he winced at the fact John was still in his astronaut themed sweats, which could be a sign his ankle hurt.

Virgil then gently turned on the scanner, letting the blue light scan over the younger man’s right ankle.

“Virg… you’ve got to stop doing that,” muttered a voice.

The older man looked up and saw that John was wide awake, glaring at him. “That’s the fourth time you’ve scanned my ankle since the race was over,” the ginger headed man said, annoyed.

“I just want to be sure there’s nothing torn in your ankle,” said Virgil, who finished the scan and looked at it. “It was a pretty hard fall you took.”

John sighed and stood up. “Yes, I know, but I feel better,” he said, gently leading his brother out.

Virgil frowned. “You’re limping,” he pointed out, unconsciously starting to do a sing-song voice.

“And I said I’m fine,” responded John as he pushed the man out, complete with a swift, and hard kick in the backside with his injured ankle.

Virgil turned around shocked by the fact his normally quiet, calm brother just put his size 12 grey and silver running shoes to a different use.

“See, perfectly fine,” said John cheekily as he walked a bit like a penguin across the room. “Look, I’m going to go look around the hotel lobby. EOS wanted me to show her the gingerbread village. You can come if you’d like, just don’t bring the scanner. Don’t want to send you home the hard way...”

Virgil waved the man off saying he’d join them later.

He watched as John left, and when the door closed, rubbed his backside…. “I’ll show the Astronaut the way home to Five the hard way,” he muttered.

A lighter snort filtered through his ears, making the man groan. “Gordon… if you say one word…”

The aquanaut choked back a laugh. “I won’t - it would be fun to see you try it, would keep me from having to pay up that bet,” said Gordon. He sobered up. “But John is OK, right? I’d hate he hurt himself worse over a wager.”

The medic looked at the scan and then smiled. “Yeah, he is. Just a twisted ankle, so I don’t need to do any more scans,” he said.

“Good thing - I think John is to the point he’d use the Vulcan Nerve Pinch to keep you from scanning his ankle,” said Gordon, smirking.

Virgil glared at the man. “No thank you… he’d probably succeed in knocking me out,” he said, walking back over to his sketch.

Gordon looked at what was being drawn, then smiled. “Looks nice. Going to keep working on your sketch?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“No reason. I’m going to go down to the lobby and chat with John,” said Gordon.

“You mean try to get him to let you welch out of your bet?” said Virgil with a smirk.

The aquanaut shrugged. “Maybe… but even then, I want to tell him how proud I am of him,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Yeah, see you in a little while. We’re still eating at Huey’s right?” said the older man as he started to sketch the skyline around the stadium. He loved the restaurant’s burgers and onion straws.

“Oh yes… don’t forget to dress up,” said Gordon, who then laughed.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but nodded and watched his brother head out. The door closed, leaving Virgil surrounded in the soothing pale Tiffany blue shaded walls and duck themed decorations.

He sketched for a while, finessing the details in his drawing, which now included his brothers. Each of them had worn unique outfits for their race… well except Scott, who preferred the event’s race tank and then fairly short running shorts. “At least he has the kind with the running bloomers,” Virgil thought with a chuckle.

The artist was so engrossed in his work he at first didn’t hear the knock at the door. When a louder one finally drew his attention, Virgil put aside his drawing and then opened the door.

Outside was a Peabody bellhop with a package. “Mr. Virgil Tracy,” he asked kindly, and Virgil nodded before he was handed the bundle. “You have been selected to be an honorary Duckmaster this evening. You need to wear this and come down about a quarter before 6 p.m.”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow, but then chortled. “OK, I’m honored. Thank you,” he said, and after giving the bellhop a generous tip, he brought the box to his room.

He then laughed. “Honorary Duckmaster? I don’t believe it,” repeated the artist as he looked at the card. Sure enough, someone had bought him the honor, something he admitted he wanted to do when he was younger.

Earlier on the trip in Memphis, the brothers had gone to the top floor to look at the Duck Hotel, as well as view the skyline. Virgil alone had several photos of the city as well as the hotel he was going to use for future artworks.

Duckmaster was something different however. had always pictured himself in the sharp red jacket, complete with epaulets, cords and black trousers, leading the ducks around with his Duckmaster cane and taking them up and down the elevator every single day.

Probably explained why he wished Gordon would refer to Thunderbird Two as a duck and not a frog.

Today, he thought as he opened up the package, he was going to get to wear that outfit, and…

His mouth dropped open when he saw what was inside.

“GORDON!”

8888888

Well, it was either do this or go down in his boxers and robe. Gordon had taken every piece of clothing he could from Virgil’s suitcases, but at least let him have the pair of underwear he brought into the bathroom.

He admitted he considered the alternative, but really, Virgil wasn’t going to do that.

Grandma Tracy loved coming to the historic hotel and eating their Banana Oreo Cheesecake, and he enjoyed his cup of coffee sweetened with just a bit of Tennessee honey he only found there.

It was a pair of treats for both and he wasn’t going to risk them getting banned due to a prank.

So, “swallow my pride, step out of the elevator and meet up with the Duckmaster” became his mantra as he entered the main lobby.

The Duckmaster, a kind man with dark hair and brown eyes, looked at Virgil a bit in surprise, then mellowed into a smile. “I see you’re very much the duck enthusiast,” he said kindly, but with a soft chuckle at the sight.

Virgil snorted, which made some of the ducks on his Hawaiian shirt shimmer as the metallic threads hit the light. “Oh yes, my brother knew I had dreamed of being a Duckmaster… I just didn’t expect my outfit to be a kilt and Hawaiian shirt,” he said. “Especially with the ducks having their own shimmering shirts…”

“The slippers are a nice touch,” said the older man with a twinkle in his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it to the slightly embarrassed man, but in his 20 years as the Duckmaster, he had seen a few unusual outfits.

Virgil’s duck overloaded outfit surprisingly was a bit tame to several. If anything the top, if longer sleeved, would fit in the Lansky Bros. Store, one of the hotel’s shops.

“I’m trying to figure out how Gordon managed to find character bedroom slippers in my size,” said Virgil as he took a step, watching the fabric mallard heads bob up and down.

“Not here… though I bet the gift store would like to know,” quipped the Duckmaster, who then smiled. “You look great though, and we’ll make the ceremony even more fun. So ready?”

Virgil saw the sincerity in the man’s eyes, and smiled. “Yes, ready,” he said, as they walked to the fountain. Nearby, Virgil caught the tri-colored blue, yellow and orange shirt that belonged to their favorite human fish - Gordon. Predictably, the aquanaut was already laughing, though Virgil admitted he couldn’t tell if it was from the sight or the Long Island Tea the aquanaut was drinking.

“Seriously… he knows better than to drink even a beer after a half marathon,” Virgil muttered, but seeing the man had also purchased what appeared to be a sandwich from the Peabody Deli, sighed in some relief Gordon was being a bit more cautious.

Next to him was John, who had snuck back to change out of the sweatpants but still wore the NASA patch shirt. The astronaut had a shy smile, enjoying the prank Gordon set up but still sympathetic. He did however roll his right ankle to show yes, it was doing well.

Looking up, Scott and Alan were found in the gallery above, having an excellent view of the scene. Alan was cackling at the sight, and while Scott cuffed his younger brother gently over the head, his eyes sparkled in merriment.

He had to admit, the silly outfit was worth wearing for his brothers’ reactions.

“Yeah, I’m ready… let’s show them how Duckmasters do this,” said Virgil with a chuckle.

The elder man clapped a hand on his shoulder with his own laugh, and started the presentation.

Weird outfit and all however - especially the shimmery top, being an honorary Duckmaster was worth every cent for Virgil as it was for Gordon to prank him.

8888888

About a half an hour later, Virgil sat in the lobby with his brothers, enjoying a cup of hot Earl Grey tea before he dug into his Equinox dessert. He relished the taste of hazelnuts, chocolate cake, and ganache.

He first looked at the Duckmaster cane and special rubber duck he received as part of the package, then looked at Gordon.

“Why a duck kilt Gordo?” he said. Of the three items, he was most embarrassed about the kilt. The shirt at least got him a phone number of one girl who found it hot on him, and the slippers were actually quite comfortable. He just wished they didn’t have the knitted cuffs at the ankles.

The aquanaut shrugged as he took a bite of his chocolate Peabody Duck. “You needed to match: I have a squid kilt, Alan a rocket kilt…”

“But Gordon, Scott and I don’t have one,” said John, who hiccupped slightly. “You know better than to not get me one…”

Scott rolled his eyes. “And you know better than to have more than one Old Dominick,” said the eldest, gesturing at the glass of bourbon. He was enjoying a cup of coffee and a chocolate dome, having to refrain from alcohol. It was nice of John to make Gordon pay for a plated dessert for all of them as part of the bet forfeit, but he still had to fly them home tomorrow.

“I only had two,” said John, who hiccupped again. “Though yes, maybe one would’ve been enough.”

Virgil chuckled. “Thankfully, we’re going to still go to Huey’s, so you can get a burger and soak it up,” he said gently. John nodded, admittedly confused they’d eat dessert first, but thankful they were wise enough to still eat something more substantial.

Gordon laughed. “Rate he’s going he’ll forget the ice cream tomorrow,” he said. “I can welch a bit…”

Scott shook his head. “No Gordo… you promised, and I’ll make sure of it,” he said.

“Even if he eats it on the airplane?”

“Oh no, that isn’t happening…” said Scott, who seeing Gordon nearly cheer in victory continued. “Not until all five of us eat a cone. I want to try that Equinox ice cream.”

“That's what I’m getting,” said John with a slightly brighter laugh, which the others joined in.

Scott, seeing the slight shimmer in John’s eyes, smiled. Poor guy was OK but he didn’t want to risk the twisted ankle become a sprain walking the one block over.

“I do think right now we go back to the suite and rest. Huey’s should be a bit less busy in an hour,” the eldest said. “And I for one want to eat their famous onion straws.”

The others nodded, and after paying their tab, went to the elevators.

Alan, Gordon and John took the first elevator, while Virgil and Scott took the next one.

The eldest looked at Virgil. “You do realize - phone number or not - you look ridiculous,” he said, chuckling. “Gordon got you good.”

Virgil gave a half smile and nodded. “Yeah, he did. But you know they say revenge is a dish best served cold right?”

Scott nodded, and frowned. “Virgil, you know he’s not embarrassed to wear anything weird,” he said, then tilted his head. “Or about not wearing anything at all…”

The second eldest smiled. “No, I won’t do that to him. I love Grandma too much to get us banned from The Peabody. Plus I like that honey in my coffee here,” he said. “I’ve got something better. An invasion.”

The eldest quirked an eyebrow, but then seeing Virgil pull out one of the two items he received as Duckmaster, smiled. “Oh no… you didn’t…”

“Oh yeah, tomorrow he’s about to go ‘quackers’,” said Virgil, who laughed when he saw his older brother do a facepalm at the bad joke.

“I’m going to need earplugs…” was all scott muttered.

8888888

That next morning, the sound of quacks filled the suite the Tracy’s were using..

Well, quacks made more of squeakers.

Gordon woke up to find his bed was nearly covered in rubber ducks, all from The Peabody.

They were also on the floor, bathtub, and toilet.

There was even a silver dollar sized duck someone managed to sneak into his reusable water bottle.

Some had shimmery tops on their body.

One was the Duckmaster duck - staring right at him when he awoke.

“Well played Virg,” said Gordon, with a smile.

He conceded defeat this time.

Now, there were only two things Gordon could do:

First, donate all but one or two of the ducks to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, now working to end even more diseases as they had most childhood cancers.

Second, find a way to pay back Virgil for the prank.

8888888

Reference of the Duckmaster ceremony (by me a few years ago). This is an honorary Duckmaster ceremony, and any age can do this:

[njcklenjart]

SoulmateAU. When meet your soulmate, you get a tattoo animal that represents them. It slowly grows the more you love one another and can move anywhere on your skin (if your SO dies, then it stops moving forever).

“Newt, the grindylows are—”

Newt jumps at the voice. He hits hit head against a hanging basket, causing a ripple among his nets instruments, and he barely catches one or two before they fall.

At the door of his shed, Bunty grimaces. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She looks like she’ll say more, but trails off. She grips the pail of Mooncalf feed tightly. “Oh.”

Newt rubs the back of his neck at the state of his shirt, or lack of. “I didn’t know you were still here.” A beat. “The jarvey had away with my shirt, you see.”

In truth, the vulgar-spewing creature had shredded his clothing in a tantrum over the lack of treats and, after gently reprimanding it and facing even more curses, Newt had gone to grab a change of clothes. He always kept spares down here for a situation like this.

Bunty motions to her chest, almost timid. “I didn’t know you had a mark…”

Newt flushes. It’s not common practice to strip and display one’s marks and he’d tried to keep it a secret to the general populous else face unnecessary inquiry, but hiding it now seems silly. The thunderbird has gotten too big to explore the skin past his elbow without having to keep its wings pressed close and wriggle its way to his fingers, stranding it to his torso. Newt finds that it doesn’t mind much, preferring the open landscape of his back.

He’d once wallowed in the lack of one, hoped and wished it would appear in his school years. He remembers staying at school for holidays, hoping that maybe Leta would take him aside one of those winter days and tell him of whatever shape his heart had taken shape on her skin. He remembers the grief of Theseus showing him the petulant raven relaxing on his forearm (already growing in size after the first date), how he’d barely been able to offer his congratulations. He’d locked himself in his basement and drank himself in a stupor that night.

Thunderbirds are more fitting for him than ravens, Newt thinks.

Following the direction of his thoughts, the thunderbird spreads its wings in pride, reveling in the attention in a way Newt never could. It stubbornly flies up his chest when he tries to hide it from view, twisting and turning to draw more attention to the defined lines that make up its feathers, especially those adorning its wings and tail. It curls around his heart as if to remind him that he shouldn’t be ashamed of whoever might see it, that it shows that he’s loved.

He’s come to covett the rambunctious mark, wanting to keep it all to himself. Journalists and the like are as persistent as pixies, asking intimate questions and demanding facts about his personal life without a hint of shame, determined to a ridiculous degree to find out the latest scoop even if it broke social etiquette. Newt’s only lucky the thunderbird hasn’t risked a peak from his collar.

He wonders if the kelpie painted on Tina’s skin behaves this way as well.

“Something wrong with the grindylows? Has Herbert escaped into the kraken tank?”

“You should have a Healer look at those burns,” Bunty says instead and for once Newt prefers the ogling of his scars.

“It’s fine. Just another memory.” Besides, the thunderbird seems to like them, delighted at the rough terrain. “The grindylows? Bunty?”

“Oh, yes, um, Herbert’s led a small escapade and now they’re stuck in the cave at the far end.”

Newt turns and fumbles with his drawer, trying to find a suitable shirt and cover up the love that inks his skin. The thunderbird circles his hip to settle over his spine despite his wishes, widening its wingspan to embrace his sides in a sort of hug. Newt huffs, fond of the creature, but hasn’t the time explain that he needs to be clothed. Nonetheless, he foregoes fastening the top buttons of his shirt.

“It’s so… big.” Bunty’s still standing in the doorway when he glances her way.

Newt flushes, glad, and his chest feels light like he might just fly of into the horizon; he’s never doubted Tina’s feelings for him after Paris, nor had she him, but it’s heartening to physically see the growing affection. While he never bothered to take part in personal discussions with his assistant before, only every focused on his creatures, Bunty’s comment puts him in an especially good moon. That’s why he finds himself asking, “Have you, um, found your match yet?”

“No. There was one man… I thought… that he might be the one,” she says. “But I don’t think so anymore.”

“You’ll find someone, I’m sure,” he says offhandedly, rolling up his sleeves. “They might be right under your nose.” His words are supposed to be a reassuring, but it seemingly backfires when he spots the tears dripping down her cheeks. Newt steps closer, concerned. “Something wrong?”

He’s waved off. Bunty wipes at her eyes hurriedly, her voice shaking. “No, no, I just realized that it’s about time for me to head out.”

Normally, he has to remind her to leave, and her lack of persistence and reasonable excuses catches Newt off guard. He can understand her passion for creatures, but to get overly emotional over leaving for the night when she’ll be here in the morning seems odd. “Don’t worry about the grindylows. I’m sure Tina will back in time to help me,” he says instead of inquiring further. Best leave people to their own devices. “And have you visited the kelpie?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Good. I don’t want you getting hurt if I can’t help it.” Physical contact with most people usually doesn’t sit well with him, but Bunty’s been a reliable assistant, certainly a witch capable of handling herself with the creatures he cares for, and Tina’s been insistent that it’s good for him, pressing against his boundaries. Newt delicately places his hands on Bunty’s upper arms and tucks his chin to look at her properly. “You go home and rest, Bunty. You look tired.”

She doesn’t react immediately, refusing to meet his eye and staring at his chest instead, but then nods almost mournfully. Wetness gathers in her eyes and her mouth wobbles a little, but she takes a deep breath and steadies herself.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” A tickling sensation tells Newt that the thunderbird has curled around his neck, watching the scene with interest. “I can set some tea before you go and—”

“I-I’m fine. Just need some time to myself, I think.” Bunty’s voice cracks like she’s barely holding it together. She meets his eyes then, even gives him waning smile that dissolves as quickly as it appears. She hands him the bucket with trembling hands and steps away. “Goodnight, Newt.”

Newt doesn’t understand why she runs out of the room.

[paradoxicalca]

(OC) Tom Wilson-Proofing the Penguins (An Alternate Reality)

(Previous parts of this series include: Dundon DIYs the Hurricanes, Re-Chiarelling the Oilers, Moneyballing the Sens, Covertly Tanking the Wild, and Frenchifying the Canadiens.)Part IIt's May 1st 2019, and the Pittsburgh Penguins have been eliminated from the Stanley Cup Playoffs in four games by the New York Islanders. The Penguins front office - GM Jim Rutherford and his two assistants Bill Guerin and Jason Karmanos - is meeting to discuss where things went wrong and set a course forward."I think it's pretty clear why we lost" Karmanos says. "We couldn't move the puck up the ice, we got beat on the forecheck, and our speed just isn't what it was two seasons ago. I think our strategy on July 1st should be finding guys who can play the game with pace and really pressure the puck." Guerin nods."And don't forget about Tom Wilson," General Manager Jim Rutherford points out. "That's the elephant in the room"There's a pause, and Guerin and Karmanos exchange bewildered looks before turning back to their 70-year old boss."What do you mean Jim? We didn't even play them this year, and they just got eliminated anyway.""I found a pretty neat page on the computer last night," Rutherford says out of nowhere. "Hold on, I'll load it up."Guerin and Karmanos wait patiently as their boss pokes at his keyboard, licking his thumb every so often and occasionally pausing to operate the mouse with two hands. Finally he has successfully inputted the URL, and calls his assistants to look at the screen.The site loads at an excruciatingly slow pace as Internet Explorer struggles under the weight of the 14 toolbars Rutherford has added to it. "Jim" Guerin says exasperatedly "You really need to get Chrome"Rutherford looks over at his PC and frowns. "I don't know, I'm fine with black. Ah, it's loaded!"The site is HockeyFights.com, a registry documenting every fight at the NHL, AHL, and junior level."I can see every fight that Tom Wilson has ever had. Look! There's the one where he beat up Oleksiak right before I traded him.""Jim, shouldn't we be focusing on free agency right now?"Rutherford stares daggers at his assistant. "I am focusing on free agency right now."Part IIIt's May 15th. The Penguins front office has taken a few weeks off to reset and recharge in preparation for what will likely be a tumultuous summer. Big changes will be necessary, and there is a sense that a core player might be moved to shake things up following the humiliating playoff defeat. When Guerin and Karmanos arrive at PPG Paints arena, they notice that Rutherford's 1972 Ford Thunderbird is already there, and is utterly filthy - almost as though it never left the parking lot. If this is odd, it's nothing compared to the sight that greets them when they enter the Penguins' war room.The place is a pigsty. The floor is blanketed with scraps of paper, empty cans of beans, scattered Werthers Original wrappers, and cigarette butts. Affixed to all four walls by staples and hockey tape are newspaper articles, photographs, and Pittsburgh Penguins letterhead covered in scrawled all-caps words. And in the middle, in a stained undershirt and track pants, muttering wildly and running back and forth with the rabid energy of a much younger man, is Jim Rutherford."Good god Jim, what the hell happened here?"Rutherford turns towards them suddenly like a deer who's heard a twig crack ten feet behind it. His eyes are bloodshot and his face, now framed by an impossibly long white beard, clearly hasn't seen sunlight in weeks. He speaks, his voice an atrophied, almost disembodied croak."Bill, Jason, I cracked it. I-I figured it out. it was Tom. It was Tom this whole time! It was right there in front of us. Everything was always about Tom."He gazes almost lovingly at a printed out picture of Tom Wilson's face on the wall. Then, without warning, he charges at it and rips it into pieces.His face lights up with a manic smile and lets out a wheezing laugh. "Don't you see? Don't you get it?! As the Earth revolves around the sun, this league, this league REVOLVES around Tom Wilson. Everything is clear to me now, it's all been connected this whole time. We are nothing NOTHING but pale reflections of his demonic light. He is both the source and conduit of unfathomable power and will be almost impossible to defeat""For Christ's sake Jim we won back to back Cups! Get yourself together!""We won those Cups because he let us, Bill, he let us! But we've made him angry, very very angry, so we have no choice."He falls to his knees, his eyes roll back in his head, and he bellows out in one breath:"SESTITO FOLIGNO MARTIN GAZDIC JOHNSTON RITCHIE FISHER SIMMONDS BOLLIG MCQUAID CLIFFORD REAVES GUDBRANSON PROUT BOLL PRUST SCHENN! These are our new gods, the only men who have warred with the sun and emerged victorious. They shall protect Sidney and Evgeni, our delicate golden angels, from this planetary force of destiny. It is written, and so it shall be."He darts towards the phone and makes a call. "Lou! The ones they call Matt Martin and Ross Johnston, bring them to me. Take Guentzel. You agree? You fool! He is weak and cowardly!" He hangs up and makes another. "George! Reaves, now! I'll give you a 1st! And Simon too? Why not, he could never fight Tom anyway. Deal!" Then he starts calling other teams, dumping players seemingly at random to make room for lavish contracts to the lucky free agents who had, according to the userbase of HockeyFights.com, defeated Tom Wilson in a fight.Guerin and Karmanos can only look on in shock, paralyzed by the chaotic sight in front of them. By the time either of them can find their voice, the team they have so carefully assembled over the course of five years has been completely shredded in the name of irritating a player who they will probably face about 5 times that season. The only silver lining they can think of is that Paul Fenton agreed to trade Marcus Foligno for Jack Johnson for some reason.Both men feel no choice but to resign and get the hell out. Their good names can't be anywhere near this hideous monument of paranoia, this homing missile of goons and scrubs. Rutherford, sitting in a pile of garbage, is alone in his world, and realizes that these men probably worked for Wilson this whole time. It all finally clicks together, the final puzzle piece revealing the face of deception. Rutherford is an oracle, and an oracle must walk alone.EpilogueBy the time the season rolls around, more than a few aspersions have been cast on Rutherford's sanity. The opening night roster is as follows:Marcus Foligno - Sidney Crosby - Matt Martin Brett Ritchie - Evgeni Malkin - Wayne Simmonds Ross Johnston - Kyle Clifford - Ryan Reaves Luke Gazdic - Brandon Prust - Tom Sestito Dalton Prout - Kris Letang Luke Schenn - Erik Gudbranson Brandon Bollig - Adam McQuaid Matt Murray Jared Boll Analysts predict using WAR models that the team will attain only 48 points and finish last. Others point out the futility of trying to apply any kind of rational analysis to this lineup.Which makes it all the more surprising when they began to win.Freed of their penetrating fear of Tom Wilson, Crosby and Malkin deliver career seasons, finishing 20 points ahead of the field. Wilson himself becomes a nervous wreck, losing considerable amounts of sleep and faking injuries to avoid playing Pittsburgh. The Penguins cruise to a Stanley Cup, defeating the Capitals along the way in an embarrassing 4-game sweep. Wilson's unsuccessful attempt, legs and arms shaking from anxiety, to fight Foligno in the deciding game brought a tear to Rutherford's eye as he saw his mortal foe fall before his army of light and good.Rutherford said it best in his Hall of Fame speech, delivered in November while the Penguins were in the middle of a 13 game winning streak:"Most of all, I would like to thank Tom Wilson, for without hell there is no heaven. Without dark, there is no light. We mere men can ascend to the status of God only when tormented by the devil. Each day I breathe, I shall strike at thee, Tom Wilson. And if my blade should one day connect I will die truly at piece."This struck some people as a bit weird but it wasn't any more off-putting than most of what Bobby Hull had said at the pre-ceremony reception so they let it slide.~~~~~~~~(Next time, something a bit more straightforward and less... conceptual. Don Cherry finally gets some control of the Toronto Maple Leafs) (OC) Tom Wilson-Proofing the Penguins (An Alternate Reality) Source

[starman-john-tracy]

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Two

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.

[Chapter One] [Chapter Three]

Star nods at him, bringing up her own scanner, just to prove it’s there. The readings are well and truly in the green. She sighs.

“Well then, we’d better get a move on.”

She’s not even embarrassed about the fact she clings to him on the way over anymore, thin fingers hooked into the gaps between his sash and his body. It’s quiet out there, just the sound of her breathing and John’s own, transmitting through the speaker by her ear with a slight crackle of interference.

The other ship is big, bigger than Thunderbird Five, looming out of the darkness like the titanic through fog, destined to sink. Star tries peering around, looking to see if the explosion is evident from the outside, but to her it just looks… abandoned. But John knows where he’s going, John leads the way.

As they arrive John gently peels her fingers from his sash and takes them in his own, leading her by the hand around the hull. A dark maw of broken, twisted metal, with jagged teeth and a black insides, greets them - evidently where the ship has been blown open by the explosion. Debris floats in a solemn cloud around the opening, bits and pieces of anything that wasn’t strapped down have been sucked out into space, along with ripped, mangled pieces of the ship’s hull. A big shard of metal bumps against John’s hip and he twists to kick it away from them before it can do any damage. The radiation scanner bleeps at his wrist. Dark green, rising.

There’s no sign of any occupants.

“Broadcasting all frequencies, this is International Rescue.” There’s a beat of a pause as John anticipates a response. There is none. “This facility appears to be leaking dangerous nuclear radiation, the two people onboard are strongly advised to abandon ship while we seal up the leak.”

The creak of the metal hull is the only kind of response he gets. It reminds him, eerily, of the Eden. The ghost ship. The fine hairs at the back of his neck prickle. He squeezes Star’s hand, just a little, though it’s not clear if he realises he’s doing it.

“This is International Rescue.” He tries again, “Are you receiving us?”

Still nothing. Odd. His shoulders roll through a shrug, and he turns a smile toward Star to reassure her, very aware that she’s far out of her comfort zone. He’s yet to let go of her hand for this reason.

“Perhaps their radio’s are damaged.” He suggests, optimistically, unaware that the occupants are far too busy to be checking something as trivial as the radio. “Let’s head inside and see if we can do something about all this leaking radiation, ok?”

‘If I end up getting haunted by some space ghost going in here, I’m going to be very upset,’ Star tells him, hand still squeezing his bony fingers. Every now and again they squeeze back, wrangling her nerves into something resembling okay. The hulking great mass of metal and charred edges looks dangerous, the very fact it was used as something other than a war machine seemed impossible. Damaged radio. Yeah, like hell, whoever is over there knows there’ll be consequences once they’re found.

Star’s gloved hand comes away black when she hooks her fingers around the wounded metal to drag herself inside. It’s somehow colder than being out in the dark expanse of nothingness outside, and Star tells herself that’s why she shivers, that it’s not the feeling of being watched. John is going to owe her at least three screenings of dumb war movies when we’re done here, she thinks, and he’s not allowed to complain about my country music on the speakers any more.

Regardless of John’s hand her own, Star almost turns tail and runs at what they find inside.... She’d have taken him with her. There’s been an explosion, yes, but there was no way to even pretend that it had been an accident now that she’s seeing it with her own two eyes. The actual fuel compartment is relatively empty, a sodding great hole blasted through the reinforced steel, but the storage vault that must have held back up canisters is hanging ominously open, a localised blast in the centre of the locking mechanism, canisters of radioactive poison spread far and wide. It looks like someone had been rummaging through the stock, and it looks like more than a handful are leaking.

“I’m starting to think the crowbar might have been a good idea,” Star murmurs, looking to John for what to do next, because she has no idea how to even begin to fix this.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.” John murmurs, offhand, distracted. His eyes comb over damaged machinery and twisted metal - searching amongst the drifting detritus for signs of life or the source of the radiation, as he glides in alongside her. “And if there were,” He adds, “no ghost caused this.” There’s a shake of his head as he checks the instruments at his wrist, “No heat signatures on short range either. They must be further in.”

It’d be nice to have gravity, but like most of the stations systems, the artificial reproduction of it seems to be offline. There're no lights or door sensors or, as John gathers from his scans, there's no breathable air being pumped around the space station.

“You alright?” He looks across to Star to check, releasing her hand from the safety of his grip so that he can comb his fingers over the panelling, caught up in the crudity of the historical 2040s design. There’s a partially open door out to their left, leading deeper into the Xz197.

Star nods absently at his question, not taking her eyes off the ruined lock. She knows a break in when she sees one. Looking up at her, John finds himself following her eyeline with interest.

The broken-into cabin off to the opposite side of the door is clearly some kind of old storage vault, with a few rows of refueling canisters still there, all sinisterly labelled with big, black radiation symbols.

“Right, you stay here and keep an eye out for anyone for me,” John says, already ducking under the open bulkhead for a closer look inside. The little gauge at his wrist ticks up a level, moving to a pale greenish orange. “The metal around the breach was all twisted inwards, like it was pushed from the outside in,” Even as he gets further away, his voice remains clear over the radio, as if he were still floating right next to her, “I think someone caused the explosion specifically to get in here,” He’s evidently caught onto what she’s thinking, “People who are allowed aboard these things usually use an access hatch, which means these guys are either thieves or very, very lost.” That could almost be a joke from John Tracy, though it’s delivered so deadpan it’s hard to tell. “I’m just gonna seal up these tanks as best I can. I’ve got plenty of solder, it won’t take me long. Hang tight Star.”

The radiation bumps up to a light orange, warning. John sets to work, head down, tracing cracks in thick, old metal containers. Green smudges on the blue of his fingers, and he tracks where the solder needs to go. It’s lucky his spacesuit is made of some pretty strong stuff.

Suddenly, Star hears what could only be the scrape of moving metal somewhere aboard the station, reverberating into their conjoined rooms. Somewhere, someone has moved something heavy, and it wasn’t John, who's still diligently working away. The slightly open doorway to her left is a strong candidate for where the sound came from.

“John,” Star says in a low, even voice, not needing to shout for the radio to pick up her words. The sound has come from the door across the room, left ajar by someone; perhaps in a hasty retreat, or absently, carrying stolen radioactive material, unaware they’d just been walked in on. “I can hear someone moving around out here.’

She drifts to the broken door John is behind and peers in the gap. She can see him working away, see the radiation scanner flickering orange while her own stays a nearly-safe green. The grating shriek rattles the ship's skeleton again, and when Star’s head snaps around to look, she has no doubt it has come from behind the other door.

“Finish what you’re doing,” Star tells John, reaching for a length of ruined pipe that’s almost as thick and long as her arm, plucking it out of the air. “I’m going to see who this is, don’t stay in there any longer than you have to, alright?”

Hooking her fingers into the seams of the wall, Star starts dragging herself to investigate the sound.

"You can what?" He sounds worried about the fact she’s heard something he hasn’t, "I… Alright," He agrees reluctantly. It makes sense for her to check it out while he himself continues working. The radiation leak is the priority. John's already got a long strip of solder out and has flipped down the sun visor on his helmet so that he can start welding up the splits in the metal, with the intention of making the canisters safe to move out for proper disposal. "The mess out there looks like it was a pretty big explosion. There could be someone injured who needs our help."

Because of course he's worried about who they might need to rescue, instead of thinking that anyone could possibly want to harm a couple of miscellaneous astronauts, who are most definitely barging in on their plans. It’s probably lucky that John hasn’t spotted the length of pipe Star’s grabbed. A well-placed, or misplaced, blow from that thing to a spacesuit, helmet or oxygen tank could not just incapacitate but kill the wearer.

And IR happens to be very against killing the people they’re here to save, even if they are up to no good.

“Be careful.” John does take a second to warn her, not completely complacent, as she’s ducking through the door - though he doesn’t look up from his task as he says it, the first thin silver line of solder stopping up the leak. “Be quick and quiet and let me know what you find. I’ll keep the radio channel open.” He’d never leave her completely alone out here, after all. She can hear the reassuring, soft in and out of his breathing in her ear as a silence falls between them.

The corridor is long and dark, tubes and wires lining its walls and plenty of hook rungs over head to hold onto while the station is without gravity. It’s quite different from the spaces of Five, but the weightless, floating feeling does remain the same wherever out here.

Bulkheads open and close creakily at her touch and there’s a whole number of little rooms off the main corridor. A dark little lab, a room of cramped, ugly bunk beds, a galley with a small kitchenette. This station must have been a grand thing in its heyday. Grand, but with a sinister purpose. Instead of the scientific curiosity and wonder that should have come with humanity breaching the edge of space and actually living there, the Xz197 and a small number crafts like it, were built instead for lording over the lesser people far, far below. Designed to carry a payload of deadly chemicals and waiting for an excuse to use them. The war itself was apparently excuse enough.

Just what kind of people had lived up here? Could people willing to deploy such weapons even really be called people at all?

The savagery of the wars of the 2040s had, at the time, been a sticking point for moon-locked Astronaut Jeff Tracy, for sure. It’s easy to imagine John’s father young and fierce and furious with the whole madness and pointless cruelty of it. The era of peace and the formation of the United Nations and the GDF and later the Thunderbirds that had followed all seem, in the light of it, almost like a rebellion against the savage ideas of their forefathers.

There’s not a single weapon aboard any of the Thunderbirds, despite that being exactly what some people who want to get their hands on them would use them for. The image of Two decked out with machine guns would be utterly horrifying to all of them.

At the end of the corridor, the space opens out into a shuttle bay and… There! There’s a slim, shadowed figure with a black spacesuit and a dark, silver striped helmet that cleverly obscures his face. He’s busy loading small black canisters into crates, evidently to be put aboard a smaller, much newer ship that’s docked here. He doesn’t seem to notice Star’s silent, floating presence behind him.

Suddenly, there’s a cut off: “What the…?” and a sharp, startled gasp of John’s breathing, loud enough over Star’s speakers to be heard outside of her helmet. It means this section of the ship must have an oxygen supply, but it also means she has bigger problems.

It’s not that Star's brain doesn’t predict the consequences of her actions, it’s just that she doesn’t care. John gasps, and Star forgoes any thought of her own danger, head snappy around to look back in his direction, calling out his name.

“John?”

Of course, if the masked man had, by some miracle, not heard John, he’d definitely heard her.

“Oi! You!” The man’s head has snapped up, and he’s staring right at her, “What d’you think you’re doin’ on ‘ere!” The canisters get discarded and the man -whoever he is- lunges at the intruder. John hasn’t immediately responded, sending a sick spike of worry through her chest that leaves no patience or concern for the man coming for her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she tells him, bracing herself feet under the lip of a peeling sheet of flooring. He keeps advancing on her. She tries the John Tracy method of de-escalation again. “Who are you?”

Old Mirror-Helmet doesn’t offer up an answer. He’s reaching for a weapon at his hip, and Star doesn’t know enough about space-pirates to tell if it's an earth gun the idiot is hoping will fire, or something that will actually do some damage. ‘Okay, fine,’ Star tells him. With her feet braced against the floor, Star manages to swing her length of pipe with enough momentum to land the blow with a sickening crunch against the man's outstretched arm.

Judging by the way he shrieks, Star assumes he wishes he’d listened to her. The man's suit doesn’t seem damaged, the weapon floating outside of arms reached, released by damaged fingers, and Star works quickly. She’s got John's space-repair version of cable ties in the pocket of her sash and uses them to tie the still shocked man to a pipe against the wall. She snarled at the man. “What have you done?”

John still hasn’t responded. “John? John, answer me! Are you okay?”

"What the hell?!? I'm jus' doin' my job!" The man she's zip-tied, howling, to a radioactive space station protests at her. "What have you done?" She can hear the scowl in his voice. "I think you've broke me bloody arm! Boss said there wasn't goin’ t'be anyone aboard, said this old wreck was abandoned, nngh, years ago." He twists in place, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his definitely-broken arm. "Are yew pirates?" He demands, "And who the hell is John?" He adds; an afterthought ground out through audibly gritted teeth. He swears again explosively, evidently preoccupied with the pain. "The boss'll get you for this."

“I’m going to go ahead and advise that you get a new job,” Star snarls, tightening the cord around his wrist until there isn’t a breath of wriggle room. “If you behave I might even send someone up here to collect you, before your oxygen runs out.”

In her defence, the knock she gives the man to the head is only enough to knock him out. No permanent damage, she doesn’t think…

There's nothing but crackling feedback inside Star's helmet. John doesn't respond to her calling his name, but she can still hear him breathing, short and sharp. There’s a step of what could be feet kicking a solid surface and John groans, low, in her ear.

John still hasn’t said a word, but for the minute, Star can hear him breathing, hear him moving around, hear him moaning. Star can hear her own panting, slightly panicked breathing over it all, but before she can go pelting after him, her eyes catch the trolley of uranium canisters loaded into the shuttle. We’re International rescue, we’re here to help, echoes in the back of her mind, and Star curses John's contagious conscience.

‘Goddammit John,’ she growls, turning away from the direction to save him, hoping he can hold his own for a moment longer, and gets to work.

Back over in the canister storage room John is trying to work out just what had hit him. Or more accurately, who. A shadowy figure had dropped from a hatch above him with enough force to slam the unsuspecting Tracy down hard against the floor, his head ricocheting inside his helmet with concussive force and the half-sealed canister he was working on tumbling from his grip in the process. It rolls, weightless and leaking, in the air between them.

There's a heavy whirring somewhere as something deep within the bowels of the ship grinds online and the thick, heady weight of old, artificial gravity drags all the occupants down toward the floor. The oxygen reserves seem to have kicked in onboard as well, but they do little good where John is, with the huge whole in the hull leaking the precious O2 right out into space, with no door between him and the void.

Star’s sensors would pick it up though.

"Ah, finally." Says a horribly familiar voice, somewhere above John - who’s finding the sudden gravity less helpful for orienting himself than expected. "I was beginning to think that it would never finish warming up.” They comment and the toe of a dark boot jams under John’s helmet, rotating his head upward, forcing his neck over at an odd angle, “Well now, what do we have here?"

Ginger lashes flutter open only to be faced with a helmet-shadowed face that he sees in bad dreams more often than he’d like to admit. Only the man is not looming and holographic, but flesh-and-blood real: watching him intently, calculatingly with sharp yellow eyes.

The Hood takes in the orange sash and shocked face and grins.

[gumnut-logic]

Warnings: Virgil/Kayo

He was her idiot.

-o-o-o-

Her Idiot

He expected to find her in the gym.

But she wasn’t there.

A quick search of her room and most of the rest of the house proved she wasn’t there either.

He bit his lip. If Kayo didn’t want to be found, his chances weren’t good.

The hangars also failed to reveal his girlfriend and an hour later he started to worry.

“John?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil. Don’t ask, she has already scarred me for life last time I told Gordon where to find her when she was upset.”

“Gordon?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that explains the retaliation. What did she do?”

“I’m not going there. Trust me, you don’t want to either.”

“C’mon, John, I’m worried about her.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Please, John, you can put all the blame on me. I just need to make sure she is all right.”

“You’ll fix my shower?”

“Your shower?”

“My shower.”

“When did it break?”

“Hasn’t broken yet, but I’m sure it will if I point you in the direction of a beach on the north-west side of the island.”

“Thanks, John.”

“I am hiding behind you, big brother. Your girl is scary.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“Hmph.”

Virgil signed off and, grabbing a hat and sunnies, set out for the northern side of the island.

It was late afternoon, but the sun was still at burning strength, so it wasn’t long before he was uncomfortably hot in his long shirt. So he shed it and tied it around his waist, leaving a thin tank top his only protection against the sea breeze.

it was wonderfully cool on his bare skin.

He made good time, jogging part of the way, keeping an eye out for their missing security specialist.

It hadn’t been a good day.

A cascade of poor luck had seen Alan, Kayo and a young woman trapped in a house during an aftershock in Japan. The ground beneath the house had fallen into the river that had undercut the foundations. Kayo had had to make a choice between saving her brother or saving the civilian.

She had tried for both.

Lost the civilian.

And only just managed to catch Alan, who had consequently swung into an exposed beam and gashed his leg open, severing an artery in the process.

It has been bad.

Her yell for help had torn at him, but he had been responsible for six other civilians at the time and had been unable to respond immediately.

Gordon had made it first on the scene. By the time Virgil had been able to make it to her side, she had shut off from the world, her expression ice as she held her wrenched shoulder.

She hadn’t said a word to anyone on the way to the hospital. Virgil stood beside her as Scott questioned the incident.

He sat beside her as they waited for Alan to get out of surgery.

And stood behind her as his little brother woke up.

Now, three days later, finally at home, his little brother was safe in bed in his room, and she had vanished.

He walked past the little cliff and beach they had dubbed ‘their beach’ and continued further around the island. The trail became rocky from that point onwards and he had to clamber over several spots where a path wasn’t really possible.

He still couldn’t find her.

“John?”

“If she breaks my furniture, you’re buying me all new.”

“John.” This had gone beyond a joke.

“Climb down to the beach, there is a small sea cave.”

“There is?” He clambered over jagged basalt, cursing under his breath as it scratched his palms.

“Haven’t you explored the island, Virgil?”

“Uh, been busy. And I don’t have the advantage of Tracymaps.com satellite view.”

“Perhaps you should come visit more often.”

“Yeah, sure, John.”

His brother’s vague snort answered that one fairly clearly. They both knew separating Virgil from Two was not a good idea, for anyone.

He hurdled over a last chunk of rock and his feet hit sand. The little beach was bleached coral white with a scattering of weathered basalt. The high tide line was sketched out with shell and debris from the last major storm, and in the cliff lining the shore the debris disappeared into a darkness where the cooling basalt had left a natural cave that the sea had since chewed on.

Virgil whispered into his comm. “John, is that cliff face stable?”

“Of course. Do you think I’d let our sister under it if it wasn’t?”

“Okay, I get it. Sorry, reflex thought.” A pause. “Does she come here often?”

“Virgil, I keep many secrets. It is my job. I’m already lined up for crucifixion having told you where she was, I’m not going to be drawn and quartered for extra fun.”

“A little over dramatic, don’t you think?”

“She’s your girlfriend, you tell me.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Exactly. I have no protection, despite those twenty-two thousand kilometres. Just remember that this is on your head. Thunderbird Five out.”

A mumble under his breath, “FAB.” And Virgil approached the cave.

It was small but deep. A handful of rough and weather-worn stalactites hung from the entrance like teeth.

“Kay?” His voice was eaten by the darkness, but there was a slight change in the shadows as her face turned to look at him. As his eyes adjusted, and he belatedly remembered to take off his sunnies, her figure, seated on a rock protrusion towards the back of the cave, became clear. “Honey?”

“I’m going to kill John.” It was muttered under her breath and he doubted he was supposed to hear it, but cave and acoustics did it for him.

“You do realise you have him terrified.”

“Obviously not terrified enough.”

“You can blame me. Leave him out of it.” It was firm, but it needed to be said.

She unfolded like a cat, her slim body straightening in the darkness. Her shorts hung low on her hips, her crop top leaving her belly bare. She’d obviously come out here for a run, but it hadn’t been enough. She stalked towards him. “Blame you?”

Despite himself, a spike of concern shot through him. She was half his size, but he knew she could take him on sheer skill alone. Sure he could pin her with his mass, but he doubted she would give him the opportunity.

But then this was Kay, the woman he loved.

“Blame me.”

The little cave blocked the sun and chilled his skin. He shivered.

She walked right up to him and barged into his personal space, simply looking up at him. Then simply stepped around and walked past without saying a word.

He turned to follow her and the sun blinded him for a crucial moment. He grabbed for his sunnies, but in that split second she was gone.

Damnit.

“Kay?” He stepped out onto the empty beach. “Kay!” How the hell had she done that? “For Christ’s sake, Kay, I’m worried about you!”

“You should be more worried about Alan.” Her voice was smooth as honey, from above and behind. He left a gouge in the sand as he spun, looking up to find her crouched on the cliff above the cave.

“Alan is fine.”

“Lucky boy.” She stood up, still cat-like and turning, began to climb further up the hill behind the beach.

“Kay, please!” He made for the rockfall that had allowed him onto the sand in the first place and threw himself up the climb. It appeared that his lot in life was to chase those he cared about. Scott knew how to throw a marathon when he didn’t want to talk. How the hell had he managed to end up dating his brother?

By dating his sister.

If his hands hadn’t been scrabbling over sharp basalt, it would have been a facepalm moment.

“It wasn’t your fault, Kay!”

“Yes, it was.” She was gaining distance, she was just too damn fast.

“No, it wasn’t.”

She stopped and turned towards him, anger in her eyes. “How was it not, Virgil? I let her die and I nearly got Alan killed.”

“It was shitty luck. Sometimes things just happen. You saved Alan. He is recovering.”

She stared at him, her lips thinning to almost non-existence.

And he saw it in her eyes. The fear, the horror and the anger, always the anger. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms, hold her tight and reassure her that it would be alright.

But it wasn’t alright. A woman had died.

Kay was out of reach.

And she turned away.

“Kay?”

“Leave me alone, Virgil.” She started climbing again.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.” And he started clambering over rocks again.

She stopped and turned angrily again. “Why not? If you think being in a romantic relationship gives you the right to harass me, Virgil Tracy, think again.”

He straightened. “No, I care, Kay. That’s all. If you think I’m going to leave you out here to beat yourself up, you’re sorely mistaken.” A pause. “And if you think this is simply because of our current relationship, you’re obviously amnesiac.”

She glared at him as he continued to climb over the damn rocks. “You’re right. You’ve always been a pain in the ass.”

He chose to ignore that, and focussed on climbing without taking the skin off his palms.

Damn the sun was hot.

He could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to look up. Part of him was questioning his decision to come out here and butt in on her grief. Maybe she didn’t need him? Maybe she could handle herself. Maybe he was being an ass. But the thought of her suffering alone and berating herself, like he knew she was, for a twist of fate that would have burnt any of them...his heart just hurt.

So maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he was out here for his own reassurance that she was okay.

But goddamnit, he loved her and she shouldn’t have to face this alone.

“You’re bleeding.”

He couldn’t help it, he jumped. “How the hell do you do that?”

She was crouched on the rock just above him, her eyes scanning him up and down. A smirk appeared on her lips. “If I told you, I would have to kill you.” She nodded her head in the direction of his right hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch. I didn’t think to bring my gloves and climbing equipment.”

“You don’t need to follow me.”

“Yes, I do.” And he continued to climb until he was eye to eye with her.

“Why?” It was whispered.

“Because I love you.”

“You are going to use that as an excuse for everything, aren’t you.”

“Possibly.” He sat on the rock next to her and stared out at the ocean. “I remember a beautiful young girl hiding behind her father’s legs, staring out at the five of us. You had a bruise on your cheek and you were afraid to speak to any of us for days. Dad said you had fallen and hurt yourself.” He looked sideways at her. “But that is not what really happened is it?”

She was staring wide-eyed at him, fear in that beautiful green.

“Having the Hood as a member of your family couldn’t have been easy.”

“No.” It was forced from her, a rush of exhaled breath. “Virgil, don’t.”

He stopped. Every muscle in her body was wound like a spring. Flight or fight was on her face and he feared he had gone too far, touched topics that should never be touched.

“You’re not alone anymore, Kay.” He didn’t dare reach out, fearful that she would flee.

But she simply turned away, staring out at the ocean. “I know.” Whispered. “But I can’t afford...”

He waited.

She looked at him and the fear was back. “I can’t.”

He held out an arm, simply offering himself. “You don’t have to.”

Her eyes bounced from his to his arm, obviously assessing what was on offer. There was a battle in her gaze.

“Come here, love.”

The war flickered over her expression again. “You really are a pain in the ass.”

He dared to smile just a little. “But I’m your pain in the ass.”

“Yes, you are.” It was whispered as if it was a decision made. She dropped her legs over the edge of the rock and sidled up next to him.

He let his arm drop around her shoulders and drew her in gently. Just like he had wanted to do since he had set eyes on her. Leaning over he kissed her hair. “Love you.”

“I know.”

He just squeezed her tighter.

They sat there as the sun headed towards the horizon. No words said. At one point, she unwrapped his arm from around her and placed his hand in her lap, turning it over to expose the scratches on his palm. They were minor, but she glared at him anyway.

He shrugged.

She wrapped his hand in both of hers and kissed his knuckles.

He grinned.

“You idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

But she didn’t let go.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[totallymotorbikes]

Top 10 Best Victory Motorcycles Of All Time Today marked the end of an era, with Polaris announcing it was closing down its Victory Motorcycles operations after 18 years of building cruisers to compete with the might of Harley-Davidson. It would’ve been 20 years ago this June that Al Unser Jr. rode a V92C into the Mall of America’s Planet Hollywood at its debut to the world. Polaris is Closing Victory Motorcycles Victory says it has produced 60 models over the years, and 2012 was the year of its biggest sales volumes, somewhere between 10,000 and 15,000 units. However, the cruiser market is relentlessly competitive, and with continual developments from Harley and the reintroduction of Indian from parent company Polaris, the business case for Victory had dwindled. “Closing down Victory was a tough decision for us,” Steve Menneto, Polaris VP of Motorcycles, told us today. “But it allows investments in Indian to grow in the area of performance. Now there’s nothing constraining Indian to go into new segments of performance and technology.” So, as the marketplace turns a page on the Victory Motorcycles epoch, we looked back through our nearly two decades of experience with the brand to select our favorite models. As with all subjective lists, yours might look different. Let us know your favorites in the comments section below. Duke’s Den – Victory Motorcycle’s New Performance Focus 10. Empulse TT What?! A Victory (well, Brammo) electric bike is on this list? Before you get up in arms about the Empulse TT being here consider this: Victory’s existence was about daring to be different in its market, and the Empulse TT took that philosophy to the next level and promised a techie new direction. With parent company Polaris’ acquisition of Brammo, the Empulse fell under the company umbrella, and with its sporting/racing heritage (the Empulse’s racing brother, the TT Zero racer, earned a podium spot at the Isle of Man TT), the Victory camp seemed a fitting destination for the Empulse TT. Whether you like it or not, electric vehicles will have a stake in the future of mobility, and while Victory may be shutting its doors for good, Polaris reps tell us the electric side of the business will continue on – this isn’t the last you’ve seen of the Empulse and the further development of e-bikes from Polaris. That alone is significant enough to have the Empulse TT on this list. Is the world ready for an Indian with an electric motor? –Troy Siahaan 9. Gunner With our official Victory fanboy, Evans Brasfield, out attending a top secret moto media function, we’re putting together this list without input from our cruiser regular. But in his First Ride Review of the $12,999 Gunner, Brasfield scored the bare bones bike an 88%, which is commendable considering the bike’s lack of modern electronics. But this is exactly the bike’s attraction – an analog motorcycle in a digital world. What the Gunner also had going for it is character, an attribute of most Victory models, but especially so with the Gunner. Says Brasfield, “Victory has created a stylish and capable cruiser with tons of attitude and a fit and finish that belies its low (for big-inch cruisers) price. While you don’t get any bells and whistles, like color options or ABS, $12,999 buys a Big Twin with plenty of attitude, performance, and comfort.”–Tom Roderick 8. Cross Roads Essentially a Cross Country sans batwing fairing and radio, the Cross Roads was a simpler yet very capable tourer for those wanting less frills. The powerful 106 V-Twin is one of our favorites, but more impressive was the overall package surrounding that engine. A well-dialed suspension, good brakes, and comfy ergos for a variety of body types were things we didn’t expect from the Cross Roads, allowing us to get out our sporty urges every now and then during our Leather Baggers Shootout of 2014, where the CR went up against the Triumph Thunderbird LT, Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail Classic, and Indian Chief Vintage. Even more surprising was the Cross Roads’ victory (pun intended) in that test, due in large part to the bike’s overall balance. Ultimately, the Cross Roads lost out in sales to its fairing-equipped Cross Country brother, eventually resulting in the axe for the Cross Roads. –Troy Siahaan 7. Vision The old saying “ahead of its time” applies to the 2007 Victory Vision as well as to almost any motorcycle. The sheer audacity of its George Jetson styling immediately threw the staid touring bike audience for a loop, and unusual (modern) engineering touches like moving the gas tank forward and building the whole thing on an advanced aluminum frame provoked even more caution from the intended audience. Which is a shame, because this is one fine-cruising cruiser, with its smooth-running counterbalanced Twin, sweet-handling, rattle-free chassis and proverbial plush accommodations. 2008 Victory Vision First Ride By 2010, Victory produced this Vision 8-Ball, slammed, blackened and precursing the current bagger explosion. But it was all for naught; Vision sales never approached lackluster, and Victory refocused its main effort into the more traditional Cross Roads and Cross Country bikes. We could be wrong, but if any Victory is collectible, it could be this one. –John Burns 6. Kingpin The Kingpin has most of the slinky style details of the pretty Vegas – including a frenched-in LED taillight that caps off the curvaceous rear end – but adds a sportier edge with its own inverted fork and a 130/70-18 front tire as opposed to the narrow 90/90-21 on the front end of the Vegas. The ’Pin therefore was sharper handling and better balanced at all speeds than the chopper-esque Vegas, even if its bulkier fenders added a few extra pounds. When equipped with a windshield and bags, the Kingpin could be transformed into a mile-munching touring cruiser, with roomy floorboards never cramping legs. –Kevin Duke 5. Hammer Victory introduced its first power cruiser, the Hammer and Hammer S, in 2005. The Hammers were also one of the first Victory models to jump in early on the huge rear-tire trend, wearing a 250/40-18. For the occasion, Victory invited the moto media to Austin, Texas, where we we spent a day enjoying the undulating features of Texas Hill Country and gorging ourselves on Texas bar-b-que. One of the tastiest Victory press launches we ever attended. “The Hammer presents a mixed bag of improvements,” summarized Sean Alexander in his 2005 Victory Hammer & 8-Ball Intro report. “Its fit and finish are outstanding, and the new Freedom 100/6 powerplant should be standard on all of Victory’s motorcycles. However, this bike is really more of a styling exercise than a true rider’s motorcycle.” –Tom Roderick 4. V92C Polaris Industries presented its motorcycle calling card in the late-90s with a prototype cruiser dubbed the V92C. Production began in late 1998 with consumer bikes coming to market as 1999 production models. Victory’s first motorcycle was a praiseworthy effort but a long way off from challenging established cruiser champion, Harley-Davidson, which is easily gleaned from our 1998 report on the V92C. “It’s hard to not get swept up in the excitement of a new bike manufacturer on the market,” we wrote back in the day. “When the lights go down and there’s a big show on the center stage, anything looks hot and sexy. But when the balloons lose their helium and the janitor comes through with the mop, reality sets in: The Victory just doesn’t have anything to set it apart from the other cruisers on today’s market. Taking design cues from vintage cruiser bikes, cars and aviation styles is not new to this market.” –Tom Roderick 3. Octane There was a lot of anticipation when Victory unveiled the Project 156. Built in conjunction with Roland Sands Design, the P156 was built to tackle one of America’s last great races: the Pikes Peak International Hill Climb. If that wasn’t exciting enough, the power for the racer was another hot-button topic: a prototype (at the time) V-Twin with items you don’t normally associate with Victory: liquid-cooling, huge 67mm throttle bodies, and titanium valves. There was no way this engine, or some derivative of it, wouldn’t make it into production. The question, of course, was what it would be. Urban Sport Cruiser Shootout The Octane (and Indian Scout, but that’s another story) was the answer. While many (including us) were disappointed that the Octane wasn’t a sporty bike but instead a power cruiser, that shouldn’t negate the fact the Octane is one hell of a power cruiser. With 1179cc, 88.6 hp, and 66.9 lb-ft of torque, the Octane will snap the rear end loose with a twist of the wrist. The engine likes to rev, and if you’re willing to oblige then there’s plenty of fun to be had. There were some hiccups like abrupt on/off throttle, but there was no question it was a definite departure for Victory. We were looking forward to seeing what was to come with this platform – or at least the engine. Oh well. Better start looking across the aisle at Indian. –Troy Siahaan 2. Vegas While we cheered on the addition of another American motorcycle company to the scene in the Y2K era, we were skeptical of Victory achieving true sales success when its bikes looked significantly more homely than the products in Harley dealerships. That changed when the Vegas debuted in 2003, a new design from the pen of Polaris’ Michael Song featuring lovely details like the scalloped and sculpted fuel tank with a ridged spine mimicking the spine on both fenders. Now that a Vic looked as good or better than its competition, we could more easily appreciate features like Brembo brakes, an aluminum swingarm, extra power, and a superior clutch and transmission. –Kevin Duke 2003 Victory Vegas Review 1. Cross Country New for 2010, Victory’s Cross Country was built to go head-to-head with a certain other American manufacturer’s bagger – complete with frame-mounted fairing (with sound system), hard saddlebags and not a lot else save for that ubiquitous 106-cubic inch V-Twin. Well, it also had a much better chassis than its main competitor (aluminum rather than steel), complete with 4.3 inches of rear suspension travel. Later it would evolve into the excellent CC Tour Deluxe pictured above, complete with trunk, cruise control and all the rest of it, but all the CCs were superb, bulletproof long-distance motorcycles. The original CC was good enough to be our Cruiser of the Year in 2010. It won out over an H-D Street Glide and a Yamaha (nee “Star”) in this 2011 comparison. And EiC Duke enjoyed an epic jaunt to Sturgis on this special Cory Ness Signature Edition. –John Burns All Things Victory On Motorcycle.com Top 10 Best Victory Motorcycles Of All Time appeared first on Motorcycle.com.

[gumnut-logic]

When the World Goes Boom (Part Two)

Still a WIP, still no real idea where it is going because it has taken another left turn at Alberquerque. I give up. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you for all your wonderful support and patience with my crazy muse.

Spoilers & Warnings: Spoilers for season three. Angstfest.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ @i-am-chidorixblossom​ and @olliepig​ for all your help ::hugs::

I am seriously a lost cause.

Part One | Part Two

-o-o-o-

“Virgil.”

But he didn’t need to call his medic son, because he was there immediately, scanner in hand. A flicker of light, a very worried frown. Comms. “Gordon, advise Auckland we have a possibly serious head injury enroute.”

A concerned FAB wandered down from the cockpit. “We are on approach, Virg. Secure for landing.”

“FAB.” Dark eyes turned to Jeff. “You need to strap in, Dad.”

Jeff looked down at his two injured sons. Virgil was hovering over Scott, his fingers closing fastenings to keep his older brother safe.

Jeff sat in a seat between Alan and Scott and pulled the belt into place. Virgil worked methodically checking the two rescuees as well as his brothers before securing himself when Gordon gave the word.

Moments later, Two was on the ground and he could hear her hydraulics lifting her body above the module. The door lowered and there were medical personnel rushing in.

Virgil gave sure words, clean medical handover for each patient. Scott and Alan’s hover gurneys were disengaged from the walls and hurried out into the southern sun.

Jeff followed.

Gordon appeared on one side, followed by Virgil on the other. Two was secured and they hurried to keep up with his injured boys.

Of course, they could only go so far, and they found themselves trapped in a waiting room. He had never liked waiting rooms. Fortunately, attracted by their uniforms, a nurse approached and offered them a private space to wait. Jeff was ever grateful. No doubt the press was sure to appear any moment.

“Eos?” Virgil’s fingers were on his comms. “Can you get us a feed on their conditions?”

“Yes, Virgil.” A pause and Virgil’s ‘projector threw up the electronic records being created by the hospital’s two newest patients. Neither of them were cause to celebrate. Virgil was glaring at Scott’s enough to scorch it out of existence.

“Virgil, breathe.”

That glare immediately targeted him.

Jeff ignored it. “You’ve done everything you can.” Hell, he continued to be amazed at how smoothly his boys worked together and the level of knowledge they now had. Virgil clearly knew what he was doing.

Jeff thumbed his comms. “Eos, John’s status?”

“John has docked Thunderbird Three at Tracy Island and is currently preparing Tracy Two for flight. Mrs Tracy and Ms Kyrano will be accompanying him.”

“Please give me a reading of John’s vitals.” He held up his wrist ‘projector and the AI did as he asked.

His frown echoed Virgil’s.

“Mr Tracy, John has his uniform on and has activated gravity assistance.”

Jeff’s lips thinned. “I don’t like it when he has to adapt so fast.” Memories of his own debilitating gravity issues were only part of the equation.

“It was necessary today.”

Yes, it was.

Jeff sat down on a plastic chair with a sigh.

Scott’s eyes haunted him.

He knew his boy took his responsibility as both the eldest and the Commander of International Rescue seriously. The reports Jeff had been subject to upon his return had been extensive. But there had been something in his son’s eyes when he relayed information on incidents that endangered his brothers, Virgil’s crash, Gordon’s injuries…there were things haunting Scott.

He understood it.

Didn’t make it easier.

“Dad, you okay?”

And then there was Virgil.

Another sigh. “I’m fine.”

Brown eyes scanned him for a moment but his second son didn’t enquire further, his gaze returning to his wrist projector.

His boys had seen so much. Had so many worries and fears, yet so much stoicism in the face of terror.

Scott apologising over and over again.

Jeff let his head drop into his hands and shut out the world for one blessed moment.

-o-o-o-

Alan Tracy liked to fly in his sleep.

When confined by gravity his mind sought the stars.

His brothers thought it was hilarious, each coming across him from time to time enjoying his slumbering antics. Alan, himself, only remembered about half of the incidents, but those he did were rather enjoyable.

This particular time it was not.

A sense of fear, stars spinning, heat and he woke with a start in a strange, dimly lit, white room, his heart pounding.

His body numb.

Curtains hung in silence.

No, not silence.

Something snuffled at his right elbow.

Turning his head in that direction hurt and for a moment his vision blurred.  A blink and he discovered an empty bed beside his. The white sheets were all messed up. A bed table sat askew.

Another snuffle and he found a dark head resting on his bed.

“Sc-t?” Alan’s voice scraped like sandpaper across his throat.

The head shot up and a pair of confused blue eyes caught his. “Allie?”

Alan frowned. His brother was pale, even in the dim light, his hair mussed, and that blue was surrounded by deep bruises. “You ‘kay?”

“Thank god, Alan.” Scott grabbed his arm and, oh god, it hurt. He gasped and his brother let go with an incoherent sound. “Alan?!”

The prone astronaut’s eyes widened as he watched his brother dissolve into tears. Shock and fear crept into his numb body. “Scott? What? What’s wrong?!” He had never seen his big brother cry. He wasn’t sure if that was because he never cried or because of the older brothers between him and the biggest of them. And god, the sight terrified him. “Scott?! What’s wrong?!” He tried to move his arm to touch his brother, but it screamed at him. He could barely move and his beloved brother needed help.

As if he had called telepathically, his father and Virgil appeared in the doorway followed by a nurse. “Scott!” Hurried steps and Virgil’s arms wrapped around their eldest brother. Alan realised that Scott was wearing a hospital gown.

What the hell happened?!

Virgil caught Scott as he folded beside the bed, taking almost all his weight. “Scott, talk to me.”

The pilot muttered something incomprehensible and Virgil levered him over to the other bed and lowered him onto the pillows. “God, Scooter, please stay put.

The tear tracks on his brother’s cheeks shone in the dim light. Alan stared. “Wh-t happened?” The nurse was hovering, wanting something, but he only had eyes for Virgil and his Dad. “Dad?”

His father hurried over to Alan’s bed, his hand gently landing on Alan’s chest. “How are you feeling?”

“I-“ A dry swallow. “What’s wrong with Scotty?”

The answer came from Virgil. “Bad concussion.” Dark brows frowned at the protesting pilot. “Lie down, Scott. You’re not well, you need to rest.”

“But Allie-“ And his brother struggled against Virgil’s gentle hands holding him down.

“Alan is recovering. He will be okay.”

Scott wilted onto the bed. “He’s hurt, Virg. I let him get hurt.”

Alan swallowed as Virgil reached out and brushed his fingers against Scott’s temple. “Not your fault, Scooter. He will get better. Stop worrying.”

The room fell silent as Virgil gently lulled his brother into calm and eventually sleep.

A lump formed in Alan’s throat.

The expression on his father’s face hurt.

Virgil was so gentle…

“Dad?” His voice shook. “What happened?”

Glistening grey eyes turned to him. His father swallowed and moved closer to the bed. Quietly to preserve Scott’s sleep. “Allie, you were injured in an explosion. What do you remember?”

A flicker of thought. “Oxy-Moron company.”

A quiet snort from Virgil. His father’s lips curled just a little. “Close enough. The fuel tank exploded and you were caught in it.”

Alan’s eyes widened. He couldn’t move without pain…”How bad?”

His touched his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.” The nurse activated Scott’s bed scanner and a hologram of his brother appeared above the sleeping man. She made notes on a tablet. “You’ve got burns on your arm and thigh. Your suit protected you, but the heat made it through in places. You were lucky to avoid a breach, but unlucky that what prevented a breach injured you.”

Alan stared at his father. There was something in his expression something not cold, but blank, as if part of him had been switched off. “Dad, are you okay?” Alan struggled with the emotion crawling up his throat.

His shoulder was squeezed ever so softly, but the question wasn’t answered. “Scott was knocked around and received a nasty concussion.”

Alan looked between his father and the sleeping Scott. Virgil was rubbing his face with one weary hand.

“Scott was crying.”

Virgil straightened and moved closer. His baritone was ever so quiet and as gentle as his touch. “The concussion is messing with his emotional equilibrium. He just needs some time and rest.”

The questions began to pile on him as he gained more control over himself. “Where are we?”

“Auckland. John, Gordon and Grandma are at the house. Kayo is harassing hospital security again.” There was something in Virgil’s eyes.

“Virg?”

And suddenly he was enveloped in a gentle hug, the soft cotton of his brother’s plaid shirt ever a comfort from childhood memory. Virgil avoided Alan’s right side and Alan realised that was where his injuries lay. But why…? “Why can’t I feel?”

Virgil’s voice was ever so quiet. “Medication.” A breath. “You’re going to be okay, Allie.”

They kept saying that. He blinked and tried to slow his still racing heart.

Virgil reached out and touched his temple just like he had with Scott earlier. The simple gesture blossomed a warmth in his heart that nearly sent him over the edge.

“Rest, Allie. Everything is going to be okay.”

His eyes closed against his will as he leant into his brother’s touch.

Somewhere between thought and the soft rumble of Virgil’s voice, he drifted.

-o-o-o-

Jeff stared.

He was caught between admiration of his boys and a horribly sick feeling in his gut.

Logically he knew the latter feeling was ridiculous, but he felt it anyway. His boys had mastered new technologies and travelled all the way out to the Oort Cloud to bring him home.

But really?

At this moment?

They didn’t need him.

He stood watching Virgil care for his brothers, so gentle, so familiar, so loving…Jeff had been missing for eight years.

He had been replaced.

-o-o-o-

End Part Two.

[darkestwolfx]

Touch and Go - Re-Review #24

Touch and Go is definitely an appropriate episode title... damn, what else could they have called it? Downing of the Planes, Let’s Play CATCH or something terrible like that.

Anyhow, let’s get going!

A high paced chase across the ice is exactly what we all want to see at the start of an episode, lets be honest.

Apparently it’s also the only images google know how to relate to this episode.

“Kayo, you were just supposed to shadow him.”

“We did a little shadowboxing.”

Yeah and she was definitely the winner of that round. Scott, on the other hand, doesn’t go down so easily.

“Scott, do not tell me how to do my job.”

“It’s not that we don’t appreciate your excellent work, Kayo, it’s just that this is not what we do.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not the police! We leave the law enforcement up to the GDF. Our priority is people. Our job is help rescue and clean up during International disasters, not chasing after bad guys!”

“Scott, we can’t always wait for catastrophe to strike!”

In fairness, she does have a valid point there.

“We have a situation developing.”

“This discussion isn’t over.”

“I’m sure.”

I feel like these two might clash more than we see.

“That means there’s over two thousand (2000) planes stuck in the air with no way of landing safely.”

See this is why I think need to be reducing our flight travel! At the moment, pollution levels have cut by half... it is worth thinking about before anything like this happens, or there aren’t parts of the world left to fly to.

Poor Virgil and Grandma though... just stuck sitting there whilst this ‘discussion’ raged.

Anyway, EOS is here! At last. What’s it? 13 episodes since her last appearance?

“EOS?”

“Yes John?”

“Until we can get CATCH back online, looks like you and I are going to be playing Air Traffic Control.”

“Understood.”

“Calculate every aircraft’s course and minimum safe distances. Let me know the second any of them get too close.”

“Affirmative.”

“Think we can do it?”

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

Great motivational speech EOS... I can see you’ve learnt how do that in your absence. John’s having a really human moment of doubt and that is your grand reply! Hello, someone please let me write EOS some more character development. It was such an EOS thing to say though.

“Dead-eye Vigil strikes again.”

“Oh, so now you’re suddenly a good shot?”

“Hey! I have to take every small victory I can get.”

Loving this reference back to ‘Ring of Fire’.

“Can you remotely access the planes on board computer and unlock it?”

“Hacking the on board computer of a plane in flight is a violation of-

“Consider it done.”

Still very helpful EOS - she is right though let’s give her that! And we’re presuming she was meant to have learnt something about rules. John is bloody quick at hacking though! Heck none of us would be safe if he was here in real life (not to mention if Thunderbird Five was as well).

How comes Scott always ends up meeting the women? Just a question that came to me.

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Scott.”

Someone tell me when Scott learnt to drive a fork lift? I mean really, it’s not your everyday vehicle and it requires a special licence.

“International Rescue, everything’s gonna be fine.”

Scott, please, please, please stop jinxing things! Someone offer these boys a course in careful word choice!

“Or maybe not.”

I mean like, ASAP.

“It’s crumbling like one of Grandma’s cakes. We need to get out of here fast.”

“Any ideas?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’m Scott by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott. Captain Jane Carter.”

Seriously though, why is it always Scott who ends up ‘hanging’ with the women?

Shadow appearing with the moon behind was an awesome scene with some beautiful cinematography.

“It’s The Hood. He’s shut down CATCH and has no plans to reboot it.”

Yes I think the evil laugh rather gave that away!

“Keep CATCH shut down for another hour and that should be a good enough diversion.”

Oh... so you were saying Kayo? That sounds like a plan to reboot it to me... writer’s contradiction! One of the first in this show I think, actually.

“Kayo, please respond.”

“I know how you feel.”

Yeah, I’m sure you do John.

“No funny stuff.” “Don’t worry, you won’t be laughing.”

Yeah... don’t mess with Kayo.

“Your nagging will not improve my efficiency.”

Haha, do I know that feeling! Anyone else?

“Why do you let them treat you like a minion, Kayo.”

My thoughts exactly Hood.

Look, there’s even five of them! Perfect numerical workings.

Alsterene! Flashback to ‘Danger at Ocean Deep’ here. I’d be careful with stuff... it’s highly combustible.

“My engines are out.”

“Kayo, eject.”

“Ejection controls aren’t responding.”

Did anyone else think for a split second that maybe TAG was going to be one of the first Universal rated TV shows to kill off a lead character? I’ll admit I did, considering what they’d already down this series.

“I’m taking back what’s mine!”

The fuel tanks, right?

Wrong, they exploded the moment they hit the ground. I did say a couple sentences back to be careful, did I not?

That moment of near Hood-Kayo eye contact was priceless. They might be enemies but they are also family.

“The Hood could have just as easily saved those tanks,but he saved you. Why?”

Suspicious Scott... I mean he did see The Hood save Kayo. I’m surprised he didn’t put two and two together before Kayo told them. I mean he is smart.

“I’m just glad you’re ok.”

Family affection right there. After all those arguments - sorry discussions - they still love each other deep down.

“Looks like Brains has his work cut out for him. I think you might have fried the motor.”

“It’s for the best. We wouldn’t want Brains to have nothing to do.”

“I heard that!”

He’s like Grandma! Ears everywhere! And for one, I think Brains already has enough to do. Give the man a break, people.”

[gumnut-logic]

Her Idiot

Title: Her Idiot

Warm Rain Series

Author: Gumnut

5 - 7 Dec 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: He was a pain in the ass.

Word count: 2218

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo

Timeline: Some time after ‘Love and Sacrifice’

Author’s note: I have no idea if this is any good. Kayo was as slippery as an eel and I had as much trouble as Virgil did. I hope you enjoy this anyway.

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

-o-o-o-

He expected to find her in the gym.

But she wasn’t there. 

A quick search of her room and most of the rest of the house proved she wasn’t there either.

He bit his lip. If Kayo didn’t want to be found, his chances weren’t good.

The hangars also failed to reveal his girlfriend and an hour later he started to worry.

“John?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil. Don’t ask, she has already scarred me for life last time I told Gordon where to find her when she was upset.”

“Gordon?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that explains the retaliation. What did she do?”

“I’m not going there. Trust me, you don’t want to either.”

“C’mon, John, I’m worried about her.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Please, John, you can put all the blame on me. I just need to make sure she is all right.”

“You’ll fix my shower?”

“Your shower?”

“My shower.”

“When did it break?”

“Hasn’t broken yet, but I’m sure it will if I point you in the direction of a beach on the north-west side of the island.”

“Thanks, John.”

“I am hiding behind you, big brother. Your girl is scary.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“Hmph.”

Virgil signed off and, grabbing a hat and sunnies, set out for the northern side of the island.

It was late afternoon, but the sun was still at burning strength, so it wasn’t long before he was uncomfortably hot in his long shirt. So he shed it and tied it around his waist, leaving a thin tank top his only protection against the sea breeze.

it was wonderfully cool on his bare skin.

He made good time, jogging part of the way, keeping an eye out for their missing security specialist.

It hadn’t been a good day.

A cascade of poor luck had seen Alan, Kayo and a young woman trapped in a house during an aftershock in Japan. The ground beneath the house had fallen into the river that had undercut the foundations. Kayo had had to make a choice between saving her brother or saving the civilian.

She had tried for both.

Lost the civilian.

And only just managed to catch Alan, who had consequently swung into an exposed beam and gashed his leg open, severing an artery in the process.

It has been bad.

Her yell for help had torn at him, but he had been responsible for six other civilians at the time and had been unable to respond immediately.

Gordon had made it first on the scene. By the time Virgil had been able to make it to her side, she had shut off from the world, her expression ice as she held her wrenched shoulder.

She hadn’t said a word to anyone on the way to the hospital. Virgil stood beside her as Scott questioned the incident.

He sat beside her as they waited for Alan to get out of surgery.

And stood behind her as his little brother woke up.

Now, three days later, finally at home, his little brother was safe in bed in his room, and she had vanished.

He walked past the little cliff and beach they had dubbed ‘their beach’ and continued further around the island. The trail became rocky from that point onwards and he had to clamber over several spots where a path wasn’t really possible.

He still couldn’t find her.

“John?”

“If she breaks my furniture, you’re buying me all new.”

“John.” This had gone beyond a joke.

“Climb down to the beach, there is a small sea cave.”

“There is?” He clambered over jagged basalt, cursing under his breath as it scratched his palms.

“Haven’t you explored the island, Virgil?”

“Uh, been busy. And I don’t have the advantage of Tracymaps.com satellite view.”

“Perhaps you should come visit more often.”

“Yeah, sure, John.”

His brother’s vague snort answered that one fairly clearly. They both knew separating Virgil from Two was not a good idea, for anyone.

He hurdled over a last chunk of rock and his feet hit sand. The little beach was bleached coral white with a scattering of weathered basalt. The high tide line was sketched out with shell and debris from the last major storm, and in the cliff lining the shore the debris disappeared into a darkness where the cooling basalt had left a natural cave that the sea had since chewed on.

Virgil whispered into his comm. “John, is that cliff face stable?”

“Of course. Do you think I’d let our sister under it if it wasn’t?”

“Okay, I get it. Sorry, reflex thought.” A pause. “Does she come here often?”

“Virgil, I keep many secrets. It is my job. I’m already lined up for crucifixion having told you where she was, I’m not going to be drawn and quartered for extra fun.”

“A little over dramatic, don’t you think?”

“She’s your girlfriend, you tell me.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Exactly. I have no protection, despite those twenty-two thousand kilometres. Just remember that this is on your head. Thunderbird Five out.”

A mumble under his breath, “FAB.” And Virgil approached the cave.

It was small but deep. A handful of rough and weather-worn stalactites hung from the entrance like teeth.

“Kay?” His voice was eaten by the darkness, but there was a slight change in the shadows as her face turned to look at him. As his eyes adjusted, and he belatedly remembered to take off his sunnies, her figure, seated on a rock protrusion towards the back of the cave, became clear. “Honey?”

“I’m going to kill John.” It was muttered under her breath and he doubted he was supposed to hear it, but cave and acoustics did it for him.

“You do realise you have him terrified.”

“Obviously not terrified enough.”

“You can blame me. Leave him out of it.” It was firm, but it needed to be said.

She unfolded like a cat, her slim body straightening in the darkness. Her shorts hung low on her hips, her crop top leaving her belly bare. She’d obviously come out here for a run, but it hadn’t been enough. She stalked towards him. “Blame you?”

Despite himself, a spike of concern shot through him. She was half his size, but he knew she could take him on sheer skill alone. Sure he could pin her with his mass, but he doubted she would give him the opportunity.

But then this was Kay, the woman he loved.

“Blame me.”

The little cave blocked the sun and chilled his skin. He shivered.

She walked right up to him and barged into his personal space, simply looking up at him. Then simply stepped around and walked past without saying a word.

He turned to follow her and the sun blinded him for a crucial moment. He grabbed for his sunnies, but in that split second she was gone.

Damnit.

“Kay?” He stepped out onto the empty beach. “Kay!” How the hell had she done that? “For Christ’s sake, Kay, I’m worried about you!”

“You should be more worried about Alan.” Her voice was smooth as honey, from above and behind. He left a gouge in the sand as he spun, looking up to find her crouched on the cliff above the cave.

“Alan is fine.”

“Lucky boy.” She stood up, still cat-like and turning, began to climb further up the hill behind the beach.

“Kay, please!” He made for the rockfall that had allowed him onto the sand in the first place and threw himself up the climb. It appeared that his lot in life was to chase those he cared about. Scott knew how to throw a marathon when he didn’t want to talk. How the hell had he managed to end up dating his brother?

By dating his sister.

If his hands hadn’t been scrabbling over sharp basalt, it would have been a facepalm moment.

“It wasn’t your fault, Kay!”

“Yes, it was.” She was gaining distance, she was just too damn fast.

“No, it wasn’t.”

She stopped and turned towards him, anger in her eyes. “How was it not, Virgil? I let her die and I nearly got Alan killed.”

“It was shitty luck. Sometimes things just happen. You saved Alan. He is recovering.”

She stared at him, her lips thinning to almost non-existence.

And he saw it in her eyes. The fear, the horror and the anger, always the anger. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms, hold her tight and reassure her that it would be alright.

But it wasn’t alright. A woman had died.

Kay was out of reach.

And she turned away.

“Kay?”

“Leave me alone, Virgil.” She started climbing again.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.” And he started clambering over rocks again.

She stopped and turned angrily again. “Why not? If you think being in a romantic relationship gives you the right to harass me, Virgil Tracy, think again.”

He straightened. “No, I care, Kay. That’s all. If you think I’m going to leave you out here to beat yourself up, you’re sorely mistaken.” A pause. “And if you think this is simply because of our current relationship, you’re obviously amnesiac.”

She glared at him as he continued to climb over the damn rocks. “You’re right. You’ve always been a pain in the ass.”

He chose to ignore that, and focussed on climbing without taking the skin off his palms.

Damn the sun was hot.

He could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to look up. Part of him was questioning his decision to come out here and butt in on her grief. Maybe she didn’t need him? Maybe she could handle herself. Maybe he was being an ass. But the thought of her suffering alone and berating herself, like he knew she was, for a twist of fate that would have burnt any of them...his heart just hurt.

So maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he was out here for his own reassurance that she was okay.

But goddamnit, he loved her and she shouldn’t have to face this alone.

“You’re bleeding.”

He couldn’t help it, he jumped. “How the hell do you do that?”

She was crouched on the rock just above him, her eyes scanning him up and down. A smirk appeared on her lips. “If I told you, I would have to kill you.” She nodded her head in the direction of his right hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch. I didn’t think to bring my gloves and climbing equipment.”

“You don’t need to follow me.”

“Yes, I do.” And he continued to climb until he was eye to eye with her.

“Why?” It was whispered.

“Because I love you.”

“You are going to use that as an excuse for everything, aren’t you.”

“Possibly.” He sat on the rock next to her and stared out at the ocean. “I remember a beautiful young girl hiding behind her father’s legs, staring out at the five of us. You had a bruise on your cheek and you were afraid to speak to any of us for days. Dad said you had fallen and hurt yourself.” He looked sideways at her. “But that is not what really happened is it?”

She was staring wide-eyed at him, fear in that beautiful green.

“Having the Hood as a member of your family couldn’t have been easy.”

“No.” It was forced from her, a rush of exhaled breath. “Virgil, don’t.”

He stopped. Every muscle in her body was wound like a spring. Flight or fight was on her face and he feared he had gone too far, touched topics that should never be touched.

“You’re not alone anymore, Kay.” He didn’t dare reach out, fearful that she would flee.

But she simply turned away, staring out at the ocean. “I know.” Whispered. “But I can’t afford...”

He waited.

She looked at him and the fear was back. “I can’t.”

He held out an arm, simply offering himself. “You don’t have to.”

Her eyes bounced from his to his arm, obviously assessing what was on offer. There was a battle in her gaze.

“Come here, love.”

The war flickered over her expression again. “You really are a pain in the ass.”

He dared to smile just a little. “But I’m your pain in the ass.”

“Yes, you are.” It was whispered as if it was a decision made. She dropped her legs over the edge of the rock and sidled up next to him.

He let his arm drop around her shoulders and drew her in gently. Just like he had wanted to do since he had set eyes on her. Leaning over he kissed her hair. “Love you.”

“I know.”

He just squeezed her tighter.

They sat there as the sun headed towards the horizon. No words said. At one point, she unwrapped his arm from around her and placed his hand in her lap, turning it over to expose the scratches on his palm. They were minor, but she glared at him anyway.

He shrugged.

She wrapped his hand in both of hers and kissed his knuckles.

He grinned.

“You idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

But she didn’t let go.

-o-o-o-

FIN.