#bereznik Scott

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 5 - Return

More of this madness…

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Everything would be fine if it wasn’t for the whistling in his ears. Maybe he’d got water in them swimming. Or they were waxy… but he was pretty regular with that kind of personal maintenance so, probably pool water.

Obviously he was nervous, yes. He’d be crazy not to be, the place was an active warzone. But Scotty was an ace pilot and with Virgil at his back nobody would shoot him down this time.

Virgil was slightly embarrassed at his initial reaction to seeing Scotty in his smart uniform. He’d run away and hidden in the hangar. But then his brother had come and found him and stroked his hair and made him understand why he had to go. He promised he wouldn’t be long but Virgil had argued back and said if he was going then Virgil had to come too because they were wingmen these days. Scotty had laughed and said Thunderbird Two was too slow and chunky.

That had made Virgil sad until Scotty had held him by the shoulders, looked him in the eye and said he meant the ship not the pilot.

Scotty didn’t have a proper fighter plane anymore though and this was a problem. Thunderbird One was too noisy and would get shot at. And she didn’t have any guns. Tracy Two wasn’t very agile and also had no guns. Then Virgil remembered that Shadow was fast and agile and sneaky and she did have guns. Scotty hadn’t known about those, only Brains and Kayo were supposed to know but Virgil knew everything because he studied the schematics and had challenged Brains. He was absolutely not supposed to tell the Commander about it and Virgil had hated that, yet he’d promised and that was important. But Scotty looked so sad he had to help him and so he told him how Shadow could be the deadly weapon he needed to destroy the Bereznian forces before they hurt any more of his friends.

Scotty’s eyes had twinkled and he’d hugged Virgil so tight. Virgil had helped him into Shadow and then showed him how to start her launch sequence. The fact he hadn’t known how nagged at Virgil and worried him. Scott had test piloted Shadow so he should know all the buttons. But… his big brother did forget some things because he had so many to think about these days and was so tired all the time.

He looked so happy and cheerful now though. And young… the uniform made him seem younger. It made Virgil feel younger too, small and afraid like when Scotty had gone the first time. But now he was older and a pilot himself and he could be helpful.

And Scotty trusted him to come this time and that… that was everything.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

[edutainer2022]

There's a bit of headcanon backstory of Scott's disastrous trainwreck of a lovelife I always kinda mean to write out (shout out to @janetm74 and @liseylou!). So it features here. Gordon watches celebrity news. Fischler's brother (of all people!) gets married. Nothing goes as planned. Scott is NOT having a good time. Nor has he been for a while. Bereznik gets mentioned. An OC that might be relevant later gets mentioned. The GDF units I think may have IR on the radar get mentioned. Scott has great brothers and good friends. He's still not having a good time.

PAGE SIX

Ever since Kat Kavanaugh buried a hatchet and wasn't chasing conspiracy theories about them on Global Holovision anymore, watching the news live was a once in a blue moon activity in Casa Tracy. They followed the major world events through John and Eos (maybe a bit of social media on a relatively quiet morning), and they were likely to be part of those in some capacity at least a third of the times. Sometimes a half. But it was one of those days. A relative lull in rescues compiled with the exhaustion of the previous fortnight streak of disasters bred mildly numb boredom. Batteries too low to pursue their usual hobbies, they gravitated to the lounge.

Scott was ever at the desk with holo screens full of quarterly budget reports, because their biggest brother did stock market numbers for LEISURE, apparently. Virgil was playing, as usual, but the music was slowly fading to a halt. Alan was gaming, or pretending to be while napping, his VR goggles on. Kayo was going through some specs, half leaning on the couch cushions. Even John was in a quiet lull up in orbit, his hologram just bobbing at the comms unit, hanging out with everybody, but not really a part of any conversation. That left Gordon scrolling lazily through newsreels. The sudden yelp sent Alan tumbling on the floor and Scott at least half an inch closer to a cardiac arrest under thirty. A keen observer would have noticed Kayo reaching for a knife in the ankle holster. The piano music keened on an abrupt note and stopped. Several pairs of VERY unamused eyes stared Gordon down.

The Fish was on his feet already, bursting with excitement, sending the news holo to the center of the lounge.

"Did you guys know Fischler has a brother?!?!"

The assorted grumps and groans across the lounge indicated that they not only didn't know, but weren't in the least thrilled by that information. Only John and Kayo shared a quiet look, because OF COURSE they would know.

Gordon surveyed the lounge in triumph, setting the stage for a punchline.

"He has a brother and he's getting married!"

"Who, Fischler?"

Alan was still scrambling up from his hardwood landing and making a show of rubbing an ouchie. Scott at least looked ready to switch gears to the full "hurt brother!" mode. Gordon was not deterred.

"No, dummy, not Fischer! His brother is getting married!"

"And that's any of our business how?"

Alan was still not ready to relinquish attention from his boo-boo. Not with so many big brothers in attendance. But John, Kayo and Virgil were already sharing concerned LOOKS. Any widely publicized event with cameras rolling and hundreds in attendance, involving Fischler, could potentially turn into a showcase of his latest "invention", or ten. Which would mean potential casualties and work for IR. They would need to be on the look-out and on standby. Scott waved at the comm to get the volume up.

The holo displayed a close pic of a younger and significantly more polished version of Langstrom Fischler, hair sleecked back, but a weaselly smile just a tad on the manic side. The celebrity news anchor was gushing about a "dashing fresh face on the World Senate, a philanthropist and patron of innovation, a devoted brother and a consummate athlete, setting off to be a force of a positive change in the world" and "his drop dead gorgeous fiancée, a once Miss Brazil runner-up, who dedicated herself to the selfless life of service, decorated for honor and courage". The picture on the screen changed for an official GDF snapshot of a tall young brunette in dress blues. The insignia on the collar indicated the rank of Captain and breastplanks - several high ranking awards for valor. The picture changed to a series of candid paparazzi snaps of the "happy couple". The show host droned on with one corny cliche after another about the "match made of dreams" and a " high profile dream wedding" scheduled to take place on a cozy remote island.

Gordon interrupted the stream of saccharine platitudes:

"Huh? How come we're not invited? Scott, you know like everyone in the World Senate!"

But his voice was drowned out by the deafening snap of the metal stylus, broken in Scott's fingers. The sound of the desk chair hitting the floor, as Scott stood up and all but ran from the lounge, was even louder.

"Huh?!"

Gordon, yet again, surmised the bewilderment of everyone present. Virgil was half out to follow Scott, when a ping came through on Gordon's comm. The sign flashed pink.

"Yay! Looks like I'm going after all! Penny needs a plus one! John, can I borrow your tux?!"

John half waved his brother off, brows furrowed and hands already flying over invisible files, when another pink ping came through. It was Kayo's turn for a "Huh?" moment.

"Looks like Penny needs a plus two, as well. I'm invited".

That deflated Gordon's initial excitement enough to notice Virgil leaving in the general direction of Dad's office, where Scott had locked himself. Before he reached the door to try and reason with big brother to talk about... whatever that was, John sent two files to his comm. One - a picture they all saw a hundred times on Dad's desk back in Kansas, but it didn't compute out of context. Scott's Airgroup Wing after a training flight. All hugging and laughing, still in flightsuits. Scott and the girl from the news today - Fischler Jr.'s fiancée - at the center. The other Virgil never saw before. It would figure since it was a screenshot from, what he recognized with some dread, was Dad's old phone. There was a picture sent to a private chat with Dad of the same girl, in a sundress, and Scott in a polo shirt, apparently both on leave. An almost ten years younger Scott was smiling like he could power up a sun. The message to Dad read "SHE SAID YES!!!". The date of the message indicated about a month and a half before Scott's mission to Bereznik. Virgil sank to the floor, leaning on the wall, never going through with the knock on the locked office door.

***

It was such an unbelievable cliché it felt surreal. The thunderstorm, the lightning, the lash of downpour across his face. Then again, it was fitting, as his world was going crashing down around him. Yet again. There was nothing surreal about the hard edges of Mom's ring she just gave him back. For about six weeks he was the happiest man alive. Dad's IR project was well underway, and he was to share that dream not only with Dad and brothers, but with the love of his life. He should have known better... The words were real too - hard and ruthless. About Dad yanking his leash, and expecting nothing but dutifully following in his footsteps and his vision, concealed by his looming shadow, and giving up what they both dreamed about and worked so hard for - test flights, command ranks, career in service. The echo came back to him often, in one dark hour or another, after his world shattered to pieces yet another time. Dad voiced his reservations clearly, but did agree to give him Mom's ring. "When you know, you know". Wasn't it how he and Mom got married? It WAS too soon, they WERE too young, and frateenization within a unit WAS an issue, but with IR lifting off that wasn't to be a problem, once he told her the full scale of the classified project. He should have known better...

He last remembered the ring yanked off his neck with the dogtags chain by a smirking Berezniki guard. He put up a hell of a fight for that and was beaten within an inch of his life. The first time. Next time he found it, inexplicably, in Dad's safe on the island, after the search for Zero-X was called off. He meant to ask Kyrano, as he wasn't conscious or coherent enough for the extraction op, or for months after, but the man never returned his calls anymore, sending in a resignation after half a year of following leads on the Hood. There wasn't much room in his mind or hours in his days to give it more thought for years after. Or more pieces for his heart to break into. He should have known better. And now she was getting married. To someone bright and promising, changing the world for the better, who wasn't him. He should have known better as well. The sound of glass shattering against the wall and a visceral scream finally sent Virgil in, wild-eyed, breaking past the lock.

***

John lifted an eyebrow in a perfect quizzical arch, putting the tablet down, as the "wedding party" poured, or rather, limped into the lounge. Gordon's tuxedo sleeve was torn clear off, his bowtie, undone, served as a makeshift tourniquet. Parker sported cuts, bruises and a glorious shiner. Penelope's elaborate updo was in disarray, one heel of a golden pump broken. Kayo's slip dress hem was torn, exposing a garter holster. As John hurried to the kitchen for the first aid kit, he heard her hiss something to the effect of "You should have seen the other guys".

The villa was quiet. Grandma had Alan on the mainland for the weekend. Virgil chased Scott up the volcano. There was a good chance biggest brother and his stormy mood was best quarantined at the Round House for the rest of the day. John was waiting in the lounge for the fallout, one way or another. He wasn't quite prepared to the sight on display, handing out ice packs.

Gordon hissed too and bit off a curse, as John set about cleaning the bullet graze on his arm.

"Pen, do all your friends whip out a standard issue gun at the altar and read the groom Miranda rights instead of vows?"

Lady Penelope was busy trying to look poised while breaking the second heel off a designer pump, to make them even.

"It was a deep undercover mission to round up a drug and slave trafficking ring. A destination wedding was a most fortunate venue for the occasion."

Kayo looked up from the kitchen isle at that, not pausing to stop extracting a considerable arsenal of throw-knives from her bodice.

"Looks like the Fischler brothers were bankrolled by mafia. The crazy inventions AND the World Senate election. In exchange for some... perks."

Kayo snorted and went back to her inventory of weapons.

Gordon perked up as the anesthetic cream kicked in and forgot to NOT wave the injured hand around to assist his narrative.

"It was actually kinda cool! The bride barked out "Hands up!" instead of "I do"! The bridesmaids all dropped their bouquets and brandished guns. The bridal party were all Organized Crime and Counterterrorism. Well, and us... A little  heads up wouldn't have hurt, Penny. Then all hell broke loose. Rose petals and confetti everywhere. You should have seen Fischler's face!"

Gordon was nearly flailing with excitement, so John's hands pushed him mildly back into the seat. Turquoise eyes found Penelope's line of sight:

"So... no wedding?"

"No wedding indeed."

Up on the Tracy Volcano Virgil's comm vibrated, switched to silent mode hours ago. John's message read "No wedding."

Virgil exhaled a sigh, but didn't yet know how to break the subject with a brother, seated next to him on the sun-warmed boulder, overlooking the ocean. Blue eyes were fixed on a point far away in the distance, or maybe far away in the past, Scott still wouldn't talk about.

[astranite]

Blue-Grey

Some Early IR and post-Bereznik Jeff and Scott, featuring the blue sash Scott would've had if not for everything.

Hurt/comfort. Mentioned PTSD given post-Bereznik.

(I wrote this yesterday completely not meaning to, didnt post it because it was too late and I needed to get some sleep, and completely forgot about it until now!)

-----

“So how do I look?” Scott gave a spin, showing off the form-fitting, blue tactical suit and sash they’d decided was going to be the uniform for International Rescue.

Jeff gave a thumbs up, swallowing the lump in his throat. His boy had come so far. 

From the kid who’s eyes were always on the skies, to the young man who couldn’t be without them. From who he returned as, when he thought he’d never live to see them again.

Scott was still too thin, bones prominent in the way of lost weight instead of harmless youthful ganglyness, but it was sights better than it had been. Getting back into training meant he was even gaining some more muscle again. The dark shadows under his eyes seemed permanently stamped there, but there was some spark back in the blue. He woke up yelling from nightmares on occasion, flinched if someone touched him without warning, and watched the exits, but the flashbacks in the daytime were far rarer and Scott was more like himself again. Talk even was of getting him back into duty, not yet, but now it was soon becoming a possibility.

The move to the island had done them all good. And IR, a project, a focus to drive their energy towards. A grand goal to do everything they could to prevent another family from experiencing the sort of loss his had.

Scott was watching him, even as he adjusted and readjusted the blue baldric, fidgeting with the buckles. Jeff had picked out blue for Scott, just as he’d given each of the older boys their favourite colours (and well, there were some left for the younger ones if they happened to want to be a part in a few years.) He’d taken the silver for himself, know it was the right choice when Scott’s face lit up at his own bright blue.

But right now that grin was forced and faltering. Scott’s teeth worried at his lower lip, eyes fixed on the floor between glances up, looking to him for direction.

Jeff despised the easy confidence that hellhole had stolen. And everything else that had been taken from his kid. 

He swallowed again and stepped towards Scott, smiling and telegraphing his movements.

Gentle fingers tipped up Scott’s chin so he could meet his eyes. 

“You look like you’re gonna go far, Bluejay. And I’m here now to cheer you on every step of the way,” Jeff told him.  

Scott’s intake of breath was sharp with disbelief. 

A quiet, “Dad,” and a shake of his head followed it.

“I believe in you, son,” he said firmly, and tugged Scott into a gentle hug. 

Jeff was rewarded by Scott leaning into him, head finding its way to be buried at his shoulder.

Even if he hadn’t always been there. On long missions, after Lucy… Well, here he was now.

All he could do was wrap his arms around his Scott, and hope that even with all the ways he’d failed him, that somehow he could still protect his son from the world. 

-----

(I have more Thoughts about Scott and Jeff, and Jeff throwing them all into IR, maybe a bit too much, too fast with too few people to help and hold them up, and then the Zero-X happens, and I don't think Jeff planned for that--- But I think that's more for another story!)

[right-brain-of-froggy2]

The Exordium

An insight into Scott's last mission as an Air Force Captain.

TW: injuries, overall military-esque violence, mentions of Bereznik

AO3 link here!

Seriously, this is just my brain plotting out a Top Gun: Maverick inspired one shot with Scott for the past month and finally having some free time after Christmas in July to do it. I did my best for military terms, but definitely took some liberties as this is supposed to take place in the ~2050s. Hope y’all enjoy!

Note: Preacherman is Scott and the other three are OCs

“Dagger Two, where are ya Valentine? I don’t see your position. Speed up, speed up.”

“Copy, Preacherman.”

“Maintain low altitude. I have visuals on SAMs.”

Scott peers around his shoulder, past Kronos in the WSO control seat and out the window. True to his word, Valentine swings out with a sharp increase of speed. He settles into the secondary position of a two jet attack position. Scott pushes the throttle to its max with his wingman in sight.

The mountain is coming up fast like a brick wall. Scott braces his body and shoots the F-30 up vertically, out of range of the first set of SAMs and before the second’s sensors. Kronos puffs heavy breaths behind him. It takes all of his concentration to breath in, breath out, to fight against the G’s threatening to crush his body. The oxygen can’t flow fast enough from his mask.

“Preacherman, we’ve got sight of two Whispers in the clouds. Our radar isn’t finding them.”

“Visual?” Scott asks once he catches his breath.

Kronos peers looks as far as he can around the canopy. “No radar. I can’t see ‘em either! Must be somewhere far behind us.”

“Not good. One minute, thirteen seconds inbound,” Scott informs his team.

“Smoke! I see smoke! Preacher, bank right!” Valentine’s voice cuts through the static of high altitude.

Scott takes the warning from his wingman to heart. Despite being the leader, he follows Valentine’s shouts and banks the F-30 in a tight loop.

“They’ve got lock,” Kronos shouts after smashing an array of keys. The missiles follow the direction changes almost as fast as Scott can make them. “Firing flares.”

The explosion of flares versus missiles sends a shockwave through the fighter jet. Kronos braces his forearm against the left side of the canopy to look out back. “Two Whispers inbound! First visual contact!”

Scott barks his orders like he’s more than the twenty-three years his body is. He can slip down into the mountain cliff crevasse, but Valentine and Sparrow are too far to follow. The Whispers will shoot them down before they can get to cover. “Valentine, break off! Break off!”

The second jet screams out to the right, taking one of the Whisper jets with it. But the other is trailing after Scott without a scratch. A drop off results in Scott shooting out into open air. No more Earth walls to protect him. Scott’s gripping the control stick with both hands and gasping in oxygen as he shoots up in altitude at a ninety-degree angle. The Whisper follows, unsuccessfully attempting a bullet spray. Scott pulls on the brakes, flipping the jet upside down before swopping down to get behind the Whisper jet.

The new Berezniki technology may succeed theirs, but Scott’s the best pilot of his division. And he’ll be damned if now isn’t the perfect time to prove his dogfighting skills.

“C’mon, Kronos, work your magic. Buy us some time!”

Kronos switches to a laser guided missile lock now that the enemy jet is in front. Scott doesn’t see how he does it. He never does. The jet rattles as a set of flares and machine gun bullets fire blindly out to the Whisper. It evades but doesn’t see the missile hidden by the smoke from the flares. The Berezniki jet explodes into an array of shrapnel and fire that falls beneath their wings. Scott whoops a short breath of relief.

“Enemy down. Confirmed ejection. We ain’t gonna worry about that one,” Kronos says as he taps on the canopy covering. But that means there’s still one fighter left they can’t see.

Scott’s thrown off balance as it comes down out of the clouds in pure silence. He rolls the F-30 out of the way of its guns. But before it has a chance to make a second dive at Scott and Kronos, Valentine’s F-30 launched an ambush of missiles.

“Woo boy! Second fucker down!”

“Language, fellas,” Sparrow quips. His voice is all smiles and adrenaline.

“Target thirty meters ahead. Drop bombs when you’ve got a clear shot.” Scott focuses on keeping the F-30 steady as he lowers their altitude to only 100 meters off the ground. He does a flyby and hears a short confirmation that the bombs hit the target. That’s half the battle; the other half will be Valentine and Sparrow making the finishing blow with a SEMI.

“Dagger Two, you got a lock?” Scott asks. He can’t look over his shoulder to see if his wingmen are back behind. “Dagger Two?”

“Negative, Preacherman. We’ve-”

Valentine is infuriated by a crunching sound and Sparrow’s uncharacteristically shrill voice. “Third Whisper! No tracking, visual to right twenty degrees. Valentine-”

“We’re hit! We’re hit!”

“Shit!” Scott’s instincts take over before his mind can. The Lieutenant General is not going to be happy about his actions, that’s for sure. “We’re coming, Dagger Two! Hold on!”

“Preacherman, I’ve lost sight of the Whisper again. No radar, no clear sight.” Kronos supplies. He flips switches on the paneling to his right. “Negative heat tracking. We’re fighting blind.”

That is not good news.

Scott shoves the thought in the back of his mind as he races over to cover Valentine and Sparrow. The first two didn’t show all the tricks of the Whispers. He doesn’t speak as their conversation fills the radio waves. Smoke billows out of the back of the F-30 of his wingmen.

“Engine One, on fire. Taking emergency measures!”

“No good! Extinguishers damaged in impact!”

“Fire spreading, lost control of internal combustion rods.” Valentine’s voice is tight.

“Put it out!” Scott snaps.

They’re over the heart of Bereznik’s Tempo Base. There’s a reason this mission was kept hush hush, and a reason they were briefed on the horrid doings of Tempo only after agreeing. includes learning there would be no rescue inbound should they eject. Scott talked to his four brothers last night for an hour over his allotted time. The fact the higher ups allowed it is enough reason for concern.

The jet shakes as the engine erupts. It sends a shockwave through the plane and has her tumbling out of the sky. The smoke turns to a dark black. Scott’s thrown against his seat as he reverses direction to avoid the explosion. That smoke can only mean one thing: the fire’s hit the fuel tanks. IT’s a worst case scenario for any pilot.

“We’ve gotta eject!”

“Disengage fuel pumps to line four avids. Try to limp her out!”

Scott watches the cockpit of the F-30 fill with flames at the same time the Whisper emerges from the shadows. His eyes widen in terror for his team.

“Eject, eject, eject!”

“Eject now!” Kronos throws in. The fire is spreading.

“Throw the canopy!”

“Eject, eject!”

“I’ve got smoke,” Scott says. His voice is quiet over the sound of Sparrow’s gasp as his seat launches into open air. “Kronos, we’re gonna cover ‘em.”

He dives down where Dagger Two is rapidly losing altitude. The Whisper foregoes Scott’s F-30 and approaches the ejected pilots like a hungry predator. Sparrow is desperately holding onto his chute lines as he rips his mask off. Scott whips their fighter between the Bereznik aircraft and his two men.

The missile loses sight of the broken plane and latches onto Scott’s instead.

“Fire flares!”

“Flares are out, Preacher! Launching last counter missile.”

Kronos spins around in his seat to ensure the missile is negated. “Out of missile too. We’ve got only 27 rounds of bullets left.”

Scott’s mouth stays shut in a tight line. His eyes track the Whisper screaming through the air in a loop, coming around to target their jet. They can’t just leave the two falling to their demise. But Scott sees no way out.

His choice is made for him as the F-30 lurches into a tailspin.

“What the fuck Kronos?!”

“We’ve been hit! Nothing showed up, new tech that-”

“You better use those 27 shots up real quick!” Scott screams as he attempts to pull them out of their tailspin. It’s hopeless. The right side is burned to ashes, not a single remnant of the wing left. Both engines are a sputtering mess of flames and smoke. It starts filtering back into the cockpit. There’s only so much time before their own canopy fills with the same flames that filled Dagger Two’s.

Kronos falters for purchase on the above striped handles. “I’m ejecting us!”

“You will not!”

“Preacher! We’ve got to bail!”

Scott’s not panicking. Fighter pilots don’t panic. He attempts a maneuver to reverse the polarity of their spin. It only increases the speed. Up above the Whisper aims its nose down for the best angle of machine gun bullet fire.

“Scott!”

“Eject!”

That’s all Kronos needs before he’s releasing the canopy top. The force of the wind knocks Scott’s torso down towards his knees. Kronos ejects first. Scott pulls his cord in between his legs and his head whips back as his body is pulled from the flaming wreckage. With no pilot, the F-30 crashes in a blaze alongside its sister ship.

They were close enough to the ground that the parachuted provide little drag. Scott crashes to the ground and feels the bones in his left ankle grind together. Something snaps. Kronos fares better than he does with landing. His WSO unhooks his parachute gear and runs to Scott’s side to help him.

The Whisper does a flyby. It speeds up and bypasses the pilots. The Berezniki craft fires no more and turns back towards where it came. If Scott wasn’t wearing his helmet, the supersonic blast would have ruptured his ear drums for sure.

“I saw Valentine and Sparrow up ahead. C’mon!”

“Your ankle?”

Scott tries to stand. He hesitated in his first step with his left foot. Pain shoots through his body. But the adrenaline rush masks the worst of it. “Forget about it! Go! Go, go, go, go!”

He signals to Kronos and they take off in a sprint.

“Find us a way outta here Preacherman!”

He radios in to base as they run. The soldiers may be able to triangulate their position if they’re listening in on the frequency. But they won’t get any help staying silent. Either way, Scott and his men are sitting ducks. Calling for reinforcements is their best bet at survival.

“This is Captain Tracy. Scramble standby Dagger Three and Four.”

A pause over the radio. Then static. “Negative Captain Tracy. Enemy is hostile, engaging off target.”

“Send in the A-Tidals. Lucky One is on foxtrot.”

 “Negative. Airspace is not under clearance. SAMs are currently engaged. There is no entry.”

“Requiring backup! Dagger One and Two down. Repeat, requiring backup. Dagger One and Two down!”

“Captain Tracy,” the Brigadier General’s voice is cold. Scott didn’t realize he was even in the control room. His word is law and Scott’s scared for what he has to say. “We cannot send aid. Search and rescue will be locked down until threat is neutralized.”

Search and rescue?

Scott swears.

That old bastard knew this was a suicide mission and sent them in anyways. Scott decides to do his own search and rescue, with emphasis on the rescue part.

Sparrow is the first one they find. He’s cut loose from his parachute and running desperately towards them.

“Wrong direction!” Kronos yells. He makes a sharp cutting motion with his hand parallel to his temple as Scott’s hands are tied up with his radio. The look on Sparrow’s face is worthy of Scott’s pity.

“You got Valentine with you?”

“No clue where he’s at!” Sparrow gasps between breaths.

A round of air strike bombs rings out where Scott and Kronos crashed. Falling bombs fill the air with a backdrop of a beautiful blue sky. The trio is just out of blast range. For now.

Running in the direction opposite of Sparrow proves successful. Valentine is on the ground, one hand around his leg. His parachute is tangled up in the evergreen trees above.

“Valentine!”

The man garbled out some words. Scott catches none of them. He removed the lieutenant’s hands from his leg. They’re bloodied. Scott examines his leg and it’s not a promising one. One of the bones of his leg has ripped through the skin. A gash in his flight suit from landing shows the whole gory scene.

Kronos is right by his side. “It’s no good, the bone’s all stuck out. He’s immobile.”

“You didn’t… have to come back for me… Cap’n…” Valentine gets out with grit.

“Yes we did. Don’t be stupid,” Scott retorts. Scott points out the only two living humans nearby. “You two! Get him out of here!”

A gunship roars and the air fills with the thundering of military boots on snow. There’s the harsh shout of Berezniki that carries over the snowy countryside.

“Preacher-”

“Captain-”

“Do not disobey! There should be an access path in the cliffs some two miles from here. Take him and run as fast as you can. Hide if you’ve got to.”

Scott pulls out his gun from the holster and checks that it’s loaded. The bullets glint in the morning sunlight. He cocks it.

“Here.” Kronos pulls out his own gun and hands it to Scott. It’s a gesture that’s well appreciated. The situation becomes a ton of lead weighing down Scott’s mind. He helps Valentine up onto Kronos’s back and adjusts Sparrow’s gear.

“Write to my brothers, wouldja?”

Kronos knocks his helmet with Scott’s. The words Kronos and Preacherman connect. “I will.”

Scott nods. Kronos’s words are a promise.

[skymaiden32]

A Different Life

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 5: Pilot

Scott’s memories of his last day in the Air Force.

Continuity: TAG

------

Scott breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally able to collapse onto the hard mattress of his bunk, careful not to injure his broken arm as he fell any further. His bunkmate, Alex Birch, sat on a nearby chair, raised an eyebrow. “How’d it go with the boss?” 

“I don’t know, Alex…” He sighed, running his uninjured hand down his tired face. “I don’t know what to make of all of this. I just feel so…” He paused, trying to find the right phrase. “...jumbled still.” 

It had been just a week since Scott’s miraculous return from the brink of death in Bereznik. Not long enough, if you asked Alex’s opinion. Between Scott losing Greg Hodge, his navigator, in the crash, being held prisoner and tortured, and somehow crossing the wilderness back to base after escaping on his own without help…

It was too much. “No wonder you feel that way.” Alex commented, not ashamed of the sadness in his tone. “You’ve been through hell and back.” He chuckled humourlessly. “I’d be a bit jumbled too.”

Scott sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The Commander outright ordered me to leave today. Take a break. Said he wouldn’t be surprised if I quit completely. Even offered to give me an honourable discharge if I did.”

“And?” Alex probed, turning his chair so he was facing his friend on the bunk. He immediately took notice of how exhausted Scott looked. “What will you do? After your leave I mean?”

His friend sat up slowly, staring ahead at the wall. “I… I don’t know.” He admitted. “A part of me wants to call it quits and stay safe for my family,” Scott explained. “But the other part of me loves flying more than anything.” He finally looked over at his friend. “Even after all of that, I can’t let it go just like that.”

“I know, Ace…” Alex smiled sympathetically, reverting to the squad nicknames for some sense of normality. He hummed. “Doesn’t your Dad’s company specialise in aerospace? Maybe you could get a job as a test pilot there?”

For the first time in what felt like years, Scott smiled. “The whole reason I signed up to the USAF in the first place was to avoid leaning on the family name, Spins.” He chuckled.

“I know,” Alex smirked, laughing. “Just throwing the idea out there.” He sobered up, looking seriously to his friend now. “But whatever choice you make, whatever path you’re on, I’m sure it’ll be your true calling in life.”

“Yeah…” Scott replied. “I guess it will be.”

------

He broke out of the memory, now staring focussed at what had reminded him of that fateful day. The base he had once been stationed at, now closed down due to ground subsidence in the area. International Rescue had been called to get to some officers who had been swallowed up by the very earth beneath their feet. On his right, Virgil stood faithfully, looking worriedly between Scott and the dilapidated base. “Are you okay, Scott?”

“Yeah.” He breathed out, a little too quiet for his brother to hear. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He repeated, louder this time. “The rescue’s over now, anyway…”

“Then,” Virgil began, puzzled. “Why are we still here?”

“The Commander of the base is Alex Birch, right?”

“According to John, yeah…” The pilot of Thunderbird 2 answered, before his eyes widened in realisation, watching the crowd of officers part to reveal the Commander himself, walking towards them. “Wait, wasn’t he in your-”

“My squadron? Yep.” Scott replied. “He was also the one who helped me the most after…” He paused, drawing himself back from those painful memories. “You know…” Virgil knew. He always did.

Alex stopped in front of the two brothers, giving Scott a respectful salute. One that Scott was all too happy to return. “Commander Tracy.”

“Commander Birch.” Scott replied. “I’d like you to meet Virgil, my brother.”

Alex’s eyes lit up in recognition as he shook Virgil’s hand. “Ah, so you’re the one I’d heard so much about from Ace here back in the day.”

Virgil chuckled. “In that case, I hope I lived up to expectations.”

“More than that.” Birch smiled at him. “You knocked them out of the park with that rescue. I can see Scott’s heroism truly is a family trait.” The grin turned melancholy. “You keep taking good care of him, you hear?”

“As much as I can at least” The younger of the two Tracy’s laughed. “He’s always going off somewhere…”

“Hey!” Scott frowned, but the little twinkle in his eyes still remained. “I don’t go AWOL that often.”

“Sure you don’t.” Alex commented.

“I don’t believe it either.” Virgil agreed. Scott groaned. “I’ll leave you two to chat for a bit while I finish packing up.” And just like that, Virgil was off back to Thunderbird 2, leaving the two men to catch up. Scott watched his brother go, smiling in fondness.

Alex’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I told you so.”

Scott looked at his old friend questioningly, although he already knew exactly what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“That you’d find your calling…”

Thunderbird 1 caught his gaze, gleaming a bright silver in the setting sun, a symbol of everything Scott Tracy was and what he worked for.“I did, didn’t I?” Scott answered, looking between his brother, his ship, and Alex. “It sure is a different life, but it’s one I wouldn’t change for the world.”

[thedryswan]

"Be real for a second. Why are you even interested in me? I'm not your type."

"Because you know what my type is?"

Hannah put down her fork and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, counting off on her fingers.

"You: Tall, dark, handsome, especially with those silvery streaks-"

"Hey!" Scott objected, sensitive on the subject of his hair.

"Plus rich, plus successful, plus morals as straight as an arrow. Add all that together and you really ought to be dating the girl next door."

"I live on an island."

"My point stands."

"What? You think I should be dating Kayo?"

"Sure. She knows you better, she's tough, same moral fibre and your family loves her. Can you imagine their reaction if you tell them about me? It's better for you than this angel/demon thing we have going."

Scott sighed impatiently and sat back. "You really think I'm some spotless knight in shining armor, destined to save the world?"

She had begun to munch on her salad, replying through a small mouthful of green leaves, "Well, yeah. Kind of."

"First, please quit with the angelic comparison. I've told you before I don't like it."

"You heard the prosecutor, you know my crimes."

"You haven't heard mine."

Hannah rolled her eyes.

"I'm not some squeaky clean rescue scout. I was a fighter pilot dropping bombs on what I hoped were troops but were in fact innocent civilians in Bereznik. I'll tell you about my antics in Germany another time and to cap it all, I'm the reason my brothers don't have a mom."

"Say again."

In a voice barely louder than a whisper, he replied "I caused the avalanche that killed Mom."

[lenfantdeverone]

Life interlude

Tw: Scott's time in Bereznik, presumed dead, he's actually alive but his family fully believes him to be gone and they're all mourning accordingly. Angst, tissue warning, funeral, eulogy.

Inspired by @sofasurf 's amazing oneshot about Jeff watching his own memorial service.

[gumnut-logic]

Random before work

-0-0-0-

“Honey, stop.”

“I can’t, Grandma.” Her grandson continued to shove supplies into his pack.

Sally reached out a hand and wrapped her fingers around a tense bicep. “Give your brothers time. Give Kayo time.”

Scott looked back at her before shoving the pack closed. “Time is the very thing we don’t have.” He strode out of the supplies room and into the hangars.

Thunderbird Two loomed above them as if to sink the situation into her heart even more.

But she had to stop him. “Scott, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

He spun on specialised footwear, his uniform outlining his determination. “I know exactly what I’m getting into, Grandma. I’ve been there, done that, and now those bastards have Virgil. They can’t…it’s not happening. We’re getting him out now.” He turned on his heel, slung the bag of weaponry over his shoulder and strode off, his long legs determining the end of the conversation.

She stared after him for a moment before thumbing her collar. “John?”

“Grandma?”

“I can’t stop him.”

“Not unexpected. I have had no success with Gordon either. They are determined to go. Kayo has made landfall, but is still gathering data. The GDF are not responding. Eos is streaming detail to One as we speak.” Her orbit-bound grandson took a breath. “We will get him back, Grandma.”

Sally swallowed. She had no doubt her grandsons would do exactly as they intended.

But at what price?

Scott’s tense shoulders spoke volumes to her. She knew he would go to hell and back for Virgil. They all would. She just wished that hell wasn’t Bereznik.

-o-o-o-

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 3 - Realise

Heh ok I’m on a roll now… previous bit here.

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Scott raced through his bedroom door and vaguely acknowledged the squelching noise and the probably related damp sensation seeping through his socks. Later. He slammed the door and tore the coat off so hurriedly one of the buttons became detached and rolled somewhere out of sight. Later. Slinging the offending item over the back of the desk chair he turned his attention to the rest. Did he need to shed the shirt as well? Probably… he was never wearing any of this again anyway. It had been a terrible idea even to consider it.

He’d always intended to find out what Virgil’s deal had been in the aftermath of his capture. He knew about the others but there was nothing recorded about Virgil and the most he’d got out of his father was a hurriedly suppressed agonised expression and “He really missed you.” He was going to quiz John at some point but had never quite found the courage to ask. He knew it had been bad but nobody spoke of it.

All Scott knew was that Virgil had been there for him, his first clear memories of the hospital his brother’s eyes and his voice and he’d been singing and Scott knew he wasn’t in prison anymore because music had been banned in Bereznik. His little brother had been his rock, unfailing, unflinching… unmoving in the main. He had a vague recollection towards the end of his incarceration on the ward of nurses giving up and just working around the snoring figure hunched over his bedside.

But he had no idea what had gone on before. And he now realised he really should have made more effort to find out.

He crossed the room to where he’d left his civvies folded neatly and stumbled as he failed to get his left leg fully free of the narrow legged pants. Reflexes saved him, but not the photo frame he swiped off the bedside table with a rogue elbow. Broken glass joined the coffee in the chaos that was now his bedroom carpet. No matter just a photo frame. Dad’s photo frame though. He picked it up guiltily and then gasped as a sudden bolt of clarity hit him. As he suddenly realised when this framed photo of his past self had last seen the light of day. That Virgil probably hadn’t seen it since it graced the top of his empty coffin.

He flung it away from himself and bellowed a string of curses at the ceiling. How could he have been so STUPID?

Hands shaking, he wrestled with the buttons of his casual shirt and probably missed one or two. Later. Leaping over the wet patch and the glass he left his door swinging and ran for the lift before cursing again and hurrying back. As he struggled into his jeans he realised that this time he hadn’t avoided the glass and that at some point that was going to STING. Later.

The lift took 6.8 seconds to descend to the hangar and it was at least 6 seconds too slow. Snatching a spare jetpack from the store he ran past Two towards the pedestrian exit for her runway and she loomed over him. His brother’s ship was never cross, but right now he felt her disappointment. He silently promised her he’d fix this and fired up the pack as he slammed the door open with his already aching shoulder and shot into the sky.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

[edutainer2022]

UNREQUITED Ch 7.5

Co-written with @janetm74

Ch 7 | Ch 8 | AO3

A piece, concurrent with the ending of Ch 7 (Page Six). A glimpse into Scott's reaction and overall state of mind (aka the lies his heartbreak is telling him). Virgil is being a very supportive brother, but he's out of his depth quite a bit.

(interlude)

*interlude*

Virgil startled, as he didn't expect his brother to speak. Not since he picked him up off the floor of Dad's study, hyperventilating, amidst the shards of the broken whiskey glass and the shattered picture frame of Scott's AirForce graduation photo Dad kept on his desk.

Not since they holed up in one of the Round House guest rooms, while the short notice preparations of the impromptu "wedding party" were afoot.

Virgil quietly debated with John to maybe ask to call it off, but it was Penelope's request. And Gordon was so excited. They wondered if that was also Lady P's sneaky way to arrange a getaway for her friend Kayo and Rigby in a beautiful, romantic setting. That would have been a move right up her alley.

None of that certainly helped improve Scott's mood or made him more forthcoming. Big brother was just not all there since the news announcement and the breakdown in the study.

Virgil wondered if Scott even noticed his brother was an ever present shadow at his side those past two days. Apparently he did.

They saw FAB 1 land on the island, earlier than expected, from the vantage point of the mountain terrace.

Then John's message came through - that the "wedding" was an elaborate GDF undercover op. Scott reacted to that in a way Virgil didn't anticipate - with a laugh that chilled him to the bone. A laugh of a madman.

Virgil was still unsure what to say, once his brother calmed down, but Scott spoke first.

"I can't do this anymore."

Virgil's chest tightened. Virgil shifted to press himself closer to Scott's shoulder and provide support. Whatever his brother needed at the moment. Scott's voice was hoarse.

"I can't feel like this anymore. I can't! I want to stop!"

"Scotty, you're scaring me."

Virgil didn't intend to sound so small and unsure, but the raw pain Scott let him see up close, left the little brother in him rattled. Virgil leaned his chin on Scott's shoulder, an extra anchoring point in the storm.

"I can't feel like I couldn't ever be happy. I want to stop! All of it. Just stop!"

Virgil's vision swam. There was a determination behind the anguish in his brother's voice that got him so scared all the way back in the Arctic blizzard. That was a step before Scott setting a self-destruction course.

Virgil tried again with the softest inflection, usually reserved to shocked rescuees:

"Scotty, it's okay. You deserve all the happiness you ever wish for, I promise!"

It didn't have an intended effect, as big brother snorted bitterly.

"That's just it, Virgie - I DON'T! She was right."

Virgil's educated guess as to the "she" was immediately confirmed.

"She was right. I was Dad's charity case. He probably saw right away I wasn't cut out for GDF, so planned to pull me out anyway. That was even before... That Place."

Virgil shuddered. Any mention of the hell in Bereznik those months were for Scott (and for them all) was a minefield of its own. But Scott wasn't done.

"And after... Dad didn't even trust me to go on Zero-X with him. Didn't trust me to save him! She was right - I'm a waste of AirForce training and Dad's hopes!"

Scott was sobbing more than talking coherently at that point, so Virgil concentrated on clutching him for dear life, as if scared the brother would fracture into pieces if he let go. His own tears were soaked in by the denim shirt.

John's notice he was coming up remained unread.

[astranite]

Close Call

Earth and Sky, angst, hurt/comfort and some ending fluff! 3723 words.

Might recognise some of the beginning from wip Wednesday! I finished it!

@idontknowreallywhy If this was a book it would absolutely be dedicated to you at this point. :)

Warnings because its better to be too thorough than not thorough enough? (feedback welcome, Id like to get better at these) -minor off screen character death, avalanche and mum fanon, injury to Scott, some medical stuff, needles, Bereznik allusions, ptsd, I think you'll need tissues.

But happy ending and hugs! Also crying and forehead touches.

-----

Virgil was waiting for him when Scott returned to Thunderbird Two. 

He crunched his way through freezing snow, kicking drifts up with his boots, shivering in spite of his well insulated uniform. He had eyes only for his brother. Virgil, standing there with his broad shoulders hunched, arms hugged across his chest. 

Scott broke into a jog. 

He stumbled on the last step, usual surefootedness fled in his exhaustion. He would have fallen, slipping on icy metal, if Virgil hadn’t run down the ramp to reach him sooner. As it was, he crashed into Virgil hard.

Virgil wrapped Scott in a bear hug, tight enough to nearly knock the breath out of him. Caught him, held him. Scott clung on. He dug his fingers under the back of Virgil’s green baldric. 

Their helmets met with a thunk. What would have been a press of foreheads was a collision hard enough to rattle his teeth. Scott was face to face with his brother. He had to face wide brown eyes, worried, centimetres away through visor glass.

“What did you think you were doing?” Virgil growled, “You idiot.”

“People needed rescuing. I did what I had to.” Scott couldn’t stop himself from going over after them. 

Virgil shook him, roughly, gently, Scott didn't care. As long as Virgil didn't let him go.

He had to.

“Scott.”

“I had to.” 

The way Virgil’s expression crumpled made him grimace, even as he took comfort in the way his brother was warm and solid, practically holding him up.

Scott turned his head away from Virgil as much as he could, staring down at the glaring white snow.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. 

He ignored his thumping heart and throbbing shoulder. He barely registered them, his breath coming in fast pants. Between mum’s death and dad’s disappearance, maybe he’d forgotten how to say anything else.

Virgil’s voice was far too gentle. “They were already gone. John scoured every inch of this mountain for life signs.”

Scott flinched, hard, then pressed his helmet against Virgil’s shoulder. 

Green and blue filled his field of vision, anything better than white, white, white, red. Snow, delicate crystaline flakes, spattered with droplets of scarlet blood.

Just because he couldn't hide his trembling from Virgil, didn't mean he had to make a show of it. Scott was better than this. He had to be. Someone needed to be able to hold his family together, and the only person left to do it was him. He was the eldest, no one else was left.

He had to stay strong for his brothers. He couldn’t break.

He raised his head and stood up straight. He squared shoulders, even as a pained hiss escaped between his teeth. 

He walked up Two’s ramp, all stubbornness and pride. All stupid desperation.

But Virgil still followed him.

Even as he stood in the middle of Two’s module, at a loss for what to do, he could feel Virgil’s presence, hovering. 

Scott swayed, taking all of his willpower to remain upright. His left hand drifted to support his right arm without his imput into it, to take the weight off his abused shoulder, 

At least Alpine Recovery had taken the body bags. So he didn’t have to see them again except in dreams.

Didn't have to see her, as a frozen image overlaid from years ago. Mum.

His brother’s voice, usual soft baritone overlaid with an edge, snapped him out of it.

“Scotty. Med bed. Now.”

Scott obeyed. His limbs just followed through Virgil’s command without any conscious thought.

He still ended up in his usual position of perched on the side of the bed, ready for flight at any moment. Ended up staring at Two’s metal flooring, had Virgil turned the heat up? Certainly felt like it, the excess snow he’d carried in on his uniform was melting into dark droplets on the metal. 

But he was still shivering.

Virgil was already flashing the med scanner over him. Scott blinked at the sudden amber light. Virgil’s jaw was set, harsh lines furrowed between his brows.

“I have to take a look at your shoulder.” 

“No.” 

“Scott.”

“It’s fine,” he said firmly, in spite of through clattering teeth.

Virgil’s eyebrows descended like storm clouds. “Then let me see it to prove that.”

Scott wasn't sure why he was stopping Virgil. It wasn't that bad. He’d had worse than the spiking, flaring pain radiating from the joint. 

“Fine.”

He began the process of taking off the top part of his suit. Frozen fingers fumbled at the zipper. He managed to get his good arm out, all the while glaring at Virgil. 

As soon as he tried to take the other out, the pain flared. His vision whited out, worse than in a blizzard’s storm. He gasped, like a punch to the gut. 

When the blurry floor of Two came back into focus, Scott made another move to try to get the suit off, before Virgil gripping his good wrist stopped him.

“I’ll get the scissors, that’ll be easier,” Virgil said in his quiet, firm medic’s tone.

“No, I can do this.” He couldn't fail at anything else.

Virgil’s breath hissed from his nose. “Either I help or you let me get the scissors.”

No. He could do this. But his brother’s warm fingers were better than having cold blades near where it hurt. Too many memories sparked that way.

Scott shifted his body the tiniest bit closer to Virgil. He could trust Virgil, he reminded himself. 

By the time Scott’s upper body was free from the skin-tight blue material, he was soaked in sweat and panting heavily. Virgil had uttered a thousand apologies. 

He didn't argue when Virgil cut away his undershirt. Virgil was so careful to gently pull the fabric away, the metal never touched him once. 

Scott couldn't look at his shoulder now it was bare. Virgil’s fingers brushed it and he shuddered. Something there was… wrong. 

“It’s definitely dislocated. You need painkillers before I can set this,” Virgil said.

It hurt, badly, but Scott hated the whole process, the fuzzyness that came with meds. How they forced his guard down.

“Just give me a couple of ibuprofen,” he countered. 

Virgil’s voice rose in a crescendo, “You need more than bloody ibuprofen!” 

Scott ducked his chin to his chest, wincing. He’d worried Virgil enough.

“Just anything I can swallow then.”

Virgil frowned. 

“Please.” 

Scott knew some of his fear showed through, no matter how he tried to stop it. 

He couldn't handle a needle slipping into his skin and muscles and veins, right now. Or that cold feeling of something being injected. Not even the near painless autoinjectors they kept around, fitted with the tiniest pediatric needles. Not even in his brother’s gentle hands. Not with the track mark scars running up his arms from that place.

Virgil stepped over to the medication cabinet, jaw set and lips pressed together, but he didn't protest.

He handed Scott a cup with what he recognised as the strongest meds they had in tablet form. Scott swallowed them dry before Virgil had a chance to get him water.

“I need a couple of x-rays while those kick in. Okay?” 

Scott nodded. The exhaustion was fast pulling him down.

Virgil positioned the portable x-ray machine over him, and took them. Scott let his eyes slide half shut, just watching through the slits when he couldn't bring himself let the dark engulf him completely.

As Virgil read through the results projection, he mumbled, “You’re lucky nothing’s broken,” to himself.

Him, lucky? Scott’s luck extended only to not ending up in a body bag every time he should have. Every time everyone else did. 

“What happened there?” Virgil said louder and more definitively. 

Scott flinched before his brain caught up, that Virgil was asking about his shoulder, not there.

“Grapple cable as I went off the cliff,” he admitted. He didn't have the energy to lie. “Further than I thought. I— I didn't look. Just had to get down there.”

“Again?!” Virgil exclaimed, “That thing is meant to be clipped to your harness not held in your fucking hand!” 

“I know. But I saw someone. And they were moving.”

“But they weren’t still, by the time you got there? No matter how fast you went.” A flat statement, not a guess.

Scott bit his lip, hard and nodded. Virgil got it. He’d been on rescues like this too. When all the pain was for nothing.

The silence stretched out between them. Scott could only hear his and Virgil’s breathing against the hum of Two’s heaters. Outside, the snow muffled everything.

Virgil cracked it gently. “The meds will have had enough time by now and the scans look okay.”

Scott knew what he was asking. It would hurt still. “Just do it.”

Virgil set his shoulder as Scott stared straight ahead. He didn't make a sound. Couldn't close his eyes. Just tried to breathe through it as best he could, even as each was fast and shallow.

When Virgil pulled away to reach for the supplies to strap his arm up, Scott curled into a ball, arm tucked against his chest. The pain tore at him through the muffled curtain of the medication, like a landscape through a sheet of snow fall, half visible, half not.

It took all the strength he had to let go for long enough for Virgil to check his shoulder over and immoblilise it with a sling. He still held the other over it protectively, even as his left was strapped against his chest and he couldn't move it.

His shoulder hurt less, but he was still shivering.

He refused the icepack Virgil tentatively offered him, but took the anti-inflammatory meds. 

“The soft tissue damage is going to keep you out for weeks,” Virgil stated, softly as he could but it still hit Scott like a blow.

More work for his siblings. And they were already snowed under. It was his fault.

“You can’t keep going like this,” Virgil pleaded.

“I have to.”

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore. Breaking yourself down against unyielding cliffs, over and over.” Virgil’s voice broke.

“I have to.” He had everything to live up to, with all he failed. 

Virgil turned away, dashing his hands across his eyes. Scott’s heart clenched.

“I do it because I can’t not.” He had to make Virgil understand this part, somehow. “Everyone needs me. They needed me down there. Dad needed me. Mum did too.” 

Virgil spun back to him, tears streaming openly down his face. 

“Those aren't your fault! They never were. You’re doing your best but that was outside of your control.”

Scott swallowed hard.

Virgil kept going, “It still matters you tried, it always does. But you can’t tear yourself apart in the process.”

Scott clenched his jaw against every bitter word he could say against that. He tried, but it all still ended this way.

Virgil’s voice was rough with sobs. “We need you because you’re Scott, not because you’re a hero.”

Scott threw himself at Virgil.

Virgil caught him, like he always did, like he had for both their entire lives.

Reflex tears welled up in the corners of Scott’s eyes. 

From the pain of jarring his shoulder in the collision.

Because he was all exhaustion and hurt. 

All his stubborn desperation was worn threadbare, too thin to keep out the cold. 

He was shivering. But Virgil was warm.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Virgil’s voice rumbled through his body, drowning out the rest.

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Scott leant into him. But he still mumbled into Virgil’s uniform, “I can’t just give up.”

Gently, ever so gently, Virgil’s arms tightened around him, holding him closer.

“Needing to rest isn't giving up. Being human isn’t giving up.”

Scott shook his head. “I can’t. I have to—”

Virgil took Scott’s head in his hands, tilting it up to look at him. Scott sucked in a shaky breath. 

“You don't. I’m here for you. We all are.”

Brown eyes caught his. Brown eyes filled with tears, utterly unmovable in their conviction.

“You’re not alone in this,” Virgil said, “Never will be. You don’t have to tackle the world on your own anymore. Lean on us, we can take the weight.”

“I don't think I remember how to do that,” Scott whispered.

“Then we’ll figure it out together.” 

Virgil swiped his thumbs across Scott’s cheeks. Scott hadn’t even noticed the moisture that had gathered here.

He’d been too exhausted to cry before. As if the cold numbness from the snow had gotten into his bones and frozen there. All the pain in his past had only taught him to hide it, to never give in and let them know they’d won. Too many lessons learnt there. 

And fear, fear was something his brothers were never allowed to see. He had to be strong for them, had to be brave. Because no one else was going to stand between his little brothers to protect them from the world. 

But no one was there to protect him.

But Virgil was here now. 

Of course it was Virgil showing him another way. 

Scott could lean on him before he broke. Somehow he’d forgotten a fundamental core of how the world worked. 

Virgil had his back.

All his brothers had his back.

He just had to let them in.

Scott leant forward and pressed his forehead against Virgil’s, pouring all the love and fear he had into the simple gesture. 

Virgil’s hand found the nape of his neck easily, pulling him closer. 

Scott had to shut his eyes against the tears. More tears.

From all the grief finally catching up to him. From the pain. From the terror that had frozen him before the mission, before he leapt from One, before he leapt from the cliff, falling gracelessly until the wrench of his shoulder when the grapple caught him. 

Because he didn't have to do this alone anymore.

Maybe the running in the dark, running, running, pushing himself desperately further when he thought he couldn’t go on, maybe that didn’t have to be his every day. His whole life.

Hope was crushing. But Virgil wiped the tears as they ran down his face, with calloused fingers slightly rough and completely gentle. Even when all Scott was was the jagged scars he’d had for years now. It was his brothers who taught him he was more than that.

Virgil had always been Scott’s rock, the wall for him to break against, to catch him when he falls, the strength and sense when he fails. He trusted Virgil’s judgement more than his own sometimes. 

He trusted him now.

Virgil was warm and solid, forehead still pressed against Scott’s. Their tears mixed and fell away. They cried together; Scott could feel Virgil shaking. He was shaking too, but neither of them had to hide it. 

They’d weather out the storm, survive the blizzard because they’d make it through this together.

The edge of Virgil’s sash dug into Scott’s chest, but nothing could force him to let go. Not when Virgil was clinging to him too, the hand wiping the tears away moving to an arm wrapped around him when the tears flowed too thick and fast. Not when he could hear the way Virgil’s breaths caught with every sob, raw and torn. 

Scott found Virgil’s side with his still working arm even with his eyes shut, then tucked it around Virgil, rubbing at his brother’s broad back soothingly. 

He’d scared Virgil. Badly. Virgil had been angry too, emotions warring in low piercing words, a clenched jaw and soft brown eyes made sharp beneath thunderous dark brows. What it took to push past the terror. Virgil was the most even tempered of them all. Scott knew for sure he’d gone off the edge, figuratively and literally this time. It hadn’t been fine. He hadn’t been fine.

But Virgil caught him in the after. Scott clawed his way back to him for Virgil to pick up the pieces, the dance a familiar routine by now. After everything.

This was what Scott needed. Not more mountains to climb, or the frigid air flowing past him, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he jumped. But his brother, holding him close. To be able to hold onto him too. No more running for what was sliding from his grip. Virgil was here, right now. Scott didn’t have to anymore. 

They could work the rest out later. Minutes passed by, as their hearts beat more steadily, the air growing warmer from Two’s heaters, the Thunderbird sheltering them from the outside. 

She wasn't Scott’s own, but Virgil big green ‘bird held some of the same reassurance in her cahelium frame. The Thunderbirds were as different as their two pilots but, like them, were made of the same stuff.

Scott opened his eyes when both of their breathing was deep and even, while they leaned heavily on each other.

No longer so lost blue eyes found vulnerable brown eyes. Scott was close enough to see how tears clung to Virgil’s lashes. His face was red and puffy, and Scott knew his own couldn't be any better. 

“Virge.”

“Scotty,” Virgil rasped out.

“We’ll be okay, right?” Scott had to ask, because of the ever present threat of icy fear trying to drag him back.

“Yeah. Always.”

Scott swallowed and gently knocked his head against Virgil’s in place of finding the words. 

“Love you.” There were words after all, easy ones, frequently said.

“Love you too,” Virgil replied, lips tilting up at the edges.

Warmth filled up the places the cold had been. Scott realised his shivering had stopped a while ago. 

When Virgil pulled away, he didn’t go far. Just an arms length reach, to get Scott in view to check him over. Still the medic, and who was the smotherhen in the family, really? Right now, Scott didn't even mind the fussing. 

It meant Virgil stayed close. 

And letting Virgil help seemed to calm him too. The need to look out for each other was a family trait, and letting them in was something Scott could do that would help, he realised.

Virgil momentarily turned his back to rummage through the storage lockers.

Scott watched him across the module room, so he saw how Virgil’s fingers tightened in the red flannel of the shirt he held.

“You’ve been pushing for months, Scott,” Virgil blurted out, “Late nights, early mornings, longer and longer rescues.” 

“I didn't think you noticed,” Scott admitted. 

Virgil sucked in a pained breath, “I didn't think you’d let me in. And I was helpless to stop you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. But at least now we can fix it. Together.”

“Together.”

Scott took the shirt from Virgil, briefly gripping his hand. He let Virgil help him settle it around his shoulders and negotiate the sling.

The flannel was soft and comfortably too large. Very plaid and very Virgil. There were clothes of his own stored away in Two’s lockers, Scott knew, but Virgil had chosen to give him something of his own. He buried his nose in the collar. It even smelt like his brother, of paint, engine oil, coffee and Virgil.

Their well worn silence was comfortable too, as Virgil also changed out of his uniform. It settled around them and filled Two up, letting Scott’s aching body sink into the med bed’s pillows.

Fastidious Virgil dropped his sash and harness in a pile on the floor, on top of his fallen over boots. So he could get back to Scott sooner. The near unthinking gesture struck Scott deep. 

 “We’d better call John,” Virgil eventually said, standing close again, wearing his own flannel, “Let him know how we’re going before he worries himself sick and works out how to get here himself.”

Scott wouldn't put it past John. He’d cross the earth for his siblings; John would cross the skies from the stars. 

He nodded. “I want to go home,” he said softly

“Let’s go home.” Virgil’s words overlapped his.

Home. To the island, to their family.

Virgil glanced toward the cockpit, but instead tapped on his communicator. 

John responded immediately to Virgil’s hail, voice drawn out thin. “Thunderbird Two.” 

“John, I need you to remote pilot Two out of here.”

John’s hologram looked around, catching on Scott on the med bed.

“He’s okay. We’ll be okay,” Virgil reassured.

John acknowledged everything with a quiet, relieved, “FAB.”

By the time Virgil grabbed a pile of blankets and made it back to the med bed with Scott, Thunderbird Two’s VTOL engines had begun their warm up rumble.

Scott knew Virgil hated allowing anyone else pilot his ‘bird, especially remotely, as much as he did. But he was letting it happen, for Scott. To be with Scott.

They were going home. As far away from falling snow as they could get. 

Exhaustion and warmth were making his head fuzzy.

Scott moved with Virgil as he wrapped blankets around him. He ended up covered in one in his favourite shade of sky blue.

Blinking tiredly, slowly, Scott twisted around to see as Virgil settled himself behind him.

Virgil smiled fondly at him and patted his chest, “Lean on me.” 

So Scott did. He let himself lean on Virgil, let Virgil take his weight. 

Virgil tucked his arms around him securely, careful of his shoulder, as Two shifted into flight. Scott snuggled closer, lulled by the rise and fall of Virgil’s breaths. By the hand finding its way into his hair.

Stroking his hair when he was sick or hurt had been Mum’s thing, until it became his brothers’ thing. Virgil’s gentle fingers were as familiar as hers. Sleep crept in, as quiet as footsteps and a door opening just to check in on him.

Scott curled up against his brother, eyes gently closing, surrounded by warmth and love.

John watched over his two closest brothers from the comms as he and EOS remote piloted One and Two. Both were asleep now.

He’d make sure they got home safe. 

In the mean time, he’d let them rest. He kept a screen open, just to see they were okay, until Scott and Virgil were back on Tracy Island and he could take the elevator down to be with them himself.

[hebuiltfive]

WIP Snippet!

Warnings for swearing. Quite a lot of swearing. (They’re not all under the cut either, so if that’s not your thing, please stop reading now).

This story is one that is taking up every hour of my free time (though usually through little plans being made rather than actual writing). It’s becoming something that is completely self-service, and I'm really nervous about that but I’m hoping that when I do eventually get around to posting it that other people will enjoy it in some way shape or form.

This particular scene is from a section of the story that’s quite far into the action, but I had it in my head all afternoon and I had to write it out.

Evelyn’s chair scraped as she pushed it back from the table. The book she’d been reading was closed and tucked under her arm as she stood. Still, he continued to avoid her stare.

“You know something? The Scott Tracy that I knew all those years ago wouldn’t have stood for this. He wouldn’t have been pushed around so easily. I don’t know what the fuck you’ve got yourself into, Scott, but the old you would have found a way around it. The old you wouldn’t have allowed anything, gun to the head or not, get in his way from doing what he needed to do.”

Being told the truth always hurt, but in this case it felt like an ice shard straight to the heart. Evelyn was right, of course, and it burned him worse than that hot water container had, but that didn’t mean he had to stay and listen to it. Her words were the last straw.

“Yeah, well, that Scott Tracy is no longer in the fucking building, so get used to it.”

He stood, knocking the chair off balance and leaving it tumbling into the floor behind him. He was no longer just tired, he was angry.

Angry at being pushed around.

Angry at being threatened.

Angry at not being able to do what was right.

“Excuse me,” he whispered, noticing Gordon carefully studying whatever the hell was going on from the kitchenette in his peripheral. “I have to get some air.”

He made it all of three steps before her next question sunk in.

“Do you at least miss him?”

It had him stop dead in his tracks. Did he miss that old version of him? To get such a reaction, he figured he must have done, but he’d never thought about it before. Scott was Scott, and deep down he was still the same person that he’d been all those years ago. Besides, he’d never noticed any changes, but perhaps that was because change can happen slowly over time, right? His answer to her question scared him more than anything else currently did in this district of Bereznik.

“I’ve had to adapt to survive.”

“To survive what? Life? That isn’t going to cut it around here.”

Scott stayed rooted to the spot, even as he heard her socked feet pad over to him. In front of him she stood, head tilted upwards to catch his gaze. He didn’t deny her it this time. After that outburst, eye contact was probably the least he could offer by way of an olive branch.

“Look,” she continued after a few moments of that silent, understanding staring. “Whatever the hell it is, if you want me to stop asking, I will, okay? But just know that our work here will only be a success if we’re a team. We all need to know all the variables in all the situations, otherwise this isn’t going to work.”

He understood that. Truly, he did. This line of work was built in the very foundations of trust in the team, and knowing that he was withholding information wouldn’t make it any easier for him to be seen as trustworthy.

Evelyn held his gaze for a moment, allowing him one last chance to open up to her, to tell her the truth, but Scott held his silence.

She sighed. “You might not want to divulge your secrets, that’s fine, but I’ll let you in on one of mine. I miss him.”

[riallasheng]

@edutainer2022 , the original post was so long it was causing issues on my phone for some reason, so I'm copying your last post and starting a new 'thread' (so long as that is alright with you. If you so wish I'll copy my reply and put it on your thread ^^;; )

Of IR is obviously a cash sinkhole. They also tend to wreck quite a lot of property through the rescues. Zero-XL trial and error construction alone seems to have cost a budget of a sizable country. Also... the way IR policy is about not saving equipment and John merrily suggesting Global One worth billions of hard fought for tooth and nail funding be abandoned - they boys probably never had to file a grant proposal in their life. In their life equipment the caliber and expense of a space station is replaceable on demand. Unless it has sentimental value.

I LOVE the idea Mom's heirloom money was a major contribution. Although, the old residence of the Gran Roca doesn't appear opulent - we don't know the extent of the estate (and horses? Where did the horses go?). Maybe smart investments, patents, not just aeronatic business. Mom is canonically old southern money (but still no name).

Oh, the Bereznik thing WITHOUT Jeff in the picture would have been a glorious mess. Scott is a) respectfully, a fairy nobody at that point (well, Daddy's boy, but no political and little economic leverage); b) all but a liability for GDF if they want to go ahead with IR - Scott is one foot out and vocal about his brothers being no foot in, the IR branching AWAY into Thunderbirds is afoot, and while it's not a problem to train GDF officers into operatives, the hitch is probably in the rights and specs for the tech (and Brains) - the Tracies are out, IR is out of GDF clutch. So yeah... Scotty MIA is more convenient... than not. So quite likely the Old Guard pooled up for an extraction that "never happened" under conditions that Scott's imprisonment "never happened" to anyone who should ask. Yeah, Scott doesn't like or wants anything to do with GDF law inforcement angle. Maybe IR is later greenlit under STRICT conditions they will only identify as civilians. Scott is so worried Kayo was breaking that rule as if their license depended on it. Maybe it did. He's worried as late as Chain Reaction (all the while aiding and abating an escape of a terrorist out of pure unironic goodness of his heart).

I agree, much as the idea of Military bros is appealing - Gordon indicates no exposure to that structure. Scott does, but, like you said, not in the manner that would suggest he thrived or wanted to do it for life. Semi-canonical "interview" with "Scott" has him flounder on a question what he would do, if not IR. The military service doesn't even come up. Something something about charity and philanthropy.

I wonder how much of Zero-X was built with Jeff and Lee in mind. Calypso was a two pilot mission. There wasn't much OUT THERE at the time to warrant T-drive powered rescues. No Marcian colony, nothing. Maybe Jeff and Lee felt stir crazy, "moored" on Earth and kinda expected to space-the-final-frontier it in their autumn days.

Yeah, TaG tends to be as hard on their equipment (and locations) as TOS was, but you have to factor that by the number of rescues... and with TaG being known, that means that people can 'contact' them for reimbursement for damages and harm and the like. Hck, protection from THAT might be part of the reason Jeff could ahve gone with a branch of the GDF initially. (actually, question... where does the Kyrano was a bad-ass ninja warrior come from? It's never said or even implied in the show that I recall. Is it just because Kayo is a kick-ass warrior? I ask because imagine if Kyrano was originally more of the lawyer type, or engineer who was helping Brains or the like). The Tracys, Brains, and Kayo are REALLY lackadaisical about objects and finances. Sometimes I get it, like when the choice is save a person OR save a thing... but they seem to be richer than even the TOS Tracys, and there are times where their lack of care of items is grating. Teh high-rise fire episode in example, where they took delight and went out of their way to damage the building / cut the top off of it - it legit would have been easier and safer to break the glass and lower the seats down, and the smugness to the building owner after bordered on them being asses. And in another example... yeah, Global One. O'Bannon was RIGHT in her call to try and save the station, that is a MASSIVE investment (and would have been a LOT OF DEADLY DEBRIS RAINING DOWN) and I frankly side with her on it. Like TOS tends to place people above the items too, but they do try to limit damage they cause, in the comics actually do their best to salvage /save items when possible (The ocean liner The President in example) and John and Scott even directly discuss how the Ocean Pioneer was a significant investment for the people involved and they should have tried saving it. Scott AGREES with John on that, but points out that they likely couldn't have done so before it blew up / they might not have been able to. In the comics (and novels to a degree) they HAVE made the call to save the objects as well on occasion.

On the Ranch not looking opulent... sometimes people with a lot of money don't spend it on mansions or the like, but instead on other things... and it's possible that the Mom's family prefered simply, homely, comforts and disliked ostentatious shows of wealth. (In an example... Tracy Island in TOS and TaG is like this. The interior is comfortable and not very showy... yes they're on a private island, but the home itself looks like a upper middle class home of the era. There's Virgil's piano, but it's a baby grand rather than a grand, and white pianos actually cost markidly less than black pianos. The game room has a pool table, but (esp in the 60s) Pool tables weren't that expensive unless you went all in, and even people on the lower end of middle class could possibly have one. The same is true for what we see in the TaG house. Upper end of middle class overall. One or two showy things, but not opulent. Not Southern money, Western money / South-Western money. Southern refers to the states in the south east and tends to come from foresty or farms, where-as western and south western are from ranches or oil/natural gas. (The USA is not so much one country as it is 50 countries in a trenchcoat XD The Mom's home is in the western states, which are about as different culturally from the 'southern' states as... hmm... Ukraine is from France. There are many simularities, but there are also many differences). Bad area for horses though, very rocky with little to no grass or open areas. Not good for cattle ranching either. Most likely it was oil or natural gas (despite teh show lambasting it, oil is vital for a HECK of a lot more than just fuel, and would still be required in the 'modern day' of the show)

Yeah, Jeff being gone when Scott was a POW would make for an interesting situation. a) Scott likely was at minimum a Captain, and the Tracy name would have been well known from how big the company was to Jeff's heroic 'death', so Scott would be in the very bad position of being a 'nobody'... related to several 'somebodies' who could be levereged for ransom and Scott himself would likely be tortured for information on Tracy Industries, the (at that point) shut down iR 'branch', the GDF in general... It wouldn't be a good time for him in the slightest b) Scott being a POW would, terrifyingly, be a 'good' situation for the GDF. He wouldn't have any information they would need to worry about, it keeps him out of the way and out of trouble, he doesn't have teh threat of leaving the GDF which means as long as he's a POW they have access to Brains and the funding from Tracy Industries, they might be able to get Virgil or John to join up (Gordon would still be too young to enlist, as he'd only be 16 or 17)... Horrifyingly, they'd have every reason to both make sure that Scott stayed alive... and stayed a POW. And Scott would KNOW THAT. Which would go a VERY LONG way to explaining his apparent SEVERE lack of trust (and at times apparent near hatred) for the GDF. He likes and trusts Casey and Lee, but the GDF as a whole? Odds are Casey was very much bending or even breaking orders to get even slightly involved in the rescue. Heck, just her HIDING the fact that others were planning a rescue might have been all she was able to do, it might have been almost entirely Penny's dad via his connections and possibly sending Parker in, and quite likely Lee finding a way off the Moon (oddly, despite my earlier statement... I do't think Kyrano would be involved in this rescue. There's no indication that he ever left whatever bolthole he fled to, and if he didn't show up to help when the Hood returned or when they started finding evidence that Jeff was alive... he isn't going to show up to save Scott. Which means the rescue party was likely Parker, Lee, and possibly Penny's dad... who I totally imagine to basically be a 1:to:1 for Sir Jeremy Hodge from TOS. Odds are all the POWs were rescued, not just Scott.

Scott leaving the GDF likely the SECOND he was recovered enough to be coherent / lucid likely was a blow to the GDF, as that means Brains and the Tracy income would now be gone. I could totally see them putting a 'if you become a military organization, we will be 'forced' to have iR become part of the GDF again... it explains the total lack of weapons on the Thunderbirds or Tracys (I'm sorry, weapons for self defense or defense of others is a good thing overall) and why Scott is SO INTENSE about Kayo getting into combat situations... but also why he doesn't really get snarly until Kayo WORKS WITH THE GDF. He sacrificed a HELL of a lot to make sure that never happened, and he likely sees it as the GDF getting one MASSIVE foot in the door to them taking over iR 'again'.

TOS Scott and Gordon show a lot of evidence of not only havng been in the military, but having thrived in it. And some people DO do well in the military, quite often very good people. But Gordon is only 18-20 by the tme of the Pilot, so there honestly is no way for him to have served while still having his lines indicating that he's been a full-time member of iR for a few years prior to the pilot apply on top of the fact that he shows NO behaviors or actions that fit with a former member of the military. tagScott DOES show behaviors and actions that match up with a former member of the military... but they match up with the behaviors of those who just did NOT thrive / work / mesh with the military life. He very much seems to be a 'I served and by God do I regret it' type (which hey, fair, some people just aren't right for it)

you know, oddly, I don't think Jeff or Lee (or iR) were in mind at all with the Zero X. The GDF wouldn't really want either to go out exploring the far edges of the solar system, and with iR up and running (and plans to go independent with it) I actually doubt that Jeff or Lee would have wanted to go do so. Lee AFTER Jeff's 'death' might have been interested in that sort of thing as we see with him staying on the Mars Colony... but not before, I don't think. Look at how happy he was to stay on the Moon Base. He had nodesire or drive to go out exploring, he was happy to stay at Alphie and only left when he had no choice.

[lenfantdeverone]

Scott and pain tolerance headcanon

TW: discussion of PTSD, mental health issues, altered pain perception, Scott in Bereznik stuff

Scott 100% has an altered and dysfunctional pain perception after his time in Bereznik.

He would have strong pain reactions to minor, tiny injuries and procedures that may trigger a PTSD episode, but he would have a high, almost numb pain tolerance when he is completely focused on a rescue.

Needles? He hates needles. They hurt so so much it's almost unberable.

But a fully dislocated shoulder while on a mission? He would barely feel anything at all. He could keep working while having broken bones, while bleeding, and he genuinely wouldn't notice until his brothers take a look at him.

Virgil and John often scold him for being recless and working while injured, but sometimes Scott truly can't tell when he's really hurting. His mind is always twisting the reality around him, he can't feel pain properly anymore. It's an extreme coping mechanism mixed with the altered survival instinct that comes with PTSD. In order to protect himself from pain, his brain sometimes shuts the pain off completely, and other times it makes it much much worse.

This, added to his work ethic in which he needs to push himself to the very limit, makes his job so much more difficult and dangerous. I do believe he is getting better the longer he gets used to his line of work, and I do believe he is required by his family and Colonel Casey to go to therapy to be even allowed on a Thunderbird in the first place, but I still hope he will take some time to properly recover after Jeff is back and takes some responsibilities off his shoulders.

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

Another bit from further down the line because I’ve got myself fascinated by the idea of how two people’s lives can overlap without them knowing it…

Tw for war / bereznik references because apparently that’s what I write at the moment?!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“I know you aren’t meant to hug kids as a teacher, it’s a safeguarding nightmare but damn it, Scott, I’d hug them and we’d huddle on the far wall and we’d sing silly songs to drown out the noise… I’d tell them they’d be ok and their parents would be ok but I didn’t know that and they knew I didn’t know it. I don’t even know if they all survived it in the end…”

She trailed off. A tear was trickling down the side of her nose now and he knew he should reach out to her but he was irrationally worried she would be able to feel how cold he had become since all the blood had drained away from his skin and was thumping through the blood vessels in his head.

“I’m so sorry.”

She cleared her throat and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Not your fault, Blue.”

He only just held back the urge to vomit as he fought an internal battle over whether to tell her the truth. She’d justifiably hate him. This would be the end of something really quite wonderful and he’d lose the best friend he’d had outside his family since... well, since he’d lost Val and alienated Ash. Selfishly he wanted to keep quiet, say something reassuring and they’d never speak of it again. But how could he maintain any kind of friendship with someone from whom he was hiding something like this?

The words slipped out before he’d fully made up his mind.

“Actually… it was.”

[edutainer2022]

Waves at @janetm74 with the text. I have no idea if it's going anywhere, but the idea haunted me to be put out there. Mentions of murder and torture, because Bereznik. Colonel Casey gets some disturbing news.

COUP DE GRÂCE

Colonel Casey leaned deeper into her office chair, a heavy weight settling in her chest, as a holographic grid of data points, crimescene photos, some more gruesome than others, and interconnected arrows was rotating in the middle of the room. Her branch wasn't even the law enforcement arm of GDF per se, so the fact this has been brought to her attention was alarming in and of itself. More alarming still was the number of murders in the span of several months - 19 in total.

There was frustratingly little in the victims' profiles to suggest a pattern - different ages, genders, nationalities, appearances, different countries of residence, different social backgrounds. Different professions too - some former or serving GDF, some civilians - engineers, medics, computer scientists, independent contractors. The GDF officers could be maybe loosely placed as stationed in Europe at some point, but that covered only half of the sample. Yet the pattern was there. Somebody of the GDF best and brightest in counter terrorism division or special ops, figured it out. That's why Colonel Casey was contacted. The assumption was still slim to the naked eye, but the implications made her blood run cold. She forced her breathing to even out, thinking fondly of her ginger spacebound godson - John wouldn't have taken this long to figure out and calculate the pattern. The boy was a patented genius. She also wished none of Jeff's kids, she loved so dearly, would ever have to know about it - the kind of evil that still walked the earth and lurked in the shadows.

The murders were vicious - the victims were held captive and brutalized before they were allowed to die. The MO clearly spoke of a maniac, unhinged and cruel, and hungry for control. It was deduced with some effort that while none of the victims shared more than a handful of common traits, or crossed paths to generate veryfiable connections, at some point all of them dropped off of social media for different periods of time. When they next reoccured - most looked notably changed, gaunt, as if having undergone an exhausting illness. The interviews with families yielded little - absolutely noone mentioned that gap in social media presence or feigned ignorance when pressed.

The victims among different GDF officers were easier to counter reference against more classified databases. That's where Colonel Casey was brought in. The results had her grip the armrests of her chair till her knuckles popped. There were no traceable records, because the GDF and World Council chose not to keep any mention above counter of a POW gulag smack in the middle of the flourishing European continent for a very diplomatic reason of there officially having never been a war. All those years later, someone was methodically tracking, capturing and brutally murdering the survivors of a liberated prisoner camp in Bereznik.

Val Casey felt her head spin from strain and allowed her eyes to rest for a briefest moment. On the backdrop of memory was her oldest friend Jeff's face, contorted with fury and pain, towering and yelling at a stammering World President for cowardly evasion and hypocrisy. Jeff's face again, a picture of pure agony, as he was clutching a scrawny lifeless figure in tattered bloody fatigues to his chest and weeping. She didn't keep track if all the guards and officers of the compound were ever rounded up. Their mission was as black ops as it got - get in, extract, get out. Fast. Were they caught behind Bereznik border, the World Council would feign ignorance and give them up to be tried by the local authorities for an act of war. She forced herself to look back at the holoscreen again and shuddered - among the pictures of victims who made it out of hell and survived unspeakable atrocities, only to succumb to a cruel and vindictive hand, was clearly slotted a place for one more. The crown jewel of whatever vendetta the vile mind of a psychopath was acting out. Humanity's brightest beacon of Hope. Scott Tracy.

Colonel Casey knew her first order of business should have probably been shutting IR operations down immediately and ordering the boys to stay confined on the island, under Kayo's protection. She wasn't naive enough to hope the maniac, whoever he was, would not resort to the surest way to lure his designated victim out - a captured brother or two. But she also knew her eldest godson enough to know it would be a loosing battle to try and have him stay put for his own safety. It hasn't worked so far on any other occasions. She was also weary to even bring the subject of the imposed grounding up and stir the memories of hell. The profiling team dismissed, she reached for a secure comm unit in a locked drawer and dialed the only viable number there:

- Lord Hugh? I need to meet with you and Kyrano asap. The usual place. Off record.