Restart
(verb)to resume (something, such as an activity) after interruption
November 12, 2066 1000hrs Tracy Island
Warm, mid-morning sunlight bathed the lounge as Scott leaned against the side of the desk, absently looped his arm around Kayo’s waist and looked around the room.
So many things had changed, but at the same time so many things had stayed the same.
The new desk was the most obvious difference. Roughly in the same spot (because they could only do so much with the shape of the house) but so much longer, it was a slightly curved slab of deep blue glass on blackened steel legs and more than big enough for the two pairs of black leather executive chairs on each side, the four holoprojectors on the surface, and the separate projector dedicated for EOS’ exclusive use, in lieu of her having an agent portrait. A shared space for work of all types, it didn’t dominate the room like the old desk, but it brought it together while at the same time functioning as a much more collaborative ‘mission control’. ‘And now that we can share the desk, there’s no more being banished to the kitchen for classes for Alan.’ Scott smiled as his eyes lit upon the astronaut, currently sitting on the other end of the desk next to EOS’ active projector as he, Brains, MAX, Gordon, and Grandma chatted with the AI.
Yale had only put up a faint protest when Alan switched to a 90% online program; it had been impressed on them that the optics wouldn’t be in their favour if they denied iR’s astronaut what they allowed for any other student with non-standard needs. Now he did his course work at the desk, usually alongside at least one or two other people doing reports, TI stuff, or other life admin. If Alan needed peace and quiet, UnNamed’s office had been turned into a dedicated study space with two desks and an entire wall covered in blackboards: Alan wasn’t the only college student now.
Scott smiled anew at the memory of getting the acceptance letter from University of Melbourne and their world-leading mathematics program. It’d taken some doing and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why John had quietly booked meetings - in-person meetings - with certain faculty members there, but he was three months into his PhD program and the equations for his thesis on the computational prediction of flight characteristics on boundary layers in hypersonic flight already covered half the study wall. Scott felt his smile broaden. The feel of Hagoromo chalk in his hand, seeing those crisp lines of theory drawn into the physical world, it was such a good feeling. ‘I wonder if Mom ever felt the same way, when she was working on her theories and equations?’
That topic, Mom and her work, had become a long-term project for the family, collectively digging through the layers of history, finding what she’d worked on and correcting the records so that Lucille Tracy nee Evans’ brilliance was allowed to shine again. It was harder than they’d anticipated - they had to prove that she was involved in a significant way - but bit by bit, with every cache they located and combed through, they were all chipping away at the gloating hate UnNamed had coated their mother's brilliance in and bringing her name back into the light.
‘Brains isn’t being left out either,’ was Scott’s thought. So many projects of his had been publicised under generic titles like ‘TI’s engineering team’. The process of correcting that record was so very satisfying too.
Though part of his attention was on the past, Scott turned the bulk of it back to the present.
Other things had been updated as well, changes made to better reflect them and their tastes. The fireplace that they never used had been removed and on the lounge side the wooden wall had been extended over the gap so they could have all the agent portraits up. On the other side the billiards table had been moved over so they could turn the little reading nook there into a bigger library space with beanbags, a coffee table and another two chairs.
More changes had been made to better reflect them and their needs. The ring of sunken couches were now a uniform forest green with dark yellow cushions, the carpet was a medium grey to match the metal strips in the floor, and the bookcases had been repainted white. The piano hadn’t moved, but Virgil now had an easel, work table, and a stool permanently living next to it, the oaken frame holding whatever his current project was. Right now it was a rendition of a storm at sunset, based on a photo that’d been forwarded to him by Cloud.
‘No more hiding in his studio, keeping his art away from that man’s criticism veiled as critique.’ Scott was careful to not let his poker-face crack as he looked at his younger brother, seated behind his beloved piano but not playing it. Grey threaded Virgil’s hair now, mute testimony to the physical, mental, and emotional strain he’d been through. He’d regained a lot of his bulk, but he’d retained the scars on his shoulders, back, and hips from the exo-suit chafing through his uniform. Those scars weren’t going to fade for a long time, if ever, right alongside the wear and tear on his body from not being allowed the time to rest and recover properly.
A couple of years ago that would have touched off a grim spiral of ‘it’s my fault/I should have been better’, but Scott knew better now, both in his mind and in his heart. ‘And with Rigby and Dosela staying on - and the GDF properly doing their job with the smaller stuff - he’ll get the recovery time he needs, we’ll all get that recovery time,’ Scott reminded himself. Plans were well underway to expand their roster even further. Alan was working on recruiting Conrad from the Space Hub to join him both on Three and spelling John on Five, Penelope, Parker, Kyrano, and Kayo were looking for another security specialist, the Mechanic - Mark - was going to come back to the Island once his contract with Spectrum was finished, and Colonel White had promised to forward on any names of people who he thought would better suit iR than they did Spectrum. ‘Really, we should have done this years ago, but he wanted to ‘keep it in the family’ for ‘security reasons’ so he could hide what he was really up to.’ Scott shook off that thought and continued his tally of changes.
Upstairs, the mezzanine had been turned into a hangout space with more comfortable chairs and couches, a media centre, and other little touches that separated the ‘work’ space from the ‘relax’ space - a much needed measure that let them be ‘off duty’ and stand down, rather than always being ‘on’. He could see Rigby up there right now, standing at ease, with Dosela perched on a chair beside him.
Those two had been absolutely invaluable as they rebuilt International Rescue. While Rigby helped field the innumerable requests for information about this and that, made the calls that needed to be made, and reassured anxious politicians and bureaucrats, Dosela had spent most of her time on the tools, helping with the much needed repairs that all the Thunderbirds and their equipment had needed after the punishment they’d taken to bolster UnNamed’s image in the public space.
Kyrano had been equally invaluable.
His calm and steadying presence had been an absolute rock through, well, everything, as they straightened out the mess that UnNamed had left behind him. That first week after the bonfire at the beach, he’d had some private worries that Kyrano would go back into ‘retirement’ at Kinabalu and they’d never see him again. He had gone back, two days later as promised, but to his (and everyone else’s utter relief) it had only been to pack up his house and resign.
The thought of the beach also reminded Scott of the biggest change they’d made to the Island, and this one was outside.
On the eastern side of the Island, the beach huts meant to help camouflage what they were actually up to were all gone, replaced by a half on the water, half underwater villa, flanked by a hangar and landing strip for Gordon’s private plane and FAB1. Gordon and Penny had both decided that enough time had been lost to UnNamed and they’d been married for almost a month and a half now. While Gordon would have been happy with a signing at the registry office, he knew that Penelope had always wanted a 'proper' wedding. Which he was more than happy to give that to her. But the odds of someone doing something stupid or hateful at something that public were extremely high, so he’d asked for help from the sneakiest people he knew: The Angels.
They planned it all out: a fake wedding booked at St. George's in London, while a much smaller and private ceremony was set up at Canterbury Cathedral. Which was very convenient since it was literally in Foxleyheath's backyard. The only thing that Gordon had asked for was October first, that way the reception at the Manor could go for three full days.
The entire thing had gone off without a hitch. With the decoy wedding to distract them, the press and tabloids were caught badly out of place, a group of UnNamed’s supporters who’d planned to crash it were quietly rounded up by the local police - they’d found out later that Cloud had tipped them off - and to their utter relief the Mysterons had completely ignored the event.
Gordon and Penny now split their time between their two home bases. It wasn’t as seamless as anyone would have liked, but they made it work. ‘I don’t think it would have been possible without Dosela covering Gordon and the GDF taking care of the small stuff,’ Scott mused, ‘but now it is, and I’m so glad for them.’
Scott’s eyes rested on the family matriarch next. The past year had aged Grandma physically, he could see that, and it’d caused her wounds that she refused to speak about with the rest of them, but she had also completely rejected all and any ideas about her stepping back fully from TI and iR and ‘properly’ retiring. Scott could feel his smile as he remembered that day, when he and John had carefully broached the idea and she had crossed her arms and given them that look. They were all, he knew, cut from the same cloth. There was work to do and people who needed help, and that was that - and he’d been so very glad of her refusal in those first few weeks with everything they had to untangle.
Sorting out the legalities of TI had had the potential to be a nightmare, but thanks to Grandma, John Svenson and Lord Hugh’s coup, taking that back had been relatively simple. What had been a nightmare had been the legalities around iR, who owned the Island, the incorporated charity that iR operated under, and very importantly, who owned the Thunderbirds.
The first time around - when the Zero-X happened - probate, inheritance tax, and jurisdictions had kept TI’s cadre of very expensive lawyers very busy, especially when it came to fending off the GDF, hungry for access to technology that was light years ahead of their own. Thanks to that ‘practice run’, this time it was much easier but just as expensive. What also helped was that everything had been willed to Virgil - probably, as someone had observed, because UnNamed had thought Virgil was the obedient one who could be easily controlled by Lee, which also meant that Lee would be able to control John through Virgil.
The general suspicion was that UnNamed would have willed everything to Lee, but if he had there would have been a very solid case to contest the will and no one had any doubts about John’s desire and ability to make things extremely difficult for all parties involved if that had come to pass.
What also had been a legal nightmare had been Brains’ situation as a stateless person. Just the initial hearings had needed multiple legal experts from five different countries and months of work just to figure out where to start, much less see if Bangladesh or any of the surrounding countries would retroactively grant him citizenship. ‘And it would have been years of battling it out, plus the problems from him knowingly travelling as a stateless person when he came on rescues or to the ranch or to visit QWRK, if someone - or probably several someones - hadn’t stepped in.’ Scott had his suspicions about who exactly had been having quiet words with certain people - he hadn’t even known that the paperwork had been filed in the first place - but when the email had come from the Aotearoa New Zealand Ministry of Immigration with an approved residency permit and an accelerated track to citizenship… well, it wasn’t something any of them had looked at too closely. Gift horse and all that. ‘MAX was a surprise though.’
Roughly a week after they came back to the Island, the proverbial dust had settled enough for Brains and MAX to reveal the latter’s status as a true AI, his nascent sentience pushed into full awakening by contact with EOS. The elder AI had preened over her part in it all, the rest of them had welcomed MAX with open arms, and John had a quiet word with his companion about ‘please stop aggravating other computer systems to the point they wake up just so they can boot you out’.
The thought of John had him looking at the family spaceman, right now perched on one of Three’s launch chairs and scrutinising the room and everyone in it. Once again, Scott was careful to try and keep his emotions off his face, but his actual level of success would always be up for questioning: very little escaped Thunderbird Five.
Like Virgil, their durance had exacted a heavy price from John. The visible signs were obvious - he was still leaner than anyone liked and flecks of white were starting to bleach his copper-red hair - but it was the invisible ones that concerned Scott the most.
Immediately after the bonfire night they’d grounded John for a solid two months, knowing that his prolonged stay in space with insufficient rest, barely sufficient time to exercise, and completely insufficient nutrition would have a cost to pay. It was a good thing they had grounded him because roughly a week in, John had had a full collapse. He didn’t need to run on adrenaline, spite, and stubbornness any longer, so his body had pulled the plug on all normal operations and enforced a solid block of recovery time. ‘That was a hell of a fright,’ Scott smoothed away the grimace before it could form, ‘but we got through it. It meant changes for him, for all of us, but we got through it.
The aftermath of that collapse meant that John now had to have an enforced one-week-on-two-week-off rotation on Five, swapping duties with Three and EOS filling in as needed, and John’s first day ‘downstairs’ was spent with a light exo-frame under his clothes to support him through a transition that used to be easy for him.
All the thoughts about what had happened also drew Scott’s mind to the interview he’d finally given Kat just over a month ago. He knew he’d unconsciously tensed up because Kayo’s arm slipped around him and “<Beloved, peace,>” was murmured softly to him, just loud enough for his ears and his alone.
The interview… it’d been rough, but Kat (who’d obviously done a lot of research before conducting the interview) had approached the topic with a sensitivity that he deeply appreciated. She’d continued to broadcast her series on UnNamed, and the interview had been the cap to it all, designed to answer the question of ‘how did he get away with it for so long and why were people willing to look the other way?’
It was just a simple change of tack and it made the topic so much easier for him to talk about it. The onus was put on the abuser, not the abused, and because it was the cap to the series he was able to talk about generalities, not the specifics that the audience already knew far too many details about as it was. So the interview had been all about the weaponised charm, the masks that UnNamed used to hide behind, the Jekyll and Hyde dynamic of the public face and the private one, the isolation executed with surgical precision, the removal of his victims’ ability to access help, the control of finances to keep them supplicant, the manipulation, gaslighting, and half-truths, how usually it took multiple attempts before a victim could leave, and most importantly how the abuser groomed their audience just as much as they groomed their victim to ensure that their narrative was the one that was believed.
‘If it helps one person,’ Scott reminded himself, ‘if it helps one person escape, if it helps one person understand, it’ll all be worth it if it saves one person from what Mom went through, from what we went through… from what I went through.’
What they went through… Scott used that as a leaping off point onto a completely different train of thought. Re-skilling for their Thunderbirds… that’d been harder than he’d thought, but getting back into One… ‘it wasn’t quite an ‘I’ve come home’ moment, I’ve changed, she’s changed too… but it felt so right. And seeing Alan’s face when he finally got back into space after far too long…’ Scott knew his smile was wistful. ‘Worth it. That moment made all that pain absolutely worth it. He’s back where he belongs, we’re all back where we belong.’
And with that, he knew it was the time to ask the question that’d been lingering around them all for months now, lurking on the edges of every training session, every simulation, and every practice launch.
Scott straightened up (but he didn’t let go of his fiancee) and the room immediately fell silent, every eye and sensor on him.
“Are we ready?”
Scott’s question hung in the air for a moment as everyone looked at each other.
Alan got to his feet, chin lifted and every inch Thunderbird Three. “We’re ready.”
“F.A.B.” Turning to the projector beside him, Scott keyed in Colonel Casey’s number.
Her image coalesced over the projector a moment later: she’d been expecting this call. “Commander, good to hear from you. What’s the news?”
“Colonel Casey,” Scott wasn’t in his uniform but he still squared his shoulders back. “International Rescue is back online.”
Paul can't just get this 'right'. It has to be perfect.
Ao3 link here
As the deadline for Kat’s report drew ever nearer, that Xanthic and especially Cobalt needed distraction became ever more imperative. Unfortunately there were only so many of the usual measures that could be employed before it became obvious, so in quiet meetings and hushed conversation, unusual measures were settled upon and hashed out; one of which led to the late afternoon quiet of the Officer’s Lounge being abruptly and rudely interrupted by an angry exclamation from the central table.
“I don’t care if I’m being ‘too fussy’! It has to be perfect!”
Across on the other side of the lounge, Scott looked up from his coffee and blinked in surprise at the passionate exclamation from Paul, who went so far as to stand up and start pacing, gesturing with one hand to punctuate his words.
“This is a symbol of the promise and commitment that I want to make to the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and after that absolute balls-up I made at the start of our relationship, I’ve got to get this right,” Paul went on, then waved at the collection of print outs and some hand-written notes on the small table. “That means research, a range of viable options, and a plan of action that’ll let me view the final candidates, and all of this has to be executed without her catching wind of what I’m up to. Dianne doesn’t have any rings on base so I can’t go poking through her jewellery box for either ideas or her ring size, and I can’t ask her mum, she’s a lovely woman, but there’s no way she’ll be able to keep a question like that under her hat.”
“You could ask Destiny, she knows Dianne well and she’s got excellent taste,” Adam suggested, only for his brain to catch up a minute later and he blanched almost at the same moment that Paul gave him a withering look.
“Adam, I might be a little clumsy in the ways of romance, but even I know better than to ask my ex for advice on an engagement ring.”
Scott had been mid-sip when that exchange happened and promptly inhaled his coffee, going into an extended coughing fit.
“Don’t die Scott, you’re not allowed to!” Paul mock ordered once it was clear that Scott wasn’t going to aspirate.
“Not,” Scott paused to cough again and clear his throat. “Not planning to.”
“Good, we won’t be able to handle Gordon without you.” Paul offered him a faint smile, then thumped himself down onto the couch and went back to frowning over his notes and print outs.
“You okay over there?” Scott asked curiously, gathering up his tablet and coffee to come join the senior officers.
“Paul’s working himself up into knots over picking an engagement ring for Dianne.” Adam didn’t flinch at all when Paul glowered at him with an expression that would have had most people running for cover. “Yes, you are.”
“I’ve got to get this right, Adam, that’s why.” Paul groaned and threw his catalogue onto the table, slumping back onto the couch in a rare show of frustration and near-defeat. “There’s just so many ways to make a mistake. Dianne’s been so gracious about all my flubs, moods, and hang-ups, I can’t get this one wrong.”
Taking a seat on one of the empty chairs, Scott looked between his two friends, taking in the pile of papers and Paul’s building distress over the problem, then added in what he knew about how Paul’s mind worked and his usual problem solving techniques. “Stop treating this like a military operation Paul, you’re not trying to achieve an objective, you’re giving a gift to the woman you love, take it from that angle,” he advised.
“Huh.”
Scott found himself on the receiving end of an assessing look from the senior captain.
“You’re a good gift-giver, how would you go about selecting a ring?” Paul asked, sitting up with a spark of something more hopeful in his expression.
“Even better, he knows Lady Penelope, and Lady Penelope and Dianne go way back,” Blue added his two cents. “Scott, do you think Lady Penelope would mind going over Paul’s short list?”
Scott grinned. “I think she’d love to. Here, gimme that notepad. So, must-haves, let’s sort that out first. Any metal allergies?” At their querying looks, Scott explained “I met someone with a gold allergy, it happens.”
“No, no metal allergies I know of.” Paul shook his head. “I know she likes yellow gold over rose gold, silver, white gold, or platinum.”
“Okay, we’ll start there.” Scott made a note on a fresh page. “What’s her normal style off-duty? Elegant, colourful, minimalist, intricate, simplistic?”
“Refined, elegant.”
Those words were jotted down as well. “Okay, practicalities now; she’s going to be flying with this ring, so it’s going to need to fit under flight gloves or you’ll need to get a ring necklace for it too.”
“She doesn’t like wearing pendant necklaces with the flight suit, they don’t sit well, so it’ll have to be under her gloves.”
“So something low-set, and the stone?”
“Easy, ruby.” Paul gave a small smile. “She told me that she loves rubies.”
“Any idea on the cut?”
“I’ve narrowed it down to marquise, trilliant, pear and oval.” Paul handed over a print out of different cuts of stones to show him the shapes.
“Got it. We should be able to find a ‘design your own ring’ website, feed this in and see what comes up.” Setting down the notepad, Scott picked up his tablet and brought up a search engine. “So, do you know how you’re going to ask her?” he asked as he started typing.
“Off base.” Paul was very firm on that. “I haven’t got any of the other details yet, I want to have the ring first, but I know that I want it to be off base.” He was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “When it happens, I want it to be me asking her, not ‘Captain Scarlet’ proposing to ‘Rhapsody Angel’. It won’t be that if it’s on base, I won't be able to switch that part of me off.”
Query?
All three of them jumped when Cloud’s icon appeared over Paul’s tablet.
Why is the giving of precious metals and stones a requirement for a change in assigned relationship status? Cloud asked, his icon turning to ‘look’ between them. I have attempted my own research but the available data is conflicting and appears arbitrary. I understand that ‘bride price’ and the provision of a dowry are no longer a requirement for most Anglo-American cultures, but why has this particular custom been perpetuated?
“Uh… it’s traditional?” Paul attempted, looking at the other two with ‘help’ all but written in neon letters above his head.
“Well, like Paul said before, the engagement ring is a token or symbol of the promise he’s making to her: that he’s going to marry her and they’re going to spend their lives together,” Adam started. “From what I remember it used to be a way for a man to show a woman’s parents or guardian that he was able to provide for her, by purchasing an expensive gift like an engagement ring or other token.”
“I think it was the Egyptians who started using wedding rings?” Scott looked thoughtful. “Gold since it doesn’t tarnish, and a circle that’s never ending because that was the hope for the marriage?”
“Cloud?” Paul jumped in again.
Yes?
“By any chance can you work out Rhapsody’s ring size for me? But you can’t ask her about her ring size,” he quickly added, “it’ll tip her off.”
Why is secrecy necessary?
“It’s part of the tradition,” Paul explained. “It shouldn’t be a surprise that you’re going to ask someone to marry you, but it should be a surprise when it happens. It makes the asking more of a special occasion. Does that make sense?”
It would be more efficient to ask Angel Rhapsody for her ring size, Cloud pointed out. Can you not ask for the measurement of the right hand ring finger? It should be identical to the left.
“Yes, it should be, but then she’ll know I’m looking for an engagement ring and it’ll ruin the surprise,” Paul elaborated. “She knows it’s coming at some point soon, but Dianne’s a special agent, if she gets even a hint I guarantee she’ll twig to what I’m up to.”
Understood, Cloud paused, then the tablet pinged. I have found a website for designing rings that appears to have sufficient options to meet your requirements, Captain Scarlet. I have also calculated Angel Rhapsody’s approximate ring size using the information from her flight glove size and medical records.
“Excellent. Thank you Cloud, that’s very helpful.” Paul nodded to the icon.
At that moment the tannoy in the corner crackled and Green’s voice came over the speaker. "Captains Ochre, Grey and Cobalt, report to the conference room immediately."
“And with the usual perfect timing, duty calls.” Scott knocked back the last of his lukewarm coffee and stood. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you.”
“Bye.”
Goodbye.
There was a pause as Cobalt put his cup in the dishwasher, gathered his things and headed out, then as soon as the door swished shut, Cloud spoke again.
Captain Blue? Captain Scarlet? His icon again turned to ‘look’ between the two of them. I do not understand this deception we carried out.
"It was to distract Scott and make him feel better," Adam began, choosing his words with care. "You’ve read my ‘guide’, right? Scott… because of the abnormalities in how he was raised, he feels like he only has value and is worthy of being loved and cared for if he is of use to the people around him.” Adam grimaced, then shook it off. “We wanted to give him something to help us with so he’d feel useful, which will make him feel better and take his mind off of things."
"And I did need help,” Paul chimed in, “so we created this as a way to get him involved in my problem without making it obvious."
The roundel pulsed through the colours as Cloud mulled it over. He was not raised according to societal norms?
"No, not by his culture's norms," Paul clarified. "A child should be valued and loved simply because. A child shouldn't have to provide any reason, any transaction, service, or exchange for a parent’s love outside of 'I love you because I love you'. He was raised to believe that he had to earn his father's love, that he had to achieve some intangible level of 'good enough' to get it, but he would never, ever be able to do enough to get that love. He's starting to break free of that, but it's slow, the process of unlearning a lifetime takes a lifetime."
Cloud’s icon darkened. This is… distressing.
“It is,” Paul agreed. “We cannot fix what happened in the past, but we can affect what is happening now and what will be in the near future. Including him, making him feel useful and welcome and part of the team, it helps him, so for now, this is what we’ll do.”
I wish to assist further, Cloud announced. He is mine and I will care for him too.
“You’re already doing a great job, Cloud,” Paul reassured him. “Talk to Orchid and Xanthic, they might have some ideas on how else you can help.”
S.I.G. The roundel blinked out.
There was again silence for a time, Paul shifting in his seat to stare out the window, chin in his hand and looking pensive.
Adam let the silence be for a few minutes, knowing the signs of when his friend had realised something and needed time to think and turn things over in his mind. When it felt like it’d been long enough, he prompted him with a quiet “Paul?”
“I’m going to miss Scott and Gordon,” was what Paul finally answered with, turning back to him. “If Operations Feather and Ma’at goes to plan, if everything works out the way we hope, we’ll get UnNamed out of the way before he gets a chance to burn everything to the ground on his way out… and then they’ll go. They need to go back home and be Thunderbirds again, but I’m going to miss them.”
Adam nodded slowly. He hadn’t expected this to be what was troubling Paul, but it made sense. ‘Operation Feather’ was the rescue phase, to get the rest of the Thunderbirds off Tracy Island should they need it. ‘Operation Ma’at’ was the codename for the main plan, their scheme to expose Jeff Tracy. Scarlet always kept tabs on whatever missions were laid on, making sure that needs were anticipated and met, so Feather and Ma’at were constantly in the back of his head. For a moment Adam considered teasing Paul with something along the lines of an incredulous ‘you’ll miss the Squid?’ but the mood wasn’t right for that; Paul needed his emotions to be validated, not dismissed with humour. “Me too. They’re good people, really good, and they do a lot of good here, but they’ll do their best back where they belong.”
“Agreed.” Paul leaned over and picked up his tablet. “Right, let’s have a go at this website that Cloud found,” he announced, tapping the button to switch it from the screen to a projection instead.
“Okay.” Adam let him change the subject, recognising that Paul needed to drop the topic for now. He’d revisit it later, when he’d had some more time to think about it. Adam got up and sat on the couch next to him. “It was yellow gold, right?”
0o0o0
Three weeks later, Cobalt was chatting with Blue as they both headed back to their quarters at the end of their shift, when Scarlet’s cabin door slid open and a dark head poked out.
“Scott, Adam, come here.” Paul was looking both pleased and furtive as he glanced up and down the corridor before he waved the two inside.
“What is it?” Adam asked, diverting into Paul’s room with Scott on his heels.
Paul waited until the door shut before taking a small box from his trouser pocket. “I’ve got it. I picked it up just before I flew back from my leave.” He opened it to display the two rings inside.
The gold engagement ring featured a large, crimson red ruby cut in a teardrop shape that winked at them in the hard light of the base. The elegant bezel setting gave it something of a 1920’s look and at the same time ensured it would sit low and wouldn’t catch on anything. The smooth gold wedding band was made to cup the rounded end of the ruby, sitting flush against it.
“That’s perfect.” Scott grinned. “So when are you going to ask her?”
“In two weeks. We’ve got a three day stay at a château just north of Marseille. The family there are old friends of her family, they’re holding a grand ball and we’ve been invited. I’ll ask her then, I’ve already cleared it with the hosts.” Paul carefully closed the box and put it away in one of the drawers of his desk. “Provided, that is, that my meeting with the Old Man tomorrow goes according to plan.” He grimaced. “For security’s sake,” he explained to Scott, “we captains have to update the colonel on any changes in relationship status. When Adam and I decided to be official with Dianne and Karen, we had to tell him about it both for security and to make sure the relationship was appropriate. The Old Man enjoyed making us squirm for every minute of that meeting.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Adam groaned. “He can be downright evil when he wants to be.”
“So, when’s it going to be your turn, hm?” Paul poked him in the ribs. “I know you’ve got the ring now.”
“Soon, it’s going to be soon,” Adam promised. “I’m just waiting for her cousin’s wedding to be over first. Karen's in the bridal party and keeping Suzie from flying apart is eating up her every spare moment. I’m taking her to Hawai’i afterwards to recover and I’ll ask her there.” He smiled, a soft expression. “There’s this amazing waterfall in the jungle. It’ll be the perfect spot.”
“Good plan,” Paul nodded, then surprised himself with a jaw-cracking yawn.
“How long have you been up?” Adam asked him suspiciously.
“Ah…” Paul glanced at his watch, “a while?”
“I’ll bet. Go to bed,” Adam ordered, pointing in the appropriate direction. “C’mon Scott, let’s go.”
“S.I.G.” Scott chuckled as he followed Adam out, having been on the receiving end of that order more than enough times.
0o0o0
Two weeks later, despite the teasing reminders from almost all of the other captains to not turn it into a military operation, Paul still planned and executed his plot with his usual precision. He’d transferred the engagement ring to a different box, one with a slim profile that wouldn’t show inside his tuxedo jacket and had a simple mechanism inside that would tilt the ring up to properly display it when the box was opened.
They arrived at the château bang on time, Dianne introduced him to their hosts, and they got settled in. After having a nap, Dianne vanished into the ensuite with her makeup, hairdressing equipment and a garment bag, while he dressed in the main room, donning the coal black tuxedo with care and slipping the ring box into a specially tailored pocket inside the jacket.
When Dianne emerged, she was in a stunning one shoulder gown of purple silk, her hair pinned up aside from three curls that tumbled down the side of her neck. Delicate gold and diamond earrings glittered on either side of her head, a matching necklace was around her throat, and a small gold tiara nestled amongst her copper-red locks. She’d shown him the dress weeks ago so he could accessorise correctly, but he hadn’t seen it on her yet, and the effect was incredible.
The ball itself went very well, the grand ball room filled with brightly dressed couples and live music. Dinner had gone without incident, there had been more dancing, then at an opportune moment he offered Dianne his arm so he could escort her out of the hall and to a small patio wreathed with rose bushes under the guise of needing fresh air - while she’d napped, he’d taken the opportunity to scout out different locations and deemed this one to be suitably romantic.
All his preparations didn’t keep him from being extremely nervous however. Even though he was practically certain what her answer would be, he still had to ask the question first.
“What a wonderful night.” Smiling, Dianne took a seat on one of the wrought iron chairs placed on the patio, looking over the lights of the distant city. “Paul, this has been a magnificent evening. Thank you. I know dinner and dancing aren’t really your thing, it means so much to me that you came tonight.”
“I’m very glad to hear it, love, and you are very welcome.” Paul put down the glass of champagne he’d picked up on his way out, waited until she was looking away and quickly withdrew the ring box from its hiding place. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he began with “Lady Dianne Simms.” He was very pleased when she looked at him, her eyes wide in surprise at his formal tone, then widened further in realisation when she saw what was in his hand. “You are the most incredible woman I have ever met, brilliant in every sense of the word, and I am constantly in awe of you. I cannot put together enough words to describe how I feel about you, but I would like to spend the rest of my life finding new ways to tell you how very, very much I love and adore you.” He went down on one knee before her, opening the ring box to display the contents. “Would you do me the very great honour of marrying me?”
“Oh! Yes, darling, oh yes I will!” She offered her hand, and Paul was extremely pleased when he slipped the ring onto her finger and it was an exact fit.
Dianne admired the ring for a moment, then looked at him, joy and delight in her eyes. “Paul, it’s perfect,” she exclaimed, then drew him close for a deep, loving kiss.
18. Reclaim
(verb)to take back something that was yours
...
The moment you decide you deserve better is the moment you start taking your life back. - Earl Nightingale
...
In the end, it took another two days for the logistics to get sorted out, for medical clearance to be obtained, and for Scott and Gordon to pack up their quarters.
The farewells between the captains were brief. In part it was because they’d be seeing each other again soon to collect whatever evidence they found on the Island, but it was also because the captains knew that iR had a lot of work to do and didn’t want to stand in their way.
The number of them and their destinations necessitated taking two SPJs down. After a hard-fought battle, Scarlet and Blue won the right to fly the Tracys, Kayo, Brains, and MAX to Tracy Island. At the same time, Penelope, Parker, Lillian, Bertie, Rigby and Dosela were scheduled to fly down on the second SPJ, piloted by Ochre and Grey. It would first go to London so Penelope and her household could return to the Manor, then a hop across the Atlantic would deposit Rigby and Dosela at GDF HQ for a debrief with Colonel Casey before they went on their well deserved leave with their families.
The flight to Tracy Island was blessedly uneventful, and the family were mostly silent as they contemplated how much their lives had just changed in less than a week. The SPJ was brought in to gently land on Two’s runway and International Rescue were exceedingly grateful that when everything was offloaded and stacked under a palm tree, Scarlet announced “we’ll help get this inside, then Blue and I are going to Auckland to take care of some things. We’ll be back in four days with your exit paperwork and to start collecting anything you’ve found.”
“Thank you, Paul.” Scott hoisted the first of the bags into his arms and turned towards the massive rock wall that hid Two’s hangar. “C’mon, we’ll give you guys the nickel tour when you come back, but the civvie hangar is this way, it connects up to Two’s and that hangar’s got the cargo lift. Easiest way into the house from here.”
“S.I.G.” Blue nodded, striding forward and seizing a box that Virgil was reaching for. “Nuh uh, you’ve got all that to deal with,” he said, nodding towards the corner of the Villa that could just be seen peeking over the rugged landscape. “Let us help with this.”
“...yeah, okay.” Though his first instinct was to get stuck in and start hauling, Virgil capitulated without argument. He hated to admit it, but even though he felt so much better for having had an enforced rest, he needed to ration himself. They had a great deal of work ahead of them.
“Oh, don’t you worry,” Alan grinned sharply as he came up to corner his older brother, “I’m gonna make sure he sits this out.” A turn of his head and a loud “that means you too!” was aimed at John, mid-reach for a bag and just as reluctant to let others shoulder the burden in front of him, but the youngest Tracy was not one to be deterred.
While Alan made sure John and Virgil rested as much as possible, the others moved everything into Two’s hangar and in short order they had the large freight elevator loaded with Gordon and Scott’s belongings.
That task completed, while Adam warmed up the SPJ for the next leg of their journey, Paul went looking for Scott - he needed to sort out some final details. Ducking back into the cool dark of Two’s hangar, Paul came around the corner of a massive storage module and froze in its shadow.
Near the wall of the hangar stood Scott and Kayo in an embrace. She brought her hand up to cup his face but he captured it and placed a kiss on her palm with an expression of such rapturous joy, that Paul would have been less embarrassed if he’d found them naked. He was never so glad of his stealth skills as he slipped back into the lee of the module. He leaned back against the metal, pleased beyond words that he hadn’t disturbed a very private moment between the couple.
Wait, couple?
He thought back to every interaction he’d witnessed between Scott and Kayo. Scott kissing Kayo’s hair in the kitchen. How more times than not they ended up sitting together, or had just a bit more contact than was strictly necessary. How Scott teased and flirted with the Angels but how it never went beyond the lightest of those. Kayo’s reactions to anything that could or did injure Scott. He also remembered Gordon saying, ‘He’s only got eyes for one woman and Symphony’s not her.’
Paul mentally kicked himself, the clues had all been there but he hadn’t put them together. They were very good at hiding in plain sight. Paul’s heart also ached a little for them. How many years had they needed to keep to the shadows? How much time had they been denied because of Jeff Tracy and his selfish, self-centered evil? If the man wasn’t already dead, and in one of the most ignoble ways possible, this might have been the last straw to shatter the chains Paul kept on himself to be a good person.
He crouched down to peer around the module’s edge. The couple was still in an embrace, eyes closed as they just got to be in each other’s arms. Paul slipped back, he and Dianne had probably worn that same look a few times. They did make a wonderful couple, just on the visual aspect alone. They fitted together like stones of the Great Pyramid; with great precision and nearly seamlessly. As Thunderbirds One and Shadow, they’d saved countless people and even the world several times.
‘I’ll leave them to it,’ he decided, and slipped away as quietly as he’d arrived. His question could wait and they could sort out the rest later. This moment was much, much more important.
T H U N D E R F A L L
Not long after, the SPJ was a diminishing speck amidst the fragments of clouds and the eight of them were gathered in Two’s hangar.
A pause to gather strength, to take that deep breath before the proverbial plunge, and Scott set his shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
With Scott in the lead and Gordon bringing up the tail, they ascended through the levels of the house.
They filed through the back area of the hangar and the workshops, past half-finished projects waiting patiently on benches and tables for the return of the person responsible for them. Up the internal stairs that opened into the lowest level of the Villa and into the kitchen, where flies buzzed over cups left abandoned in the sink and someone’s half-eaten breakfast. A final climb up the last set of stairs and they were into the lounge, where they gathered in a loose huddle, silent as they surveyed the sun-drenched room that so much of their lives had revolved around.
Alan was the one to break the silence.
“Huh… it’s like I never left,” he commented, “aside from, well, y’know, that.” He waved towards the wall of agent portraits.
The statement was made casually, but something about it made everyone suddenly stop and look at their surroundings with new eyes.
Ever since the Zero-X mission the main areas of the villa had remained frozen in time, a tableau preserved in a waxen, museum-like state. This was the way that he had liked things, and because this was the way that he had liked it, it was the way it was going to stay. When they’d found the message in the Calypso data it’d reinforced their decision as the correct one to make, and everything was kept as it was in anticipation of him coming back to reclaim his rightful place in their lives.
But now…now he wasn’t going to come back. Ever.
Scott was the first one to move.
Striding around the conversation pit and over to the desk, he picked up one of the books stacked on the corner: an original, signed copy of ‘The Art of the Deal’, left where that man had put it down. Looking thoughtful, he weighed it in his hand, then turned to the group.
“I’ve always hated this book, but before… all I could do was put it away.” Scott looked down at the book, then up at his family, and this time his expression was one of resolve. “Now… now I can get rid of it.”
The announcement… the revelation… it had them look at each other, then at the room around them, tallying up all of the items that they only had because he had wanted them there - books, decorations, furniture - the stamp marks of his personality, his ownership of their shared space.
Things could change now.
Things would change.
From this moment on things were going to be different.
“Y’know what would be nice tonight?” Gordon asked the group. “A bonfire at the beach.”
“Fire is a cleanser,” was Kayo’s comment as she lithely turned. “I’ll find some boxes.”
“I’ll start weeding the bookcases,” Alan volunteered.
Brains marched up to the desk with a certain determination in his eye, MAX trundling up behind him. “M-MAX, m-my tools, please.”
“What about the bedroom and office?” John asked. “And there’s Lee’s things to deal with too.”
“I’ll handle the bedroom and office, that’s the priority task,” Scott decided as he picked up the other books and put them on the floor, out of Brains’ way. “Brains, set aside anything you and MAX find in a secret compartment or something.”
The ‘R.A.D’ was a distracted one as Brains hunted out the right screwdriver.
“We’ll handle the bedroom and office,” Gordon corrected him, gesturing at Scott, himself and John. “You’re not tackling that by yourself.”
“I’ll pack up Lee’s room,” Virgil said. He started heading off, stopped, and turned back to the wall of portraits. “...actually, I need to do something first. Brains, can I borrow a Phillips #3? John, can you go get…?”
The astronaut was already striding off. “F.A.B.”
“C-catch!” The tool was lobbed across the room and everyone paused to watch as Virgil snatched the tool out of the air and set to unscrewing the frame holding Jeff’s portrait to the wall. Disconnecting the projector and wiring behind the picture was simplicity in itself, but the soft thud as Virgil set it down had a note of finality that no one expected, an underline to the statement that reinforced what they knew: Jefferson Grant Tracy really was gone, and he was never coming back. When John returned with Scott, Gordon, Kayo and Alan’s portraits and Penelope’s small picture in his arms, that point was underscored again.
Jeff Tracy was gone, but the gaping hole left by his previous absence had already been filled.
While John placed Penelope’s picture back where it belonged, Virgil attended to the wall portraits. Three deft movements got the projector hooked up to the back of Scott’s portrait, then, with John’s help to hold the frame just so, it was fixed back where it belonged. For now Gordon’s portrait was attached to the left, where Kyrano’s used to hang, and Kayo’s was hung beside it. The projectors and wiring would come later. A few steps to the right and Lee’s portrait was removed, swapped out for Alan. “I’m gonna rearrange everyone and update this one later,” Virgil said as he stepped back from Alan’s picture and dusted off his hands, the screwdriver tucked into his back pocket, “but this looks just fine for now.”
“I agree.” John placed one hand on Virgil’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“C’mon, let’s get this over with,” Gordon said, waving down towards the office. “We’ll start there.”
T H U N D E R F A L L
After gathering up a number of boxes, totes, and crates, the three of them stood in the doorway of the office for a moment to let feelings and memories crash over and through them like a wave at high tide. The office itself was slightly disorganized, reflecting how rapid the decampment had been, but like the rest of the house, it’d barely changed from the day it’d been first set up.
Gordon wrinkled his nose as the faint hint of vetiver and bergamot that tickled it. "Blergh. We're going to have to take this place down to the studs to get that smell out." He strode forward with all the authority of a colour officer of Spectrum and dropped his arm load of unbuilt boxes on the high end office chair that had been one of his first purchases when he returned.
It was enough to shake Scott and John out of their reverie. "We need to do this systematically," John said crisply. "A group for iR, a group for TI, one for personal stuff, and - "
"One for Spectrum." Scott set his arm load down by the door and assembled a box with a few flicks of his wrists. "Five, please sort through the computer files. Make sure there are no little surprises waiting for the unwary. Xanthic take the bookcases and any physical files, I'll work on the desk itself. Keep an eye out for hidden compartments. The colonel told me that Copper found several in the CEO's office and in the penthouse."
"Well, I know of at least one." John went over to a low bookcase, put his hand inside it, and looked satisfied at a barely there 'click'. Then he pulled open a hidden compartment in the side and removed a sheaf of papers.
"How the HELL did you know about that?" Gordon just stared.
John set the papers down on the desk. "Virgil and I did our best to get as much information as we could to Spectrum."
Scott wrapped his nearest brother into a hug. He had some suspicions about what the two of them might have gone through, but he was afraid to ask. With everything they’d already gone though, he wasn’t sure about his ability to carry the weight of any more of UnNamed’s sins right now.
Though it was with regret, John pulled free after a moment. Melting into the hug would have been so nice, but it would just keep things from progressing. "Let's get to work."
They set to their task, though Gordon did open the one window and switched the fan to ‘high’ to help air the room out before he tackled his section. They worked in the easy quiet of people who had worked together for a long time, broken only by the 'hmm', 'oh', the occasional swear word, and sounds of boxes being assembled and labeled.
"Uh…guys?" Gordon was kneeling next to the low banquette that doubled as a bar and filing cabinet, a thick sheaf of papers in his hands. "I think this is some of Mom's stuff."
"What!"
John left the bookcase and Scott vaulted over the desk as the fastest route. They both looked over Gordon's shoulders at the incredibly precise printing of a technical engineer on the paper. Scott reached out and touched the words with a gentle finger. There were very few relics of their mother, mostly memories and vids. So something tangible, something she'd actually touched and used was even more special.
"Look at the date on this." John pointed. "This is from just before - "
"Just before she died." It was Cobalt that bit the words out.
John picked the sheet up and narrowed his eyes at it. "Scott, can you check the math on this?"
For a moment Scott was both horrified and enraged that John would question anything their mother had done. Cobalt shoved that emotion to the back and took the paper to read the math. Then his eyes got wide, and he looked the equations over again. "They look right. I'd need to get with you, Virg, Brains, and EOS, but I think they're right. Why the HELL would he sit on this!?"
"Waiting for the right time to pull another rabbit out of the hat. He just got sent to the Oort Cloud first. I think he forgot it even existed."
"Um, hello?” Gordon waved his hands at them. “Confused squid here, what are you talking about?"
Scott placed the paper on the rest with reverence. "If the math is right, it's an improvement on the magnetic pinch bottle"
Gordon's month opened and closed several times, then he shook his head, and looked at the amount of paper in his hands. "I wonder what else is in here."
"That, little brother, is a very good question."
"And one that will have to wait until later." John straightened and rolled his neck, gravity still sucked. "I'll mark a box 'Mom' and put anything she did in it to look at later. We can't afford to get sidetracked." He looked over the state of the room, they’d made progress, but they still had a way to go.
"Yeah, that's fair." Gordon aligned the paper with care. "But why keep it here? Why not in a firebox or something?"
"Because UnNamed liked to gloat over his wins and trophies." Scott gave the desk a narrow look. "I'm going to get some tools and take that thing apart." He stalked out of the room.
"Is he going to be okay?" John gazed after their brother.
Gordon tapped on John's leg. "Box for this, please? As for being okay? None of us are okay. Well, maybe Sherbert is, but the rest of us aren't, but I think we might be on course to be okay, eventually."
"When did you get so insightful?" John's mouth twitched in amusement.
"Always have been. I just haven't needed to show it off before," he shrugged. "Well, not until Koala base and joining Spectrum. Now, I still need a box for this, so I can see what else is in here."
"F.A.B!"
T H U N D E R F A L L
They all knew that the purge of the house would be a matter of days or even weeks, not hours, as they dug through the accumulations of a lifetime and sifted their findings, but it was a start and already things looked different, and that was what they needed right now: something different, a fresh page to write the first chapter of their future on.
After disassembling the desk (and finding a hidden cache in the process) Brains, MAX, and EOS set to unlocking the Thunderbirds and clearing their operating systems of any other unwelcome surprises. Virgil stripped Lee’s room of everything and dragged the mattress out into the hallway to be recycled later, then collared Alan and took him downstairs to clean up the kitchen and make enough food to see them through until daybreak. Their work resulted in a refrigerator full of sandwiches, wraps, bowls of fruit and yoghurt, and small dishes of cooked proteins, vegetables, and carbs that could be easily reheated and eaten as hunger set in. Cooling trays of cookies joined the prepared foods as Alan fixed up some sweet treats to fill in the edges, and Kayo joined John, Scott, and Gordon in clearing the office. When that was as empty as they could make it for now, they moved on to the bedroom, Virgil pitching in as well to help with the sorting and packing.
In the late afternoon, the high-pitched whine of a finely tuned engine heralded Grandma, her little purple jet alighting on the runway with practiced grace. She was welcomed with many hugs and would have been installed in a chair with a cup of tea but at her insistence she instead helped Brains and MAX move out of his ‘quarters’ near the lab and back into his room in the main Villa, then took armloads of bedding and other things to Kayo’s room - which had lain empty since she left - and to the spare rooms in the Round House to make up the beds there for Scott, Gordon and Alan. Wayne, Dosela, and Lee had been given the boys’ rooms and there would be a swap around and reshuffle of rooms when everything had been cleared out and cleansed, but the guest quarters would do for now.
The sun was five knuckles above the horizon when the family at last began trekking down to the beach, each dropping their first load of burnable stuff next to the stack of firewood Gordon had started collecting from the forest below the villa before going back for more.
At the site picked for the bonfire, Kayo took advantage of a moment when it was just the two of them and put a hand on Scott's arm to keep him from leaving for more boxes. "Can I ask a favour?"
He took her hand and kissed it lightly. "For you, <beloved> anything within my power."
She grinned at him, they were both a little drunk with the idea that it didn't matter who saw them. She tugged his hand to her lips and returned the affection. "I want to borrow One."
He blinked at that. "Sure, but -"
"I want to bring my Father here." Her eyes locked on the vee of his shirt. "He took wounds from him that I didn't find out until recently."
He used his free hand to nudge her chin up. "Of course, <beloved>." His thumb ran along her jaw. "Healing isn't a straight line, in anything." His smile was soft. "I'd be thrilled to see your Father again, he's been sorely missed."
“Thank you.” She kissed him, holding his face with both hands, then she was gone, bounding up towards the Villa as if she was afraid this chance would slip out of her fingers. Scott watched her go, and a few minutes later the island shook as the members of International had the rare opportunity to watch a launch of Thunderbird One from the outside.
Alan, who’d just come down with an armload of things to burn, turned to Scott, who was gazing after One with an unreadable expression. "If you're here, who's flying One?"
"Kayo. She's going to get her father."
A deep furrow appeared between Alan's eyebrows. "He left just after the Zero-X, didn't he?"
Scott nodded, finally turning away from trying to watch the now vanished One. "I thought it had something to do with guilt at the time - " he rubbed his face, "but now I'm not so sure."
"Huh." Alan looked around, counting heads and comparing the tally to the number of bedrooms they had. "Where are we going to put him? I mean, there's S.D.'s room -"
"No!" Scott slashed a hand through the air. "I don't want anyone sleeping in there until we clean it. Too big a chance of nightmares."
"Or ghosts." Alan shivered in the sunlight."So have him bunk with us?"
Scott watched One's contrail get feathered by the trade winds. "Again no, that's where he and Kayo lived before UnNamed died. We can put him in Kayo's room and she can bunk with us."
"Bunk with you, you mean." Alan smirked.
Scott blanked his face as he fought down the ice cold punch to his heart. Then he took a deep breath. 'It's okay, it doesn't matter anymore. Not among family anyway. Good grief, this is going to be a hard habit to break.' "Only if she wants to. If not, I'll take the couch in the library."
Alan blinked at the bland acceptance, and tried re-route away from the planned brotherly teasing. "Sure your old bones can take that?"
'Brat. He wants to play hard ball, does he? Sorry beloved.' "Haven't had any complaints so far." He thumped Alan on the arm as the younger choked. "Com'n, let's make sure that her room is made up and ready to go."
“Yeah, yeah, fine, eugh.” Alan rolled his eyes and muttered something about ‘TMI’, and Scott chuckled and let it go as they both made their way back up to the house: his family was coming together once again.
T H U N D E R F A L L
Within the hour, the whole villa rumbled when the automatic sensors closed all the doors and windows as Thunderbird One made her way back into her hangar. It had been a long time since Scott had watched One land. A long time and probably the only one where he had not been in a drug induced haze. He dithered about whether to take the chute down and meet Kyrano at the unloading platform or wait until he and Kayo came up, shifting towards and away from the chute until Grandma threatened to sit on him. "Give him a chance to breathe,” a firm look accompanied the order, “I suspect this isn't easy for him either."
"Yes'm."
Lacking anything else to do, Scott started cleaning up the mess from taking things apart and pulling books. So engrossed in sweeping, that the soft 'thunk' of the seats coming back to position startled him. He set aside the broom, turned, and slammed every mask up he had. He hadn't seen Kyrano in over ten years, yet the older man was unchanged in Scott's memory. The man in front of him now was very different. The grey and black hair was now fully silver and went very well with the ultra formal long sleeved shirt and pants in emerald with a brilliant silver wrap around his waist that reached past his knees.
"Selamat petang Kyrano, saya gembira dapat berjumpa dengan anda lagi." Scott bowed his head, it wasn't necessary, but it felt right.
"I am happy to see you as well, Mister Scott." He took a step forward and looked around. "There have been many changes since we last met."
"Scott is just fine, Kyrano." He held his hand out, but let it drop when he noticed the thick book in Kyrano's right hand. "A lot," he agreed, "and hopefully with more to come. Better, happier ones."
Kyrano inclined his head slightly. "We can but hope for that, - Scott."
"Kyrano!" Grandma hurried up from the kitchen, wiping her hands. "It's so wonderful to see you again!" She enveloped him in a hug.
Scott circled around the other way to where Kayo was watching. "He's going to stay?" He nodded at the suitcase next to her leg.
"Tonight and tomorrow. After that, he wants to go back." Her brow was furrowed.
"As long or as little as he wants." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you good?"
She sighed. "As good as I can be right now." She picked up the bag. "So, where do I take this?"
"Your room. I was pretty sure he didn't want to deal with Gordon and Alan snoring." He took the bag from her.
"Oh really." She raised an eyebrow at him, "And where will I sleep?"
"My bed in the Round House, my presence is optional."
Her eyes gleamed as she stepped into his personal space. "You are never optional," and kissed him fiercely.
He returned the gesture, ignoring the pleased sound from Grandma, and looked at Kyrano. “I’ll take care of your bag, Kyrano.”
“And I’ll take care of you!” Grandma stepped in before Kyrano could object. Taking his arm, she turned him towards the stairs. “Look at you! You look like you haven’t had a good meal in far too long, come along now.”
Everyone could hear the faint smile in Kyrano’s voice as he graciously acquiesced to the fussing with a fond “Yes, Grandma Tracy,” and permitted himself to be guided down the stairs and into the kitchen.
T H U N D E R F A L L
After having a decent meal from the stockpile of cooking that Alan and Virgil had done, Kyrano eventually freed himself from Grandma Tracy with the promise of sitting down to have tea and cookies outside. ('Not mine, for goodness sake, Alan has turned into quite the baker.') He headed out to the patio, only to pause, his gaze drawn to a faint path in the surrounding greenery. He slipped down it and looked over what had once been his refuge and joy.
The vegetables had vanished under the herbs and flowers that had been allowed to run riot. But he could still make out, or possibly remember, the paths between the beds. The ones that let him soothe his restless heart, for even a few moments, and soothe the grief that still pricked at him.
There was a soft scuff behind him and he smiled slightly at the caution he was still granted.
"I'm sorry, Kyrano, I tried."
He brought his gaze to the slim profile that came to a stop next him. "I'm sure you did, Mister Gordon." He turned back to the once garden.
"Too many things and not enough hours in the day." Gordon's mouth twisted.
"I am certain that Mister Tracy ensured that." Kyrano was also certain that Mister Gordon hadn't been around to tend to it either. Even in his exile, he'd tried to stay current on all things International Rescue. He had seen how busy these young men had been, and that was only what the media had been privy to. He was quite certain that the actual number of rescues was much, much higher.
"Heh, just wasn't him." Gordon rubbed the back of his head. "I let other things take precedence, I told myself I'd get to it 'sometime', but there was always something else." He kicked at the ground, shame staining his cheeks. "I did stay on top of the watering system though. Nothing died because of that."
"Then it is still a garden, it merely wants cleaning and repair to show its beauty again," Kyrano told him.
"There are a lot of things that need repairing, but we're working on that."
Kyrano nodded. "The task of a lifetime, Mister Gordon." He turned to the younger man.
"You can stop with the 'Mister' stuff. That UnNamed's power trip. I'm just Gordon."
"Very well, - Gordon." Kyrano inclined his head. "Your grandmother told me that there was a bonfire in the offing?" He hefted the book in his right hand. "I have something I wish to add to that."
Gordon looked at the book for a moment, then Kyrano, and gave a sharp nod. "Down at the beach. Can I show you the way?"
"I would like that very much."
“Hey, Gordo, where are you?”
Both of them turned in the direction of the call. Kyrano looked at the young man striding up the footpath and it took him far longer than it should have for him to realize that this was Master Alan.
Gordon cracked a broad grin. "Hey Al! Look who showed up."
Blond brows knotted over piercing eyes in arctic blue, then they warmed to the blue of the summer sky. "Kyrano!"
Kyrano found himself lifted off his feet in an all-enveloping hug. "Oh! It is so good to see you again!"
He wrapped his free arm around broad shoulders to steady himself. "I would like to see you as well - Mister Alan." He was gently set down and found his face searched by those summer sky eyes.
"I wasn't Master Alan then, and I'm not Mister Alan now. I'll answer to Alan or Al, feel free to use either."
"I will - Alan." He looked the younger man over. There were still hints of the boy, if you knew where to look, but he was much more a man. Part of Kyrano mourned for that boy, but he rejoiced for the man in front of him. This was a Tracy he would never have to worry about again. "Gordon was showing me to the beach. There have been many changes since I was last here."
"I bet. John and Virg are on the beach, I'm sure they'll be glad to see you too." Alan marched back down the path. "You can keep an eye on them and make sure they aren't overworking."
Kyrano raised an eyebrow at that. The chances of keeping a Tracy from overworking were zero, but he followed along with Gordon at his side.
Down at the beach, the last two Tracys were sorting through boxes and making piles of like items. "Guys! Look who Kayo brought back."
Two heads, one red and one black, turned toward them and board grins broke out. "Kyrano!" was called out in happy voices.
Kyrano was glad of his own training at that moment. If he had not been told these men were John and Virgil, he would not have recognized either. His hand tightened on his shame as they both came forward. It would seem that Scott was not the only one to suffer from Mister Tracy's deliberate cruelty.
"Oh, it's good to see you." Virgil came in for a hug.
Kyrano was sure the grip on his shame was white with the effort it took to control himself. Virgil was like holding a baby bird. "It is good to see you as well, Virgil." There, he was better about that. Once he had been let loose from Virgil, he held his hand out for John. Only to be pulled into another hug. He couldn't remember if he'd ever been hugged by John before. It was brief, but it would seem that he was not the only one learning new things. “Please,” he smiled as he found a spot alongside the brothers, “tell me how I can assist.”
T H U N D E R F A L L
The sun was hovering over the horizon as the family finally gathered together on the rocky beach below the houses with the last of their burdens. A gentle breeze blew up from the sea, the tips of the waves were gilded with gold, and the sea birds shrilled and shrieked as they dipped and wove over those lapping waves.
Picking a spot on the salt-crusted line that marked the highest of tides, Gordon immediately set to building a ‘log cabin’ of kindling and torn up paper while Scott, Virgil, and Alan stacked rocks to make a firepit. Bits of the desks, stacks of books, and boxes of papers, sheafs of newspaper clippings and printed articles, magazines, and other miscellanea waited in haphazard piles to be purged out of their lives. Grandma found herself a place to sit, using a flat rock as an impromptu table for a collection of thermos flasks of hot chocolate and coffee, and a small army of cups, and someone else had brought down some food, although no one felt particularly hungry right now. Everything was readied by the time the edge of the sun touched the horizon, but the finality of it all made everyone hesitate for a beat, a hesitancy that was broken as Alan girded himself and strode forward.
“We need a fire-starter.” Alan ignored the can of lighter fluid that MAX offered him and hunted through the boxes instead. He picked one out of the collection and pulled out the contents: roughly a dozen bottles of cologne, either gifts that he’d been given or indulgences he’d bought for himself. All expensive and oversized, for the most part they were familiar brands but the kind of product only made for the cream of society, made with details like semi-precious or precious stones, lead crystal, and actual gold embellishments.
Alan selected a bottle at random and pulled off the ornate top, intending to pour it over the prepared wood, but found himself temporarily stymied by the limiter that kept the contents from gushing out of the mouth of the bottle when it was tipped over. That road block lasted only as long as it took him to pull the small folding knife from his pocket. He looked at it for a moment, his expression carefully blank, then shrugged, flicked it open, wedged the blade under the lip of the limiter and prised it off. When he poured the contents over the nest of paper, wood shavings, and the dense pieces of desk, the smell of it threatened to overwhelm them, but the breeze off the sea was just strong enough to keep the air relatively clear. One by one, the different bottles were emptied out and lined up beside the firepit like a row of silent sentinels, and the resulting stink from the combined scents was almost a physical presence.
It was a pretty decent metaphor for the man they were here to expunge from their lives.
“Good idea,” Gordon said when it was all done. “Scott?” He dug into his pocket and produced one of the long-necked lighters they kept for the BBQ.
“Yeah.” His eyes on the prepared bonfire, Scott reached out and accepted the device, his fingers closing around the handle with deliberate intent. Three steps got his back to the wind to shield the flame and he crouched down well clear of it - Alan had just poured a lot of ethanol on a lot of flammable material. A stretch had the nozzle of the lighter in amidst the crumpled paper. One click of the trigger, two clicks, then the flame sprung out of the end and immediately caught the fumes with a soft ‘whoomph’. Blue fire immediately started dancing over the offered kindling, the smell burned away into smoke, paper blackened and crackled, wood shavings became rimed with orange embers that left trails of charcoal, then the fire caught properly as the twigs and branches gave in to entropy accelerated by energy. A couple of bigger chunks of wood, another section of desk, then the bonfire was burning well.
Gordon stepped up first, a piece of fabric clutched in his fist. Scott immediately recognised the pink flamingo shirt that he’d worn sometimes, especially when he was playing the part of ‘goofy dad out to lovingly embarrass his kids’. Three quick movements got it knotted into a ball, a good squirt of lighter fluid ensured it’d be destroyed, and a toss got it launched into the hottest part of the fire to quickly be crisped away into ashes and smoke.
Moving with a level of care because of the lingering injuries from his emergency landing, his overall condition, and pushing himself with the work of the day, John sat down on a convenient rock and dragged over a medium-sized box. With a certain clinical detachment, he started pulling out certificates, awards, commendations, diplomas, newspaper and magazine articles and covers, printed photos of him with persons of note, programs from conferences where he’d been a keynote speaker, the lists of achievements and accolades he’d received, and all the other things he’d used to illustrate how wonderful he was. One by one, John very deliberately twisted and crumpled those things between his long fingers and tossed them into the bonfire to be erased from the physical record.
He was only partway through the box when Alan sat down beside him with his own box: some of the cullings of the library and bookcases. This one had all the autobiographies, handbooks, advice books, guidebooks, and how-tos that were well-thumbed by his hands, pages marked up with notes in the margins, and sections underlined or marked with faded highlighter. The noises of the night - the shh-shh of waves against the pebbled beach, the sea birds, the rustle of leaves, and the crackling fire - were punctuated by the sound of bindings ripping as Alan tore the paperbacks into manageable sections and used his knife to cut apart the hardcover books. The mangled chunks were silently stacked between himself and John for the elder to toss in once he’d emptied his box. Pebbles crunched under feet and wheels as Brains and MAX came up to flank the two astronauts and help them toss those chunks into the flames.
On the other side of the fire, Virgil stared down at three boxes and their contents for a long moment, his hands clenching and unclenching. These boxes were full of mementos. Little carvings, paintings, pictures, and figurines from markets and gift shops across the world, collected on the trips he’d taken them on to maintain the fiction of a happy, healthy family life. Artworks that had been gifted to him. Knickknacks, curios and other things that had caught his eye as items worthy of decorating the spaces he lived in. There were a lot more of course, but these were the ones that could be burned. The rest - jewellery, shells, minerals, clothing, anything ceramic or porcelain - was either consigned to being recycled or boxed away to deal with later. A lot of it had monetary value, if not for the materials themselves then for the work put into them by artisans and masters of their craft, but they were all contaminated by being valued by him.
A reach into the closest box and Virgil pulled out a rosewood statuette of a bald eagle on a branch, staring out into the distance with a fierce eye. The length of his forearm, it was beautiful, finely made and detailed, but it had been made for him, and him alone. Virgil crouched, stretched out and placed it into the fire to be consumed, using a handy stick of driftwood to push it deep into the orange embers.
There was a small lull in the items being fed to the fire as new boxes were brought forward, it was into this that Kyrano stepped. The firelight cast shadows on his face, hiding the emotions as he looked at the book in his hands. Kayo moved to stand next to him, her hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and threw the book into the heart of the blaze with startling violence, where it landed with a shower of sparks that danced in the updraft. Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and watched as the flames consumed this offering.
Piece by piece, the boxes were emptied, and the dancing firelight pushed back the darkness of the deepening night. The moon was high in the sky by the time the last box was stacked with the rest, ready to be filled again, and the fire had started to ebb on its bed of ashes and coals.
Virgil stared into the flames for a long minute, then picked up something from beside his spot, got up with a grunt of effort, and brought it over to where Scott was standing with his arm looped around Kayo’s waist.
“You should be the one to burn this.” Virgil said as he handed the item to the eldest: the two agent portraits, already stripped from the stretchers that used to hold them taut and rolled up into a tube.
It was inside out and it looked bigger and felt thicker and heavier than he expected, so Scott uncurled it a little and took a quick peek before rolling it back up. It wasn’t just the two expected wall portraits, it was also the oversized, half-finished portrait that Virgil had been working on while they were testing Brains’ T-drive engine.
“Yeah… I should…” Holding the paintings in both hands, Scott stood beside the fire for a long moment.
This was, in a very real sense, a funeral pyre for the man that their father should have been, the man he wanted the world to think he was: the loving husband, the doting father, the brilliant designer, the intrepid adventurer, the canny businessman, the selfless philanthropist. ‘And that’s what I’m going to mourn,” Scott decided, “what could have been, what should have been, but wasn’t. It wasn’t my fault. I was a kid. He was the adult. He chose to do those things to me and to Mom and to everyone else. He had so many chances to not do those things, to actually be what he wanted the world to think he was. But every time he chose to not be that man. I choose to be better.’ With that, Scott crouched down, shoved the roll into the hottest part of the embers, picked up the last piece of the desk, and used it to weigh down the canvases so they wouldn’t unfurl. That task done, he stood up and stepped back, silently curling his arm around Kayo’s shoulders as they watched it burn.
The fire pounced on the new source of fuel, greedily consuming the oil paint, linseed, and cotton. A tongue of fire shot out of the end like a candle, casting a bright light over everything. The canvases steadily blackened and cracked over the next handful of minutes, charring and burning down into foul-smelling smoke and delicate ashes, then the chunk of desk caught fire too, ensuring that no trace remained of the images, only memories that could now be put away and left to fade.
“Well, that’s that then.” Grandma dusted off her hands as she stood. “Gordon, Alan, get the buckets and douse this, then we all need to get up to bed.”
“I will take care of that,” Kyrano gently interjected. “You have all had a long and trying day, go and rest.”
“Yeah… yeah, we will,” Scott nodded slowly. He half-turned, then turned back. “Kyrano… you’ll still be here in the morning? We’ve all missed you.”
A beat, then a small smile creased the older man’s weathered face. “I will.”
The ‘thank you’ was brief, but nonetheless heartfelt as Scott started gathering up the rest of his family and herding them back towards home.
Kayo visits Cloudbase - there may or may not be shenanigans.
Ao3 link
...
At forty thousand feet, you would expect a lot of clouds, the big fluffy ones. But you would be wrong, those are under you. At forty thousand feet you have the high, wispy cirrus and the thin cirrostratus ones. Clouds that bend the light and have rainbows for shadows. This is the rarified height that Cloudbase lives at. It's a secure height, they stay well clear of the flight paths of the commercial aircraft, and if a private or military jet gets too close, they are politely warned off. If they don't listen - well, that's three hours worth of reports.
"Captain Blue says the returns are clear Colonel." Lieutenant Green reported.
"Thank you, Lieutenant." White stood up and stretched. He loved his duty, but hated being chained to a desk. Perhaps a light sparring match with Grey would be a good idea. "I do wonder where our guest might be."
"Maybe she's having trouble finding the base, sir?"
White permitted himself a small twitch of his lips. "I rather doubt that, Lieutenant. But her time is not her own."
Green took the mild rebuke with good grace and turned back to his board. Lunch came and went before his board crackled to life.
“Cloudbase Control, this is Thunderbird Shadow, over.”
Lieutenant Green only twitched a little at the feminine voice on the Spectrum frequency. He’d been told to expect it, but it was still just a bit jarring. “Thunderbird Shadow, this is Cloudbase Control, reading you five by five.”
“Excellent Cloudbase.” The answer was bright and cheery. “Requesting clearance to land.”
Green blinked at his board, it was completely clear. “Thunderbird Shadow, where are you? You aren’t showing on our radar.”
There was a throaty chuckle. “Sorry about that Cloudbase. Is that any better?”
The board suddenly lit up with the yellow of an unknown aircraft that was far too close to the base. “Colonel!” Green turned to find White not at his desk.
“I see her Lieutenant.” White answered, he was standing in the observation tube. A dark grey aircraft had slipped out of the clouds on the stern of Cloudbase to circle around.
Green turned back to his board. “How much clearance do you need for landing Thunderbird Shadow?”
“HUH!”
Green turned to see White step backwards as the grey aircraft hovered outside the observation tube. He couldn’t quite make out the pilot, but he had the impression of a grin.
“Zero, Cloudbase. Just tell me where the hanger lift is and I’ll land there.”
Visit
The dark grey craft looked out of place among the white, blue, and silver of the Spectrum fleet. It had a sleek elegance that just drew the eye. A rapier to Spectrum’s sabers, Adam shoved such fanciful notions to one side and stepped closer to the plane to get a better look.
“No touching without permission, Blue.”
Adam jumped at the whisper in his ear. Xanthic stood there grinning. “Bastard.” Adam shot back.
Gordon rolled his eyes. “I wish.” He sobered, “But I mean it. There’s only two people who can touch Thunderbird S; Brains and Shadow. The rest of us only worked on her with permission or if Shadow was too hurt to do the work herself.”
Adam nodded but his attention was on the graceful craft before him. “What’s her top speed?”
“Mach 15 if she’s in straight flight or playing tag with missiles, I don’t know about power dives, I had my heart in my throat for those.” Cobalt came up beside Xanthic.
“You in real time, the rest of us when we watched the footage.” Gordon shivered a little. “That was not fun.”
Adam locked his hands behind his back, Mach 15 was faster than he’d ever gone. He was also sure that he’d never find out why Thunderbird Shadow had needed to do power dives.
Gordon poked his brother. “What are you doing here anyway? I figured you’d be catching up with Shadow.”
“She hasn’t left the Amber room yet. I was hoping you might have something I could ransom her with.”
Adam blinked, Shadow had come on board near the start of his shift in the Information Room, which had been a bit of excitement when Thunderbird Shadow just appeared on the screens. But that had been over six hours ago. He knew the Angels were all interested in the mysterious Shadow, but he’d figured Kayo would have gotten free by now.
Gordon was listing things on his fingers. “Auer for Destiny, Sawahara for Harmony, I just got a fresh box of Delights for Rhapsody, peach fudge for Melody, and Fralinger’s for Symphony. We can get baked goods from the commissary and a basket from the Mart.” His eyes narrowed. “Fresh fruit would be good to fill the holes with.”
“You have Fralinger’s? When the hell did you get that?” Adam demanded. It was Karen’s favorite salt water taffy and stupidly hard to get ahold of. Fralinger’s had very restricted hours.
“I know people.” Gordon grinned. “I’ve got some sarawak for Shadow, but it needs to thaw.”
Scott nodded, his mission mask firmly in place. “Right. I’ll get the basket, baked goods, and meet you at your quarters.” He looked Adam over. “Take Blue with you, he can help to word the trade offer.”
“Nope.” Adam stepped back out of grabbing range. “You two are on your own for this one.”
Gordon’s eyes sparkled. “Then you don’t mind if we bribe Symphony with her weight in treats to be a partner on any upcoming missions?”
Blue’s glare made arctic ice look warm and cozy.
Scott rolled his eyes at his brother. “I’ll snag Scarlet. He’ll know how to word it for the best chance with Destiny.” He gave Adam a pointed look. “No touching the Thunderbird, remember Shadow came to a deadlock with Scarlet and she can wipe the floor with the rest of us running a fever and a head cold.”
“Don’t remind me.” Gordon winced. “I still have nightmares about that.”
Adam blinked. “Do I want to know?” The answer to that was yes, but it was polite to ask.
“She was running a fever of 39C and thought we were the Hood’s goons keeping her hostage. We didn’t want to hurt her, but she had no compunctions about hurting us.”
“Thank goodness for Brains and the tranq guns.”
“Noted.” Adam looked at the sleek aircraft again. “If I asked very nicely, do you think she’d take me for a flight while she’s here?”
“I think you’ll have to get in line behind the Angels for that, Blue.” Scott grinned suddenly. “But I will tell you, S is one hell of a plane. Almost as good as One.”
“You’ve flown her? I thought you said Shadow only.”
The dimples deepened. “You think I’d let any of my family in a vehicle I hadn’t tested first? The only Thunderbird I haven’t handled is Five, and that’s because I’m not an astronaut. Space rated yes, but not an astronaut.”
“And yet you still nearly crashed Four because you wouldn’t listen to me.” Gordon shot back.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't in the best head space right then." Scott admitted.
Gordon had the grace to wince. "Yeah, a lot of us weren't." He clapped his hands together. "Right! Treats and a trade offer. Spectrum is go!"
Visit
"And why am I the negotiator again?" Scarlet asked in a slightly put out tone.
Xanthic was checking the contents of the basket to make sure everything was as elegant as possible. They'd had to borrow a floor dolly from Maintenance to move the thing. The staff at the SpectraMart had been more than thrilled to get rid of it. Someone had bought it by mistake, didn't want it, and it had been left to languish in the storeroom. It was about half the size of Scarlet's bed.
"Several reasons," Cobalt was checking Scarlet's uniform, making sure everything was parade neat. "You're a decent negotiator, have a rapport with Destiny, Rhapsody adores you, and if they rip your spine out for being presumptuous, you'll get better."
Scarlet blinked several times then tilted his head slightly. "I can't really argue with any of those points." He narrowed his eyes a bit. "Though I feel a bit taken advantage of on that last one."
"Oh, we are so taking advantage of that." Xanthic tweaked the placement of a pear. "You have a talent we don't. So using it is just good tactics."
"If it makes you feel any better, you weren't our first choice. Blue was, but he noped out." Cobalt picked a nearly invisible bit of fluff off Scarlet's sleeve.
"I'm the backup, why?"
"Because two of the five Angels like you and the rest respect you. Surviving their possible ire is just a bonus."
"Remind me to flatten Blue next time we spar."
"Will do!" Was the chirped answer.
Scarlet was nudged in front of the door to the Amber Room and the handle of the floor dolly put into his hand. He shot the brothers a look, then pressed the intercom. "Captain Scarlet here, I've come to negotiate an exchange."
Rhapsody opened the door, grinning broadly. "An exchange of what?" There was feminine laughter sounding behind her.
"For your most esteemed visitor." Scarlet doffed his RadioCap and bowed. If he was going to play the part of diplomat, he was going to be a diplomat. Besides, amusing the ladies was always a good course of action.
Her eyes sparkled with even more mirth. "Then please, do enter and tell us what you are offering us to part with her company." She stood back and waved him inside.
He stuck his 'cap on his head at a jaunty angle, towed the danegeld in behind him, and only felt a little ridiculous. "Not that anyone outside of Cloudbase would even understand this."
"Oh my goodness!"
"Wow!"
"Who do you want us to kill?"
"Capitaine." Destiny looked over the basket and raised her eyebrows at him.
Scarlet put himself into a parade stance, he saw no reason to do so with half measures, even if it was slightly ridiculous. "Destiny Angel, Ladies, Thunderbird Shadow." Kayo was standing next to the ready seats, obviously she had just been talking to Symphony and Melody. "I've been nominated as the 'most likely to survive' negotiator to secure the release of Thunderbird Shadow."
There were laughs all the way around
"Please note, not the most diplomatic negotiator, but the one most likely to survive the mission."
"And if we do not wish to lose Thunderbird Shadow's delightful company so soon?"
Scarlet gestured toward the massive basket. "Hence the bribe, or danegeld, or whatever you want to call it."
More laughter from everyone but Shadow. Who was watching carefully.
Destiny made a show of tapping her lip in thought. "Two more hours of her delightful company."
Scarlet blanked his face. "It's already been six." There were murmurs of disbelief at that. "Captains Cobalt and Xanthic would like to spend some time with Thunderbird Shadow as well."
"Allors! It has been six hours, truly?"
"Truly."
Destiny turned to Shadow. "My most profound apologies, I did not realize it had been so long."
"To tell the truth, I hadn't either." Shadow headed for the door. "So is that enough to 'buy' my release?"
"Bien sûr! You are more than welcome to visit us anytime however." Destiny gave Scarlet a look. "You will see her safely to the others?"
"You wound me. Of course I will." He held his arm out for Shadow to take.
She gave him a small smile as she took his arm. Scarlet doffed his cap to the ladies and escorted her out.
"Shadow!" Came out of two throats.
Scarlet dodged out of the way as Shadow engulfed in a multi-coloured hug.
It might have been the middle of a corridor of the most advanced military post, off or on the planet, but for two brothers and a sister, it was a tiny bubble of space to reaffirm the bonds of family. The hug broke apart, but not far: Xanthic’s arm was curled around Shadow’s waist and Cobalt’s arm was interlinked with Shadow’s on the other side. It was well known on Cloudbase how tactile Cobalt and Xanthic were, so it surprised no one that Shadow was as well.
“I’ve - “ Shadow started but was cut off by a chime, then a squawk from Xanthic.
“Hagfish! I’m due on duty.” He hugged his sister again. “Breakfast?”
She looked at Cobalt. “I hadn’t planned to spend the night.”
“There’s an empty guest quarters, I’m sure the Colonel won’t mind. Especially if you share any ‘alleged’ gossip with him.”
The smile was in her eyes but not on her face. "I've got something better than gossip for him."
Visit
White met Thunderbird Shadow in his office. He was quite sure she'd learned a great deal about Spectrum in general, and Cloudbase in particular. But he was comforted by the fact that she was on their side.
"Sir?" Cobalt was everything formal.
White touched a control, "You can enter, Captain."
Thunderbird Shadow entered first, her gaze swept the room: noting him and location, possible weapons, and the exits. It was rather like having the newly minted colour captains meeting with him for the first time.
He rose. "Thunderbird Shadow, it's a pleasure to meet you." He gestured to a chair. "Thank you Captain, you are dismissed."
"Yes sir." Cobalt nodded and left without the glance that White had been expecting.
"So Thunderbird Shadow -"
She held up her hand. "Shadow will work just fine, Colonel White. The whole thing is a bit of a mouthful." She grinned.
"Noted and thank you." White compared her grin to the one Magenta would sport with an especially juicy bit of news. "So what can Spectrum do for you?"
She pulled a piece of paper out of a pocket of her flight suit. "I was hoping to spend the night." she held out the paper, "I also have a list of code phrases from Five about the situation on Tracy Island when 'Feather' happens."
"A good thing to have," he looked the list over;
Downfall: We can get away under our power and are in no real danger
Skyfall: We might need help or an escort
Thunderfall: Worst case - we can't escape and are in active danger
"Appropriate names." He nodded. "It is my hope that only the first is used." He set the paper aside. "You are more than welcome to spend tonight, or any other you need here on Cloudbase Shadow. I already have a demand from the Angels that you be permitted to visit again. I also think that two of my Captains would be glad to see you as well."
Her smile lit up her entire face. "Actually meeting the Angels and delivering that to you was the reason for the visit. Seeing my brothers is just a bonus. They both could have been on missions."
He nodded. "Very true. So how did you find our Angels?"
"If I'd known about the Angels before I joined IR, I'd have tried out for them in a heartbeat."
"So any chance of you joining Spectrum?" He was certain what the answer would be, but he was interested in seeing how she responded.
"In a different life, at a different time, the answer would be yes. But this is the life I have, so, with regret, the answer is no."
"As I expected, but you would have made an excellent Angel." He stood up. "If you'll forgive me, I have a great deal of work ahead of me." She stood and he walked her to the door. As the door opened, White, "Lieutenant Green, please arrange for an escort to take Thunderbird Shadow to the V.I.P. guest suite."
"I'll be glad to take care of her, sir." Cobalt literally appeared next to Green.
White arched his eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, which usually made his Captains shuffle like small boys. Cobalt just stood there, waiting. White let the moment stretch, then nodded. "That would be good, Captain." He turned to Shadow. "Thank you again for the information, it will prove to be quite interesting."
"The Lady and I are glad to help." She graced him with a smile that lit up her eyes. Then she turned to Cobalt. "So, you're going to be my escort?"
"Yes'm." He held his arm out.
She turned back to White. "It's lovely to see proper manners, well done Colonel." She moved and took the offered arm.
Visit
The trip to the V.I.P. was far shorter than Kayo was expected. Cobalt opened the door and bowed her in with a small smile. She kept her face impassive, this was an old game between them. She walked in and came to a standstill. The appointments were in line with a better class hotel, not exceptional. The view however, was incredible. The outer wall was one giant window, showing the vast expanse of the sky and the clouds that passed under and around the flying base. She took several steps toward the window.
"It's quite the view." Scott said softly.
Kayo laid a hand on the transteel as she peered out. "It most certainly is."
Scott chuckled and turned to make sure that the door was locked, and found himself spun around and pinned up against that same door. A peridot gaze searched his face, then he found himself on the receiving end of a soul searing kiss. He let himself melt into it, it had been far too long since they’d been alone for more than a few stolen moments.
Kayo finally pulled back, nipping at his lower lip as she did so. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” Scott knew there was a broad grin on his face. “Miss me much?”
“I missed you every moment, of every minute, since I last had you in my arms.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “That much huh?”
Kayo plucked his ‘cap off and tossed it to the side. “That much and more.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “You said something about several hours alone?”
Scott swallowed hard, that throaty purr did things to his system. “As many as I can give you.”
Kayo stepped back, hooked a finger into the ring of his zipper, pulling him with her as she started to pull it down. “Then we’d better get started, <handsome>.”
"Ma'am, yes Ma'am!"
He let Kayo deal with his gun belt while he pulled his undershirt off. When he came free of the material, he found her staring at him. Her face an unreadable mask. “Tanusha?”
Her hand came up and ghosted over still red scars on his chest and then down to the long one his stomach. “I really wish you’d learn not to dodge to your right.” The plea was barely audible.
He caught the hand and placed a kiss on those fingers. “I’m trying <beloved>, I really am.”
Her lips twitched. “You are trying in so very many ways, <handsome>.” She gently pulled her hand free to hover over the raised and bumpy skin on his right shoulder.
“Had to make a quick exit from a moving vehicle.” He answered the eyebrow arched in question.
She shook her head and leaned in to kiss it. “I think I’m going to have to learn your body all over again.” The throaty purr was back.
Scott heaved a mental sigh of relief, though what she was going to say when she saw the new scar on his upper thigh was slightly terrifying. However, that was in the future… “You <beloved> have too many clothes on.”
She gave him one of her very rare, teasing grins. The one that lit up her entire face. “Are you going to try and do something about that?”
He caught her hands and grinned back. “Oh, I’m going to do more than try.”
Her eyes gleamed as she pulled to get free. His grin broadened and he tugged her closer so he steal a kiss. Only to find himself midair for a moment, then he landed back first on the bed. Kayo straddled his waist, and pinned his hands above his head. "More than try huh?"
"You cheated." But he couldn't stop smiling.
She nuzzled his jaw. "Of course I did." She kissed him, long and slow. "Much better without the beard."
He just tried to gather his scattered thoughts. "G-glad to hear that. But you're still over dressed."
She pushed up into a sitting position. "I thought you were going to try to do something about that." Her grin was teasing.
He grinned back, brought a leg up, around her waist, and flipped her onto her back to straddle her waist. "So, about that try. . ."
Visit
"Cloud, do you know where Cobalt is?" Gordon rolled his neck and winced at the dull crack from the base of his skull. Yeah, this was sleep on the floor session.
I do, Captain Xanthic.
Gordon finished pulling his undershirt off and squinted at the ceiling. There were no cameras in quarters, but looking up was now a habit among the residents of Cloudbase. There was something about the AI's tone. "Which is?"
I am sorry, Captain Xanthic, I have been asked not to tell anyone.
That got both of Gordon's eyebrows going. "I see." He balled the shirt up and tossed it into his laundry basket. "Can you tell me where Thunderbird Shadow is?"
There was a very long pause, nearly a minute, before Cloud answered. I am unable to do so, Captain.
Gordon nodded, a smile curling his mouth. "Uh-huh. When they are finished getting to know each other again, please tell them I want to see Shadow too."
I believe that is within the parameters I was asked to conform to.
"Thanks, Cloud." He looked at the clock, yeah he had time for a shower and to get to the commissary before the lovebirds did, not he'd say a word about that on Cloudbase. Scooter and Tan had kept their relationship so far under the sonar, that not even whales would notice it. He shed the last of his clothing and went to the head. Maybe, some day, it wouldn't have to be a secret. Gordon hoped with all his might that day wasn't too far in the future.
Bouncing off @violet-fire-cat's drawings of how the captain's uniforms would be modified for wings, tails, and horns, I had a scene idea bouncing around based off that. Enjoy!
“Blue!”
Scarlet lunged over a toppled filing cabinet and crouched beside the fallen pegasus, half sprawled on his belly with his eyes closed and a sluggishly bleeding cut over his right brow . “Blue!” He shook the pony’s shoulder, then when nothing happened he held his hand just over Blue’s muzzle and waited, heart in his throat.
Warm air moved his fur, and the relief was immediate.
“Okay, breathing, unconscious…” he quickly swept his hands over Blue’s body, paying special attention to his neck and back, “...no big bleeds, nothing obviously broken. We’ll sort out why later, right now we have to get you out of here.”
Between the debris on the floor and the urgency of the situation, over his shoulders was the only way to get the other pony out. Wings made that difficult as a default, but Blue had wings that were both long and broad. “And I don’t have a wing strap on me,” Scarlet frowned. “Sorry about this, but we need to move.” He pulled his tail in, unpicked the knot that held the end of the wrap closed, and started to undo it.
Typically, moving a pegasus or alicorn who couldn’t keep their wings folded meant folding their wings for them and using a wing strap, a broad, soft, elastic strap that went around their chest and wings to keep them tucked and contained. Without a strap it was so much more difficult, hence improvising with the tail wrap. Scarlet had worn one even before joining the military - with a tail as long as his, having a thick wrap had kept it from being broken more than once by careless hooves or rapidly closing doors - and it meant he had just over a meter of fabric to use. It wouldn’t be enough to go around Blue’s chest as well as his wings, but he had a work around for that.
Moving as quickly as he could, Scarlet threaded the wrap through the open back of Blue’s tunic so it came out the arm holes, then folded Blue’s wings and brought the ends of the strap over them. He tied them down as tightly as he dared, wincing as he did so as feathers bent and plumes split, but it couldn’t be helped.
That done, it was so much easier to roll Blue onto his back, then grab his arm and haul him up and over his shoulders in a firefighter’s carry.
flufftober2025
10. Set up by Friends
Scott and Juliette from Crossing Paths
Scott looked at the empty chairs at the table and chuckled softly. They were being as subtle as a brick, but that just made it funnier.
Penny and Virgil (though mostly Penny) had decided to put on a garden party, a fundraiser for one of Penny’s many charities. The Manor’s western lawn had been scattered with large gazebos and tents to shield them from the sun and provide comfortable spots to sit, nibble dainties and chit chat. To entertain the guests, sculptures had been put on display and a string quartet arranged to further encourage the opening of wallets and cheque books for a good cause. When he’d arrived, he’d been set up at one of the many tables with Penny, Virgil, Paul, Dianne, little Kathryn, and to his surprise someone quite unexpected: the recently retired Destiny Angel.
Conversations flowed across the table with the same ease of the Pimms being poured (and the lemonade for Kathryn) and then, one by one, the others had all slipped away. First it was an issue with the caterers that had required Penelope’s attention. A very wriggly Kathryn had needed the bathroom and a run around, so Dianne took her to deal with that, and Paul had followed them a little later so he could supervise the running around while Dianne got a chance to mix and mingle. Virgil had stayed long enough for it to not be too obvious, then he also left, saying he wanted to see where Penny had gotten to.
He’d suspected what was going on, and he knew that Juliette was just as suspicious, but the fact that no one returned to their enclave had confirmed it. Amused by the blatancy of it all, Scott turned to the only other person there. “Miss Pontoin, I believe we’re being set up.”
“Oui, Monsieur Tracy, I do believe you are correct.” Juliette hid her amused smile behind her tea cup. “I do not object to it. You?”
“No, I don’t.” Scott laughed.
“Then, Monsieur Tracy,” Juliette smiled and put down her tea cup, “I think we should not disappoint our friends. Dinner tonight? Seven? I know a good place near here.”
“Only,” Scott grinned, “if you agree to call me Scott.”
“Ah,” this time it was her turn to laugh, “only if you agree to call me Juliette.”
Fury AU, The Darkest Timeline, Course Correction, Part Four
Ao3 link here
Petrov Lapin, the recently elected President of Bereznik, strode into his office and waved for his aide to shut and lock the door. His aide, a lanky young man with blond hair cut in a short buzz and wearing the well-earned uniform of an Army lieutenant, followed him in and quietly obeyed, ensuring the door was firmly closed in its frame. Petrov ignored him for the moment, taking his time as he toured the room as was his habit, inspecting all its fittings and features and ensuring that everything was clean, neat, and ready for him. Satisfied, he settled behind his big desk and surveyed his spoils - which included that young man standing at a stiff attention beside the door as he awaited his next instruction. Petrov smiled to himself, very well pleased with his work. ‘Mother always said I was unusually lucky and lucky in unusual ways, and this is just one more piece of proof.’
A boy from the farmlands to the south of the capital, the Presidential Palace truly was the last place anyone had expected a nobody like him to be. He'd joined the military after finishing high school, as was expected for someone like himself, without a name or any sort of standout skills, and a chance encounter had led him to being buddies with one of the lieutenants in logistics with a lucrative ‘side hustle’ - as the Americans called it - in converting ‘mislaid equipment’ into currency. He'd joined in, made a pretty penny and even prettier connections. It had all gone quite swimmingly until his alarm clock broke one night and he missed a delivery run that he later found out was swooped on by the Bereznik Internal Security Agency, leaving his buddy’s organisation with quite a void and one that he'd naturally stepped into - after all, it would be a shame to waste such a fine set up, they had quite the nice little racket going. At the same time he'd ingratiated himself with the investigating BISA team looking for anyone who'd slipped through their net, pointed them at competing associations, and used that as the foundation of his little empire. The years rolled by, he made friends, money, allies, and connections both at home and afar, and slowly climbed the ranks as his luck made opportunities all but fall into his lap and his cunning and creativity let him take full advantage of them.
‘That would have been all well and good and I'd have retired as a colonel, but then the airport mission happened.’ Petrov smiled at the memory of receiving the orders. ‘Ah, that truly was where I made my name.’
He hadn't even been on the short list for that mission, but measles had made its rounds through the barracks and the Bereznik External Security Agency had found itself short-handed. Because BESA and BISA so often worked so closely together, his name had been passed along as someone who did good work, kept his head, and could be trusted.
Petrov leaned back in his chair. His part in the plan had gone without a hitch until he got caught up in the chaos of the aftermath and missed the exfil. Finding himself in the area where the dead were being collected and laid out - an area with little attention on it as people and resources were rightfully focused on the living and the conflagrations on the runway - he seized a high-viz, medical mask, and a clipboard, and took advantage of his unusual luck by having a rummage for things the dead didn't need anymore but he could make good use of. He left the obvious items like wedding rings and watches, relatives would miss those, but earrings, necklaces, and cash from wallets all went into his pockets.
He'd just searched a woman's purse when the small, soot-blackened body of a child next to her suddenly moved and rasped “Mama…”
He'd of course scooped up the boy - because only a monster could ignore a child in distress - and he'd been plotting how to deliver said child to the medical tents and vanish, but then he'd asked the boy his name and fate had once again smiled on him, broad and beaming.
Alan Tracy.
He had Alan Tracy, son of Jeff Tracy, alive and in his arms, a fact confirmed by a second look in the purse of the dead woman and the tickets emblazoned with ‘Lucille Tracy’ and ‘Alan Tracy.’
The possibilities were staggering and he'd immediately pounced on them.
He'd hurried away with the child, hailed a cab, and made calls. Some of his newly acquired funds went to the care and tending of the boy, more went into fake documents and travel plans, and within the week he was home and handing his mother and father a grandson to raise, while at the same time impressing BESA and his superiors with his resourcefulness in getting himself home without being detected by the West.
His mother and father had accepted the story that he gave them and raised the boy like he was their blood. Alan's intelligence had been apparent from a very young age and unlike others who would have beaten and broken the boy's spirit, he'd been careful to nurture it with the best education and a placement in Bereznik’s premier military academy to ensure he was fully indoctrinated. He could not waste a resource like this, and treating the boy kindly and giving him much to be grateful for would both endear the child to him and ensure that when Alan was placed back with the Tracys he would long for home and would do anything to return. He had bided his time, holding his ace close to his chest as he manoeuvred himself to greater and greater heights; which, and he found it the greatest of ironies, was immensely helped along by the Chaos Crew putting holes in Bereznik’s top ranks, holes that he could step into with a smile, his passage eased by the resources he had quietly salted away as he prepared to make the best use of his wonderful little treasure, his secret kept from the world - he could not let anyone else know who this boy was, they’d use them for their own ends, squandering an opportunity that he could use to greatest effect.
‘He will help me secure my position for life, and all my hard work and investments into him will pay off in spades once I insert him back into the Tracy fold.’ Petrov smiled at his aide. Getting up, he crossed the floor and held the younger man's face between both hands. “Tell me, who are you?” he asked.
“Lieutenant Alexei Lapin,” was the dutiful reply.
Petrov nodded, his smile fond and paternal. “Now, who were you?”
“Alan Bartlett Tracy.” Alexei recited the words like he was repeating a phrase drilled into him, words in a foreign language that held no particular or personal meaning to him.
“Yes, yes you were. And remember, Alexei, I saved you, I rescued you, I have raised you and protected you and given you the best that I could. I saved you, and now you are going to save Bereznik. Isn't that a good thing?” He let go of Alexie’s face and chucked his cheek like the loving parent he fancied himself to be. “Go make sure everything is in order, have my car brought around, tell Nataliya I'm working late and Taisia I'm on my way, then go home.” He smiled thinly. “We have a lot to do.”
“Yessir.” Alexei nodded, clicked to attention, and left the room, again making sure that the door firmly closed and locked behind him.
As soon as it was closed, Alan took in a deep breath, held it, and let it out. While Petrov clearly believed otherwise, that he had him under his thumb and firmly in his grip, Alan knew who he really was. He had always known that his name was Alan and his family was Tracy and his home was not here but half a world away
Petrov had pretended to be his father, but even as a child he’d known that the memories didn’t match - Dad was a big, booming voice, warm hugs and tickles, black hair, and cloud-coloured eyes, not a sharp voice and equally sharp green eyes, brown hair and wiry arms. There'd been brothers too, he remembered that, a collection of faces muddled by time, but not the love and warmth and play and enough joy to drown the sea. Mom was a slightly more solid memory: auburn hair in a ponytail, hazel eyes, cuddles and smiles, and music in her voice. Grandma was not the woman who called herself that - Yulia - even though she did treat him kindly, and Grandpa was absolutely not Vladimir (who usually ignored him), but their memories were just vague outlines and suggestions and little else.
As a child he remembered being so confused, trying to tell these adults his name was Alan, not Alexei, it hadn’t felt right at all, but they’d insisted and he'd been smart enough to not question it too much when he was little, not question it at all when he was older, and pretend to be all surprised when Petrov had revealed a highly edited version of ‘the truth’ when he turned sixteen.
Holding his true identity like a talisman against the lies they’d impressed on him and the indoctrination of the Bereznik education system, he'd played along with the narrative they’d crafted around him. At the same time and right under their collective noses he'd slowly pieced together the real story, breadcrumbs of information gathered up and hoarded away inside his skull where no one else could find them, and a litany of names and dates and events that he recited in his heart where only he could hear it.
Newspaper clippings from a locked cabinet and files carelessly left out on a desk confirmed who he was and explained how he’d gotten here, precious windows of unfettered internet access informed him about what had happened to his family, and evesdropping on meetings revealed what was to come.
Really he shouldn't have been able to worm his way into all of this - especially not into the internet access - but he was a fast learner, he was charming, he was cute, and he was kind to those like him: the ignored, the unseen, or those also being used for someone else's ends. It was amazing how much one could do with any combination of those things.
Piece by piece, he'd learned that he was thought to be dead, that his brothers had only barely survived, that his mother and grandparents hadn’t, that Petrov had helped kill them, that his father was fabulously wealthy, and that Petrov was going to use him to get his hands on that wealth.
Alan flicked a glance at the closed office door. There had been many days he’d wished the Chaos Crew had gotten to Petrov too and he’d fantasised about somehow making that happen, ‘but it’s actually better that they didn’t. I don’t have his connections, and right now I still need his protection.’ He'd longed to reach out to his real family, to communicate with them somehow, but while finding information was one thing, sending something was another. ‘Petrov has been smart enough to keep me from doing what he did: making friends outside Bereznik and alliances with people I can trust. But I'm going to find a way. And when the moment comes, I'm going to be ready. Petrov has his plans,’ he reached for the phone in the outer office to start making the calls, first to Petrov’s wife and second to his mistress, ‘but he's forgotten that other people have plans too. Yeah, right now he’s the king on the chessboard and I’m just an obedient little pawn, but a pawn can kill a king just as easily as anyone else.’
0o0o0
Half a world away, the war council was convening on Tracy Island.
“What do we know?” Colonel White asked as soon as he entered the lounge, Scarlet following one step to the left and two steps behind him.
“It’s President Petrov Lapin,” Jeff waved them both towards the ring of couches where everyone bar Silence were already waiting. “Nearest we can figure he must have been on the bombing team, somehow came across Alan, scooped him up and kept him.” He grimaced, looking sick. “The DNA tests must’ve been mixed up, we got someone else’s kid.”
“We’re going to find out who they really are and ensure they are returned to their loved ones.” Kyrano’s promise was softly murmured but the will behind the words was adamantine.
“The ransom note?” Scarlet asked.
“Silence?” Jeff looked to the hologram of Silence and the icon of his companion.
One moment, EOS answered for him. Their holograms blinked out and were replaced with an email with an attached photo.
“ ‘Greetings, Mr Tracy. I have someone precious to you. I believe you and I, as reasonable men, can come to a reasonable agreement on the value of young Alan Tracy and how he shall be returned to you.’ “ Colonel White read out loud. “Hn. Succinct, to the point, and very confident. Where did it come from?”
The Presidential Palace, EOS replied. We are working on hacking into their security systems now to gain live information on the president’s movements.
“Speaking of now, the timing of this.” Scarlet frowned. “Why now?”
“Now that he's top dog, Lapin can use Alan to get all the best toys from Tracy Industries and he doesn't have to share the credit or the glory.” That was Gordon, his tone light but his face all sharp angles and barely suppressed rage.
“Hn.” White rubbed his chin as he turned it all over, his eyes lingering on the photo of the young man. No photo analysis was required to identify him as a Tracy, and despite the toll life had already taken on Alan, he could still see traces of the little boy he’d carried around on his shoulders. Turning away from those fond memories, he looked to Jeff. “You have to know that Lapin won’t be satisfied with a single payment, be it in cash or in kind. He’s been holding on to Alan for years, waiting for the right moment. He’ll be wanting to extract as much as possible and in as many different ways as possible.”
“...I hadn’t gotten that far,” Jeff admitted, shame darkening his face.
“Lapin was counting on your emotions running riot,” White told him, “he planned for your distress and shock and he’ll want to use it to his full advantage.” A thin smile. “He did not plan for your allies or your alter egos. Captain Scarlet,” he turned to his officer, “I believe you have some leave that needs using up.”
Scarlet’s smile mirrored his commander’s. “Yessir. A few things from the Auckland office and I’ll be set. I can pick those up after I drop you off at Cloudbase.”
“Very good, Captain.” To the Tracys and Kyranos, White explained “Spectrum has no remit to operate in Bereznik, especially not against the elected president, no matter how rigged that election may have been. But I have limited control over what an officer does in their own time while away from Spectrum.”
“I like the way you think.” Jeff grinned.
“Wait, how are we gonna do this though?” Virgil jumped in. “Just bust in there with the Cruiser, say ‘Hi, we're your long lost family, remember us?’ and off we go?“
“No, not quite.” Scarlet shook his head. “You're also a hostage rescue team, remember? That’s who’s going to show up to get Alan, the Thunderbirds, a rescue team sent by his father. Get in there, get him out, and then reveal the truth later.”
Rubbing his chin, Jeff nodded slowly. “Yeah, this one has to be as International Rescue. He'll fear the Chaos Crew.”
“Mm, we did become Bereznik’s boogy man,” Scott agreed. “Silence, how long on the hack?”
Silence rocked one hand and EOS replied with a frustrated ‘currently undetermined’.
“Okay then.” Jeff nodded once. “Silence, EOS, keep working on it. Scarlet, while you do your drop off and pick up, Brains, Mechanic, you’ll get an iR suit together for him. I’ll reply to Lapin and see if I can get him to bite. Charles?”
“I’ll arrange for a transfer of the latest intelligence we have,” White promised. “I trust Lady Penelope will also be brought in on this?”
“Already done.”
“Very good, I’ll pass the information through her.”
“It’s settled then.” Jeff stood up, grey eyes hard. “Let’s bring our boy home.”
Take the Master of Pranks and the Crown Prince of Pranks, put them in a tin can in the sky and the results are explosive.
Not in a good way.
Ao3 link here
This is just what it says on the tin. Enjoy.
It started off as a typical day on Cloudbase. Rhapsody had Angel One on deck, the base itself was humming with activity, and in the Officers’ Lounge, Ochre and Xanthic were both on their tablets, keeping themselves busy while waiting out their standby shift.
"Hey, Xan. I thought xanthic was supposed to be a 'yellow'?" Ochre looked up from the tablet he was reading.
Xanthic glanced up from the report he was writing. "It is." He pointed at his tunic. "Exhibt A."
"That's not what science says." He cleared his throat. "A southern Mandarin Dogfish was captured on film off the coast of New Zealand that lived up to its name, by being bright orange. This is a rare example of xanthism -"
"What?" Xanthic launched out of his seat to grab the tablet. "OH… this is so cool! It's also troubling as well. But oh, that's a good pic." He quickly read the article. "Oh, there's a write up in Marine Sciences. Thanks Ochre, that's my evening reading sorted." He handed the tablet back.
"But that's not yellow."
"It's xanthism, which means in an orange-yellow colour morph in animals. Xanthic is still a proper colour." He went back to his report.
"So you could be orange." Ochre kept his head down.
"No. My colour is xanthic. If my skin was orangey yellow, then it would be xanthism, but since I'm not, my colour is xanthic."
"If you say so."
Xanthic kept working on his report and never saw the slow grin curl Ochre's lips.
He’d been plotting how to get at the other man for months now. Yes, ‘welcoming’ Scott onto the base with blue dye had gotten him the retaliation of all retaliations, but payback was part and parcel of pranks, and that payback had been the stuff of legends. Gordon hadn’t been subjected to a similar welcome yet because other stuff kept getting in the way - one major thing being Scott’s injury and recovery. Even he wasn’t obtuse enough to launch a prank war when something like that was going on. ‘But that’s over with, Scott’s not going to be as suicidal now he’s got UnNamed to take down, and I’ve just had the perfect idea.’ Rick mentally leafed through his inventory of equipment as he opened up the shift schedule. If he was going to pull this off, he needed to make sure his timing was perfect.
M&M
A day later and his shift finally over, Gordon stretched hard enough to make his back crack, then got up and made his way to his cabin. The radar room console chair was just as comfortable as it needed to be and not a jot more. Which made sense, you didn't want people falling asleep on duty, but - ugh, it was hard on your back. A nice hot shower was just the thing to help with that and maybe some stretches. Then dinner and chess with Adam, because DAMN the man was canny behind his pieces. Boots were left at the door, gunbelt and 'cap were hung up, and the rest of the uniform was a trail to the bathroom. He loved the instant hot water of Cloudbase. He'd spent too many cold showers in training and WASP to not appreciate it. He checked his bar of soap as a matter of habit - his nail bit into it nicely. He stepped under the shower and turned on the water…
Shift change on Cloudbase was a slightly chaotic time, just as it was with any military or semi-military organization. So officer country was busy, but the colour officers jumped back out of the way of Xanthic storming down the corridor. He had on his trademark safety yellow bathrobe, but his skin and hair were a vibrant orange. He slammed a fist into the intercom. "Ochre, you are going to regret this," he snarled, then turned and stalked back to his quarters.
Inside his quarters, Rick laughed loud and long. The payback was going to be absolute hell, so he was going to thoroughly enjoy this first win for as long as he could.
M&M
The next day required some judicious pre-planning.
Setting his alarm fifteen minutes earlier and having instant coffee prepped on the bench in his kitchenette with a meal bar beside it ensured he was both conscious and alert by the time he left his quarters. Rick was very careful to check all corners as he made his way out of officer country and down to the commissary for a proper breakfast.
He navigated the hallways just fine, collected breakfast, sat down in his usual spot - after checking the chair and under the table - and had just started eating when Scarlet, bleary-eyed after nightshift, plunked himself down next to him with his ‘dinner’. “So, I hear you’ve decided to pull the lion’s tail,” he said as he reached for the salt shaker.
“Yep.” Ocher grinned as he turned his plate so he could get to his pancakes before the cream finished melting. “He was overdue for a proper welcome.”
But Scarlet was looking at him oddly.
“What?” Ochre asked. Had he missed a spot shaving?
“...your tongue’s blue.” Scarlet said at last.
“What?” Ochre scrambled for a reflective surface, grabbed his knife, and checked. Yep, sure enough, his tongue was indeed other-than-pink. “...that sneaky fish! He must have snuck into my room and spiked my coffee with methylene blue or something!”
“Glad to see he’s putting his training to good use. You knew what you were in for when you started this,” Scarlet grinned as he picked up his flatware.
"You realize, I can't let him get away with this?"
Scarlet looked at him. "You remember what Cobalt did to you, right?"
"I do, but I've taken precautions."
Scarlet turned back to his food. "Obviously not enough, since your tongue is blue."
"Point. At least it's not affecting. . . oooh, yes! Idea!" Ochre dug into his food with a will.
Scarlet raised an eyebrow, shifted into Spec Ops mode and finished his food in short order. He stood up. "Just remember the rules the Colonel set down."
"I will, I will." Ochre guzzled his coffee. "This is perfect and I've never done it before."
Scarlet just shook his head. "I'm going to stay out of the splash range. Best of luck."
"Thanks, but I won't need it."
"No, but the rest of us might." His food finished, Scarlet headed off to the safety of his quarters. He wanted to be well out of range whenever the next attack hit.
M&M
Xanthic had shifted into combat mode the moment he'd left Ochre's cabin. He had his own food supplies, sealed drinks, and fresh supplies of personal hygiene products. The fact that there hadn't been an immediate retaliation just made him more cautious. He put every one of the skills he picked up in WASP, being trained by a ninja and his ninja daughter, his brothers, his girlfriend, and Spectrum to use. To the point of surprising Blue, which nearly earned him a black eye, but the bragging rights were worth that.
The day after he spiked Ochre’s coffee, he was getting his breakfast at the commissary. Tray in hand, he avoided the captain's table, and sat down next to Destiny. No one, including Scarlet, was insane enough to try to pull a prank around the Angel Leader.
"Capitaine." Her amusement was evident.
"Destiny Angel. How are you this lovely morning?" He opened his cup of yogurt.
"I am well." She cut into her omelet. "What brings you to grace our table?"
"Prudance. It's been two days since I got Ochre and I don't trust him." He took a spoonful of creamy goodness.
"Honesty is refreshing, merci."
Xanthic made a face, looked at his spoon, then at his cup. "Destiny, what flavor does this say it is?" He handed her the cup.
"It says cherry. Why?"
He rinsed his mouth with some coffee. "Because it tastes like unsweetened cranberries."
She sniffed it. "It smells correct."
"That sneaky son of a sea slug put miracle berry into it. I don't know how or how he arranged for me to get this, but he did." He shrugged and took the cup back. "Might as well eat it. My life is going to be weird for the rest of the day."
M&M
Cloudbase being what it was - a contained environment of 600-odd people and most of them desperate for any sort of novelty to break up the mundane routine of duties and relieve them of the pressure of life and death emergencies - it didn’t take long for word to spread. Some, more reckless than most, homed in on the two participants to see if they could catch sight of the latest volley with their own eyes. Others gave them a wide berth, not wanting to be caught up as collateral.
Ochre, feeling quite pleased with himself for managing the juvenile prank of a fart cushion under Xanthic’s towel, draped over a bench in the locker room, but at the same time feeling somewhat deflated by Xanthic’s reaction of leaning into it - quite literally by squirming around to make sure every bit of air in the cushion was spent on imitated flatus - checked his security, found no tampering, but double checked it anyway - the fish was sneaky - and let himself into his cabin.
When he wasn’t assaulted by glitter bombs, shaving foam, or any other typical prank traps, he crossed the floor to his desk.
Captain Ochre?
"Yes Cloud?" Ochre carefully examined his desk and checked his tells to see if it had been messed with.
I am curious about the competition that you and Captain Xanthic are engaged in.
"Curious in what way?" The desk was safe, now he had to check the chair.
In many ways. I do not understand the point of the exercise. It does not seem logical.
"It's a prank war, there's nothing logical about it. It's one upmanship, creativity, and who's the best." The chair was untampered with. The bathroom was next.
But to what point?
"Well, Scarlet would say it's a good practice in situational awareness. Along with sneaking skills and some other stuff."
So I should speak with Captain Scarlet about this?"If you want to." Ochre flopped down on the bed and immediately regretted it as it squished. "SON of a BITCH!"
Captain? Cloud queried.
Ochre rolled off the bed first and peeled off the covers. Pudding. Artistic swirls of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry pudding lay atop a plastic sheet that had been thoughtfully draped over his mattress, but under his pillow and blankets. “...how did he get that much pudding…” he wondered out loud, then shook his head. It was Xanthic, the base smuggler extraordinaire. He had his ways. “If you're keeping tally,” Rick told Cloud as he bundled up the mess, “I'd say that's worth two points to Xanthic for creativity and resourcefulness.”
Cloud's rondel pulsed with thought. Noted, Captain Ochre.
M&M
Captain Scarlet?
Paul paused in taking off his rollneck. There were no cameras in quarters, but there were holoprojecters. Then he decided he was being silly, if Cloud wanted to know what he looked like shirtless, he just had to pull the medical records. "Yes, Cloudbase?" The rollneck landed on the bed, which Paul sat on to take off his boots.
I have questions about the current test that Captain Ochre and Captain Xanthic are engaged in.
"I'm sure you do. But why ask me? Either of them could give you a better answer." Boots hit the floor followed by trousers and Paul swaddled himself in the big, fluffy red robe that Dianne had gotten him.
Both Captain Ochre and Captain Xanthic suggested that I speak to you about this.
"I need tea to deal with this." He started the kettle in the kitchenette. "Okay, what exactly did they both say in reference to me?"
Ochre's voice came out of the tannoy: "Well, Scarlet would say it's a good practice in situational awareness. Along with sneaking skills and some other stuff." Which was followed by Xanthic's: "Scarlet is always after us to be more aware of our environment and the possibilities therein."
"Well, neither of them are wrong." Gunpowder tea seemed like a good choice for this conversation.
In Lundberg's 'Situation awareness systems, states and processes: a holistic framework' he lists situational awareness as a critical skill in effective team cohesion. If this is the case, why are not all the Captains engaging in this exercise?
Scarlet gave the question the consideration it was due as he poured water over tea leaves and set them to steep. “...call it personal preference,” was what he settled on. “There’s many paths to situational awareness and those two have decided on pranks, which,” he smiled to himself, remembering the occasion that had resulted in Colonel White laying down the law, “may or may not have unforeseen consequences.”
Unforeseen consequences? Cloud repeated. More information requested, please.
Checking the tea, he found it sufficiently steeped, pulled out the strainer and carried the cup over to his couch. If he was going to engage in what was probably going to be an extended conversation, he wanted to be comfortable. “Look up ‘collateral damage’.”
Collateral damage, noun, injury inflicted on something other than an intended target
specifically: civilian casualties of a military operation, as per the Miriam-Webster dictionary. Cloud recited. How does that apply?
“Well,” Paul arranged himself on the couch to lounge better, “run this scenario. Let’s say Ochre sets a trap of a water cannon. He intends to catch Xanthic, and Xanthic only, but Destiny was walking through the area at the time and he manages to hit her with the water too. Extrapolate how she’d react to that.”
A judicious pause as Cloud conducted the necessary research and constructed the scenario. …she would react poorly, was the conclusion, voiced with some trepidation.
Paul smiled, the young intelligence had learned much indeed. “Exactly. That’s the sort of thing that ended the last major prank war we had on base.”
Another pause, then Cloud’s rondel popped up over the holoprojector on his coffee table. More information requested? Please?
Paul chuckled, sipped his tea, and smiled. “Story time, hm? Very well. It was our first year on base…”
M&M
Things continued at a relatively low-key pace, with neither Ochre or Xanthic scoring a decisive blow to the other. Which was to the amusement of the audience. It also led to a certain amount of frustration on the part of the prankesters, causing things to come to head in escalation.
Escalation always comes with costs and consequences.
Ochre had decided if he couldn't catch Xanthic on his turf, then he'd get him on his. Home ground was always an advantage. He'd already earned the ire of the maintenance team his first year with his use of craft herpes. But he had better stuff now, glitter that was bio-degradable and broke down under UV. So he set up his glitter cannon facing his door, and slipped out. The door closing was the arming trigger, so whoever opened the door next would be covered in gold and orange holo tinted glitter. He went off to his duty station with a grin. If Xanthic passed this up, it would still count as a win, because he was filling in for Lt. Green, so he'd be under the Colonel's eye the entire time. Hell, he couldn't have passed this up if things were reversed.
It was just after 1300 when Destiny Angel appeared on the command deck. "Colonel?"
"Yes Destiny Angel?" White set aside the report he was reading.
"I wish to report that Melody Angel will be off duty for at least the next 24 hours."
Ochre's ears perked at that. It had to be something bad if Destiny was reporting it in person.
"May I ask why?" White queried. Medical issues were covered by Fawn, so his curiosity was fully engaged.
"You may." Destiny settled into parade rest, but sideways, so Ochre was in her view as well. "Melody Angel was returning a book to Capitaine Ochre's quarters -"
Ochre groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“Captain?” White’s tone appeared mild, but he knew far, far better than to think that. “Do you have any insights to offer about this… event?”
Rick weighed up his next actions very, very carefully. The Old Man was looking like he could be amused, but accident or not, this had affected operational readiness, which was one of the big lines in the sand. Destiny however… she was at her most statuesque, which was when she was at her most dangerous.
‘Odds are he knows what me and Xan are up to, so this is him giving me a chance to die with my honour intact.’ But one look at Destiny promised that if he managed to escape the Old Man, his chances of escaping her and the rest of the Angel pack were drastically slimmer.
I can provide details if Captain Ochre is unable to, Cloud innocently volunteered.
“Traitor,” Ochre muttered at the nearest microphone. Deciding to fall on his sword with dignity, Ochre stood and drew himself up into a passable attention. “Sir, mischief and mayhem, sir. It appears Melody Angel was accidental collateral damage.”
M&M
Ochre used every stealth skill he had to get into Medical unobserved, late at night and after checks. He was well and truly in the doghouse for this with the entire base. Not that he really blamed them, it had been a stupid idea and he'd been too caught up in getting Xan to think things through. He took a deep breath and slipped into the women's side of Medical and isolation pod that Melody was in.
It was dark, darker than usual even for Medical, with subdued red lighting. He winced at that, photophobia was bad for anyone and triply so for a pilot. One of the reasons he was in so much trouble. Hopefully, she was awake, if not, he'd leave an audio message. "Lia?"
"Rick?"
Oh good, she was awake."Yeah." He felt his way over to the visitor's chair. "I came to apologize."
"I'm listening."
Damn, he couldn't tell anything from her voice and there was no chance of visual clues. "I'm really sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I never meant for you to walk into that."
"I'm sure you didn't," was the neutral reply.
He cringed at that, he might have fucked up one of the best things in his life with this. "I am extremely sorry, and I'm willing to do whatever penance you want me to. After my punishment detail."
"Which is?"
He rubbed the back of his head. "Scouring the area around and in my quarters for any trace of glitter and finding any that may have spread around the base. Along with being restricted to base, other than missions for the next month, and being part of the cleaning detail for the Interceptors. I've been informed that since I have all this 'free time', I need to put it to better uses."
“Yes, you do.” Again her voice was perfectly neutral. “This could have ended my career, Rick.”
And wasn’t that the gut-punch of the century. Rick was taking in a breath to further expand his mea culpa into a mea maxima culpa, but Magnolia went on.
“Xanthic’s already been by to apologise too - he knows you wouldn’t have booby-trapped your quarters if he hadn’t been going in there - but you both need to steer clear of me until further notice.”
“S.I.G.” Rick nodded, knowing that that also meant keeping well away from the Amber Room and all the Angels too. Not that going anywhere near that room was on his agenda. The Angels were not happy with him. "Is there anything I can get you?"
"Leaving me alone with peace and quiet."
He stood up. "S.I.G." He opened the door. "Again, Melody Angel, my most sincere apologies."
"Good night, Captain Ochre."
He slinked out of the iso pod and shivered as the door closed behind him. It sounded like the Gates of Doom sealing him from everything good.
M&M
A week later in the Officer’s Lounge, Scarlet was lurking in the back of the room, watching Ochre over the rim of his cup of tea. The other officer was working on a report, earbuds in so he could concentrate better.
Magnolia had been released from Medical the next day, and both Gordon and Rick had subsequently been summoned and thoroughly bawled out by Fawn for letting their play time hurt someone. The one saving grace, the CMO had informed them, was that Rick had used makeup glitter, not craft glitter that was all edges and corners.
The news of what had happened had swept the base just as quickly as the rest of the prank war updates, and that both Ochre and Xanthic were on the outs with the Angels had been tasty gossip for the rumour mills.
While the Angels were complete professionals about it on missions, off-mission was a completely different story. Knowing very well what it was like to be on the receiving end of the Angels’ collective displeasure, he’d taken mercy on both men and whenever he could he acted as the messenger/intermediary/meat-shield/diversion for whenever one or the other of them had to do anything that involved the five women, and carefully testing the waters to gauge how much trouble they were still in.
Xanthic, he reckoned, was close to being forgiven. But Rick? Paul shook his head. The man was being frozen out hard, to the point it was starting to become of official concern, not just the things that White let them sort out amongst themselves as adults.
Blue sat down next to him. "What did Rhapsody say?"
"That Ochre," he tried to put the same amount of venom that she had used, "hasn't done anywhere enough to get back into her good graces. Let alone Magnolia's."
Blue sighed. "Same with Symphony. I thought I could try some diplomacy and help reach a detente, but the look Destiny gave me -"
"Made your bits try to crawl back into your body cavity," Scarlet finished.
"Yeah." Blue swirled his coffee. "Any ideas at all?"
Scarlet shook his head. "Not a bloody one. The Old Man is making noises about stepping in."
"I'm not sure that would help." He drank some coffee. "It might make things even worse. They are beyond professional about this, they just won't acknowledge his existence outside of a mission."
“I can tell you now, it really sucks,” Ochre called over to them. He shut off the tablet, got up, and walked over, popping the earbuds out as he did so. “Had them on ambient-aware,” he said by way of explanation as he pocketed them and plunked himself down on the floor. “Don’t feel bad, there aren’t really many places we can talk about stuff that’s not our quarters, and you guys want to help.” Rick offered a smile that was more of a grimace. “Thanks for that by the way, for trying.”
“Least we could do,” Paul replied, reaching out and giving Rick’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“Yeah, well.” Rick rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m going to make one last attempt at getting out of the doghouse, then I’m putting in for a transfer.”
“...what?” Adam almost dropped his coffee.
“This,” Rick made a vague gesture, “is going to get someone perma-dead. We can’t effectively function as one team when the Angels all hate my guts this much. Run the math, replacing a Captain is much easier than replacing an Angel.”
This is not acceptable. Cloud’s icon popped up over Rick’s abandoned tablet, his colours dark with upset. You are mine. I will speak with Angel Melody. The icon blinked out.
“Wait, Cloud-!” Eyes wide, Scarlet looked at the other two. “Amber Room, now!”
M&M
In the Amber Room, Magnolia turned the page on her Japanese language workbook and rubbed her forehead. She was on standby, but both she and Chan only had to be in the chairs for the switch over time, for the rest they just had to be in the Amber Room. Magnolia squinted at the page, then shook her head. The hiragana was starting to dance around, it was well past time for a break.
Angel Melody. Cloud’s icon popped up on the projector at her elbow. I am bringing this issue to your attention. With that preamble, the icon vanished and Rick’s voice came out of the speaker. “I’m going to make one last attempt at getting out of the doghouse, then I’m putting in for a transfer. This is going to get someone perma-dead. We can’t effectively function as one team if the Angels all hate my guts this much. Run the math, replacing a Captain is much easier than replacing an Angel.” The icon reappeared, turning to look at her. Was this the desired outcome from your actions?
Caught badly off-guard, all she could pull together was a startled “What? No!”
What was the desired outcome?
She sat there blinking at the rondle while she tried to bring her thoughts together.
"I think Cloud, you're asking the wrong question." Chan sat down next to Magnolia.
Then what is the correct question, Angel Harmony?
"Why have we reacted the way we have."
Why have you reacted by shunning Captain Ochre?
"Because we were scared, and we're still afraid." Chan wrapped an arm around Magnolia's shoulders.
Afraid? Afraid in what fashion?
Magnolia swallowed. "If things had been slightly different; a different angle, a different kind of glitter, more force, and I wouldn't be here.” She leaned into Chan's hug.
. . . I do not understand. The force, even increased, would not have been fatal. More information requested?
"It wouldn't have killed me, at least not in that way." Magnolia gripped the workbook hard enough to curl it. "My eyes would have been permanently damaged. Maybe to the point of losing my sight. You can still fly with cybernetics, but you can't fly - combat." She forced the last word out.
Chan pulled her into a tight hug. "You didn't, you won't, and you're going to be alright. But that's why we're afraid, Cloud. That any of us could walk into an ambush like that and lose our sight, or hearing, or something else. Which would take the sky from us and make us leave Spectrum."
Cloud was silent for nearly a minute. Then I should be shunned as well. I could have warned Angel Melody that the door had been tampered with. I did not.
"Cloud, there was no way for you to know what was going to happen." Magnolia said.
By that logic, you did not know that the door had been tampered with, so you should not be angry with Captain Ochre and Captain Xanthic.
"You don't have the references to understand what a tampered door means in the middle of a prank war, Cloud." Chan looked up at the ceiling. "If you had, you would have warned 'Lia."
Would that be an appropriate action in this situation?
"If it's an innocent bystander, yes, it would be Cloud," Rick said.
Both women flinched, they hadn't heard him come in, and looking past him at the still-open door, they could see flashes of pale blue and bright red: Adam and Paul were lurking there, ready to step in if needed.
“I come in peace, please don't kill me yet?” Rick tried to joke, his attempt at a smile as brittle as cracked glass, then he dropped it in favour of seriousness. “Melody, Harmony, can we talk?”
Magnolia glanced at Chan and got the barest of nods. “Yes.” She pointed to the couch opposite.
Rick nodded and sat there - which let the door shut since he wasn't triggering the sensor anymore. He was, she immediately noticed, keeping his shoulders down, his body positioned so that he wasn't blocking their egress, and making himself not-threatening, all tactics he'd learned in negotiation and de-escalation, and damn him but it was working.
“Melody,” Rick began, “I am so, so sorry. What I did was beyond stupid and I have no excuses for not researching what I was doing and not thinking ahead. I almost cost you everything you love the most, and if you want me off Cloudbase, I'll be on the next shuttle.”
Magnolia relaxed her hands on her workbook. "I - I don't want that. You love your job as much as I do." She smoothed the cover. "I - I -"
"We don't want to be afraid," Chan supplied. "It's bad enough with the 'neighbors' outside, but to worry about getting hurt by 'friendly fire', is worse."
"Then don't be. I can keep to shaving cream, shower dye, and whoopee cushions. All the low level pranks." He looked down. "If I ever get tempted to prank anyone on Cloudbase again, that is."
I will also tell you and any other bystander about any tampering in the area.
"That would help a great deal Cloud." Magnolia smiled slightly at the pulsing rondel.
"This still does not absolve Capitaine Ochre of his actions to Melody Angel." Destiny's voice floated down from above.
“F-!” Rick jumped and caught himself just in time. “No, no it doesn't and I'm not expecting it to. I broke her trust,” he said, looking between the two women, Cloud's rondel, and the ceiling. “And that's not easy to fix. If ever.”
“Non,” was the Angel Leader's crisp response. “You are dismissed, Capitaine.”
“Yes'm.” He nodded to everyone present and made a swift exit.
…what will occur now? Cloud asked, ‘looking’ between Magnolia and Chan. The problem has not been remedied.
“No, no it hasn't. Now?” Magnolia leaned back into the couch. “Now I've got some thinking to do.”
M&M
Hours later and aching, his ‘messy’ clothes now only fit for the garbage chute, Rick dragged himself back towards his quarters from his latest round of his ‘punishment detail’. The hangar chief - Jasper - an old salt in their own right, had upgraded (downgraded?) him to a kiddie toothbrush for scrubbing carbon deposits out of a half-disassembled Interceptor exhaust manifold, an almost impossible task with a standard toothbrush, and so much harder with a half-sized brush to work with.
“Hey.”
He looked up to see Gordon loitering near his cabin.
“So, uh, sorry for my part in all this,” Gordon said as he approached. “And I'm sorry you copped it. You wouldn't have boobytrapped your door if I hadn't been messing with your quarters.”
“It's still my fault, but thanks.” Rick almost rubbed his face, but remembered just in time that his hands and arms were filthy. “You're not in trouble?”
“I got my ‘one and only’ warning from the Colonel, but the Angels are still angry with me. Here, lemme get the door for you.”
"Thanks." Rick staggered into his cabin and straight to the bathroom. The only kindness he'd been given by the hanger crew were 'keep klean' booties for his shoes, so he wasn't dragging the mess all through the base.
"Any thoughts on getting back into their good graces?" Gordon asked as he got some coffee ready for the other man.
"Maybe,” Rick answered. But anything else was blocked by the sound of the shower.
Gordon used the big mug and poked around to see if there was anything to go with it. Rick, like Scott, had a good supply of high calorie grab and go foods, but nothing for just nibbling and relaxing with. Something he was going to fix for the other man. He was looking over the bookcase when Rick came out, damp and red from a thorough scrubbing, with a towel around his waist. Gordon turned his back to get the coffees. Not that he really cared, but most of the other captains were uncomfortable about their bodies. When he turned back around, Rick was just pulling on a tee shirt to go with his sweats.
"Oh… thank you!" Rick swallowed some of the scalding liquid and sat down with a sigh. "I've got night shift in the Radar Room tonight."
Gordon shook his head. "The Colonel isn't letting up either. I'm sorry."
Rick waved a hand. "Again, not your fault, I started this whole mess."
"Still." Gordon got up to add some salt to his. "You said you might have an idea?"
"Yeah. I already tried throwing myself on my sword with Melody, but I think I'm going to have to do it with each Angel to get their trust back."
"What you need is a fresh start." Gordon's eyes narrowed. "That might work."
"Huh?"
"Make a fresh start with the Angels. Write them together or singly, a formal apology, then go back to the beginning. Ignore everything you know about them and treat them all like you're meeting them for the first time. Work on regaining their trust that way."
"Huh. That might just work." Rick knocked back another gulp of his coffee. “I’ll try write something up overnight.”
“I can…”
The trill of the door chime interrupted them, followed by Magnolia’s soft “Rick? Can I come in?”
Coffee promptly abandoned, Rick scrambled for the door. “Yes! One sec!” He hit the unlock button and stood aside.
Magnolia, clearly off duty in a floral patterned blouse and dark jeans, glanced first at him, then at Gordon in the kitchenette, who was doing a fairly good impression of a spooked octopus. “Oh good, you’re both here.” She stepped inside the room, enough to let the door slide shut. “How much time do you have before your Radar Room shift?” she asked. “Cloud gave me your schedule.”
“Um.” Rick checked his wrist, realised he hadn’t put his watch back on yet, and Cloud proved he was keeping a sensor on things because the projector on his desk came to life with a clock hovering over it. “I’ve got thirty two minutes.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “I won’t keep you long, you’ve still gotta eat.” Drawing herself up, Magnolia looked between the two of them. “We’ve decided to forgive you both. It was an accident, you’re both really sorry, and we’ve heard about what Chief Jasper is doing, you’re getting plenty of punishment.”
"Huh… why?" Rick was completely flatfooted by this.
A small smile played on her lips as her face softened. "Because we have. It was an accident, you're both really sorry -"
"And we're never going to do it again." Gordon finished. He glanced over at Rick.
Who nodded hard enough to make his shoulders wobble. "Never again. Shaving cream and whoopee cushions, I promise!"
She graced them both with a smile. "If you want to keep leaving gifts outside the Amber Room door, Xanthic, we won't complain." She looked at the clock. "You've got thirty minutes, Ochre, you'd better hurry."
