The Many Deaths of Jeff Tracy, or how we blew off steam while writing this awful wretch of a man: Marooned
Ao3 link here
“...uuuhhhh….”
Even before he could get his eyes open, even before the fuzzy sensation fully faded and he knew where his body was, something about the sound of his own voice had the alarm bells ringing at full volume.
That alarm had Jeff clawing his way back into consciousness. It was like he was fighting his way up through layer upon layer of wet blankets, but he finally got to the surface, forced his eyes open… and was met with a yoke and a half-dark console, gaping holes showing where different electronics had been neatly excised.
“What…” Jeff pulled himself together and sat up to take stock of himself and get a proper look at his surroundings. That he was wearing his uniform finally registered - which explained the alarm bells, he hadn’t been wearing a uniform before and hearing his voice bouncing back to him from the inside of a helmet was a big difference. ‘I was… where was I? I was on the Island… was there a rescue?’ It made sense, but the big blank spot in his memory and the lack of a headache to explain it wasn’t lending credence to that theory. ‘Okay, pull it together Tracy, run the numbers. Where am I? In space. What ship is this?’
There was enough illumination from the interior lights that he was able to get a decent look at the cockpit. ‘Mid-sized long-haul freighter…but it’s new… not a junker…’ That discrepancy had more alarm bells echoing through the lingering fog. Why would a new freighter be missing electronics?
Wondering why his mouth tasted like a sewer, Jeff fumbled for the comms point on his baldric and croaked out “Thunderbird Five, come in.”
Nothing. Not even the click of an open radio link.
Frowning, he tried again, using his chin to hit the button for the secondary radio in the helmet. “Thunderbird Five, do you read?”
Nothing.
There was a veritable chorus of alarm bells going off now. Jeff unbuckled himself, pushed himself out of the seat… and saw the note on the glass of the viewport in front of him.
He was reaching to grab it when he realised there was something outside: a powder-blue ship with an almost avian look to it, drifting against a backdrop of lumpy asteroids and a deep black that went on forever.
The Zero-XL.
It was just as beautiful as the first time he’d seen her, but she didn’t have the Thunderbirds locked into her this time… and as he watched, light bloomed around the stern and he realised the ship was powering up for a jump.
“NO!” Jeff slammed a hand against the glass, but it was futile as the energies reached their peak and the Zero-XL vanished into nothingness.
His heart thundering in his ears, hoping, praying, begging, that this was all some sort of nightmare or someone’s sick idea of a joke, Jeff snatched the note off the portal.
Two lines were inscribed on the paper in a hand he didn’t recognise: ‘You did not appreciate the gift you were given: a second chance. It has now been revoked.’
The paper crumpled in his fist as Jeff swung from left to right, taking in the control panel and the labels next to the gaps in it: Communications. Navigation. Engineering. All gone.
But he didn’t need navigation or anything else to know exactly where he was.
Back in the Oort Cloud.
Marooned.
This was a long-haul, so he already knew it would be outfitted for Watney Protocol, and he also knew that the storage lockers would be kitted out with everything he’d need - food, medicine, spacesuit patch kits, tools, spares for the water and oxygen plants, and so on - but in his heart of hearts he knew, he absolutely knew, that this time no one was going to come looking for him.
Well, it happened again, another snippet that shows what a nasty baggage evil!Jeff is, because he is so much fun to hate. This time hes pissed off EOS, never a wise move.
Once again, all thanks to @janetm74, @mariashades, @the-original-sineater all parts of the series can be found here on AO3,
Jeff glanced up at the flashing amber alert and rolled his eyes as he swept it away with one hand. It was just the bio readings for Virgil, the thing was far too sensitive in his opinion.
It was always flashing on about one thing or another. Dropping blood sugar levels, mild dehydration, muscle strains. Rescue work was hard, If the boy couldn't cope with a bit of tiredness then maybe he wasn't cut out for this organisation. They had all gotten soft under Scott's watch. The alert pinged up again, this time with a shade more orange in the mix. It was swept away again, with a growl. He was annoyed that the Housekeeper programme was seemingly set up to tell him about every hangnail his operatives got. Another prime example of Scott's mismanagement.
Before the system could manufacture another biometric alert, Jeff pulled up a command panel on the holo interface and did the coding equivalent of popping the hood to get a look at the engine. Shoving aside strings of code he slapped a crude sticking plaster over the med-scan alerts before flicking the window aside.
That should silence it and let him focus on more important matters.
Far up above Tracy island, in the sealed safety of Thunderbird fives Comms sphere John was trying to work out what had set eos into such an ungodly rage. He didn't think he had done anything to warrant this level of anger recently, but one could never be sure.
“And the absolute barbarian just mutilated a perfectly elegant line of code. Have you seen what He did?!” Lines of code scrolled past at a speed that made John's eyes ache. He had to look away, rubbing a hand over his eyes momentarily.
“I'm sorry, who did what Eos?” He was feeling a little groggy, the cat naps were out of sync and worry had been making his ration packs taste like ash, it was starting to chip away at his edges.
“HE did, HE put this ugly patch in my system.”
The scrolling slowed and now John could spot the offending article.
“What system is this?” John squinted at the line, unable to confidently identify it in isolation. It was blocking notifications, but of what?
“It's the bio readings alerts from Virgil's suit.” She replied primly.
“He's silenced the medical warnings!?” his mouth open in shock.
“Yes, and in such an ugly way.” eos continued.
John let his head drop into his hands, running his fingers through his slightly too long, slightly too greasy hair. His space station might be advanced but keeping clean in space became more of a battle the longer you were up there and that was before you factored in rationing to limit the amount of supply runs needed.
“I'm less concerned with the elegance of his code,” he tried to get a hold on the rising emotions before they became misdirected, but the tethers felt frayed like old rope. “What about Virgil?” he ground out as levelly as he could manage.
“But John, it's not as if we were relying on HIM to watch over Virgil's welfare. I have of course already rerouted all medical alerts to myself and Mrs Travy via some rather elegant code that the blundering oaf will never find. I just find it incredibly rude that he has put that crude mess within my systems. What if someone saw it and thought it was mine!”
A laugh bubbled up in John's throat, breaking the tension.
“You're right, it shouldn't come as a surprise to me that Sir is unconcerned about Virgil's wellbeing, that much has been obvious for long enough already. Thank you for rerouting the commands and looking out for all of us. I'm afraid you will have to keep the patch though, since he thinks you're just a scheduling system, you can't be seen to be self fixing.”
“I know John” said eos with the closest thing to an audible pout. “But I just needed to tell someone.”
“I know, and for what it's worth, I agree, it's very ugly. And nobody who knew you would think for a second that it was yours.”
“Thank you John.” her colours softened and John felt the lack of a hug like a physical thing, deep between his ribs.
Back down on Tracy Island Virgil has ditched his uniform, with it's snitching sensors, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow, letting sleep repair some of the day's wear.
Further below the domestic levels, a washing machine received a system update that resulted in it washing all of Jeff Tracy's underwear on a blistering boil wash. Causing both the garments to shrink and the elastic to perish. It was the type of command that was beyond the abilities of a simple scheduling program.
With much thanks to @the-original-sineater and @mariashades
Please remember that Movements is an evil!Jeff AU and contains themes of child neglect.
~
The incident with the train rattled Jeff more than he cared to admit.
It made him realise he’d not been keeping on top of things at home, relying too much on his charm and not enough on actually being a husband. That was something he was going to change. He needed Lucy and she was right, he’d been neglecting them all. So he took a couple of months off.
That first month was strange. Jeff tried hard to be the kind of husband his Pa had been to his Ma. It felt weird but after a while he saw Lucy begin to relax as he showed her more time and attention.
And not just to her. Jeff began to take a more proactive role with the boys too. He noticed John beginning to show an interest in the stars and he told him elaborate stories of his time on the Moon and on Mars. Scott was also present during these chats, eyes shining in excitement, and despite himself Jeff preened under the attention.
Scott loved having his Dad home more. He sat enraptured as his Dad sat with John on his lap and told stories of his time in space. They did fun things together. One of the neighbours had given Scott a baseball mitt and ball, and he began tossing it up in the air and catching it.
He’d asked his Dad several times if he could play with him, but his Dad was a busy man. He’d taken to asking Scott if he could help out more with his brothers, to try and give his Mom a rest while Virgil wasn’t sleeping very well – it turned out that Lucy hadn’t been lying and the boy had come down with a nasty chest infection, closely followed by John.
Only too happy to help his brothers, Scott found himself doing more and more, grabbing juices and fruit, reading to both his brothers to help them sleep. And always he got that warm feeling inside when his Dad praised him.
‘Well done, Scott. You’re a good big brother, looking after your brothers. It is what you were born to do.’
Scott didn’t understand why his Mom frowned when his Dad said this. But he was happy with what he was doing, and he did love helping!
Three weeks into Jeff’s vacation and Lucy’s distant relative – he’d already forgotten who that was – had a serious fall and needed some temporary help for a few weeks. Lucy jumped at the chance to help, hoping that some time away from his father would do Scott good, but the man, unused to having children around him, had said he couldn’t take all three. With Virgil and John so young he agreed to them but refused to have Scott. The seven-year-old would be far too active for him.
Lucy had almost said no, but the pull of family – even one as distant as this one – when she’d lost everyone else finally had her agreeing, but only after she’d secured some serious promises from Jeff to look after Scott. Properly look after him. With Scott due back at school anyway Lucy hoped that it would be easier for Jeff to fulfil his promise.
Saying goodbye had been hard. Scott had cried for a bit until his Daddy had put a hand on his shoulder, pulled him away from his Mom and gruffly spoke to him.
‘Big boys don’t cry, pull yourself together. You need to set a good example for your brothers.’
He’d done his best, but from the sigh he thought that maybe his best hadn’t been good enough. It had helped to see that his Mom was just as upset, but it seemed that was alright because she was a girl.
With his brothers gone Scott felt at a bit of a loss for a while. He’d never really been on his own, nor had he ever really been without his Mom for longer than the two or three days she had been in the hospital. His Dad was amazing, but he was also busy, and Scott knew that there were times Daddy needed to work and he needed to be quiet.
Jeff had another month at home before he was due back, but with it being just the two of them he decided to return to work early. He took the next week to work out how he would cope with the two or more months Lucy would be away. Inspiration struck and he made a deal with one of the multitude of kids the neighbours had.
18-year-old Angel Reyes had plenty of experience with younger children and agreed to take Scott to school and pick him up in the evenings. She wouldn’t be able to do that first day back as she had other things already planned, but she was happy to oblige as she had her own brother to pick up too.
So all Jeff had to do was keep Scott happy for five days. He could do that. He really could.
That first night without Lucy and his boys was rough, but not for the reasons Jeff thought it would be.
Scott had gone to bed reluctantly, having asked for a story which Jeff had no desire to read, but the boy was a persistent little…shite and eventually Jeff had caved just for some peace and quiet. He could have yelled at the boy, but he at least wanted to attempt to keep his promise to Lucy.
That lasted until around 1 am when a snivelling boy attempted to crawl into bed with him.
Being woken up was never a good move – he was like a bear with a sore head he’d been told – and as Scott’s sniffing dissolved into real tears and hiccups Jeff lost it all together, growling once more for the boy to pull himself together and act like a man. He resolutely refused to allow Scott into the bed with him. Starting down that path was something he wasn’t willing to do.
Jeff wasn’t sure when Scott calmed down because he went straight back to sleep, but if he thought this event would cool the boy’s attitude to him down then Jeff was sorely mistaken, as the 6 am wake-up call proved.
Scott jumped up and down on the bed, loudly proclaiming it was a great day for playing and jumping off with a loud thud.
Jeff groaned.
Halfway through the morning Jeff sat in the kitchen with an extra strong black coffee and a sour face. Scott had been on the go since 5 am and just wanted to do stuff with him. Jeff was pretty sure he’d never been on the go like this at his age, but then he’d been a farmer’s son so early mornings were a natural way of life.
He’d relented somewhat, if only to get the boy to leave him alone, and promised after lunch to play ball. It had been a long time since he’d played any sport, he’d been too invested in being the best academically to ensure his desired career path was as smooth as possible.
Jeff did have some early memories of his Pa and himself tossing a ball back and forth, and he drew on these as he threw the ball and Scott caught it in his mitt. He fumbled it a couple of times but Jeff kept up a steady stream of balls, hoping that the exercise would wear the boy out.
It didn’t. As Scott ran from side to side trying to catch the balls his grin didn’t falter and nor did his enthusiasm.
And Jeff began to get annoyed.
And he began to throw a little harder.
A little faster.
And still Scott ran and caught. Or rather ran and dropped the ball.
‘Scott. You need to try harder to catch the ball. You’re fumbling too much.’
Jeff growled under his breath as once more Scott fumbled his catch. And then he growled more as the boy laughed. Scooping the ball up, he tossed it in the air a couple of times until Scott was in position.
He watched Scott bend his knees slightly and held his hand and mitt ready to catch, with his wrists almost touching. Something in the back of his mind said that the mitt was held incorrectly but Jeff didn’t really care anymore. He had things he wanted to do and to finish this ridiculous game.
Jeff threw the ball.
Hard.
Scott grinned and watched the ball as it headed straight at him. He moved his hands to catch but he was too slow. The ball bounced off the tips of his glove and hit his collarbone. For a split second Scott froze, eyes wide before he let out a high pitched scream and burst into tears, dropping the glove as if it had burned him and clutching his arm.
‘Daddy! Daddy!’
‘Scott, it was just a baseball hit. Stop crying.’
‘But – but - ’
‘Remember what I said yesterday? Big boys don’t cry. Not ever. So stop. Now.’
‘O-O-Ok Daddy.’
He tried, but the pain was really bad and he couldn’t stop the tears. Jeff watched from where he was standing until it became clear that the tears were not going to stop. He rolled his eyes and strode over the boy, looking him over. Jeff frowned when he realised Scott’s left shoulder had dropped down and forward and cursed. He knew a broken bone when he saw one.
‘Ok, Scott. Let’s get you to the clinic.’
Scott’s crying subsided as his Daddy helped him into the truck, doing the seat beat up but tucking it under his shoulder and around his waist so that it wouldn’t hurt him further. And then they were off. Scott didn’t take any of the drive in, he concentrated on keeping his crying quiet so that his Dad could concentrate on driving.
Jeff drove to the smaller clinic, the one where his Mom didn’t work – he really didn’t want someone to call her yet – and helped Scott out of the car, marching him up to the doors and into the clinic.
Several hours later they arrived home as the sun was setting. Scott’s arm was in a sling and the boy was virtually asleep, having been sedated so that his clavicle could be manipulated. Carefully Jeff put the boy to bed and then went to his study, poured himself a whisky and contemplated what on earth he was going to say to Lucy. Or his Ma.
Fifteen minutes later Jeff was deep in conversation with Tim Casey and making plans and that call went on for several hours – and several whiskies.
So he didn’t hear Scott wake up. Nor did he hear the boy scream for his Mom.
And he definitely didn’t hear Scott pad downstairs, open the door and leave.
What’s that? another little side snippet in the “Movements” thunderbirds evil jeff AU story? You bet it is! Have a bit of Gordon setting his room to rights once everyone had headed their separate ways. I can never quite resist a domestic moment, so here it is!
As always thanks go to @janetm74 for the use of this AU and @mariashades and @the-original-sineater for writing “home” within that as it has provided me with so much inspiration.
Gordon tucked the sheet firmly in place, and smoothed the cover over. All the "good linens" has been used for the guests and Gordon had been forced to dig deep in the cupboards to find enough mismatched crumpled dregs to make his bed up with. Not that it bothered him, he was far enough down the brotherly pecking order, (and old enough to remember the less affluent times) that hand me downs were a familiar staple.
Superhero bedding was superhero bedding after all and not the sort of thing you turned down at the age of 6 just because it had once belonged to your brother. If anything it added to the mystique. A stint as a WASP, had only added to his rather matter of fact approach to bedding choices. Clean linens were clean linens, beyond that who cared a monkey's fart? Although even Gordon had to laugh at the weird sight his bed currently presented. The sheet was mottled from where a red and a blue sock had got caught in the washer with it, one sock is unlucky, two felt like a set up, because Gordon was bound to get the blame for the resulting tie dye effect. The fabric of the pillowcase was bobbling, proving it to have been one of Scotts at some point in its lifespan. Scott sprouted stubble faster than other people blinked, and any time he didn't keep religiously on top of it Scott went full hobo, add in the fidgeting from restless nights and the sheets got shredded. Which was precisely what happened when they crash landed at the house. Scott had seemed to hit a wall, the change in speed from commander and business leader had been dramatic enough to cause whiplash. Gordon and Alan had watched on, stuck between wanting to give him some time and space to process everything, and at the same time wanting to support in any way they could. The stubble had run wild, the hair had gone unstyled and Scott had never looked further from the sleek professional of only weeks before. Gordon and Alan held whispered conferences trying to work out what they could do to help, well they had until they had been unable to come to an agreement and Alan had resorted to just throwing a wash bag at Scotts head and demanding they stop living on takeout and go get some proper food. Which ultimately had been far better than the prank that Gordon had been devising and Gordon had been forced to admit that Alan had been right. Either way, it had been enough to trigger Scotts protective instincts .
It soon became apparent the sparse personal possessions they had taken with them when they left the island had not contained any practical items. The house itself had mostly been used as a holiday bolt hole and as such, whilst containing 4 bottle openers, had very little by way of useful items for general everyday use. There had been many emergency trips to the shops to grab “essentials”, where Scott would refuse to let Gordon or Alan pay for anything for themselves and poured all his energies into trying to make everything just right. Eventually Gordon had taken him to one side and very tactfully suggested that maybe he should consider - calming the fuck down. He pointed out that Alan would be absolutely fine sleeping on the couch for a week until his new bed could be delivered, and No, Scott did not need to give up his own bed or drive 45 minutes each way to buy a camp bed to tide Alan over. The kid regularly slept on the floor for goodness sake and was still young enough not to regret it the next morning. Gordon also explained that there was no rush to get everything sorted, it was fine, and that they hadn’t followed him only for free accommodation.
Obviously Scott was obliged by the long tradition of siblings to counter this with the time honoured retort: “who said anything about free?!” with a feeble smile, and at least a slither of the ice was broken.
Scott continued to live on a diet of guilt and overcompensation as a way of showing his gratitude for the solidarity that his brothers had shown. Gordon continued to lightly poke fun at him, whilst trying to prise as many of the self appointed tasks off Scotts to do list that he thought he could get away with.
Alan had got in on the act and took possession of the kitchen. It was that or they were in serious risk of running out of counter space due to all the “essential” gadgets that Scott kept bringing home.
But that didn’t stop Gordon and Alan discovering little trinkets or novelty items that mysteriously materialised in their rooms for weeks after. Now Gordon crossed over to the closet and dug out a few of his tackier ornaments which had been stashed on grounds of taste before his room had been given over to guests. He flicked the hula girl lightly so she bobbed on her spring, he didn't know what the objection was really, it was a mint condition classic! This particular decorative object had been part of Gordon’s calculated retaliation attempt. For each excessive example of his brothers self imposed guilt that turned up, Gordon countered it with some “tasteful” little curioso that he would hide within Scotts own rather spartan bedroom. Things had come to a head when Gordon had hidden a 5ft inflatable banana in Scotts bed and a truce had been called, or more accurately Demanded, at volume by Alan who, sick of getting caught in the crossfire of thoughtful gifts, had popped it with a kitchen knife. He was likely to drown in a sea of plushy rockets that he certainly felt he was too old for, even if nobody else seemed to agree.
Another snippet set within the Movements series as first imagined by @janetm74 but which has since been invaded because its just too tempting a sandbox to play in. This is designed to fit within HOME as written by @mariashades and @the-original-sineater, and added to by myself, @tikatu and AmosAcker on AO3. The whole Evil!Jeff inspired series can be found here on AO3.
Once again, thank you to everyone involved for letting me be involved.
this chapter can be found on AO3 Here
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Aloysius walked into the kitchen of the rental house, it was smaller than the main house but that didn’t mean there was enough space for the operation currently taking over the kitchen table. He coughed softly, a good butler, and thief, goes unnoticed until they wish to be noticed.
Virgil was sitting at the table, surrounded by an assortment of tiny screws and unidentifiable mechanical bits and bobs. He looked up at the sound of Parker's arrival, and pushed a strand of hair off his forehead, leaving a streak of grease in its wake.
“H-I ‘ope you ‘ave’t dismantled somethin’ we might be needin’ master Virgil”
Virgil chuckled quietly and glanced around at the mess surrounding him.
“Well I did think this would be a little simpler.” he turned his head the other way to reveal one clean shaven stripe on his cheek, holding up the empty outer casing of an electric razor. “It died on me.”
“Ah well, Master Virgil, that is somethin’ H-i can ‘elp with!” Parker clapped his hands together, the fingerless gloves, muffling the sound slightly.
Virgil raised one eyebrow, looking unconvinced, but passed the screwdriver nevertheless. It was pushed aside dismissively.
“H-i Don’t need none o’ them modern gadgets!” and he bustled out of the room with no further explanation.
Virgil shrugged and went back to the puzzle in front of him, scratching the side of his head with the screwdriver absentmindedly.
A short while later and Parker bustled back into the kitchen, a large bowl under his arm and a few towels over his shoulder. Virgil had got to his feet out of politeness, although he wasn’t sure what the other man was up to. He opened his mouth to ask, but found himself taken by the shoulders and plonked back into his seat, which had been deftly kicked into the middle of the room.
“You j-hust sit yourself down Master Virgil, Old Nosey will sort you out.”
“Um!”
He was pinned to the chair by the application of a bath sheet draped across his front and tied firmly behind the chair back, which certainly disrupted his train of questioning.
Parker was busying himself at the sink, but Virgil was unable to turn around to look because of the towel that was only slightly threatening his windpipe, but the rattling and running water was deeply concerning.
Before Virgil had any more time to worry about it, Parker had slapped a warm wet towel across his face, which was in a whole category of concerning all by itself.
“Ummmmphhhff” Virgil tried to vocalise his disquietude through the towelling fabric.
The towel was removed with a flick, which ought to have been more comforting, but catching sight of the cut throat razor that the alleged past criminal was wielding in front of his face. Virgil audibly gulped.
“No you j-hust rel-hax young s-hir. We’ll ‘av you lookin’ spick n’ span in a jiffy!”
A boar brush and lathered soap was liberally applied, forcing Virgil to shut his mouth. He tried to question Parker via eyebrow wiggling, but Parker was not fluent in this method of communication like Scott. Besides, this Sweeney Todd was busy filling the silence with a steady stream of patter.
“Haven’t we been havin’ some peculiar weather recently? Did you see the sport last weekend, what about that score?” Thankfully he didn’t wait for any responses, as he also had Virgil's jaw in very firm grip. Virgil glanced down and was shocked to see Parker's hands, for possibly the first time in his memory, free of the habitual fingerless gloves. Blurred lines of blueish ink were faintly visible tracing their way across the backs of his knuckles. He squinted, but couldn’t make out what they might say or depict, but then his chin was pushed upwards with one knuckle and Virgil was reminded that there was a naked blade in the vicinity of his throat, and that understandably took up much of his attention.
“You’ve got nothin’ to worry ab-hout, I got myself a college qualification one time I was detained at their Majesty's pleasure - allegedly.'' The blade glided down Virgil's neck in one fluid motion.
“H-it came in ‘andy, H-i can tell you! Got me the gig with ‘is Lordship. ‘E was fond of cutthroat shave. ‘Though maybe H-i shouldn’t call it that? Hey?” he laughed softly, as he continued to work. “See, I ‘ad the transferable skills, you might say.” He held the hand holding the razor out for Virgil to see, held delicately between finger and thumb the blade and hand were steady as a rock even in the gentle grip. “Steady ‘ands - you see?” He moved on to focus on Virgil cheek, pinning his face in place with his other hand. Virgil started to untense his muscles a little as Parker moved through the steps with a quiet confidence, he was less worried that he was about to get his throat cut all in the name of personal grooming.
In no time at all Parker was wiping the excess foam off, he turned his customers face left and right so he could be sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then a cold wet towel was applied to close the pores, Virgil breathed a sigh of relief into the fabric.
“Bet that feels better doesn’t it?” to which Virgil nodded, causing the towel to slip slightly.
Pulling the fabric the rest of the way, Parker advanced on Virgil once more, this time rubbing his hands together. Virgil was very aware of the towel across his chest and shoulders still pinning him in place, and he tensed back up immediately.
“H-i ‘liberated’ some of Master Scott’s aftershave, but it’s potent stuff, so H-i think we’ll go sparingly with this.” and with no further warning, he smacked his hands onto Virgil's cheeks, causing his shoulders to jump up to his ears in surprise. But the panic was short lived as muscle memory finally cut in to remind him of the relaxing trips to the barbers that had once been part of his supply run ritual, before SD’s punishing workload had filled every corner of his time. It did feel nice, he only hoped that this wouldn’t make going back to the coal face even harder by comparison. He blamed the harsh scent for his sudden need to rapidly blink away watering eyes.
Parker had taken a step back and was watching him appraisingly, but as Virgil lifted his head to meet his gaze, He stepped forward again, clapping a reassuring hand on a towel clad shoulder.
“Now, ‘Ow about we do somethin’ ‘bout this mop?” he plucked at the strand of hair that was determined to lie at cross purposes to the rest. A pair of scissors were plucked from a back pocket. “H-i’ve kept my hand in the ol’ barbering skills you might say,” the towel was somehow adjusted to make it even tighter, as a comb was produced to join the scissors and Virgil found his head adjusted to point downwards before the scissors started work on the nape of his neck.
Virgil was apprehensive, but on reflection, what was the worst that could happen. He knew he looked a mess, his past protectiveness of his hair was a little redundant given the crude clipper cuts it had been subjected to in recent years. He forced himself to relax, at least it would avoid ‘Sir’s’ imminent disapproval and would save him from having to ask Rigby to scalp him any time soon.
“Yes, it proved v-hery useful for keeping Bertie looking smart. You’re lucky I ‘ad his grooming scissors with me!”
Virgil's eyebrows shot up to meet his now at risk hairline.
Parker laughed and patted Virgil's shoulder. Virgil wasn’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring or not, but the hair cuttings gathering on the bath sheet suggested that he didn’t have much of a choice now. He sighed, and tried not to worry about the ribbing he might get when his brothers saw him.
A short while later Virgil was peering at himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. He was impressed, it was a little shorter than he would usually go for, but given the piebald mess of lengths he had to work with, Parker hadn’t had a lot of options. He had managed to keep it longer on the top and even worked some magic to make it look like an intentional style. It was sharp enough around the neck and ears that even SD would struggle to find fault with it. A little more “liberated” hair product, Virgil wasn’t sure who had supplied the unwitting donation this time, but it was far less powerfully scented than the aftershave, and Virgil was starting to feel a little more familiar with the image reflected back at him in the mirror. The shorter sides highlighted his prominent cheekbones, and growl from his stomach reminded him that there were plenty of family members eager to feed him back up. He grinned and went out to face his family, a little less worried about their reaction than he had been before.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Community (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Annie Edison/Evil Annie Edison, Evil Annie Edison/Evil Jeff Winger, Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Characters: The Study Group, The Evil Study Group
Additional Tags: communityrarepairs, Minor Violence, minor smut, I think the smut in here counts as con but count yourself warned
Summary:
The evil study group invade & the two Annies get to talk about their Jeffs, amongst other things.
itsfuckingdistractingohgood reblogged your photoset
#i dont understand how evil jeff is hotter than regular jeff
I think it’s because he smirks a lot. Joel McHale has a gooood smirk. Also, evil!Jeff isn’t trying to hide his attraction to and love for evil!Annie. I swear Jeff is demonstrably more attractive when he’s around Annie. I guess that’s the magic of chemistry between actors?
