This is for @gumnut-logic fab-five-feb. I decided to write a tiny fic to go with my drawing. I am not a good writer so excuse me. I haven't drawn digitally in a while *cough cough a year cough cough* so I am a bit rusty but I still am proud of it. Press on the picture for better quality.
Virgil woke up with a groan.
He was convinced that he was on fire, everything hurt.
He slowly opened his eyes, slightly squinting in the dim light. The familiar sterile smell hit him and had him fully awake in seconds. He was in the infirmary, the soft blue sheets on top of him. He tried to remember what happened, all he did remember was the excruciating headache he had in the morning before brushing it off after being called for a rescue.
"Rise and shine sleeping beauty"
The voice startled him, and he glanced to his side to see Gordon sitting next to his bed.
"Gordon? What happened?" He tried sitting up, but everything was spinning and he ended up slumping down again. Gordon, bless him, adjusted the bed so he was in a seated position.
"Well not much happened grumpy head, just the casual. You know collapsing after the rescue because you were running a high fever and was almost cooked alive, yeah not much."
Virgil groaned as he buried his head deeper into his pillow. Well that explains alot, and Scott was definitely going to chew his head off.
"Well, did you debrief yet?"
"Oh, it happened yesterday." Gordon casually stated.
"WHAT??" Virgil sat so fast that the room spun dangerously. He felt Gordon steady him, as he casually shrugged his shoulders.
"Yeah, you've been hibernating for a day"
The room fell silent, which wouldn't usually be such a deal if it wasn't Gordon sitting next to him. Gordon and silence didn't mix at all, ot was a fact, and that only rang alarm bells in his head.
"Gordon..?" He carefully tried to urge him to speak.
"Oh look what I got you" A teapot appeared in his hand, which he didn't notice until now. "Black tea, your favourite"
"You know that black coffee is my favourite, not tea"
"Yeah, yeah, but it's good for the cold"
"That's not-"
"Your hair is a mess"
"Well luckily for me, I'm not the hair freak, Scott is, and unluckily for you, changing the subject won't work."
Gordon sighed, it was then that he noticed the dark bags under the amber eyes, which lacked the mischievous glint they usually had.
"What's wrong" Virgil carefully prodded.
"Don't you ever do that agian, Virg. Don't you collapse on me like that. I thought... I thought you died or something. I was worried and-"
"Hey, hey it's okay gordo, i'm okay now" He felt guilty for making him worry that much. He didn't want to imagine how he must've felt when his brother collapsed on him after the rescue, all the possibilities he thought of.
"Come here" he moved to the side, making room for Gordon to squeeze into his side. He wrapped his hand around the squid's arm, pulling him until he rested his chin on the blonde mop of hair.
"I'm sorry fish, I promise not to do that again. I'm okay now" And just like that, he held him tight and promised himself not to ever ignore a headache before a rescue, if only for the sake of his little brother.
(Feat. The mug which definitely was a gift from gordo)
Hope you like it, I'm a bit crusty but yeah I definitely enjoyed this alot!!
Fic: yellow's not my favorite color
aka: Gordon's Birthday Mini-Scenes 2
Pure, self-indulgent Fish-Tank for your Gordon's birthday celebrations. I am unapologetic about this.
Also, it's hardcore fluff this time, promise!
For @gumnut-logic FabFiveFeb and @godsliltippy who also has a one shot about this idea, which you can read here. It's great. :D
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Characters: Virgil, Gordon
Words: 1362
Genre: Fluff
Where Gordon had free reign, chaos was sure to follow. This meant there were a few places around the villa he was barred from entering. It included each of his brothers’ bedrooms, Brains’ lab, and Virgil’s studio. So naturally, those were the places he tried to frequent on a regular basis. Either out of spite, or boredom, for the love of the challenge, or just to get under his family members’ skin, Virgil didn’t know.
Little brothers. Annoying as hell.
He’d taken precautions. Ignoring the fact that he’d had a grand time designing the lettering of his do not disturb sign and the that means Squids underneath, he’d also reset the code on his lock just in case the request for privacy went ignored.
Which is why it still surprises him when his door swings open with a hiss backed by a triumphant whoop from the exact squidling of a brother he needed to keep out in the first place.
“Great job on the lock there, V!”
“What is wrong with you?!” He can’t help it; it comes out screeching, as he’s more occupied trying to block his brother from seeing what’s on the canvas than he is the tone of his voice. The shock hinders his ability to sound authoritative and intimidating the way he’d want – plus, that never seemed to work on Gordon in the first place. “How did you get in?” he demands.
“Johnny,” Gordon says, sauntering his way further in, and turning to examine the pristine collection of art supplies Virgil’s got organized and displayed. “He thought I couldn’t break your code. Turns out, I can. Take that, Space Case.” He sticks his tongue out at the ceiling.
“You annoyed him to the point he gave you a challenge to get you out of his hair,” Virgil corrects, “and into mine. Thanks, John.”
“Call it what you will. But we do need to talk about your passwords. Kip Harris’ birthday, really, Virgil?”
He flushes. “Gordon, I’m working on your birthday present. You can’t just barge-”
“I know, and I looked away.” He swirls back to him, a set of art pencils in his hands. “Promise.”
“Put those down!” His footsteps thunder and he can feel his blood pressure skyrocketing the longer Gordon grins at him, not backing down. “This is why you’re not allowed in here.”
It’s supposed to be his quiet space, his sacred space.
“I’m just bored.”
His meditative space.
“Please, Virgil?”
His. Own.
“Please. You know how I get when it’s raining.”
“Fine,” he huffs, prying his expensive set of pencils of Gordon’s hands and placing them back where they belong on the shelf and instead grabbing a set of sharpened Crayola. “But you use these.”
“Thanks, Virgil.”
Gordon selects a sketchpad too, and Virgil also watches him like a hawk to make sure it’s one he’s comfortable with Gordon drawing in. Gordon knows better than to look through his sketches, so he’s really only allowed to touch the yellow book. Virgil had chosen it that way for a reason, since Gordon was drawn to the color yellow the way fireflies were drawn to light.
Virgil watches him as he moves around the space. There’s a chance the pressure has caused pain in his back, but Virgil knows better than to ask. Gordon will tell him if he needs anything more than a distraction from the fact the rain has left his usual haunts – the pool, the lagoon, the beach - inaccessible. Virgil still notes that he moves a little stiffly, hinting at perhaps that his brother is handling some pain.
His brother settles into the comfortable armchair nestled below the massive leaves of Virgil’s monstera plant. Her pot is to the right of him, but she towers within the room, flourishing the way Virgil likes it – a little unruly, and using the environment around her as support. In a place where he’s got everything meticulously organized, the whims of the plantlife remind him that nature is beautiful in spite of not being perfect. And it’s kind of right that his most chaotic sibling sometimes finds solace beneath her shadows, where the fenestrations in her leaves form stripes of shade over his face as he doodles in Virgil’s book.
In his brother’s book, which Virgil keeps in his studio and might sometimes leave little fishy sketches in.
Virgil’s got Gordon’s birthday present on the easel, and his set up is luckily angled in the right position where Gordon can’t see what he’s working on from his corner, and for a bit they work together in silence.
For a bit.
“Have you heard about the sea turtles over in California?” Gordon starts, and Virgil tunes him out because, while he does actually listen to what Gordon has to say most times, Virgil knows that he’s just speaking to fill the silence. He nods and hmms at appropriate times because he’s got bigger fish to fry at the moment than listening to Gordon rave about the latest in his collection of news articles or marine podcast, which (for the record) Gordon’s also no doubt already ranted to John about. So, he doesn’t actually need Virgil to respond.
Virgil’s busy frowning at his palette of colors. His skyline is complete and he’s figured out which way he’d like his light source to be coming from, but his vision for the painting feels off. He can’t put his finger on why, but he has to decide soon. He’ll have to scrap the painting if he gets too far along and decides it’s not what he’s going for.
The problem is Gordon.
It’s always Gordon, but in this case it’s not the babbling in front of him. It’s the fact he wants to do this right and his brother’s favorite color is yellow. Of all things, bright yellow.
“ – and so their shell designs are like our fingerprints and – why are you staring at that paint tube like it killed our puppy?”
“We don’t have a puppy.”
“Mhmm. And?”
Virgil finally glances up at him. “Why do you have to like yellow so much?”
“Uhhh, because it’s a delight. Why?”
“My brain’s not letting me use it, but it’s your birthday gift so I’ve been trying to figure it out how to include it,” Virgil laments. He gives him a small, wry smile, holding up the offending tube of paint for Gordon to see. “Would you hate me for not including your favorite color?”
Gordon squints at it from across the room. “Yellow’s not my favorite color.”
“Excuse me?” It’s a good thing the lid was on his paint tube. “What in the world? Gordon.” He laughs in an almost hysterical panic because this? This is ground-shaking knowledge, world-shifting, in fact. “You wore yellow speedos every swim meet! But your favorite shirt – and Four – your favorite flowers are sunflowers!”
“Well, yeah. Yellow’s my luckiest color. And my happiest,” he agrees. “But it’s not my favorite.”
“What’s your favorite, then?”
Gordon bounces out of the chair, and slides his way into Virgil’s space, taking care not to step around the front view of the painting. He takes the paint tube out of Virgil’s hands and examines it, smiling. “Daffodils are also up there as far as favorites go, but here” - he hands it back to Virgil and rummages through the selection of paint tubes, pulling a new one free – “green.”
Gordon hands it over to him, and his vision blurs staring at it. It’s his green, the green of spring, and the dress their mother wore the first time she took him to an art museum, and Two.
“It makes me feel safe,” Gordon tells him quietly. “And that’s a really, really good feeling.”
“Damn,” Virgil curses as he feels his emotions pooling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m supposed to be mad at you for breaking and entering and snooping.” He drags Gordon into his arms, still holding the tube of paint between his fingers but curling his hand around the mess of hair at the top of Gordon’s head. “You do this on purpose, don’t you?”
“Mhmm,” Gordon mumbles into his paint-smeared work shirt. “Sap. But it’s still true.”
Take this bro and one or more of these prompts and write, art, sculpt, create anything. No pressure, no real time limit, just start here and see where it takes you.
When you are ready, post the result and tag it #fabfivefeb and #fabfivefeb2023
If you are not a Thundernerd, then you don’t have to play with Virgil, just pick your favourite character and grab a prompt or two.
If you are a Thundernerd and Virgil just isn’t the bro for you, do not worry. As long as his name is in there somewhere, you’ve done it. But remember, part of the writing experience is to branch out and try new things…you never know what another brother might do when you try him on for size :D
In any case, the most important thing is to have fun, share the results and the love.
Here is my effort for the last of @gumnut-logic's FabFiveFeb prompt challenges. I finally did it!!
The prompts were: Kayo, "I know it was you", sharp, wanted, hairpin, home.
I didn't use "home", but as it's set in the Tracy villa maybe that counts?
Enjoy!
AO3 link here for those that want it.
The Sneak Thief
Kayo frowned at the empty space on her dressing table: Her favourite hairpin was missing. An elegant silver and enamel display of orchid flowers with a handful of pretty stars dangling from delicate-looking chains. Perfect for a red carpet or to dress up an otherwise casual outfit. In reality, it contained a finely crafted and wickedly sharp calhelium blade and one of her most useful hidden weapons.
It had been in its rightful place this morning but now, just before the family dinner that the whole household was suddenly available for, it was gone.
She checked on the floor around the vanity and even dragged it out to look behind just in case, but no luck.
None of the boys would risk their limbs on a prank like this. Well, Gordon might, but he was still playing it safe around her after her retaliation for his last prank. She figured she still had another two weeks before his need for mischief overcame his common sense.
Grimacing in discontent, Kayo neatened her hair in its ponytail and stalked out of her rooms and headed to the kitchen, eyes alert for any hint of the missing object.
"Hey, Kayo, everything okay?"
She looked up to see Virgil trotting along the hallway towards her with his little black shadow in tow. "My hairpin is missing."
He frowned. "The orchid one?"
She nodded, a suspicion forming as Turbo attacked Virgil's foot then took off back towards the main levels of the villa like her tail was on fire.
Virgil snorted at the kitten's antics before turning back to his sister. "I'll keep an eye out for it."
"Thanks. I'll see you at dinner."
She continued down to the comms room, eyes scanning for the missing item when a quiet growling came from above. She glanced up, meeting the baleful gaze of the kitten, her tail whipping back and forth.
She returned the glare. "I know it was you, Turbo."
The tail stilled then the animal darted out of sight.
The security operative muttered under her breath as she hurried up the stairs to the mezzanine level. Before she had time to react a little black and silver blur shot past her and down to the kitchen level.
An exasperated huff left Kayo's lips as she spun on her heel and raced after the little menace, taking the steps down three at a time. "I don't care if you wanted it, Turbo! My hairpin is not for kittens!"
She skidded to a halt just before she could barrel into the kitchen island and made a desperate grab for the cat. She missed by a whisker as the fluffy miscreant jumped onto the counter, gathered herself, and launched at a bewildered Scott who had spun to see what the ruckus was.
He yelped as needle-sharp claws secured the landing on his chest before scrambling up to his shoulder.
"What…?"
Kayo gave Scott a placating smile as she approached before returning her glare to the furry criminal perched on his shoulder.
"You think that just because John's not home yet Scott will be tall enough for you to get away?"
There was a muffled "mrrah!" of complaint as Kayo reached up and gently picked Turbo up by the scruff of her neck, disengaging any errant claws from Scott's shirt, and held the kitten up at her eye line.
"My hairpin, please."
Turbo glowered, appearing to consider her options, then dropped the ornament into Kayo's waiting hand.
"Thank you."
The kitten gave an answering chirp and snuggled in close as Kayo brought her to her chest.
Scott broke the tableau as he snorted his amusement. "Are we sure that animal is a real cat and not some kind of shapeshifted witch or something?"
Kayo grinned as she tickled Turbo's chin affectionately. "She's just very clever, that's all. She'd have to be to sneak onto Tracy Island without me knowing."
"Mrrrp!"
"See." Kayo giggled. "Turbo agrees."
Scott muttered something under his breath and shook his head as he turned back to making dinner.
"That's right, Turbo. It's our job to keep the boys on their toes. No more stealing from my rooms though." Kayo murmured to the furry bundle in her arms.
She couldn't help but giggle as the look the kitten gave her clearly communicated that she was making no promises.
This is for Fab-Five-Feb. I've had a certain engineer miffed with me because I wrote two stories about his kids spending time with his siblings and none about him spending time with any of his kids. And I should because they're his kids, dang it. And… he's not wrong. I hope this goes some way towards soothing the Virgil-beast's ruffled flannel.
Prompts used: underwater and favourite.
------------------------
Sky Pilots
Alex was seated in the co-pilot's chair of Thunderbird Two, waiting for his father. They were flying - just the two of them - to Sydney to resupply the island. Alex was ecstatic to have time alone with his father on Thunderbird Two. In fact, he was so excited he had been sitting alone in the cockpit, communing with the ship, for a long time that morning. There was something about the big green ‘bird that spoke to his young soul. Kip might go on about the speed of Thunderbird One and blue horizons, and Jack might gaze wistfully at the stars and the blinking light that was Thunderbird Five in the night sky, but Alex knew the real gem of the five thunderbirds was Two.
It was big and beautiful and carried all the necessary tools to help people. It was practical, and practical was Alex’s byword. Thunderbird One might go fast, but Thunderbird Two had pods with so many configurations he could hardly count. They could go up in the air, overland, underground and even underwater(!) to rescue people in need. And thanks to Mum and Dr Brains, Thunderbird Two could now safely help with rescues in space and underwater. Plus, with the help of some engineers and chemists they knew, they’d figured out how to make it go six thousand miles per hour. This made Two the most versatile ‘bird in the fleet. The other four were mere unitaskers, but Two, Two could do anything.
Alex heard a metallic zipping noise and looked behind him in time to see Virgil drop in from the open hatch. He waited for his father to close the hatch and move towards his seat before announcing his presence.
“Hi, Dad.”
Virgil stopped before sitting in his seat and looked in surprise at the bright Scott-blue eyes staring back at him from the co-pilot’s seat. He did a quick double-take, looking at the platform elevator before returning his gaze to his son. “Hi, Alex. How long have you been here?”
Alex glanced at the clock. “Since the small hand was on the nine and the big hand was on the one.”
Virgil sat and looked at the display on his dash. It was 10 am. “You’ve been here nearly an hour?” Alex nodded. “What have you been doing?”
Tiny cheeks flushed. “Um, spending time with Thunderbird Two..." Virgil tried not to smile. "I looked at the section on Inflaterbags in the instruction manual.”
Dark eyebrows rose. “Impressive. Were you able to read much of it?”
“No. I asked Uncle Jay if there was a text-to-speech function for the manual, but he said no. He did think it was a good idea, though, and would talk to Dr Brains about adding the feature. After that, I mostly looked at the diagrams.”
“Hey, you can learn a lot from the diagrams. And Alex, that was some nice outside-of-the-box thinking.”
The blush deepened, and a tiny smile appeared. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Did you do anything else?”
Alex hesitated. “Well… I wanted to explore the drop-down turret functions but knew you’d want to be here when I did. So instead, I drew the dash and the interior of the cockpit.” He indicated the sketchbook next to him on the seat.
Virgil blinked at his seven-year-old, and the corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “May I see your drawings?”
“Um, sure.” Ears pinking, Alex handed his father the sketchbook. He helped him locate the first page of that day’s sketches and sat back to watch Virgil look at his work. Alex was proud to have inherited his father’s artistic ability, but he was still shy about showing people his drawings.
Virgil looked at the detailed drawings. There was one showing the dash and another the entire ship. There was a rather good overhead view of the cockpit. He could see Alex had put a lot of effort into it. Next was a picture of Alex and his brothers with 'their' thunderbirds: Kip, an impish, carefree flyboy in One; Jack, a proud space monitor on Five and Alex, looking cheerfully in command of Two. He knew it was a picture Rebecca would love. Last was a picture of the two of them, grinning like loons, flying Thunderbird Two. It was captioned, 'Thunderbird Two is Go!!!!!!!!!!' He smiled at it. It was his favourite of all of them.
“These are really good, Alex. I like the details in the technical drawings. I especially like this last one. May I keep it?”
“Really?” Scott-blue eyes stared questioningly.
Brown eyes twinkled in reply. “Yeah! I love it.”
“Yeah, okay." Virgil handed back the sketchpad, and Alex stowed it. "Dad?”
"Yes?"
"Would you talk me through your launch sequence? Usually, Kip is here, and I’m not able to pay attention.” Virgil glanced at his son, who shrugged. “What? He’s Kip.”
Knowing his talkative, yolo first-born, Virgil raised an eyebrow but chose not to argue. “Okay, I can talk you through the launch sequence. But first, let’s get you buckled up securely. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
Virgil rose from his seat and saw Alex had placed his booster seat on the co-pilot’s chair and had configured the safety belt into a three-point harness. Feeling slightly redundant, he checked to ensure everything was in good order and, once satisfied, returned to his seat, where he fastened his safety belt.
“Alright. Now, this trip is to resupply the island. Which module should we use?”
Alex wrinkled his nose in thought for a moment before replying. “Module two.”
“Why would we use module two as opposed to, say, module three?”
“‘Cause module two has the two chassis that can be outfitted to carry supplies, and three doesn’t.”
His father smiled. “Good.” He selected the second module and lowered the ship to secure it. “And now, we exit the hanger and taxi down our runway to the launch pad.”
Virgil easily guided the green behemoth down the runway to its launch pad, talking Alex through each step.
“Can I launch the ship?”
“Can you reach the control?”
Alex extended his arm but, restricted by his safety belt, he was unable to. “No.”
Grinning, Virgil patted his shoulder. “Next time, kiddo.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, don’t sound so glum. You’ll be able to reach it before you know it.”
“Yeah. But I’m tired of being short, though.”
“I’m not. Lemme enjoy these little years, uh? You and Kip will be taller than me before I know it.” Alex nodded. Virgil turned on the thrusters, and Two launched into the sky a moment later. Banking to the left, he looked to his co-pilot. “Wanna say it?” Alex’s face lit up, and Virgil laughed.
“Thunderbird Two is go!”
“Very nice.” The Tracy men grinned at each other.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome… Please don’t rub it in Kip’s face when we get home.”
“Dad...” Small nostrils flared.
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I was once seven with an older brother. Trust me, I understand. But it’s not a kind thing to do. He’ll have to do more flight time on more aircraft before qualifying to fly One. So, it will take him a bit longer to have the opportunity to say, ‘Thunderbird One is go’. Is that clear?”
“Yeah, okay… Maybe the next time we go somewhere together, he can say, ‘Thunderbird Two is go’?”
Ruffling his hair, Virgil smiled at Alex. “That’s a great idea.”
“And we’ll have to let Jack have a turn, too. That’s fair.”
Virgil’s smile widened. “Of course! It’s not only fair, but it’s also kind. I’m proud of you for wanting to include your brothers.”
Goodness, how he loved this kid. Virgil loved all of his sons, but he and Alex vibrated to the same frequency. Kip might look like him, but Alex was him. This made him feel especially warm and fuzzy inside. Rebecca said it was like a flannel hug and called the sensation 'flannel fuzzies'. He had to admit, it did feel like an internal flannel hug. He was brought out of his reverie when he realized his son had asked him a question.
"Sorry." Virgil cleared his throat. "Was focused on the flying." He looked at his son. "What?"
Alex rolled his eyes good-naturedly and smiled. "How many more years will Kip have to prepare before he can fly One? 'Cause I have another seven years before I can begin working towards my pilot’s license. Mum will be teaching Kip 'n me in Olivia at fourteen. An' you won’t let me fly Two before I’m sixteen... Remember?”
“Riiight.” Virgil frantically tried to remember the conversation where he had told Alex he couldn’t fly Two before he was sixteen. Or that he could fly Two once he was sixteen. Or that Rebecca would teach the boys to fly on her plane, a de Havilland twin otter. He couldn’t. With a small shake of his head, he made a mental note to ask Rebecca about this later. She remembered everything. “Um, yeah, of course. Olivia will be a good plane to learn on. And you'll want to ask Uncle Scott what he was required to do for his licenses.”
Alex seemed satisfied with his father's answer, and they were quiet for a few minutes as Virgil flew.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Wanna help me fly Two?”
Alex gasped. “Really?”
Virgil laughed. “Really.”
“YES!” He reached for the co-pilot steering wheel and tried lowering it. It wouldn’t move. “Nuts.” He looked at his father. “What do I do?”
“Wait for me to flip this switch.” Virgil reached up and flipped a switch, and the steering dropped down so Alex could reach it. “It’s a new feature I asked Brains to add. It lets us fly tandem.”
“So I’m not really flying, am I?”
“You are. You’re flying with me as opposed to by yourself. I want you to get a feel for how she handles before I let you loose over the wild blue main.” Virgil patted the dash. “She’s a responsive ship, but she likes a steady hand. And you’re not quite there yet… So, fly with me.”
Slightly disappointed but not about to let the opportunity pass him by, Alex nodded and reached for the controls. “Okay.”
“Good. Can you see the altimeter?”
Alex glanced at the dash. “Yes.”
Virgil explained what an altimeter did, what the various numbers meant and what was being measured by the device. “And that helps keep us in the air.”
“Oh. It sounds complicated.”
“Until you become familiar with it, yes. But it’s important for flying.”
Alex frowned. “I see.”
Virgil smiled. “Don’t worry. You have a lot of time to learn about this and what all these other dials do. There isn’t a quiz for this flight.”
“Mum would have a quiz. She always has a quiz.”
“She doesn’t always have a quiz.”
“She does. Though personally, I think she does quizzes to keep Jack engaged and Kip quiet.” Alex was unprepared for his father to throw his head back and laugh. The sound filled the cockpit. Embarrassed, Alex watched with quiet dismay as his father convulsed in his seat, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”
Virgil gasped for breath and tried to calm down. “Not tell her?” he wheezed, wiping away his tears. “It would be a disservice to your mother not to tell her.”
Alex looked alarmed and skeptical. Virgil laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, she’ll be as tickled as I was.”
“If you say so.”
“Trust me. Your mother will find it funny…So, are you ready to fly this ship?”
“Okay, let’s do this.” Virgil talked Alex through how to hold the controls and keep the ship in level flight. After a few minutes, Alex got the hang of it. “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m going to ease off the controls, and for a few seconds, you will have control of Two. Are you ready?” Eyes elated but face serious, Alex nodded. “And three, two, one….” He slowly released the controls. “You’re flying the big ‘bird. How does it feel?”
Alex didn’t answer immediately. He was so focused on flying he feared he would be unable to also answer his father. Virgil saw his focus and didn’t press him for several seconds.
“Okay, and I’m going to return my hands to the controls. In three, two, one.” Virgil took the steering in hand. Alex relaxed a little and let go of the co-pilot steering. “How was it?”
“That was awesome!” Alex glowed with happiness.
Virgil laughed. “You did really good. Did you like it?” Alex nodded. “Still worried about how much you have to learn?”
Alex shook his head. “No. Not anymore. I'll be such a good pilot, Dad. I'll make you proud. I promise!"
If there was one unspoken rule on the island, it was never to touch another's food, sure clothes and other items being stolen on Tracy island were normal, even if it annoyed certain residents. Although food was different, each member of the family had made their own at one point or another, being a secret stash of treats away from Grandma’s cookies or having a dinner already pre-made, thanking to their never ending unpredictable schedule. Each of the Boys had their own speciality when it came to food. Scott could make some spaghetti and meatballs, Virgil would make a mouthwatering grilled steak, John was very rarely down on earth, but when he was he would make something simple, such as mac and cheese or tacos. Gordon would always opt for his Hawaiian pizza with all the toppings to match his colorful personality, while Alan would stick to his classic pasta or his own spin on it. Jeff had his usual signature dish- his famous ‘Tracy pancakes’ he made for his family every Sunday morning to get them out of bed.
However, it had come as a surprise one afternoon, after a simple quarry rescue, when a slice of leftover Hawian pizza and a plate of spaghetti and meatballs had gone missing from the fridge. All the brothers had known never to touch each other's food at the risk of their wrath. Scott and Gordon had immediately thought it was Alan. Their littlest brother was often prone to wanting to eat their food, not having many cooking skills over the years, having been pampered by his older brothers for most of his life.
Alan was found in his room, having been given some down time after back, to back, to back rescues all week, ranging from space rescues of an out of control shuttle, to helping people escape a flood zone with Gordon and Virgil. Gordon had sat down on his bed behind him while Scott stood accusingly in the doorway, arms folded.
“Uhh, what’s going on?” Alan was confused by the way his brothers were acting, whenever the military bros were working together and acting accusingly, something was up.
“Well, we were hoping you could tell us Alan.” Scott stated bluntly, staring accusingly at the youngest Tracy however, Alan was bewildered. He had no idea what his older brothers were on about. It was clear to Scott and Gordon that it wasn’t Alan who had stolen their food. Alan had tell-tale signs of when he was lying or hiding something; Having basically been his primary caregiver for Alan for close to 8 years in their fathers absence.
Time was getting on though, Gordon had come up with the idea that he and Scott should hide in the kitchen, the villa has several hiding places, one of such in the kitchen, dug into the wall. Gordon had often used that spot to hide out before launching one of his infamous pranks on a member of his family. Nightfall came sooner than they had expected and they were waiting to see if the culprit would try again.
They had almost missed it. The movements of the person were
sharp; cat-like; a shadow as such. It was only when the fridge opened in the moonlight, they could see the outline of a figure; removing food from the fridge, a bit of Virgil's famed steak before dashing away as quickly as they appeared. Scott and Gordon looked at knowingly each other, they had finally solved their mystery; but they were tired. Scott had sent his fish brother to bed before silently creeping into his own.
Scott was up at 6 am, a little later than usual but that made no difference to him. He knew the resident he was after would be waking up in about 45 minutes in time for their morning routine that he knew well enough.
Scott knew that breakfast was normally around 8 to 8:30, with his father making breakfast today. The whiff of the pancake aroma was floating around the house. Scott knew he didn’t have much time to confront the suspect as he knew that after breakfast, they would not be easy to find until bed, and even then, they have no idea what the day would entail for them.
Scott walked down the hallway, gently knocking on the door before letting himself in. Kayo was sitting at her dressing table, putting the last hairpin in place in her tight high signature ponytail.
“You okay Scott?” Kayo didn’t need to even look at the door to know who it was.
“I know it was you, Kayo” he informed her “i know it was you who took the food” Kayo put on her innocent expression. She had lived with the family for practically her whole life, she knew how to fake innocence, it had worked quite a few times over the years when she knew she had done something wrong. She knew that she was their baby sister and knew that she had the ability to manipulate them into letting her off the hook just like they do for Alan.
“I don’t know what you're talking about, Scott,” she said, putting hairspray in. Scott leant on her dressing table to get her attention, it worked. “Kayo. Me and Gordon saw you in the kitchen last night”. Kayo set her things down and leant back. Assessing her options.
“Ok, yeah. You got me” Kayo admitted, folding her arms and leaning back against her chair.
Scott was about to say something to her when the com came to life
“Breakfast is ready, get your buts down here!” Jeff’s voice echoed throughout the villa. Scott and Kayo could hear the running of Alan and Gordon who always raced to be the first down.
“Well. I guess we better get down there before the terrible two get all the food” Scott joked, nudging his sister gently who had a tiny smile on her face before smugly walking out of her room in front of Scott.
Cranked this out for FabFiveFeb - week 1 Virgil, and I’m pretty sure I managed to get all the words in there in this ficlet. I might be a bit proud of that. It’s a little whump, a little hurt/comfort, but a whole lot of perseverance and also FishTank. You know me. You can’t throw the words Virgil and underwater and get anything different :)
Summary: It’s just one of Gordon’s little tests...
Actually, no, it’s not little at all; it’s a pretty damn big test in that he’s been training for this specific exercise for longer than any other obstacle Gordon’s thrown at him. He doesn’t even need to hold his breath for as long as the requirement in the pool. It’s just a couple minutes, but it’s a couple minutes underwater, through one of the Tracy Island caves and out the other side.
There’s a reason Virgil picked up piano primarily, and not a woodwind or a brass instrument. He’s got the core control for it, but he’s not made for the lung capacity required, or rather he wasn’t. Gordon’s seen to that. Maybe if he were to try the trumpet nowadays, he’d be able to hold a tune, but even so he hates the way it feels without air. He hates it.
He hates the idea of being a liability more, the one operative that can’t do the underwater rescues.
Key of Sea is sitting idle, anchored with the motor off, and Gordon’s brought them as close to the opening of the cave as is physically possible without the risk of the boat slamming into the side of the ancient volcanic rock he may or may not be about to sacrifice himself to.
“You’ll be fine,” Gordon chirps, slinging himself over the side of the boat. “Remember, I’ll be right with you.”
Virgil reluctantly follows.
It’s beautiful here, he can’t deny that. He’d rather be painting it – the way the deep sea greens swirl within the blue and rush against the grey stone with a wingspan of foamy ivory. He’d create it on the canvas in a way that teases the secrets below the waves. It makes him smile to feel the flutter of a fish – or many, he can’t quite tell – at his ankles.
“Now, remember, what we talked about,” his brother is explaining, treading water near the entrance. Virgil’s tried it once before and it wasn’t a catastrophic failure (nor was it a success), but Gordon’s got this cave memorized like the back of his hand, like it’s one of Scott’s running paths, except those are marked. “It’s going to be harder to hold your breath while exerting the energy to swim. This is meant to be a challenge. But I know you can do it! It’s okay if it doesn’t happen today.”
It’s important. Gordon teaches them to build up both their endurance and their breath control, but this exercise is as much about facing their instincts (and fears) as much as it is about the physical challenge. And it’s their reality. It’s not very likely he’ll need to rescue someone stuck in a pool where the shallow end is a reach away.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” Virgil confirms, though he doesn’t feel it at all. He takes a breath in and out, then IN, everything he can grab IN, and he dives, flicking on the light in his suit so he can see into the deep, dark.
It’s funny, underwater, he can feel the ripples the way his brother talks about all the time, and Virgil knows Gordon is right behind him even though he doesn’t look back. He can’t.
This isn’t even half the training Gordon would’ve had to endure through WASP. He can’t fathom it – having his hands tied behind his back and grabbing goggles off the bottom of a pool with his teeth, or doing this same exercise with a space double the length. He’s glad that, of all the caves Gordon could have chosen along the Tracy-Mateo arc, he picked one with a wide opening, with space enough for Gordon to slide in beside him if he wanted to.
He's got this. Half of success is confidence, isn’t it? That’s what Scott’s told him before.
He’s not the swimmer Gordon is, and he can’t cut through the water in a way that makes him one with the waves. In fact, Virgil imagines he pushes through it with a force of will alone, with strength instead of dexterity, and he can feel his muscles straining differently below. The movement is so alien to him, as are the wet rocks pressing in on him while his lungs strain.
They’ve got a signal for this. Gordon was thorough in his training of SCUBA signs also, long before they could touch any equipment, they had to prove they knew at a bare minimum the signs for danger, I need air, and return to surface. He’s to let Gordon know he’s running out of oxygen before it’s a problem.
Gordon’s got a rebreather, so he’s safe.
There’s a point where the cave narrows. The first few times Gordon brought Virgil here it was to mentally map out the cave – he had his gear then since it wasn’t about the test at that point. Virgil appreciates that Gordon prepared him enough to know to expect it, though he hasn’t made it that far yet.
He remembers this part of the cave, and he’s got this.
His shoulders burn, but that’s a familiar feeling to him, and he’s so got this.
Until he doesn’t.
Virgil goes to raise his palm to his mouth and motion between himself and Gordon, but in turning, trying to find his brother somewhere behind him, he realizes it’s far, far too late. He’s not running out, he’s out out, and there’s a blackness hovering at the edge of his vision. His head is pounding, his arms won’t work, and he can’t find Gordon.
He knows he’s not supposed to gasp, but it happens anyway, too quickly for him to catch himself and remember the lessons Gordon’s taught him. His lungs burn, exploding out of his chest and with the pressure building deep within him, he feels his body scream like the high-pitched shriek of a teapot, except its his life whistling out of him instead of steam, and its enough for the water to snake its way in.
Arms come around him, and Virgil knows they’re Gordon’s, that they belong to his brother and mean rescue, but the panic coursing through him causes his body to jerk, resisting, especially as the blur of yellow starts dragging him, instead of giving him the rebreather.
F*ck, there’s black, and he needs… he needs….
~*~
The wind hits his face.
“Hey, hey, hey, you’re fine,” a voice babbles, awfully close to his ear to be comfortable, and it’s the edge of hysteria that has Virgil fluttering his eyes. At the same time his chest heaves, and he’s coughing out the Pacific, while Gordon pats him across the back.
“M’srry,” Gordon’s mumbling, or maybe that’s the distortion in Virgil’s ears, “you were so close. You already took on water, I knew you needed to come up. I wasn’t fast enough.”
“It’s ok,” Virgil tries to say, even though his lungs feel differently about it, and they steal the words out of his throat.
“Just take a moment, big guy. Carefully.” His eyes are bright, his golden hair damp and curling darkly along the sides of his face, and Virgil knows he probably doesn’t look much better. “I know it sucks. I’m so so sorry.”
What for? He wants to say, but he learned better from the last time he tried to speak.
They’ve made it to the other side of the cave, the south entrance, and Gordon’s pulled them up to a flat side of the rock face.
“You blacked out on me for a bit,” Gordon tells him, reaching for his wrist for his pulse as the coughs fade lightly into shudders. “Not too much water though. I know it doesn’t feel like it. Scared me there for a second. What happened?”
He got too confident. Forgot to signal. He gives Gordon a thumbs up, a little to late for it to be ‘return to surface,’ but he doesn’t like the serious look on his brother’s face and maybe the irony will make him laugh.
Gordon’s lips press together. “I’m having John send the motorboat around. Hang tight.”
“No,” Virgil says, his voice squeaking. He doesn’t want to fail.
“No,” Gordon says flatly. “We’re done for today.”
_______________________________________________
“Do you know how many times it took for Scott to pass? Eight, Virgil. Eight.” Three pieces of toast, buttered, and sitting on Gordon’s plate get bombarded with three shakes of cinnamon sugar as the aquanaut tries not to look at his older brother. “You’re on two.”
“I’m telling you, I’m ready to try again.”
“It just happened yesterday, bro, give yourself a break.”
“Please?” Virgil’s not above pleading. He woke up early for this; he hopes Gordon sees just how pathetic he looks with his eyes heavy, glaring at him over his morning mug of coffee.
“Give me a break, then? We need to figure out a new communication plan. That can’t happen again.”
Gordon is taking so much responsibility over yesterday, but Virgil knows it was his own fault that he forgot everything he’d been taught. After thinking about it, with his brain less waterlogged, he knows he shouldn’t have pushed himself. The challenge was to build up to crossing the cave, not nearly drowning in it.
Assuring him just how much he trusted him, how much he appreciated him being there to pull him to shore doesn’t seem to have helped Gordon expel the cloud of fear.
Virgil doesn’t want to go through that again, but now? Now he needs to.
And not just for Gordon, but for himself. He’d been so close. He can practically taste it, and today feels like the day.
He slams his coffee mug down, and luckily the liquid is low enough it doesn’t splash over, but it does swirl under the emphatic movement.
“I can do it.”
Gordon sighs deeply, taking a big bite of his toast and glaring as if Virgil would be offended that he’s not sharing. He’s not; that’s too much sugar for the morning. “Tell me again what your theory is.”
“I’m too slow.”
“This early, yeah.”
Virgil’s turn to glare. “Hush. I mean it, though. I need to think about it as making the journey faster, not trying to hold my breath longer. That’s how I get stuck in my head.”
Gordon chews his breakfast, giving nothing away, but Virgil knows he’s pondering the idea. “How do you get out of your head?”
“Art, music, but I can hardly-”
“Can’t you?” And Gordon’s smiling, licking the cinnamon off of his teeth. Lord he can be gross sometimes, but Virgil can’t help but beam back.
~*~
It works like a dream.
They finish their breakfast, and Virgil is well rested after exhausting himself the day before; he feels at the top of his game, and where yesterday’s forced confidence betrayed him, today… he just feels light.
They have a go at the piano, looking for a piece somewhere in the range of the three to four minutes Virgil needs to traverse the cavernous path below the sea. Elise is too short, Moonlight too slow, and both are too easy to coexist in his brain with other thoughts.
Gordon specifically wants him to try to find something to “hear” underwater, a favorite, one he loves, to help pull him through to the other side. When Gordon swims, he loses himself in the rhythm. For Virgil, whose finesse works different than that, they choose a Chopin waltz. It’s in minor, but it’s dreamy and bittersweet not all dreary and melancholy, so he feels like it will carry him well through the water.
Gordon swings himself out of the boat, and Virgil is swept away with the sense of déjà vu, even though today feels different, today feels bright.
“Got your song?”
Virgil nods.
“Okay, I’m beside you,” Gordon nods back.
He knows this, so the notes swell, and Virgil dives.
A FabFiveFeb - Gordon. But surprise! Gavii wrote Scott.
I used the prompt - the top. Hopefully I will have another, perhaps a birthday fic, but just in case. Happyyyyyy B-Dayyyyy fishhhhhhy
Summary: Scott and Gordon have a quiet morning
Characters: Scott Tracy, Gordon Tracy
Words: 1.7K
Post-SOS
Scott doesn’t expect an answer when he knocks on Gordon’s door. It’s out of habit that he does so. Though, he quickly follows the knock with a slow turn of the handle despite the lack of response. He silences his footsteps and gently closes the door behind him because he wants to wake him, not startle him. And out of respect for his brother’s rest, he treads carefully into the darkened room.
His blinds are not completely light-blocking, though they are drawn closed overtop of the open window, muting the gente rush of the waves outside their villa. Generally, once Gordon falls asleep, he sleeps restlessly, deeply. But as the clock starts ticking into the early hours of morning, those many years of swimming training kick in. His mind is attuned to the first sign of the sun, and he can spring up at a moment’s notice for a rescue with a level of energy that, honestly, Scott admires. The fact that Gordon hasn’t yet awoken with the creak of the door speaks to the exhaustion residing in his muscles. Physical therapy has been draining for him.
Scott quietly hovers over the starfished sprawl of his younger brother, tangled in a mess of blankets - his comforter, the quilted sailboat designed by their grandmother, the handmade afghan that was their mother’s and passed between the brothers when they needed it most. With his fingers interlaced with the open parts of the design, between the threads of warm yarn fibers, the blanket drapes along his side and towards the edge of the bed, as if he’d been holding it and not using it for warmth. It strikes Scott just how young his brother is.
Gordon would hate to be called small, but it's that too. Not so much in height, though he would be the shortest with Alan inching his way towards Scott. No, it was the lingering effects from his injuries retrieving Braman, the fact that he was still building up the strength in the broken arm and leg that had laid him up for weeks.
Better than the alternative.
Scott gently rests his hand on Gordon’s arm, giving it a slight squeeze while he says his name. As expected, it doesn’t take long for Gordon’s eyes to flutter open, and he turns to find his older brother at his bedside.
“Scott?”
“Rise and shine.” Scott retreats, gesturing for him to come with him. He takes a sip from his water bottle while Gordon rolls himself out of bed and towards his dresser, testing his weight on leg and stretching with his whole body as he reaches for the ceiling with a yawn.
“4AM already,” Gordon groans, though he’d fallen asleep knowing the hour of the next day’s wake up call. He and Scott planned for their excursion the day before, and part of seeing the sunrise meant getting up early to do so. “Give me five.”
Gordon eventually exits after him, having changed into a pair of light blue sweatpants and a workout tank in a pastel rainbow tie-dye. Scott raises an eyebrow at the attire, aware just how strongly his brother’s style clashes against Scott’s own favorite pair of joggers in gray and a simple black muscle tank. Scott likes clean lines and easy shades; Gordon likes loud and colorful the way John likes the stars.
It is actually nice to see him out and about with his usual beam of brightness. For too long, his wardrobe was limited by his lack of mobility. Casts will do that to a person. And for a person like Gordon, who expressed himself fully and wholeheartedly, the limitations would’ve felt like a prison sentence. It’s finally a nice change of pace, a sign that normalcy is right around the corner.
Gordon shuts his bedroom door behind him, and frowns at what Scott knows is probably the most bewildered of proud smiles. “You’re looking at me weird. Did you sleep?” he asks him.
“When we get back,” Scott answers without giving him time to argue, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. “Come on.”
The villa is silent as they traverse the bedroom hallway and step gingerly through the common areas, only speaking again once they reach the poolside patio where they won’t accidentally wake the island residents with their morning chatter. Gordon tells him about the dream he was having a few moments ago, where Sherbet was the chauffeur for FAB1 and was teaching him all of Parker’s techniques for driving a lady.
He never finds out just what voice Sherbet sports in Gordon’s dreamworld. Caught up in the action of the dream, something about the mafia and apple strudel, Gordon misses when Scott stops at the storage shed to the side of the trail’s entrance.
“Gordon.” He interrupts the story, he knows, but it catches his brother’s attention. The shed is barely enough space for him to enter and turn around in, but it’s there he keeps his trekking poles for longer journeys. His brother looks up at him wide-eyed and betrayed when he presses them into his hands. “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice. Use those.”
“I can do it,” Gordon scowls.
“So can I,” Scott tells him, “and I still need these sometimes.” They assist with stability and balance and take pressure off the knees, and the only way Scott will agree to take Gordon the rest of the way to the top of the mountain is if he agrees to use the resources available to him. Crossed arms go a long way, and Gordon adjusts the length to his height before working the straps around his wrist.
“Happy?” The words are intended to bite.
“Very.”
From there the trail bends and spirals and though they are working their way up hill, up to the top of the island, there are plenty of sections where their walk is flat, and also plenty others where it gets steeper as they go. Gordon has to take breaks frequently. Though he’s been working his endurance back up, his leg has been out of use for a while. This was never intended to be an easy trek.
Scott checks his watch at the top of one such hill, where Gordon is halfway down from him, dodging tree roots and leaning heavily on one of the hiking poles. Scott can hear his heavy breathing from where he waits.
“You aren’t feeling nauseous are you?” He calls down to him.
“No.” Gordon gulps a swig of water from the water canteen at his side. "I’m good for it. Just need… a moment.” Scott watches him visibly steel himself before he almost sprints his way up the remainder of the hill, just to call it done. “We gonna make the sunrise?” he asks once he’s alongside Scott.
They make it though.
Scott nods, giving him that moment to breathe, a keen eye watching for signs of trembling in his weaker leg or wavering in the determination they’ve come to rely on from their resident aquanaut. He’s easier to see in the soft early light and moonshadow.
There’s false peaks along this trail. Scott knows they’re frustrating, and it’s his brother descending into a series of grunts, as nondescript as Virgil before coffee, that clues him in to just how his brother is struggling.
The top of Tracy Point before sunrise, and the colors start to flicker over the sea just as they sit to catch their breaths, as if the sun had waited for them to make it before the show began. Scott has watched it from here thousands of times, a couple hundred of them directly after they’d lost Dad. Too many sleepless nights, and his heart had wanted the sky - as close as he could get to it from Earth.
It hurt too much to fly, back then.
Gordon’s eyes have glazed looking out to sea, towards a home he’s known for so long. The two of them have settled on a large boulder at the lookout; it holds them both easily, but Gordon’s got his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms locked around his legs to pull himself smaller against the face of all of that ocean, all of that sky.
“You ok?”
He nods into his legs, then slowly stretches the sore one out along the rock. “Wanna hear something funny?”
“Hm?”
“Bertie. I just remembered he spoke like Buddy Pendergast in my dream.” Gordon smiles at him, a brightness at the corner of his eyes. “Here in this rainy, inhospitable environment, -”
“Don’t tell Penny all that.”
“ -I’m your driver. Bertie Creighton-Ward.”
“You’re so strange, you know that?”
“You love me.”
Scott grabs Gordon by the shoulders and pulls him close. “You scared me.”
Gordon sighs and tries to straighten his hair where Scott’s messed with it, and there’s something suddenly so ridiculous about Gordon’s particular brand of rainbow clashing against the explosion of orange in front of them that Scott laughs.
And laughs.
And can’t stop himself from laughing
Because Gordon is still here.
Gordon laughs too, either because he’s still thinking about Bertie and the mafia, or because he finds Scott laughing as an invitation or because he’s Gordon and Gordon can pry a laugh out of the most solemn of moments. Maybe not always with tact, but at least always with good intentions.
The air is crisp, the sky easing into the comfort of blue.
Scott’s always said the downhill journey is harder than the upward, and Gordon’s knees start to give out on the way back down to the villa. After he stumbles and catches himself with the hiking poles a few times, Scott wordlessly moves to hitch him up on his back, and Gordon’s arms fall into position loosely around his neck.
“I know what this is all about. By the way.”
“What do you mean? I just decided to go squid hunting this morning.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just drop me off at the bottom of the hill. I’d like to retain some dignity when you tell Virgil I’m not fit for duty yet.”
“Hm, not sure that’s what I was going to suggest.”
“So am I cleared?!”
“Light duty, Gordo.” Scott tells him. “That means the desk.”
“That means you can’t use my health as a reason not to listen to me when you’re in Four,” Gordon teases. “I’ll take the win.”
