#firefly's glow

[astraembers]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow Part 9/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4   Chapter 3: Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7  Chapter 4: Part 8 | Part 9  You are Here

From the Beginning: FF | AO3 Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix. This part ~  876 words –  Virgil, emotions. -----

For the record, Virgil did not storm off angrily; he walked emphatically. There was a difference, and Virgil was well in control of his own self despite the pressure building behind his eyes. He rubbed them raw on the way out of the lounge. Away from… whatever that was.

Virgil’s long strides were no match for Alan and Grandma, that second hesitation of a family divided all he needed to get a head start. Once he stepped away, his feet did the rest, leading him toward his studio, creating distance between himself and the situation, the fact that they thought Gordon had died, that his partner wouldn’t look at him and that he and their eldest brother had teamed up against him. That he was on his own to reconcile the hurt in his heart.

He marched past his easel and the half-painted canvas waiting upon it. The field of yellow sunflowers just starting to emerge upon the background of the Kansas sky was too dazzling to look at in that moment. The storm brewing beyond his windows was much more apropos. Their island paradise blurred beyond the large glass panes of his art sanctuary. Between the moisture stuck to his eyelids and the sprinkle tapping at the structure, he saw only a haze of grey.  

His shoulders shook with the effort to keep himself collected where he stood with one arm draped over his torso, clasping at the opposite wrist where he rubbed his fingertips over the protective flannel sleeve.  A heaving breath sucked in his pain, swallowed it down deep where he could keep it hidden in his gut.

It was about Gordon, really; he knew that.

But for all Virgil’s degrees in engineering and his medical licenses, for all the time he spent honing his skills protecting his brothers and learning what they needed by their body language not what came out of their mouth, and the time he dedicated towards helping Gordon in particular with his injuries, he didn’t have the skillset required to fix this strange, particular condition that had taken hold of their brother nor, it seemed, their relationship.

He needed to fix it.

Yet he still didn’t know what he did, what caused Gordon to treat him so harshly.

No, that was a lie. He knew why Gordon had hesitated in his presence; he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.  

The reality was that somewhere along the way, he’d lost Gordon’s trust. Whether it was the fact he couldn’t keep a steady hand to heal him properly in the medbay, or the fact that they couldn’t find him before he was injured and Thunderbird Two was too far behind, or the fact that Virgil had been so focused on the rescue that he hadn’t noticed Gordon being taken in the first place, or all of those reasons together, he didn’t know.

While Scott was the one that would be more inclined to lay the guilt thick on himself on the best of days, Virgil couldn’t sugar coat the response he’d gotten. It was enough for Virgil to not trust himself.

He didn’t blame him, and he knew trust couldn’t be earned overnight. It was one of the strongest forces in the world, but as fragile as pastels, powder disrupted with the smallest of vibrations, and once settled anew, it would never be as radiant.

And it would take time. Like the clouds rolling in, at their own pace, with the accompaniment of rain nudging the glass.

There was music on the edge of his fingers, pressure at his wrist where subconsciously he imprinted sonatas into his skin. Minor key. Because that was the song he felt his trapped piano cry out to him from the distant lounge.

He heard the footsteps cut through the song before the timid knock on the door.

“Virgil?” Alan called through the closed door. “Grandma wants to bake. Can you come help me? Please.”

Grandma baking was not a good sign; stress-baking was often the cause for when she mixed up baking powder and baking soda. It told him she was hurting. So was Alan. The “please” stabbed at him, reminding him that his family was in pain too and that he was only alone out of his own choosing. They didn’t have to leave when Gordon threw Virgil out, and yet they followed him anyway.

And he’d hidden.

“Coming!” He turned away from the growing storm and crossed the length of his studio in just a few long strides, opening the door to a red-eyed Alan who fell quickly into his arms.

“You ok?” the younger boy croaked into his chest before Virgil even had a chance to think.

He wrapped his arms around the smaller figure, pulled him closer, fingers enveloped in blond hair. Not the right blond. “Not really. You?”

“No,” Alan admitted. “I thought I lost a brother today.” He pulled away, with a sheepish shake of his head. “I needed that hug, wanted it to be his. You’re the closest to it at the moment.”

“How about one more?” This time the hug was for them, until the drifting smell of burning reminded them that they had both a kitchen to save and a Grandma to comfort. ----

[astraembers]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow - Part 8/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4   Chapter 3: Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 Chapter 4: Part 8  You are Here From the Beginning: FF | AO3 Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix. This part ~  1.2K words – the sky, the stars, and the sea (or: Scott and John take care of Gordon) TW: Thunderstorms for this part, and slight drinking.  Thanks to @godsliltippy​ for the read through.  -----

Rain trailed down the villa’s windows with a steady pitter-patter as intermittently the grey sky growled with a fervent rumble in the distance. There was a difference to the way a storm sounded, striking instead a blanket of leafy, green canopy as opposed to the plains of their Kansas home – and this time it was joined in its chorus with the tossing of the sea waves upon the sandy beaches and rocky alcoves of Tracy Island.

Muted through the windowpanes it was, but Scott was listening for it. It was the sound of life-giving water returning to its home. Sky to sea. Eventually sea to sky, and back again.

The cycle helped him breathe through the weight in his chest.

The figurative one. Gordon was hardly heavy at the moment, more a feather’s breath sleeping soundly on the pillow his torso provided, rising up and lowering down with the motion of his lungs.

There was a reason Scott kept his breaths steady.

He pressed at the space between his eyes, where his nose met his aching head. Though the slumbering form shifted at the movement, Gordon did not wake. Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help but smile fondly down at the figure curled on top of him and the childish googly-eyed smiley face that grinned at him on the camo shirt above where Gordon’s injured right arm was sprawled over his belly.

The doll clothes had been John’s idea. After a quick net search by EOS, some call outs from the Space Elevator on John’s way to the Island, and finally a quick pallet pick up from the brand’s warehouse in Thunderbird 1 on Scott’s way home, they were now owners of a pallet of 6-inch dolls of randomized styles.

It had been easiest and quickest to buy them in bulk, and the clothes weren’t sold separately. They’d have some doll toys they could keep in Thunderbird 2 for future rescues when all this was over, and the rest could be donated to the children’s hospital on the mainland. But in the meantime, Gordon had picked a few pieces to wear, and the first order of business had been for his brothers to pry the damn dolls out of their packaging so they could get to the clothes, which were either pull over or Velcro.

Even with doll proportions where a good chunk of the size came from the large, non-anatomically correct heads, the apparel was still slightly oversized on their brother.

“How is he?”  came John’s patient, dulcet tone from around the corner, clasping two half-full glasses of amber and raising an inquiring eye when he realized Scott was in fact not at their dad’s desk where he left him, but lying on the couch propped up slightly on one arm and with his long legs propped over the other.

“Exhausted,” Scott answered thickly, his voice low. “We were just going to rest a moment.”

And they’d needed it. Debrief had been…. Hard.

They’d made it through the details of the original rescue in the standard amount of time and dreaded the next part, though no one expected Gordon to flat out refuse to talk until Virgil left.

Virgil had paled at the statement, argued for Gordon to let him help until he was hoarse with it. And Gordon just shook his head. In the end, Scott agreed that they should do as Gordon asked, because he could feel how tightly Gordon was pulling at his collar.

Scott hated that look of betrayal in Virgil’s eyes as he stormed off, the “fine” breaking off with a brittle catch of air. He’d wanted to follow Grandma and Alan to make sure he was okay, but Gordon needed him.

And though he hadn’t understood it at the time, he did now.

His heart ached for Gordon.

It ached for Virgil too. He was going to be devastated.

“Hey, Scott. You with me?” John asked with a swirl of the glass, the ice clinking against the side. He gently nudged Scott’s legs back as he sat down on the edge of the couch. “Figured we both could use one of these after that.”

Scott hummed in agreement. Once Gordon had felt comfortable with just Scott and John in the room, the story had come tumbling out. Every painful and cruel detail.

He accepted the glass and shifted up just a bit to give John slightly more room. It was a more comfortable position for sipping, but not so far propped up that Gordon would start to slide. Just in case, he also rested his left arm across his stomach so he could support him if he did.

A crackle lit up the sky for a moment, and the cool burn of whiskey slid down his throat. “Helluva day,” he whispered, his breath heavy.

John nodded, brushing back the ginger hair that fell into his face. “We can fix this, Scott,” he stated, gaze sharp as emerald green abandoned the copper inside his glass to meet weary blue. “Kayo’s out pursuing leads, and I have EOS looking. We’ll figure this out.”

Scott watched a bead of condensation cling to his glass, much slower in its run through the cycle than its raindrop cousins outside. He rubbed it gently with his thumb, which came back wet while the glass appeared silkier, smoother and yet when he looked at the world through it, everything distorted in angled amber.

John coughed, then cleared his throat. “So, I had to tell Grandma.”

Scott frowned at him. “You heard what he said.” Gordon hadn’t wanted anyone else to know.

“Right,” John scoffed. “Have you ever seen Grandma take no for an answer? She cornered me on the way to the restroom. She said she gets it. She won’t reveal anything until Gordon’s ready. But Virgil’s really hurt.”

He knew that and despised that this was something big brothers couldn’t just put a bandage on and fix. “I don’t like having to keep this from him.”

“No one does,” John agreed, “but we have to trust in Gordon. It’s what he wants. For now.”

Outside the thunder clapped, the storm closing in on the villa with a rush of rain. Even after all this time, even with listening so intently to the storm build, the volume took him by surprise. Despite the exercises, there were times – too often than he’d like to admit – that thunder didn’t sound like thunder.

Air caught, just for a moment in Scott’s lungs. He forced the fear back down with a mouthful of fire, listened to the rain, focused on the cycles.

Above his fluttering heart, Gordon stirred. “Why,” he mumbled, “...th’boat stop?” He blinked groggily up at the ceiling, at John then Scott. “Oh.”

“Go back to sleep, Gordon,” John encouraged. “Sorry we woke you.”

“‘S’ok.” Gordon tapped to get his attention, and Scott looked down at the pressure, meeting small, but just as equally determined brown eyes. “Hey. Jus’ a storm.”

“I know, Gordo,” Scott whispered. “Sleep.”

Agreement was muffled into his shirt and faded quickly as the tiny grip went slack.

Eventually glasses were emptied, refilled, and finally abandoned as the storm blew through. And finally, when Scott’s lids lowered, John cleaned up and took over at their father’s desk to pick up the reports where Scott left off, keeping a watchful eye on his brothers as always.

[astraembers]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow - Part 5/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4   Chapter 3: Part 5 You are Here From the Beginning: FF | AO3 Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix.

This part ~ 905 words - Enter Virgil, stage right. 

——————

“Gordon’s alive.”

Two words. But the best two goddamn words Virgil had ever heard in his life. Relief surged through his tense muscles and the grip around his heart loosened, though the knots in his shoulders remained with the reminder of the agonizing hell of the past few hours. Timed with precision, he raised his left hand for his co-pilot’s high five.

It was a beat later than usual.

Right, he remembered, because it was Alan and not Gordon beside him.

“What happened?” Virgil demanded. “Is he alright?” There was something in the way that Scott spoke, a timbre that he couldn’t quite place.  It wasn’t fury or fear – but it was something. “Are you alright?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” Scott replied. “Uh - he’s alive and standing. But… Virg, can you hurry? We need you.”

That sounded worrisome. “Scott?”

“Just get here.”  The comms went dead, intentionally that time. So, he did what any other worried brother would do. He listened, pushing Thunderbird Two just that bit beyond her limits to get to his siblings.

Thunderbird Two tore over Montana where the Rocky Mountains dipped into wide-open plains. The ranch, as it came into view, looked innocent enough. But just as their own Gran Roca home had a hidden belly of bunkers for their equipment testing, John and EOS had already run scans on the farm area to reveal the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers below the surface.

He warned his siblings accordingly. The site was more than met the eye.

Keeping a wary eye out for movement around the main house, Virgil landed his steadfast girl near to her agile sister.  Then, he and Alan scrambled out of their seats to meet up with Scott and figure out what the hell was going on.

Scott was waiting for them outside the landing zone of Two, but nearby enough to bound over as they stepped foot onto the grassy flatlands. And he appeared to be alone.

Virgil knew the strain in Scott’s face as well as he knew his own paints tubes and could read which expressions were focus, which were stress, and which had the names Virgil, John, Gordon, and Alan written in tension lines (he was self-aware enough to know he definitely was included in that list). This was… different, as strange as the tone earlier, and the fear in his gut coiled painfully tighter from the not-knowing.

“Where’s Gordon?”

Alan grabbed him by the arm. “Virg-”

But his eyes were undeterred in their query for a clue in Scott’s face, meeting an unfamiliar dullness to those electric blues as they flicked downward – not to avert, but with a request to follow.  

Oh f–

 Virgil inhaled sharply and felt Alan’s grip tighten around his forearm.

“Gordon!”

Well, it was better than the alternative - in that anything would be better than the fact that five minutes ago they all thought Gordon was dead. The pulse in Scott’s carotid visibly throbbed, and now that Virgil was looking, it was obvious there was a stiffened tilt in his neck to give Gordon more room as he tucked himself in closer, clutching onto Scott’s uniform collar like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

“Oh man, G!” Alan exclaimed. “Who’s the short stuff now?”

“Alan,” Scott started, about to tell him off.

Gordon interrupted at nearly the same time, his voice inexplicably diminutive for his usually dynamic personality. “Still you, Sprout.”

Scott explained the circumstances around how he found Gordon, filling in details from what Gordon told him earlier of the story around his capture.  Virgil growled low in his throat, getting angrier the more he found out about the ordeal. He hated this; hated what this man had done to his family.

“How do we fix this?”

“We need to know what he was injected with,” John advised. “Gordon? Anything you can tell us?”

He shrugged. “It was blue. It hurt when I was hit with it, but that could’ve been the force of the dart. It knocked me out after.”

“We need Havoc to tell us.” Scott exclaimed. “Kayo, you here? I knocked Havoc out and secured her around the side of the house. Maybe she’s knows-”

“I’m here, Scott,” came Kayo’s voice. “But I’m afraid Havoc is not.” In that moment, the rumble of take-off reached their ears. The Chaos Cruiser darted into the sky away from them.

Hope fled as quickly as it came, and for a beat comms were quiet and the world still.

John sighed but was the first to break the painful silence. “Scott, Kayo, we should still search the facility. See what you can find.”

“FAB. Stay where you are, Kayo, and I’ll meet you. Virgil, can you-”

“I got him, Scott. Go.” Virgil leaned in and reached out for his brother.  “Come on, Gordo, I’d like to take a look at your injuries.”

“What about me?” Alan called out beside him, directing the question to Scott.

It was Gordon who answered. “Come with us, Al. Save me from how boring Virgil is in doctor mode.”

It would’ve been a normal Gordon comment under normal circumstances, the typical brotherly rub that he’d heard many times over and would not have thought twice about. But these were not normal circumstances.

This time, it triggered Virgil’s own version of Squid sense. Something – well everything – was off with Gordon.  

Because when Virgil had reached for his brother, Gordon had hesitated

End Note - if you haven’t seen yet @godsliltippy​ made some amazing artwork of last chapter - here, and it’s so perfect. Go give it, and her, some love.

[astraembers]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow - Part 7/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2

Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4  

 Chapter 3: Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 

You are Here

Chapter 3 completed, if you’d like to read in full on FF | AO3

From the Beginning: FF | AO3

Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix.

This part ~  1085 words -- a return to Gordon.

_____

There was no doubt that Four was his bird, and therefore his loyalties would always be with her. But Thunderbird Two was her closest sister – and he spent more time with her than even his own ship. Not all rescues were sea rescues, but most rescues required the use of at least one pod and Thunderbird Two to bring them there.

Two would always be Virgil’s, but he’d by lying if he didn’t admit that Two inspired in him her own sense of security, of stability and safety. Many times he’d seen that look of awe on the faces of the people they rescued when they realized they’d get to ride in the green titan of a ship, and that somehow her size and weight load could still challenge some of the fastest ships of their time. Thunderbird Two was not as fast as One or Three, but she was not slow. Two could hold back mountains, carry the heaviest of burdens, and cut through turbulence with the mildest of nudges, laughing at the attempt to push against her solid form. She was much like her pilot in those ways.

She was an amazing creation from his brother’s mind, and Gordon loved her for it. Though, few would truly understand that the things they admired about Two, her steadfastness and gentle protection amidst her size, were extensions of her pilot.

His fingers weren’t as long as Scott’s, but Virgil’s hands were wide with the span to stretch between octaves with ease, sensitive in how they loosely could guide the smallest of paintbrushes over canvas, and yet his grip was firm, his palm callused from lifting. Virgil was both strong and tender, and Gordon always felt comfortable in Virgil’s hands as his teammate in work and brother in life.

By all rights, being in Thunderbird Two’s medical bay with Virgil attending to him should have felt like home. Relief, after what he’d been through. His body, with epinephrine still coursing through, didn’t seem to think the same, his heartbeat rapid in his ears and sweat sticking to his uniform at his chest. The pain he should have been feeling in his ankle and the cuts on his arm was a dull ache.

It wasn’t over.

Virgil was talking.

“I’m just going to grab a med kit,” Virgil said. “Don’t go anywhere.” His brother’s voice was loud in his ears.

A cackle. Oh, I was never going to let you go, Gordon Tracy.

After a few moments of quiet, Virgil set the kit next to Gordon on the bed and started rummaging through it. With a pair of small scissors, he carefully cut the suit where it compressed around his injured ankle and up towards his thigh, but he halted once he reached Gordon’s torso.

“Can you take off the rest of your uniform for me, Squid? Brains wants to examine it for contaminants once we get back to the Island.  See if he can figure out what’s caused this.”  

Thank you for the demonstration. A clatter of metal on dark stone.

He shut his eyes. Let his hands do the work.

Turn the pin until you feel it catch.

“Alan, can you please seal this up?” He didn’t even remember taking the suit off, but Virgil held it clasped between the tongs of a pair of technical tweezers.  “Okay, Gordo. We don’t think the medscanner will work for your size, and we’re worried it could hurt you. So, we have to do this the old-fashioned way. Can I see that arm of yours?”

“Gordon? Earth to Gordon?”

“Thanks, I got this, Alan.”

“Clearly. He’s barely moving.”

“Ah – no,” he coughed, catching up with the request and holding out his arm.  “I-I’m here.”

Soft fingertips, the ones that could coax out concertos, supported his arm with the lightest of touches, and Virgil’s face moved in close to examine the wounds. Gordon shut his eyes quickly and breathed heavily through the onslaught of images.  That horrible, menacing grin as Virgil toyed with him.

Not Virgil. The Hood. You’re running out of time, Gordon Tracy.

He was leaning in so close that he felt his skin crawl.

The aroma of sandalwood from Virgil’s shampoo slammed into him, so overwhelming that he felt his breath catch in his throat and he flinched from the force of it. And yet, tears brimmed at the corners of his eyes as his lungs caught up and the woodsy scent enveloped him like a blanket. The Hood could never have stolen that.

He was with Virgil. In Thunderbird Two.

He inhaled, grounded himself in sandalwood, and opened his eyes.

Virgil was fumbling with the gauze, a few too large strips discarded to the side as he tried again to cut it down to Gordon’s delicate size.  With the smallest strip clenched between his fingers, he began to wrap the small sliver of the healing bandage around Gordon’s limb, struggling with hands too large to wield it.

“I can’t… Ugh!” Virgil’s hands, normally so steady, shook. He tried it again with the tweezers, and, with a frustrated clash, he threw them back into the medical kit when the gauze was still too loose.

“You taught me field medicine,” Gordon rasped as he gestured for the bandages. “So, I can take over, if you cut everything down first.”

“But, Gordon—”

“Please, Virgil. I can do this.” He tried to meet his eye, to tell him he meant it. Sandalwood, he thought amidst the strong, brown gaze. “I just want to get home.” Meanwhile, he heard Alan connecting with John through the communicator. “Turn that off, Alan! We’re fine.”

“But –”

“Off!”

“Gordon, What about your foot?” A tentative touch prodded the pads of his feet.

“I promise you, it’s just a sprain. I can wrap that too.”

“I need to do this.”

“And I need you to take us home.” A heavy sigh, and Virgil’s expression told him that he didn’t like it, but he would do it because it was his brother asking. They agreed to have Alan take over with cutting down bands of gauze and medical tape, and they dialed in Grandma to keep them both company in the medbay.

Virgil stepped back reluctantly and turned back towards the cockpit of Two, with a sparing glance at his siblings before he stepped back through the threshold.

Gordon closed his eyes – Oh, I was never going to let you go – and let Alan babble over him as the fragrance trail of Virgil’s shampoo dissipated

[astraembers]

Firefly’s Glow - Part 1/?

For @janetm74 and @tsarinatorment and because I am desperate to post something to get my groove going again.

 📦 trapped in a box requested by Janetm74 / How about ⏳ - time’s running out and 📦 - trapped in a box with some Scott&Gordon? – requested by Tsarinatorment

A/N: Author’s Note - Okay, first I hope it’s ok that I combined these asks. Second, I know this is strange. End notes included to explain. Also, I have and by extension Gordon has a potty mouth. I promise I edited most of them out. 

*****

Less than a minute.

Gordon could work miracles in less than a minute. In 51.2 seconds, he went from Gordon Tracy, son of the late Jefferson Tracy, to Gordon Tracy, Olympic Gold Medalist representing the United States of America. He’d let the muscular pull, push, recovery rhythm of the butterfly stroke propel him past world records.

But of course he never really had to think about how to move through water.

Focus.

He had shackles to pick.

“You’re running out of time, Gordon Tracy.”

Damn it all.

Now the Hood was just being rude. It was Virgil’s face and voice that taunted him– though it really wasn’t his voice because Virgil could never speak to Gordon with a tone so laced with malice. Ire, sure. Hatred and malevolence, no way in hell.

Gordon would tear the Hood apart for stealing his brother’s voice, starting with a solid right hook in his snickering mug once he got out this.

Arms crossed, the Hood had a timer in one hand and an unrecognizable gun in the other. Though Gordon knew guns, he couldn’t recognize this one from the quick glance he’d spared. He’d had no time to look.

35 seconds.

He could do this. In that amount of time he’d saved an electrified Thunderbird 2 from a free fall by redocking his pod in the plummeting behemoth and connecting their computer systems to regain control. He hadn’t needed time to think, just react – his brother’s life was dependent on Thunderbird 2’s survival.

His brother whose voice was stolen by a madman.

“My, my, didn’t my niece teach you better than that?”

Leave Kayo out of this, you stupid, greedy, motherf - His survival thus far had been a little bit Kayo, a little bit Parker, and a whole lot of Brains. Parker for the lock picking knowledge, Kayo for the speed and survival tactics, Brains for the lock pick built into the bottom of his boots.

And sure, maybe a little bit of his own survival training helped.

A minute to remove the shackles in exchange for freedom. 60 seconds. Gordon could save lives in 60 seconds. He can, and will, save his own.

15 seconds left.

“Tick tock.”

His hands fumbled with the small pick between his fingers and the awkward angle of a lock he couldn’t even see, only feel.

8

7

6

Click!

The shackles came free and fell to the ground with a clatter. Gordon panted, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Very good. Perhaps, you have some worth to me after all.”

“But-”

“Oh, I was never going to let you go, Gordon Tracy. But thank you for the…” Virgil-that’s-not-really-Virgil waved a hand towards Gordon’s shoes. “Demonstration.”

Rage welled up inside him.

It was Virgil’s face, sure, but Gordon had punched Virgil before. Hell, Virgil had punched him before. And the man in front of him wasn’t really Virgil anyway. So, Gordon launched himself at the Hood, preparing to attack.

In his anger, he’d forgotten about the gun. He wouldn’t have entered a gunfight with his fists if he remembered. Taking out your opponent 101.  His WASP superior officers would have been sorely disappointed in him.

Sans his standard yellow baldric (because the Hood had taken that from him too), Gordon gasped at the sudden impact that hit his chest. Even though the projectile’s force wasn’t enough to drive him back, the gun, intended for mid-range, packed a hell of a punch, and there was a terrifying moment when Gordon looked down at his body and expected to see blood. Instead, the dart protruding from his left pectoral carried a blue liquid, an injection of something. He didn’t know what, and somehow, that thought was even less comforting.

The swift lethargy that flowed through his muscles slowed him as the drug hit.

Gordon crumpled to the dirty cement floor as Virgil cackled in his ear, and all went black.

*****

Gordon’s love of the sea came first from the fact that the sea was so different from the plains of Kansas, secondly that it was a part of the Earth itself he loved so much. and thirdly – and most importantly– because the first time he stepped into the rushing waves of the ocean it had been like finally learning to breathe.

Gordon had learned to appreciate all of Earth’s life at a young age. He was never a rescue scout like Scott, as there was a bit too much focus on badgework for his tastes, but his youth was spent making mud pies, watching bird’s nests, and observing caterpillar chrysalises all the same.

The summer Gordon was six, Scotty had taken him out to the barn late at night and showed him how to make a lantern of fireflies. Their adventure pack (really Scott’s school bag, repurposed) held a flashlight, mason jars, a couple pieces of mesh to put overtop the glass, and two bug nets.  

No brothers were allowed – this was for him and Scotty only.

He’d abandoned the bug net for his hands pretty quickly, and within a few minutes, he’d managed to catch five or so for his lightning bug lantern. Of course, Scott had managed to catch more because he was older and also because he’d shared this memory with all his brothers and this was only Gordon’s first time.

It had been so pretty, the fireflies dancing in the mason jar, their lights slowly dimming and brightening in a mellow cadence that soothed his soul. But then, he realized their little bodies, which were used to flying around in the expanse of the sky, were suddenly confined to the glass container of the jar. And he saw not beauty but pain.  

It was a lovely, bittersweet memory he kept close to his heart because it represented a key moment of his youth: first growing up with Scott as an older brother and also the first time he’d felt a creature’s cry reach him. It was the same wail he felt when he read about oil spills off the coast of Alaska and illegal fishing nets that should not still be in use, and, god, the absolute trash humanity left in the oceans for poor sea turtles to choke over.

Scott hadn’t understood where the tears came from suddenly, but Gordon remembered his brother kneeling in front of him so their eyesight was level, and he recalled him asking what happened and what Gordon needed, completely uncaring that his jeans were getting dirty in the fertilized soil.  And the best thing about Scott was that he was the type of older brother that didn’t laugh or ignore him when Gordon said “they want out” through blubbering tears. He just helped Gordon release their fireflies back into the night, and instead they spent their evening counting their happy flickering until the numbers lulled Gordon to sleep.

The memory faded; the fireflies behind his eyes converged to a fragment on the other side of his lids, and a piercing white struck his brain with each blink as he awoke.

His feet were cold. The Hood had stolen his boots. Of freaking course. His next realization was that the rest of him was not as cold as his feet. In fact, that light coming in through the window was making his face and neck feel quite flushed.

It was the light that told him he was somewhere new. Previously the Hood had kept him locked in the darkness in his cell.

He groaned, shifting to sit up and look around his new abode, which was compact and with no angles to define the walls. But it was all glass, and so the window he thought was present was actually the room itself. And the floor he realized, feeling the material against the pads of his feet as he stood, was also glass.

His investigation was short lived, and Gordon hissed as the attempt to put weight on his left foot shot a laser of pain up through his ankle.

God, the Hood must have really thrown him in here, he thought.

He looked up.

No, not thrown. Dropped.

The ceiling of the room was not a ceiling at all, but the top of a bottle where the glass curved inward and then continued upward.

It was not quite what he imagined…. being the test subject of a madman. Maybe a tube or a cage or the cell where he was before would make sense, but a human-sized glass bottle?  He felt like one of the fireflies he was just dreaming of, and of course, the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and his brother’s face.

As Gordon squinted to peer past the glass, the light that had been penetrating his new home suddenly darkened with a singular brown eye filling the expanse of the vessel, disorienting the shape so that the pupil was huge and the iris round, and the rest was…well, still huge just not as much so.

Fire raced through his ankle as he backed up two steps, stumbling into the back of the bottle.

“Gordon?” The eye said in a deep rumble.

The hell? He knew that voice.

“Fuse?”

“Shit, man, you’re tiny.”

His instinct was to look at his hands, but of course, they were the same from his perspective, though perhaps a bit grimier than they were before he was captured, tossed in a cell, and then forced to pick his way out of his shackles for no reason other than the Hood’s demented sense of pleasure.

The eye was then replaced with Fuse’s hand as he picked up the bottle to clasp it by the neck and pull it off of what was clearly a high shelf, with Gordon still inside.

Everything was not okay.

He was not okay.

It was never a human-sized bottle, and as his world shifted with Fuse raising the glass, Gordon realized he was lucky if he was half a foot tall.

END PART 1

End note:  In effort to think outside the box for in a box my brain went straight to pocket!Gordon, so I went angsty Arrietty/the Borrowers vibes. There’s a more literal box planned later, I promise, and more Scott as requested. But for now, hope this helps do the job. Also don’t skip over the first part, POCKET!GORDON. 😊

Part 2

[astraembers]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow - Part 6/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4   Chapter 3: Part 5 | Part 6 You are Here From the Beginning: FF | AO3

Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix.

This part ~ 721 words - Enter John, from above.  With thanks to @willow-salix​ for the EOS advice and @gumnut-logic​ for the read through, and to all of you for continuing to support. 

——————

There was a word for John’s level of pissed – angered wasn’t strong enough, seething wasn’t quite right as it implied his ire was internally contained, and irate was the word Scott used when describing some of their more unreasonable clients. His anger was not unreasonable; it was justified, a normal reaction to the roller coaster of finding out your younger brother had been taken - to he might be dead - to we found him and he’s injured - to he’s also lucky if he’s four inches tall and we don’t know what to do about it.

Not feet. Inches.

“John,” EOS inquired. “You seem rather-”

Vexed? Outraged?

“-infuriated,” she finished, finding the right words for her inquiry among her databanks.

“I am.” Intent green eyes scanned the computers, back pulled so tight against his uniform that his shoulder blades could slice bread. A blossoming spread of pink from the back of his neck revealed the heat that crept up to his ears, and he channeled the pounding of his racing heart into the movement of his fingers across the screen and the determined chase of words.

“I would like to help, John.”

He felt the ache left behind by grinding enamel as he loosened his jaw slowly. “Okay, EOS, of course. Scan for all known blue chemical compounds. Look for molecular modification that results in alteration of size.” He sighed. “We don’t have much to go on.”

“Analyzing.” After a beat she finished, quicker than John would ever be, even with his university famous speed-reading abilities. “Data has been sent to Brains. Looking for alternative compounds that may help Gordon Tracy.”

“Thank you.” John turned to her gratefully – in time to catch a flash of red lighting across her screen. “I – EOS! Are you okay?”

“The Hood has hurt our family,” she answered sharply. “Expanding search to organic material.”

“You are angry too.” John recognized that fire, that same obsessive urge to escape into research instead of processing feelings. Like father like daughter. It was not a comfort to see that particular trait echoed in his progeny. “EOS-”

“Kayo to Thunderbird Five. Come in, John.” He heard in his sister’s voice exasperation, but no urgency.

“Go ahead, Kayo.”

“Can you tell your idiot brother that this is not his fault?”

Typical. “Scott, this was not your fault,” he agreed, knowing Scott would be able to hear him through Kayo’s unit.

“But if I had secured Havoc better, we would have had a lead.”

“Maybe, but –” She may not have had any clue in the first place, he wanted to tell him, but an incoming call told him Alan was reaching out at the same time. That could be urgent, as Alan was the one with Virgil and Gordon. “Ah – hold on Scott, I have to switch over…”

“Alan?”

“John! I don’t know what to do. Virgil can’t help Gordon.”

“Turn that off,” he heard through the comms, a voice so distant, or more likely so small, that he could barely hear it.

“But-”

“Off.”

John sucked in a breath as the call went silent.

“You still have Scott and Kayo on hold,” EOS advised beside him.

He heaved a sigh. “I am aware.”

“And you are frustrated.”

He nodded. “I can’t be there to help.” 

“Why can’t you?” 

Kayo’s call blinked away.

“I have to be here to find answers.”

“Really?” She sounded offended. “Have you considered that I can look for answers? And I’m much faster than you, John Tracy.” She had him there, and as he thought it, another flash of red light signaled her irritation. The AI equivalent to an eye roll. “Sending all possible and theoretical organic compound combinations to Brains. I have also sent copies to your file.”

Two more flickers on the screen in front of him let him know his siblings were calling back – Virgil this time and Scott.

He hesitated.

“I can take care of things here. International Rescue will be short staffed with Gordon - injured.” Her lights softened, the calls continuing to sound as they conferred. “They need you. Let me help.”

She was right. “EOS -”

“Wonderful!” Her lights did a circuit in the round.  “I’ll answer Scott. Maybe they’ve found something. Transferring Virgil to the space elevator. All results will continue to be sent to your datapad. And John,” she said, pausing a moment, “promise to keep me informed.” 

[astraembers]

Firefly’s Glow - Part 3/?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You are Here

From the Beginning: FF | AO3

Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix.

This part  ~770 words - A moment of Scott

A/N: I shouldn’t be posting this probably, but I just wanted to get this Scott Interlude shared. Thanks  @gumnut-logic​ for the partial read-through. Anything that you feel doesn’t work though, is completely my fault because I didn’t share the whole thing. 

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

Part 3  - Scott

When Gordon was born, Scott was five and three quarters years old, and their Momma was supposed to take them out for ice cream for Valentine’s Day. Instead she disappeared, he and his brothers were carted to the farm next door to be watched by stuffy old Mr. Hamilton, and Scott lost track of time until someone showed up to collect them. In the end it was Grandma Tracy who brought them to the hospital after Gordon’s birth.

The sleeping child confused him. Virgil, ever Scott’s shadow, sat to his right on the hospital’s grey couch, and John was being held by their Grandfather. Dad had helped settle the swaddled form into Scott’s arms so that he could support the baby’s head like he’d been shown, and he was so proud he was grown enough to hold the delicate figure correctly.

“His hair is white?” Virgil had questioned.  

“That’s right, baby,” their Mother had shared from her position in the plain bedframe, her eyes bright and smiling even through the dark circles underneath. “Scotty’s hair was blond when he was born too. Maybe Gordon will be just like you, Scott?” Scott had not stayed blond long, and at five and three quarters his hair was a warm brown. Virgil had never known Scott any different.

With their heads tucked together and with the bundle resting heavily in Scott’s lap and arms, the two boys spared a smile to each other, but with their gazes entranced by the sleepy breaths of their new brother.

It turned out that Gordon did not follow in Scott’s footsteps. His hair stayed blond and even started developing some strands of red when he was out of the sun for too long. Though, it was other things too. While Scott looked up into the clouds, Gordon’s head was bowed towards the Earth and Sea. Scott appreciated words to help define who he was - roles like Scout, Brother, Soldier, Protector, CEO, Leader -and he was comfortable in those identities, but Gordon was just too bright for his character to be so limited by the walls of a box.

They shared words, though. Orphans. Veterans. Rescuers.

Survivors.

And that’s the one that echoed in Scott’s heart - when Gordon was dragged into the Chaos Cruiser and taken right from under their noses during a cliffside retrieval with just his baldric left behind. He’d only just managed to flag the cruiser for tracking, with John already five steps ahead with Kayo dispatched to follow the vehicle in Thunderbird S.

Survive. It coursed through him like a chant in the aftermath.

In truth, Scott knew there was a chance his brother might be dead. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, but they all knew what it could mean when the vitals in Gordon’s suit screamed out from the feed John had shared with them and then dropped off into silence. Echoing in their ears was the ghost of Gordon’s previously racing heartbeat, and the painful throbbing of their own as the sound blinked away.

“Where’d he go?” In Thunderbird Two with Virgil, Alan’s expression through the hologram was frightened, but hopeful, as his eyes darted to Scott for answers he couldn’t give.

Scott saw Virgil’s hand settle on Alan’s shoulder, ever the older brother comforting the younger. “We’ll find him, Alan.” Positive, encouraging. But there was a tightness in the set of his jaw and that wrinkle in his forehead that divulged the fear welling underneath the surface, and if the holograms had color, Scott knew Virgil’s pallor would be unnaturally white.

“There could be a number of reasons we lost the feed,” John chimed in, hands already dancing over the computers of Thunderbird Five. Information, facts. That was their John. “I’ll have EOS run a sweep of our connections just in case. Or maybe his suit was removed. It could be anything really.” And yet, still pragmatic.

Granted, John could be right. And lost vitals also could mean their brother was dead. They all knew it.

“He’s ok. I just know it.” He had to be. And that’s all Scott could really offer his brothers when in their eyes he saw the terror of his lost squad companions, expressions he never wanted to see trouble his family.

And still the prayer -

survive

-ached through his soul, jagged as the edge of an uncertain promise.

[astraembers]

Firefly’s Glow Part 4/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 

Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4

You are Here

From the Beginning: FF | AO3

Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix.

This part ~ 1,013 words - Continues from Scott finding Gordon

——————

Part 4 

For all the what ifs he and John had concocted, this one was one neither of them would’ve thought possible. My brother is the size of a Hasbro figurine.

“Gord -?!” The rest of the name never made it quite past his dry lips.

“Hi, Scott.” Scott blinked at him. “So, are you going to stare or are you going to help me out of here?”

“You’re… Uh, What ha -” Scott stammered. “Gordon you’re so small! How the hell?”

“I don’t know, Scott. You tell me,” Gordon scowled, clambering over the tools in the kit to reach the edge of the box, where he was greeted with the open air. “The Hood injected me with something,” he added, rubbing at his chest where the dart had pierced his flesh, still tender from the assault.

Scott had once played with their father’s old G.I. Joe armies, though early in his youth he discovered model planes and the small figures were quickly stored in the attic again for the next Tracy child. Spoiler - they didn’t see the light of day again until Alan. Virgil was too occupied with making noise on anything and everything, John was absorbed in his books, and Gordon, though he might have had an interest, had been like a tornado when cooped up inside until he reached his pre-teen years and finally understand the concept of a good binge watch on the television. Alan had a few years of interest, then he too abandoned Captain Grid-Iron for Hot Wheels.

Scott remembered, he used to make up stories with Dad’s old G.I. Joes. Not very good ones, but intense ones, stories of heroism and sacrifice – Oh, no! Code Name Gristle’s been shot in the leg! However will he survive? Or KABOOM! Quick, evacuate the building! He once had put his toys through the ringer.

The glamour of war had been completely shredded by his actual tour of duty – granted he’d been long past his G.I. Joe days by then. But he felt a bit of acid rise in his throat standing in front of Gordon and thinking of the violence in the way he used to play with the army men. The reality was that his brother was that delicate at his current size, and he was clearly injured judging by the soiled state of his IR suit.

He’d been hurt. Whatever the Hood did, he’d hurt his brother.

“Scott?”

“Sorry, Gordon, just give me a moment to process,” Scott said. But even as he spoke, he remembered Gordon had been waiting for his help up out of the kit, and so he lowered his hand to Gordon’s feet, leaving his palm outward.

“It wasn’t necessarily a swim in the ocean for me either,” Gordon griped, stepping onto the offered hand. “Thanks.”

Asking what happened felt redundant, but he did so anyway, lifting Gordon to eye-level so he could more clearly investigate the blood on his suit. And was he off balance? His palm tickled where Gordon’s left foot put barely any pressure against his skin.

“He had me in a cell for a bit, watched me lock pick my way out the shackles. Thus the-” Gordon gestured to his bare feet to indicate his lost boots. “Then he hit me with an injection and I woke up like this. I assume Havoc recaptured me when I fell off the fireplace. Killed a spider which sucked, and now you’re here.”  

As Gordon spoke, the movement of his hands and the unsteady surface of Scott’s palm threw him off balance, and he fell back on his backside and, in a classic Gordon maneuver, tried to make it look intentional. Despite the situation they were in, Scott found himself forcing back a grin. Then Gordon’s words sank in.

“Wait, you fell off a fireplace?!”

“I climbed down most of the way first. And it wasn’t my fault. The bottle they tried to keep me in fell and shattered.”

“Gordon, that’s really high. What were you thinking doing something like that?”

“I was thinking about escaping. Honestly, Scott, what would you have done?” Gordon had him there; they were Tracys. They didn’t give up. “That’s what I thought.”

“But we were coming,” Scott protested.

“Would you really have been looking for 4 ft me in a glass bottle?”

“No, probably not.” This time, Gordon spared his brother the yeah, I told you so, and simply hummed in his hand and wearily ran a hand through his messy hair.

They ran through Gordon’s list of injuries, and Scott did not like the sound of millions of tiny pieces of glass hurtling through the air towards his brother’s unprotected face, and it didn’t escape him that some of those shards could easily have been as large as his brother himself.  Nor was it all comforting to know that Gordon actually didn’t remember where his hopefully-only-sprained ankle came from.  

He had assumptions. Carelessness most likely, not recognizing what would be considered too high for a figure of Gordon’s size. Another side of Scott knew the injury could have been intentional. To keep Gordon contained.

For all the good that did. And, yeah, it was dangerous what Gordon had done to find his own means of escape, but hell if Scott wasn’t proud of him.

“Hey, Scott?”

“Hm?”

“Are we safe?” Gordon asked, adding with a whisper, “Is Havoc out?”

“I got her with a stun gun, but you’re right. We should move. Kayo is here somewhere, and the others will be following shortly.”

“What about the rescue? Everyone else is ok?”

“Another successful mission,” Scott affirmed. “And yes, all accounted for now. Here, I’ll fill you in while we walk.”

He raised Gordon up to the level of his shoulder so he could climb onto his right. Scott felt Gordon’s uneven gait settle in the space near his neck, and his IR uniform collar pulled away slightly when Gordon grabbed it to steady himself.  

The others were going to be livid when they found out about all this.

“And, ah, shit. I need to call John.”