So this has taken me... a while. Since April, I believe. A scene from one of my #irrelief offerings to @gumnut-logic‘s challenge - Riding the Dragon, or more specifically, the part 2 - Return of the Dragon, (written using one of @louthestarspeaker‘s prompts) sans background because I suck at backgrounds. Might see if I can throw one in later but for now my hand is cramped as hell and I’m happy with the boys.
(Getting this scene in my head is actually what inspired me to write the part 2, as a fun fact)
The best bit, but also the hardest bit, was designing all their bags, and most of the detail is lost in the full image so I’m gonna shove some close-ups of those under the cut because Scott’s bag in particular I am blaming for my hand cramp. I’m super proud of it, but heck was it a challenge.
I also have to thank Nutty for the colour palette help, because my knowledge of colour theory is pretty much zilch, and my various friends from across the Pond who replied to my “help what do American teenagers decorate their bags with” with “pins and keychains. lots of pins and keychains”. Hence Scott’s bag.
For @tsarinatorment and your hot chocolate prompt. It’s more TOS than TAG, but hopefully it’s okay.
In pain and bored, Virgil gives up trying to sleep. But someone else knows exactly what he needs.
There were no interesting patterns on his ceiling.
No intriguing shadows as the moonlight spilled through the open balcony door.
The breeze wasn't refreshing.
The night wasn't quiet.
Virgil groaned. He scrunched the pillow, trying to force some volume back into it before shoving it behind his head.
It didn't help. He was still uncomfortable. No amount of pillow fluffing was going to make a difference.
He'd been too hot, and the blankets were pushed to the end of the bed in a pile. Of course, now he'd cooled down, he couldn't reach them to pull them back up again. For a few moments, he lay there, eyes closed, counting his breaths as he tried to will himself to relax.
All it did was focus his attention on the reason why he wasn't asleep. The throbbing, itching weight of his left leg. His knee still felt hot – not just to touch – and his ankle ached from where he'd struggled to compensate.
It wasn't even the wrenched knee that was keeping him awake. Brains had given him enough painkillers that it had settled to a soft pulse rather than the hammer-hard pounding it had been earlier in the evening.
No. His current discomfort was the weight of the brace strapped around his leg. It was heavy and restrictive, and made sleeping curled up nigh-on-impossible. Virgil didn't sleep on his back, never had. He curled into the smallest ball he could and buried away from the world and all its problems, even when living on a tropical island. Now, though, he could barely roll over.
He also, it seemed, couldn't sleep. No amount of meditation was going to disguise the fact that he was cold, in pain, and irritable right now. He checked his watch: 2am. Even John wouldn't still be awake for a chat at this time, and Virgil huffed, feeling despondent more than tired.
There was no point lying there grumbling to himself. Pressing his palms against the mattress, he forced himself upright, scooting back until he could lean against the wall. He twisted half his body, then gripped his leg and swung it off the bed. It was a strange lurch to get himself to his feet, and it was only the hand on the wall that stopped him from falling flat on his face. It felt like a victory given his latest streak of bad luck, and Virgil took a breath, gaze fixed with determination on his bedroom door.
He'd had worse than a wrenched knee. He'd seen worse on his brothers and always come up with reasons why they were lucky the damage hadn't been more severe. A Tracy didn't let something like a strained…
Ow.
Pep talks only got so far. Even with the brace, shifting his weight hurt. By the time he reached his bedroom door, he certainly wasn't cold any longer.
When he got to the kitchen, he was breathless, sweating, and in more pain than he wanted to admit. He paused in the doorway, staring into the room, and wondering what exactly he was supposed to do next.
Hobbling across, he perched on one of the bar stools. But the angle was too severe for his knee, and he couldn't elevate it. Huffing, Virgil slid off again, leaning against the wall and looking around for ideas, but nothing came to mind.
Rather than face the trek back to his room, he let the wall take his weight and slipped down to the floor. It took some awkward manoeuvring to lower himself while keeping his leg straight, but he got there.
Resting back, Virgil stared across the kitchen blankly. He didn't know what he'd come down for, but now he was here, it all seemed pointless. He told himself it was better than staring at his ceiling, but had to admit the view hadn't improved that much.
He hadn't been there long when he heard footsteps. Virgil stayed quiet, hoping to pass unnoticed. When the light flicked on, he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his watery eyes.
"Come on." The tone was a mixture of fondness and exasperation.
Virgil was out of sight: he was sitting on the floor, wedged into a corner on the opposite side to either the fridge or the cupboards. There was no reason for anyone to look this way. He somehow wasn't surprised when he looked up to find Scott standing over him, hand outstretched.
Virgil took it. His brother gripped his forearm, steadying him with the other hand as he pulled him upright. Hooking a chair with his foot, Scott spun it around and Virgil lowered himself into it. But like the bar stool, the angle was wrong, and he grimaced, making to rise.
"Wait."
He didn't have time to ask before Scott had pulled over another chair, found a cushion from who-knew-where, and helped Virgil rest his leg on it.
Virgil sagged. He suddenly felt it was two in the morning, and he was in the kitchen rather than bed.
"What're you doing up?" He asked his brother. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Scott moved. For a man completely out of his comfort zone, his movements were assured, soothing, and Virgil relaxed back.
Scott shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered, opening the fridge.
"Why?"
It wasn't uncommon for previous rescues to play on their minds, and the fact Virgil's leg was in a brace gave away the latest hadn't been a straight forward one.
"I was just restless," Scott said, "couldn't switch off."
He gave Virgil a pointed look, who flushed. It was hardly the first time Scott hadn't been able to sleep, only to find a brother was also awake for one reason or another.
"Freak," Virgil muttered.
Scott ignored the insult. "Do you need more meds?"
Virgil shook his head. "It's not the pain," he said, "it's just…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.
"Can't get comfy?"
Virgil grimaced. "I know I'm the first to tell you guys rest is the best thing, but…" His flush deepened as he forced himself to meet his brother's eyes. "I got bored staring at the ceiling. We'd need a bigger island for the number of sheep I tried counting."
Scott's mouth twitched in a quick smile, but he didn't say anything. Instead, Virgil watched, intrigued, as he pulled down a couple of mugs.
It only took a few seconds before Virgil realised what Scott was doing.
"For a man whose main culinary skill is not burning the pizza, are you sure you know what you're doing?"
Scott gave him a scathing look as he heated the milk and started measuring out chocolate powder.
"All those afternoons sitting at the kitchen table with Grandma," he reminisced, "this is the one thing I know how to do. Don't you remember who used to make it for you guys when you got home from school in winter?"
Virgil smiled. He remembered their grandmother bustling around. But it was only now that he recalled Scott in the background, carefully measuring quantities and stirring hot milk while they demanded sprinkles, cream, marshmallows and various combinations of the above. Their grandmother handled the flourishes, but Scott made the drinks.
"Cream and marshmallows, right?" Scott said.
Virgil's smile was fond as he nodded, touched that Scott remembered his preferred mix. He was soon cradling a hot chocolate, swiping his finger through the cream before his brother handed him a spoon.
Scott had gone for the same, minus cream, and they both spent a few moments chasing gooey lumps around their drinks.
"D'you ever miss Kansas?" Virgil said.
Scott's eyes widened as he slurped some of his drink.
"Why?"
Virgil shrugged. "Dunno. Just having this-," he gestured at the mug -, "made me start thinking about it."
Scott sat down opposite him, drawing his knees to his chest. He looked young like that – the same way he'd sat as a boy, even if Virgil was impressed that he could fold his long limbs into the chair and hold the position.
"Sometimes," Scott admitted, surprising his brother. Virgil's eyebrows raised.
"You do?"
Scott nodded. "I'd never go back if that's what you're mean. What we do, who we are… it's in our blood."
Virgil agreed. Their father had done so much before starting International Rescue, and it wasn't only Scott and John who had followed his path. They all longed for something more.
Being out in the field, being active, making a difference… Scott was right: it was in their DNA, and none of them would give it up. Even when a bad rescue meant he couldn't sleep.
"But…" Scott took a deep breath. "I wonder who we could've been."
"Come again?" Virgil didn't follow, and the blank look on his face told his brother as much. Scott shrugged.
"Normal lives, day jobs, marriage, heck, even kids. Don't you ever think about who you'd be if it wasn't for IR?"
"No," Virgil said honestly. "We've got everything I ever dreamed of."
"Everything?" Scott's words were soft, but Virgil knew what he was asking this time. The whole operation had been set up because their father had been broken by the loss of their mother. Moving to the island, being part of a secret organisation, meant none of them had experienced falling in love.
"There's still a chance," Virgil said, "look at Alan."
It was different, and they knew it.
"And your degree? Everything you worked for?"
"Why do you think I chose engineering?" Virgil shrugged. It had been a tough call between that and art, but once his father had announced what he was working on, the decision had been easy.
"Maybe it's different for me because I never got a job," he mused. "You had your career, John his-,"
"No."
Virgil looked at his brother, astonished.
"No?"
"I had a job, not a career. I never would've got promoted."
"Scott-,"
"I would have turned them down. Could you ever imagine me with a desk job? I have to fly. That was why I joined, and how long would it have taken before I got annoyed with those who just sat behind a desk, risking lives?"
"And John?"
Scott's smile was small, but genuine. "For someone who is rarely on Earth," he said softly, "John's a home-boy. The lack of contact with the rest of us would have eventually driven him to some office somewhere where the only way he'd see his beloved stars was through his telescope."
"Gordon had already been discharged," Virgil said, thoughtfully. "If you don't dream about a decorated career, what do you think about?"
Scott shrugged. "You guys being safe."
"Urgh," Virgil pulled a face. "Do you really think I would have been safe fixing monorail lines or something just as boring? I'd be going out of my mind!"
Scott chuckled. "I know," he said. "None of us were ever meant for the quiet life, and heck knows where Gords would've ended up. IR gave him his purpose back."
"It gave us all our purpose."
"Even when things like that happen?" Scott asked, nodding towards his leg.
Virgil scowled – he'd managed not to think about it while they were talking, but drawing attention made him conscious of how much it still hurt.
"Even that," he said. "If that's the only way we get to have conversations like this."
He laughed at the expression on Scott's face.
"You can just tell me if you want to talk, you know," his big brother said. "Skidding down a mountain isn't the best way to get my attention."
Virgil managed a smile. The rockslide had caught him unaware; there had been no warning, and the only hint he'd got was John yelling in his ear that he needed to move. He hadn't made it very far before the debris overtook him. All it had taken was a stray boulder smashing into his leg and he'd gone down.
"Did I say thanks?" he muttered. Scott had been forced to pull him out, get him off the mountain, while Virgil had tried not to pass out.
"You don't have to," Scott said, then held up a hand, "but yes, you did. Numerous times. And in quite creative ways once the morphine had kicked in."
Virgil grinned. "What can I say? I'm a creative kind of guy."
"Like I said: there're other ways."
The two brothers smiled at each other. Virgil finished his drink and glanced at the kitchen door. Scott saw his look.
"Time for bed?" he asked. Virgil sighed.
"Can't I stay here?"
"You know what Grandma would say to that," Scott countered. He took Virgil's empty mug and put it in the sink along with his own before holding out his hand again.
Knowing Scott wasn't going to let him get away with it, Virgil huffed another sigh and once again let his brother draw him upright.
The journey back upstairs was far less effort when there was a big brother to lean on. It didn't take long before Scott had navigated him onto the bed. To his surprise, Virgil yawned even as Scott slipped a pillow under his leg and drew the covers over him.
The drink had warmed him through, comforted him in a way he hadn't realised he'd needed. Talking to Scott had reminded him that however much he wanted to grumble that he was sore and uncomfortable, he'd do it again. This was their life; he wouldn't go back, and he wouldn't change anything.
"Thanks," he murmured. The light dimmed, but Scott paused in the doorway.
"Anytime," he said. "Get some rest, Virg."
Even as Scott pulled his door closed on his way out, Virgil let his eyes shut.
That sounded like the best idea he'd heard all day.
So this started off as an idea then I saw someone put a prompt on the IR Relief that was similar so I just smushed a few things together and hope that you enjoy it @tsarinatorment
Prompt: Time Travel AU (bonus if it involves pre-series age Scott with series-age little bros)
Science could not explain what exactly happened. To be honest, John was certain this was impossible. Yet here his brother was, doing the impossible. Not that he knew it of course. Through some strange phenomena, Scott, his older brother, the oldest of five Tracy sons, pilot of Thunderbird One, was now at the young age of twelve. John had been working himself to exhaustion to try and fix this issue, all the while looking after their brother. He had taken a break because it was either sitting with Scott or spending time in the infirmary with an overprotective big brother giving him a breakdown of what the definition of exhaustion was.
So, it was John’s turn with a rather wild Scott who just didn’t want to sit down. Alan and Gordon were in their element, running around with Scott till the cows came home. But even then, they got tired and needed time alone. Funny how the tables had turned for them, realising that even big brothers needed time away from little brothers. Virgil was the closest to getting Scott to calm down their big/little brother. It was hard to tell what he was now to them; they didn’t even know if this was permanent. He held Scott’s hand as he took him to the roof where a telescope was ready and waiting for them, something John had set up beforehand when he found out it was his turn to babysit. Scott had been rather reluctant however to join John, since John wouldn’t tell him about what they were doing.
“I don’t think daddy would like me being on the roof. I’m never allowed on the roof at home,” Scott said, though he didn’t let go of John’s hand.
“Dad knows you’ll be up here, it’s fine,” John said before adding another point quickly. “But don’t go near the edge of the roof. You stay near me okay?”
Scott nodded, “Okay.”
John gave a small smile to Scott as he led him over to the telescope, already calibrated and waiting to be used. John wasn’t really one for going out and exploring the island, or even running around. This was his last resort. He hoped that Scott’s appreciation of the stars was there even at this age.
“Do you know much about space Scott?” John asked.
“My daddy goes to space with Uncle Lee. He tells me all about what he does up there,” Scott said looking up to the sky. “I wanna go to space one day...” he said quietly. That quiet comment made John smile to himself.
Virgil was really the only one who knew much about Scott’s childhood out of all the brothers. By the time John was old enough to understand what Scott did, he was already working with NASA on the experimental aircraft in the process of transferring to the Airforce. He hardly remembered his older brother’s days as a Rescue Scout being a few years younger of course. It was a much different time then. The family was whole. It still is in a way but not everyone is present any more, not that they told young Scott this. The fact that this Scott talked so freely about their mother was welcomed into all the conversations. Scott never spoke about mum much after her death. Everyone else did, but he didn’t. It was something that John never questioned. When mum came up in conversation, Scott would either go dead silent or leave the room altogether. To see this Scott so free, unburdened by the hellish events that were going to inevitably unfold in his life, gave John a sense of calm. He was able to see Scott giggle, smile and run around, acting his age. Their Scott had taken the burdens of the family on his shoulders, taken International Rescue, Tracy Industries, and even surrogate fatherhood to his younger brothers during his early twenties. Before then, it was helping his father keep four younger boys in check after the disaster of losing their mother. Scott never had a childhood. He had sacrificed that so his brothers could have one.
John saw the Rescue Scout move over and look through the telescope. He had pointed it straight to the moon and after a few seconds heard his big, little brother whisper ‘cool’ under his breath. He watched Scott alternate between looking at the moon through the telescope and with the naked eye for a while, the night light glimmering in Scott’s eyes whenever he looked up. There was a child-like wonder in his eyes. It was an expression of pure wonder and amazement. John knew his older brother loved space still. He’d been in the great abyss a lot of times even before International Rescue started. John remembered after getting their father back, Scott requested that the space capabilities of Thunderbird One to remain in effect, using the excuse of ‘You never know if we’ll need One in space Brains’.
“Have you been to all those stars?” Scott asked, making John lose his track of thought and focus on his now younger brother.
“Not all of them. Maybe one day,” John said with a small smile.
“But they’re so far away, and there could be monsters in space.”
John couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, those monsters don’t scare me. I have a big ship up in space already and I also have a friend up there with me that helps protect me,”
“But space is so big! What if there’s a big monster that is bigger than your ship?”
“Scared of meeting those monsters, Scott?” John asked with a slight cocking of his head and Scott almost looked embarrassed.
“I’m not scared of anything! A Rescue Scout is calm, a Rescue Scout is brave. Never scared, always prepared to help, to guide, - “
“To save,” John said, and Scott smiled brightly.
“You know it!”
John couldn’t help but chuckle softly and sat down, pulling the telescope over to himself to align it with the Orion constellation.
“Scott you are very brave. You’ve helped so many people and saved so many more,”
“I have?” Scott looked confused.
“Yes, you have. You’re a great Rescue Scout,” John sad softly. Scott giggled in response. “Come over here and I can show you some really cool constellations,”
“Pictures in the sky?” Scott asked as he moved over and John took the chance to pull his younger brother onto his lap, moving the telescope so Scott could hold onto it lightly and look through the scope.
“Very good.”
That’s how Virgil found them after repeated calls to John’s watch that dinner was ready went unanswered. It was a rare sight to see John down on Earth for so long, but this situation demanded that John stay down. International Rescue was slightly compromised with the fact they didn’t have Scott to pilot Thunderbird One for now. But the issues of the day were blissfully blown away by the light wind on that roof as he took in the memorable sight in front of him. Scott’s giggles filled the air and Johns soft, genuine smile was gleaming in the moonlight. Dinner for them could wait. Virgil would make sure to leave them some and not let the terrible two eat their share since, after all, he was the eldest Tracy now. He had to take responsibility for Gordon and Alan. For now, at least.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Thunderbirds
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Gordon Tracy, Scott Tracy, John Tracy
Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, bar bets, Fluff
Summary:
Gordon wants a new pair of diving gloves, and he thinks he has just the bar bet to use on his brothers. Scott and John become the victims of Gordon's unwinnable bet...but is it really so unwinnable?
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This might fulfill @tsarinatorment‘s prompt “Scott vs any brother(s) in a prank war” for IRRelief but they would have to tell me if I can call it such :D Also tagging @agentfreelancer1 and @thunderbird-one-ai for reasons.
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Gordon was elated. He had found a new prank to try on his unwitting brothers, and it was one that, if he played his cards right, he would have enough money for that new set of diving gloves he had been eyeing for weeks. An expensive treat for yourself was, after all, always better if someone else paid the price for it. Gordon grinned and took the stairs nearly two at a time as he made his way to the kitchen.
Scott leaned against the countertop with his hands around a mug of coffee, sipping it with a relaxed air. Alan had just checked in from where he had taken John’s place on Five. The aforementioned red-haired astronaut had pretty much gone straight to bed and it seemed that the world was going to be a little quieter today. So far, the distress signals that had come through on the monitors had been simple things and the GDF had been happy enough to go and take care of them.
However, Scott’s relaxed grip on the cup of coffee tightened when Gordon came into the kitchen. When Gordon came in with that kind of predatory grin, it never ended well for any of them. Scott set his mug down and started to push himself off the counter, but Gordon bypassed him, moving over to the cupboard and beginning to pull down some cups.
“Gordon, what are you doing?” Scott asked warily. Anything involving liquid, especially when many in the house were still asleep, could be a dangerous thing. Gordon ignored his brother’s question and set four glasses and a shot glass on the counter. Scott arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day to start drinking?”
“What?” Gordon asked, looking confused. “No…no one’s drinking. Not alcohol anyway.” Scott frowned in confusion.
“Do I even want to know?” Scott asked, folding his arms as Gordon made his way over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. He began to fill up the four glasses part way and then filled the shot glass with orange juice as well.
“Will you relax, Scott?” Gordon asked as he capped the orange juice. “Honestly, what harm could I do with five glasses of orange juice?” Scott arched an eyebrow.
“Do you really want the answer to that question, Squid?” he asked. Gordon paused mid action of putting the orange juice back in the refrigerator to give Scott a look of mock injury.
“That hurts, Scott,” he said. “It hurts that you don’t trust your little brother.” He put the carton away and moved over to the row of glasses. “Just…humor me, ok?” Scott hesitated before letting out a long suffering sigh and moving over to where the glasses were lined up.
“Ok?” The wariness in Scott’s tone might have offended anyone if they weren’t the resident prankster in front of him. Gordon grinned and indicated the glasses.
“I bet you $100 that I can finish drinking all of these four glasses before you can finish that shot glass,” Gordon said. Scott frowned. There had to be a catch somewhere. Gordon wouldn’t make a bet he wasn’t confident he would win. He sensed a sucker bet, but couldn’t yet see how this could go sideways. “There are two rules, however.”
“Of course, here’s the catch,” Scott said. “Alright, let me hear them.” Gordon held up a finger for each rule.
“Number one: I’m allowed to drink my first glass and put it down before you start. Number two: we can’t touch each other’s glasses,” Gordon said. “So what do you say, Scott?” Scott thought about it for a second, muddling over every aspect of the bet, still not seeing where this could possibly go wrong for him. Scott took a breath.
“Ok, Squid, but I’m going to make you actually cough up that $100 when I win,” Scott said. Gordon’s grin nearly made Scott rethink his acceptance of this bet.
“You’re on, Scott,” Gordon said, reaching for the first glass. Gordon knocked it back and Scott looked ready to pounce on the shot glass to protect that $100 and to teach his little brother a lesson. Gordon gave an angelic smile as he overturned the glass he had just emptied and placed it over the shot glass, thoroughly encasing Scott’s shot glass inside his own. Scott sputtered in frustration.
“Gordon that’s cheating!” Scott said. Gordon casually picked up the second glass and sipped the orange juice slowly with a grin.
Easiest hundred bucks I’ve ever earned, Gordon thought to himself as he made his way casually through the other glasses, placing the last empty one down and holding out his hand for the money he had just conned his brother out of. Scott grumbled as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet, pulling out five twenty dollar bills and putting them in his brother’s outstretched hand.
“I hope you choke on your next glass of orange juice,” Scott said ill temperedly. Gordon laughed and downed the shot glass as well.
“No one likes a sore loser, Scott,” he said. “And you know what? To prove that you aren’t the only sucker in the family, the next brother that walks through the door, I’ll try the same thing on. I’ll even double the bet so you aren’t the biggest loser. But you can’t tell them anything or it will ruin the fun.” Scott rolled his eyes and returned to his coffee, picking it up to help nurse his wounded pride.
Gordon didn’t have long to wait for another brother to awaken. He pulled out the carton of orange juice again, filling up the glasses with a heavy pour as he heard footsteps descending the stairs. He gave a smile as John came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes sleepily and stifling a yawn. John was always a little tired when he was readjusting his sleep schedule back to earth time.
“Hey Johnny,” Gordon said. “Got a bet for you.” John gave a sleepy glare.
“What kind of a bet? And don’t call me Johnny,” he said grumpily. While Virgil might have been a bear without his coffee, John during his circadian shift was a wolverine. You didn’t really want to incur his displeasure, yet Gordon smiled and pushed on.
“I bet you $200 that I can finish drinking all of these four glasses before you can finish that shot glass of orange juice. Only two rules are that I’m allowed to drink my first glass and put it down before you start and that we can’t touch each other’s glasses.” John looked at the glasses with a calculating expression. Gordon waited as John seemed to consider every angle.”
“Two hundred dollars you say?” John said, hiding another yawn. Gordon nodded.
“Two hundred dollars if you win,” Gordon said. John shook his head.
“I’m not concerned about that,” John said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Gordon’s grin widened into one that was almost more piranha than human. Scott pinched the bridge of his nose as John accepted the bet. He really didn’t want to see his smartest brother outwitted by the resident prankster.
“Ready, John?” Gordon asked. John nodded, folding his arms. Gordon picked up the first glass, raised it in a toast and drank it down easily. Gordon looked John in the eye as he encapsulated the shot glass once again. John looked unbothered. “Are you really going to make me finish all these, or are you just going to hand over your two hundred dollars now?” John maintained eye contact with Gordon, continuing to look unruffled.
“Hey, Scott?” John asked. Scott looked surprised at being addressed. He had honestly expected John to be a lot angrier about the outcome of all of this.
“Yeah, John?” John motioned to the cup over the shot glass.
“Mind moving the glass for me?” Gordon’s face paled.
“Hey, hey, hey! That’s cheating!” Gordon said. There was no way that he could finish the glasses before John could if Scott moved the glass. John shook his head.
“You said I couldn’t touch the glass, Gordon. You said nothing about outside help,” he said, as Scott moved over to lift Gordon’s glass. Gordon sputtered protests as John took the shot glass, raised it in a cheers before drinking it down, putting it on the counter. John looked at Gordon.
“I’d like my winnings in big bills,” John said, moving over to the pantry to extract a bagel for his breakfast.
“I hope you choke on that bagel,” Gordon said testily. Not only had he lost the $100 he had won from Scott, he even was out $100 from his own pocket. Scott laughed and smiled over his cup of coffee.
“Come now, Gordon,” he said. “No one likes a sore loser.”
For @gumnut-logic‘s wonderful IR Relief challenge!
I was inspired by @scribbles97‘s prompt “John and Gordon and having stuff in common” I wrote a poem followed by a tiny ficlet :)
There is a reason why lost sailors look to the stars,
And why the ocean is so visible from space.
The sea will always reflect the sky above it.
Though the water is too restless to often see the picture.
The stars will always listen for the turning tide,
Waiting for the moment when they're needed.
For when the waves break,
The constellations all but shatter.
And when the sky weeps,
The ocean rages with seething fury.
The two are far too different to be similar,
But not quite so far as to be opposites.
Both are dark and lonely in the depths,
But both share the same horizons.
`*`
The moon rose to find the two brothers on the rocky shore of the island. Gordon with his sandals off, wading in the tide and skipping stones into the waves. John kneeling on the beach, never minding the feeling of the pebbles under his knees as he refocused his telescope on a new cluster of stars.
Gordon chattered on and on, talking about nothing and everything- little moments John had missed out on while on his rotation, dug up memories from years ago, jokes funny or ridiculous enough they warranted a retelling.
And just when Gordon began to doubt if his brother was still listening, John would look away from the stars, a half smile on his lips, and say something absurd enough to make him laugh or profound enough to make him wonder.
Then the wondering turned his thoughts inward, deeper than the chatter on his tongue, and he turned to the person he’d been chattering too. John was already watching him, because he knew when Gordon went silent, it was his turn to say something profound.
“You know I hate space, right?”
John was just able to stop the snort of laughter, but not keep his lips from twitching upward. “Yes, Gords. I know you hate space.”
Gordon smiled at his brother’s reaction, but it faded quickly. “It’s the vacuum thing that gets me. The part where you suffocate in an instant. ‘No one can hear you scream’ and all that jazz.”
Gordon hurled another stone into the sea, not trying for a skip this time, just seeing how far he could throw it and watching it sink. His eyes returned to John’s, and the understanding he found there urged him to go on.
“It’s… it’s scary how much the ocean can seem like space when you’re alone down there, no air left in your tank… But,” Gordon’s smile returned, more thoughtful than before, but no less honest. “But you heard me. And you talked to me. Thank you, John.”
John stood, wrapping his arms around Gordon in an embrace, grateful for the closeness. Space was too far sometimes. “You know you never have to thank me.”
The talk once again turned to chatter, and there they stayed, skipping stones and watching stars. Two brothers content in good company, one with seaspray on his face, one with stardust in his hair.
IRRelief for @tsarinatorment for your prompt “Teenage Scott getting a insignificant wound and any younger brother(s) jumping at the chance to play doctor” - you’ve written soooo many good responses for prompts, thank you!! I hope you enjoy this!!
@gumnut-logic as always thank you for organising these fun events :D
Scott has been given a slackline for his birthday :D Why? Silly question - why NOT? :D (ngl.... I’ve always wanted to try one that was my only motivation) They’re all small, but Alan is two and uh..... sorry to anyone who actually knows what is appropriate development for a two year old bc I do not and I have read so many child development articles that the google ads think I’m pregnant and for all that I’m still unsure of how I wrote him XD Toddlers man....
“Should you have moved it up so high?” asked Virgil, as he checked over the ratchet holding the slackline in place one last time.
Scott scoffed as he climbed on a chair at the other end of the line.
“It’ll be fine, Virg, it’s barely four feet off the ground. You saw how easy it was, even Alan could do it.”
“Yeah, when it was six inches off the ground and you held him by the armpit the entire time.”
“Fine, Gordon then.”
Virgil shook his head and stepped back, remembering the guideline that Gordon had held tightly to as he’d walked the length of slackline between the two trees. Scott had taken it down as soon as their younger brothers had lost interest in the new birthday present and wandered inside in search for more cake. The two were now left alone, daring each other to move the line higher and higher with each successful balancing trick.
Scott took a deep breath and placed his foot firmly on the line. His leg wobbled violently, his body unable to stop the instinctive over corrections as it tried to find its centre of gravity. In a smooth, practiced motion, Scott shifted his weight to his shaking leg and stood as quickly as he could, flinging his arms out on either side. The chair was now far below him.
He didn’t dare look down at the ground.
One breath. Two. Tension mounted as the elastic bearing his weight skated beneath his hips.
Three breaths and he let it go, falling back to the safety of the chair.
“What was that?” scoffed Virgil, his arms folded across his chest. “That was barely a second.”
“It was at least five,” said Scott. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the slackline.
Another deep breath and he tried again.
The fabric was rough beneath his feet, drawing him down in a connection that linked him to every shift in the slackline’s position. He could feel his muscles working together correctly, knew that this time he would stabilise his balance.
His grin widened. He would stay mounted.
Below him, he could hear Virgil’s quiet encouragement.
Scott stared ahead at the tree trunk only fifteen feet in front of him, eyes gleaming. He’d done this before. Twenty steps. That’s all it would take.
He swung his left leg forward, carefully feeling for the right position before moving his weight forwards. He paid no mind to the jostling beneath his feet, allowing his knees and hips to absorb the motion and redirect it.
Feel. Steady. Shift. Let go. Repeat.
The movements were becoming more natural and Scott grinned as the bouncing line propelled him forwards, no longer an obstacle to overcome.
“Go Scott!”
Gordon was jumping up and down by the kitchen door, John and Alan watching with bright eyes and wide grins next to him.
Scott stumbled, just barely catching his balance as his front foot skidded from its mark. He tried to shift his weight back over the line, only for it to move in the opposite direction in a maddening game of chase.
“You can do it!”
He breathed in deep, trying to lift his gaze from the shaking elastic that was now reverberating through his entire body as his joints locked up.
Four feet up was a lot higher when looking down from nearly six feet of extra height.
He was getting dizzy watching his feet swaying back and forth. He leaned forward, bringing his free leg back to the slickline and took another step.
The cheers of his younger brothers distracted him for the barest millisecond, his eyes flitting downwards as he lost sight of the anchor steadying him.
A millisecond was all it took.
His foot slipped. His stomach dropped. The line snapped up and Scott yelped at the sharp slap against his thigh, while pulling his arms up to protect his head as he fell.
A resounding thud and dull aching pain, pulsing from every inch of his right side.
Scott’s groans mixed with a cacophony of sound that erupted the moment the world had turned sideways.
A faint ringing in his ears wasn’t enough to drown out Gordon, putting his lungs to good use for a change, or the high, nervous chatter of his other brothers surrounding him.
“Scott, look at me!”
Virgil held his shoulders still, looking worriedly into his eyes. Scott could almost hear the first aid checklist they’d been taught in Scouts running through his brother’s mind.
“I’m fine,” he said, moving to sit up. Virgil held him down.
“Did you hit your head at all?”
“No.”
“Any sharp or shooting pains?”
“None.”
“What hurts the most?”
Automatically, he moved his hand to his right hip and leg which had taken the brunt of the fall. Above him, he could feel Virgil relax.
“Okay, you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks for the prognosis, doc.”
He accepted the proffered hand and stood slowly, gingerly extending the injured limb. Virgil waited patiently and they walked together, Scott leaning heavily on his brother’s shoulder as he hobbled up the steps that lead to the small deck.
“That was some fall,” said John, fumbling with the child-proof gate. “Alan, no.”
Alan had torn his little hand from John’s and toddled forwards and grabbed Scott, clinging to his injured leg.
“Ow, Alan, let go,” said Scott with a grunt, collapsing onto the nearest bench.
“Owie?”
“Yes Alan, owie.”
Gently, John pulled Alan away.
“Scott’s hurt, Allie,” said Virgil, crouching down next to their baby brother. “He got an owie, but he’ll be okay soon.”
Alan’s large eyes flitted between Virgil and Scott. He looked uncertain, his small face scrunched up as he looked closely at the exposed knee, a purplish colour growing steadily across it.
“I fix owies,” he said proudly.
John and Virgil exchanged amused looks.
“Are you a doctor, Allie?”
“Yes,” said Alan, nodding vigorously. “Doc fix owies.”
“How does the doctor fix an owie then?”
“Look!”
Alan leaned forward and gently kissed the bruise. He patted it carefully and looked up at Scott beaming.
“All better!”
Scott laughed and picked him up, bouncing him up and down with his uninjured leg.
“All better,” he agreed. “Doctor Alan fixed me up.”
“Scott?! Gordon said you fell? Are you alright? Do you need arnica?”
Scott looked sheepishly up at the worried eyes of their mother.
“I’m all good, Mom. Just a tumble.”
“I helped!”
Scott laughed again. “Sure did, squirt. You sure did.”
This is written for #irrelief set up by @gumnut-logic. This is for both @tsarinatorment who wanted Scott teaching a younger brother how to fly, and @scribbles97 who wanted anything with Scott and Alan.
xoxoxox
“Up and at ‘em, birthday boy. These pancakes won’t last long if you don’t get down here quick.”
Grandma Tracy’s voice reverberated down the corridor to Alan’s room, stirring him in to action. At twelve years old he had lost the desire to be up at the crack of dawn and even his own birthday couldn’t entice him out of his room any earlier than was necessary. Although if pancakes were on offer that could only mean one thing – Virgil was cooking.
The thought of Virgil’s thick and fluffy pancakes gave him the final push he needed otherwise he risked losing his share. He thundered down the stairs towards the kitchen and snagged a stack of pancakes from the pile in the middle of the table. The serving platter was loaded to overflowing and the jug of maple syrup was still full. Despite the threats no one else had started although Gordon was practically drooling from his place at the far side of the table.
All the Tracy boys appreciated good food. It could be in short supply on a rescue and in even shorter supply on the island if Grandma Tracy took it into her head to care for them with a good old fashioned dose of home cooking. Taking their cue from Alan the stack of pancakes was soon demolished. Blocks of butter were carved in to. Syrup dribbles were slurped off fingers. The feeding frenzy only finished when Virgil announced that there was no more batter left, much to the disappointment of everyone present.
With his stomach finally full Alan was able to take a proper look around the table. For once all of his brothers were present, even John. Comms must have been routed through to the island to allow his space monitor sibling to attend. He appreciated the effort; having John around was a rare treat and he missed the sibling who had inspired his love of space. He just hoped the Earth stayed quiet for a few hours. It always hurt watching his brothers dash off in their craft to save the world. Since Gordon earned his full IR blues last year he was the only one left behind when a call for help came in.
There was still one noticeable gaping absence in the assembled company. The place at the head of the table was empty. No one yet had the heart to sit in the chair that had until recently been the preserve of their father. This was Alan’s first birthday since the Zero-X exploded. His first birthday without his father. The thought made the pancakes sit heavily in his stomach, as though they had been made of cardboard.
All joy seemed to leach out of the day.
Birthdays were meant to be special. Twelfth birthdays even more so. Turning twelve allowed a Tracy to obtain the freedom of the skies. That magical rite of passage that was the first time being in control of an aircraft. He was no stranger to flying as a passenger, all Tracys seemed to clock up air miles from birth, but to actually take control was a privilege that had so far been denied to him.
It had all started with Scott. Scott, who would bleed aviation fuel if you cut him and had been obsessed with the skies from the moment he had first been placed on a blanket outside as a baby to watch the clouds go by. Scott, who had been asking to fly since he could talk. Other boys might ask for bicycles for their birthday, Scott asked for aeroplanes. And when Scott turned twelve he had been deemed mature enough, and tall enough, to move into the pilot’s seat.
It was a milestone that had carried on with each brother in turn.
It was a milestone that Alan was to be denied. There was no father around to take him up and hand over control.
The celebration moved through to the lounge where a stack of presents were arranged on one of the sofas. Books, video games and new clothes all appeared from the brightly wrapped parcels. A box of snacks and candy from Gordon was quickly whisked away to his room to be hidden from thieving brothers. Even birthday candy wasn’t sacred if left in a communal area; exhausted brothers returning from the danger zone could demolish a pack of Oreos quicker than you could say ‘Thunderbirds are go!’.
Soon there were no more parcels left.
“So, Alan, any plans for your big day?” Scott asked.
With his attention taken up with reading the back of one of the video game boxes Alan completely missed the smirks that were exchanged between his brothers.
“Maybe play one of these. Anyone up for it?” He held up one of the boxes. A space rocket filled the cover and the tagline promised intergalactic adventures that were out of this world.
“Sorry. Maybe later. I’ve got some maintenance to do.”
The disappointment on Alan’s face was clear to all as Scott turned and headed off towards the hangers.
“Anyone?” He waved the box in a hopeful manner but the lounge was already clearing as everyone went off to their respective duties.
“Sorry, Al. I don’t really have time for games. Scott’s right, there is maintenance to do. If you come and give me a hand on Three I might get done in time for a game before I head back up to the office.”
Alan perked up at this prospect. Thunderbird Three was his favourite craft but one he was rarely allowed near. The mighty space rocket seemed to call out to him and he longed to one day feel her power. Every time she launched in to orbit Alan could be found drooling at the windows of the villa. It was a sight he never grew tired of. The thought of spending time with John was also not to be sneezed at.
Alan willingly followed John to the elevators but instead of heading towards Thunderbird Three’s silo John started leading the way towards the private hanger. Alan trailed along behind. Maybe John needed to collect some tools or speak to one of the others first. They would get to the rocket soon enough and then Alan could lose himself in the mighty machine. If he was lucky John might even let him sit in the pilot’s seat.
As he entered the hangar Alan found himself blinking. Bright tropical sunshine spilled through the open door, exposing the view of the runway and the ocean beyond.
Once his eyes stopped watering and adjusted to the brightness Alan noticed his brothers and Grandma all gathered round. There, lined up to exit the hanger, was the small two-seater propeller plane that rarely saw the light of day. Probably not since Gordon had turned twelve.
“You didn’t think we would forget would you?” Scott stepped forwards, already kitted out in his blues and holding out one final parcel.
Alan stepped forwards to meet him and accepted the gift. He peeled off the paper almost reverentially, partly because of the significance of the gift and partly because he knew better than to leave litter in the hangar that could get sucked in to aircraft engines.
Hidden underneath the folds of paper was a familiar flash of blue. He shook out the material and held up the small flight suit. The stiff cotton was unblemished and still heavily creased in its newness. He rubbed his thumbs over the material as he held the suit by the shoulders. A patch badge on the breast proclaimed ‘A. TRACY’.
It might not be the high-tech material of his brothers’ uniforms but it was his. A symbol of the next stage of his life. Each brother in turn had been gifted their first flight suit on turning twelve. The significance of the colour was not lost on him. For each of the others the flight suit had been in the traditional green used by the US Air Force. His was sky blue with patches of a slightly darker shade on the knees and elbows. This suit was proof that one day he would be accepted as a Thunderbird. Provided he could actually master flying.
He undid the velco down the front of the suit with a satisfying rip and stepped in. The legs and arms were a little long but it gave him some growing room. Scott knelt down in front of him and folded up the cuffs into a fetching pair of turnups while Alan rolled back the sleeves a couple of turns.
“Can’t have these catching on the controls.” Scott murmured and he stood up, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “You ready?”
Alan could only nod dumbly as Scott led him over the aircraft and helped him in.
The aircraft was rather more basic than anything else in the Tracy fleet. Dual controlled with a simple stick and rudder pedals. It was the perfect trainer plane to learn the principals of flight. Of course it had had a few Tracy upgrades over the years. The instruments were now more in line with those found on the Thunderbirds and the comms unit was able to connect to the secure International Rescue frequencies. The technology was nothing new to Alan who had grown up with a lot of these features as standard but an outsider might have found the juxtaposition between high and low tech to be a touch strange.
“At least you are a bit taller than Gordon was” Scott said as he slotted himself into the second seat by Alan’s side, “Dad had to put him on a booster wedge.”
Alan smirked a little about this piece of ammunition. His next older brother made a big thing about Alan being the baby of the family. Next time Gordon teased about him having homework to do or not being allowed to swim without on of the others present Alan knew just what he would throw back in his fish brother’s face.
Lost in his imaginings of being able to retaliate against Gordon Alan missed that Scott had stared speaking again. Information about pitch, roll and yaw; rudders, flaps and ailerons had passed him by.
“Earth to Alan.”
A hand was waved in front of his face, jerking him back to reality.
“Huh. What was that, Scotty?”
“Wake up, kid. This thing won’t learn to fly itself. I said the stick controls the flaps and ailerons” Scott gave the stick a waggle and Alan watched as sections on the wings and tail moved correspondingly, “and the pedals control the rudder”. Alan turned around and saw the rudder section in the tail swing left and right as the pedals at his feet shifted, mirroring the action caused by Scott manipulating his own pedals. “Now lets get this baby fired up. Just watch what I do for now. You can keep your hands and feet on the controls but make sure you don’t put any pressure on them, just touch them lightly so you can feel what I’m doing.”
Scott’s fingers flew deftly over the various switches in the cockpit. The engine stuttered in to life and the propeller began to turn until it was a near-invisible blur at the front of the plane. A few more switches that Alan recognised as belonging to the radio and they were ready to go.
“Trainerbird One requesting permission to take off”.
John’s hologram popped up in the cockpit showing that he had evidently headed back to the lounge to run comms.
“Trainerbird One you are cleared for take off.”
Alan felt the small aircraft vibrate as Scott increased the power and they slowly rolled forwards towards the hanger doors and the outside world. Soon they were moving at speed towards the end of the runway and Alan was suddenly struck by how short the strip was. Normally he was the passenger section of one of the jets or they used VTOLs. The small training craft gave him an entirely new perspective of the world.
Scott really was a master of all things aeronautical and Alan barely felt them leave the ground despite the most basic component of the Tracy fleet providing little protection against the pull of forces. He kept a fingertip touch on the controls and felt the aircraft turn and dip to Scott’s commands. The ocean glittered below, blending with the crystal clear sky on the distant horizon.
Despite normally piloting the most advanced plane in the world Alan could tell that Scott was enjoying himself too. The small propeller plane was neither fast nor elegant but the primitive controls only served to deepen the connection between man and machine. Every action had a reaction which was fed back to the pilot via the controls. Every gust of wind was felt and needed to be responded to. Pilot and craft needed to work in harmony rather than one assuming control of the other.
“You ok there Alan? Feel ready to take control for a bit?”
Alan looked across at his eldest brother, his eyes shining.
“Really?”
“Sure. Just avoid hitting the island and you’ll be fine. You have control.”
“I have control” Alan responded, parroting the interaction between pilot and co-pilot that he had witnessed so many times previously.
And then he did. Scott’s hands were no longer on the stick but were instead placed neatly in his lap. Alan had no doubt that those same hands would be back on the controls in an instant if anything went wrong but for now the sky was his own.
After a couple of minutes of level flying, circling around the island, Scott looked across at his youngest brother. He could tell that Alan was just itching to try something a little more adventurous.
“Go on, put her through her paces. I’m here if anything goes wrong.”
Alan needed no second bidding. Soon the small plane was dipping and turning. First moving with the wind, then against, as he got a feel for the craft and her abilities. The freedom of the skies was his and he could see why his brothers soon got miserable if they were grounded. Even Gordon, whose natural habitat was in the ocean, was not immune to the lure of the skies and griped if he couldn’t get airborne. His heart soared as he felt the shifting air currents and the pull of the forces as he coaxed the plane through progressively more ambitious and demanding manoeuvres.
All too soon it was time for lesson one to come to an end as Scott took control again with Alan gently feeling the movements required for landing. The short runway rushed up as Scott took the steep approach angle necessitated by their island home. A subtle bump and bounce announced their reconnection with the ground.
Once the craft was still Scott reached out and draped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. In the confined space of the cockpit they had been practically touching for the whole flight and it took no effort at all to turn it in to some semblance of a hug.
“So what did you think, Al? Another lesson tomorrow if rescues allow? You did great up there.”
Alan nodded against his brother’s shoulder, not trusting his voice as an unexpected wave of emotion washed over him.
Scott sensed the younger boy stiffen against him. He looked down and spotted the moisture welling up in Alan’s eyes, the clenched jaw showed just how hard Alan was fighting to stay in control.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Did...did I really do ok?”
“Yeah. I’m proud of you. Dad would have been proud too.”
And that was the tipping point. Alan twisted in the confined space and Scott found himself wrapped in a tight embrace as Alan fully buried his face in the shoulder of Scott’s uniform, sobs wracking his body. Scott rubbed a hand gently up and down the back of Alan’s flight suit, letting Alan have his moment and burn out in his own time.
Soon the moment had passed. With one final sniff Alan pulled himself out of the embrace and suddenly became very interested in the wall of the hanger visible through the side windows of the cockpit.
“I mean it Alan.” Scott spoke to the back of Alan’s head. “Dad would be so proud of you today. I know it’s not the same for you but it was an honour to take you up today. You’re a natural up there.”
Alan turned back to face him, a grin splitting his face.
“So, next time you’re going to take me up in Thunderbird One?”
IRRelief Fic filling prompts from @hodgehegposts @eirabach and @darkestwolfx
Prompts being
Pen and Ink + getting your own back
Any characters – trapped in a lift/elevator
One of the brothers being ticklish
So, it hadn’t been how he had planned to start their romantic weekend away but he was at least grateful that he was there with Penelope.
Even if it was stuck in an elevator half way up to their hotel suite.
The irony was that it was his brothers that had shut off the power, an electrical fire downtown of the hotel requiring their part of the grid to be shut off for the time being. Not that he’d been keeping tabs or anything.
John had told them he wasn’t sure how long it would take, fire crews were busy helping with the blaze, priority on those in immediate danger over the pair of them having a slight delay in the start of their weekend activities. Gordon hadn’t been able to help himself as he’d thrown a sly smile towards Penny, a raised eyebrow had seemed to get the message across as she had shook her head and given him a firm negative response.
Yeah, he supposed it wouldn’t go down too well if someone turned up to rescue them in the middle of that.
“I am so going to get them back for this,” He muttered, tilting his head back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, “Thirty seconds. That was all we needed, and then we could have been up there enjoying our evening.”
“Darling,” Penny sighed, reaching out to touch his arm, “I highly doubt it was intentional on your brothers part.”
He huffed, shaking his head as he folded his arms, “They knew Pen. They knew what getting away this weekend meant and--”
The squeeze of her hand on his arm cut him off, shaking her head at him she smiled, “Darling it’s okay. We’ll get there eventually and catch up on things.”
That was just the problem though, she didn’t understand the importance of that evening. He had been planning it for months, trying ridiculously hard to keep a lid on his plans and keep her in the dark about it all. This was Penelope though, someone who made it her business to know everyone else's business. Keeping a secret for Gordon was hard enough, without having to keep it from the woman he shared everything with.
Tilting her head, she frowned at him slightly, “What was so important about it being this weekend anyway? Parker insisted I rearranged my meeting with the Guide Dogs society.”
Winning Parker over had possibly been the hardest part of the whole endeavour. Buying the elder man’s silence had perhaps been even harder
“Nothing much,” He lied with a shrug, pursing his lips slightly as her hand tightened again on his arm, “Just wanted it to be special at all.”
“Darling, you always were dreadful at lying to me,” She whispered leaning into him, “You’ve been up to something, John told me as much, and you’ve kept it from me.”
Her tone was low, the kind of dangerously quiet murmur that just screamed trouble.
One of her hands reached down to his hip, “I’m going to get my own back for you keeping secrets.”
Oh god. He knew that look, the narrowed eyes with that glint that sparkled in the blues of her iris’. The way her mouth curled up ever so slightly as she leant in and her fingers reached under his shirt just above his hip bones, digging in just enough.
“No!” he begged, unable to help but laugh as he tried to squirm away from her in the limited space, “No! Penny please-- Don--” He broke off in a breathless giggle as she continued to tickle him, her fingers finding all the most sensitive spots to make him writhe.
“Pen!” He gasped, wriggling out of her reach, “Oh come on, that’s just mean, you know how ticklish I am!”
She laughed softly, her smile wide as she watched him, “All the better for getting my own back.”
Righting himself and resuming his position sat up against the mirror, he shook his head. She was evil when it suited her, but god, he loved her for it. A devil and an angel all wrapped up into one.
“I do know, you know?” She murmured as he shuffled back towards her, lifting his arm to rest across her shoulders. Shifting into him, she rested her head against his chest, fitting against him like a piece of a puzzle.
“Know what?” He asked before pressing his lips to her hair, the smell of orchids still fresh and sweet from her shampoo.
“It’s two years today since I saved you.”
She didn’t need to expand, they both knew just what she was referencing. Still, he could help but hold her a little tighter, breathe in the smell of orchids a little deeper.
“Marry me.” He found himself murmuring against her hair, “Lady Penelope Creighton- Ward, would you marry me?”
It hadn’t at all been how he had planned. There was meant to be a dinner and candles, music and moonlight, and a chance to build himself up to asking her perhaps the biggest question of his life.
Somehow though, the way it had come out just seemed right.
Even if it was whilst they were trapped in an elevator.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open as she floundered for words. Gordon could feel his heart in his throat as he waited, praying just to hear a single word.
“That was what all this was about?” She finally choked out, “You--” She caught herself, shaking her head as she smiled, a laugh breaking free, “Of course I will Gordon.”
He had to sigh in relief, sinking back against the wall in relief as she leant in to kiss him. Brief and sweet and purely a tease of what would no doubt come later. He still missed her as she pulled away, her brow creased in thought.
Before she could speak, he shrugged apologetically, “The ring is up in the room, so you’ll have to wait for it I’m afraid.
Her laugh was bright and lit up her whole face, “I wasn’t thinking of that darling. I was thinking how I’m somewhat cross at John for telling me you were up to something.”
He grinned and shrugged, “We’ll get him back next time he’s home. Your brains and my pranks, we’ve got to be a force to be reckoned with.”
She settled back into his side, humming thoughtfully, “I don’t doubt we can come up with something before they come and find us.”
