Id like to do a thunderbirds romance fluff. Im leaning peneople x virgil?? and being pennys plus one for a thig and both are freaking out but still have agood night.
20.in what year did you publish your first fic? 2008. groodgrief. (And it was for corpse bride)
27 your favorite part of the writing process
I love when i can stick in a little joke or refrence in a sencenatce (hey that rymed). even if its just for me. That and i love that feeling where, -and dosnt have to be too big on action,- where you finaly able to connect the dots. The sentace just clicks everything starts linking up and firing up and youve a enjine going rather a bunch of parts scattered about.
hello! I was wondering if you have a link to the video you (?) made which was the vine "you're my dad!! boogie woogie woogie", but with Elrond? for science and good cheer :) thank you!!
Hi there! Do you know how long I've had this - I'd come back to it, read it, want to change the idea, read something that was similar, decide I like it still, decide I hate it still, you know how it goes. I decided it wasn't doing any good sitting in my drafts, so I'm going to share what I have. It's not cohesive, and it was supposed to lead into fluff - Eos learning about how to help the boys after their dreams, but at this stage, it's definitely not there yet. It's a bigger project than I can take on, so... excuses aside - it's angst, sorry.
Characters: John, Eos, Virgil, Gordon
Words 1.3K
Warnings: Brief mention of nightmares
...
Dreamers
There may be no sound in space, but Five was not born from the cosmos.
Made of the Earth and by human hands, she is no less a product of the world below her than her thunderous sisters, and as such the sounds of Five are no less silent than the flurry of activity from the lives below. The mechanical hums, the beeping that accompanies visual cues that monitor the weather, built into macros to sound a different alarm should certain parameters be met. Eos' laugh. The breathing of the human who watches the lives below, awaiting their call, and all the fear and sadness that transmit through the radio when they do.
Up in Five, hushed tones sink into the hums of the mechanisms that surround, as if by being closer to the soundless the words will disappear and the weight of them will drift to the unreachable ends of the Universe.
It's John though, the one who listens, who takes them, holds them. He is a story collector up in Five, a dreamer who knows dreams, and a well-practiced ear when inevitably they can't make it all go away.
His shoulders curve, and his body takes the mumbled words from the comm into his chest. He whispers, "It wasn't real, Virgil. You're on Tracy Island. You're safe."
The man on the other end of the comm heaves, his breath shuddering, and John continues, "You're ok. It wasn't real."
They both look worn, though John carries his turmoil in his shoulders, while Virgil looks to have been slammed by the force of Thunderbird One for all the red of his eyes and the hunch of his back around himself and the tugging of his hair in disarray.
Eos is there and John knows she is watching while he calms his brother down and tries to edge him back into sleep. She understands that this is not a moment for her, as John gestured for her to remain quiet when he picked up the comm. One finger over his lips in a signal she has learned means silence, but coming from John is not hostile. In all the times he used it, he's explained his reasoning after, so she's also added the "I'll explain later" as subtext to the file she has on John Tracy and body language. She hovers on the outside of visual range and listens and waits for instructions.
Which he gives her. Because at precisely three minutes after the start of the call, John realizes that a simple encouragement to go back to sleep will not solve the problem this time. His brother is too worked up.
She receives the message directly, typed out with his fingers on the digital keypad below and sent to her code: Eos, please turn on the tea maker in the kitchen and run for chamomile. 2 servings, 2 sugars.
Happy to be able to help, she does so, thanking the primitive appliance with a spark of energy, while at the same time watching John wrangle Virgil out of bed and encouraging him to walk it off and get some fresh air.
The Virgil on screen bounces as he moves to the kitchen with the comm in his grasp, then clutching an oversized helping of tea, he brings them out with him to the pool deck. And it's there Virgil talks to him until he begins yawning. This time John does a lot more listening.
Virgil ends the call when he is ready.
"What was that?" Eos asks once the comm is closed.
"A bad dream, Eos."
"What is a dream?"
John Tracy has to think about this question. There's the answer he knows, and an answer that will help Eos understand. And those are different things. "When we sleep, we don't shut off all the way,” he says eventually, “ and our mind still creates stories even while we rest. So imagine a dream like a person's background process."
"Why did Virgil Tracy's dreams affect him like that if they were just background processes?"
"He's a vivid dreamer. It means everything in the dream feels as if it's real, and so he woke up with that panicked sense of danger as if he experienced it. Because, for him, he did."
She files this under the sub folder for Virgil Tracy and amends her data for his beverage choice from just coffee to mostly coffee but situationally tea. Theory - related to dreaming. Data inconclusive and more will be needed.
…..
The next time someone calls, it's Gordon. Eos doesn't like Gordon. She's "not fond" of most people except for John, but Gordon Tracy she knows she doesn't like. His eyes aren't serious enough. He causes John Tracy to pinch at the bridge of his nose, an action she doesn't understand yet, but she doesn't like it because it comes with a spike in the human's stress response.
Ergo, Gordon Tracy causes stress.
"You're right about that, Eos," he's told her before. Then on another day - "It's not really his fault. He tends to be a beacon for trouble."
Gordon Tracy is no more a light than she is a moon rock, so she is still trying to understand this statement. John is not usually so contradictory. She understands that this is Gordon's fault.
His processors are not as quick as John's so she's not surprised that when he calls he's silent and locked up like he just got caught in one of her firewalls.
What she doesn't expect is for her creator to suddenly get what she's read as "chatty."It's obvious Gordon has shut off from being able to understand John and yet John talks to him with a speed she hasn't seen out of him before. And even though Gordon doesn't answer the questions or address what John is talking about, John keeps moving from one memory to another.
"Blue," the other man says eventually. "The bike Dad got me was blue."
And that was the question John asked 2.67 seconds ago, and she'd found a picture in her databank of that Christmas and pulled up the response in milliseconds.
"Very good," John says. "You're right, I think. I got a telescope instead of a bike. Do you remember?"
The figure nods, but at least his response is almost immediate that time.
When the call closes, it doesn't seem like much of anything happened at all. Not with how slowly Gordon Tracy was thinking. She mentions it to John. Because she has opinions on better uses to fill his time instead of having Gordon stare at him.
"That's not what it was, Eos. Have you looked for the phrase night terrors before?" She does so after .0009 seconds. "They are dreams, but they take place when the brain is in a different stage of processing."
"Why could he not tell you what was wrong?"
"He couldn't remember," John says. "It's a silent scream. The same fear you've seen Virgil wake up from, but he can't tell me what the dreams are about. That's a feature of them. I have a guess though. It would be like if I erased the last 30 min then asked you to repeat it back."
"But you wouldn't do that would you?" Her lights flash red.
"Of course not, Eos."
"Why does Gordon's brain do that to him?"
"It's just something that happens. He had them as a kid. We used to share a room for a time, when we were growing up and he's called me after an episode ever since. I don't know if it's me talking to him that helps or if he pulls himself out on his own."
This is fascinating information, and a question she plans to answer for John once more data is acquired. Gordon Tracy may prove useful for something yet.
"What is your hypothesis?" she asks, to begin her studies on this matter. John hasn't led her astray yet, and maybe understanding this will help her understand Gordon Tracy.
"Well, the frequency increased after his hydrofoil accident. So my theory is that the terrors send him back there..."
I have quite a few but my favourite is Panromantic Ace Gordon.
Gender isn't something that affects his feelings for someone, guys, gals and enby pals are all cuties in his eyes, he's a hopeless romantic and will smother his partner in love and affection.
I think a few people may have said this before but I think Gordon loves very fully and openly with friends, family and romantic partners, he's also not someone who inherently prioritises romantic relationships over his platonic and familial ones.
5 ･Talk about a fanwork with queer themes that you'd like to make.
Kinda predictable but expanding on the adventures of Gordon and his new sidekick Seasquirt; I was thinking about doing something with them like elder queer helps baby queer figure out their identity.
Also maybe something where they're out and about and Gords gets quite an obvious crush on a barista or something and Squirt is poking a little fun but also hyping him up to ask them out. It turns into a conversion about how crushes are different from being in love which is why he's happy keeping his crush to himself. Squirt doesn't really understand immediately since they're just a kiddo and also aroace. (I mean, I just learnt this recently lol)
18 ･Send me a character and I'll tell you what queer character they'd connect with: Kayo Edition
So... I haven't really consumed many pieces of queer media since I watch more cartoons than anything else and queer rep in cartoons is still quite rare but I think I've got a character for you.
Garnet (Ruby and Sapphire) from Steven Universe
She's a strong, badass fighter who'd take on the Diamond Authority for her loved ones, much like how Kayo takes on the Hood for her family. I think Kayo would also see a lot of herself in the two gems that Garnet represents, the hot headed but loyal Ruby and the Cool and Elegant Sapphire.
■ - Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon for John? :D (although if more takes your fancy please doooo)
YES OKAY OKAY SO
On Thunderbird 5, I definitely think John's room is 95% practicality and 5% entertainment and family mementos. Purely for the fact that it is, in fact, still a space station, his room is entirely for the function of sleep and the very occasional moment to himself
His room on Tracy Island, though? All of his stuff is beautifully organised in stacks of battered old books with notes and papers stuck on them and sticking out; a shelf of random knick-knacks: a well-work Rubik's cube, a small newton's cradle, and other assorted items from childhood and well into adulthood.
The walls are a dusty blue, but there's one wall painted with black-chalk paint and WAY too many left-over equations and thoughts on it to make any sense of it, especially when his mind is still addled by the adjustment to gravity.
His walls are stuffed with shelves overstuffed with books, but these ones are collections of science fiction and other novels he adores.
There are, of course, star maps on the walls, and the star category "periodic table", the HR diagram and the 100 year anniversary poster of the moon landing.
Of course, all of this would be covered with some thin-to-visibly-noticeable dust, if it wasn't for Grandma Tracy who comes in and dusts every now and then, to make sure that when John does eventually make his way back to earth, he has clean sheets and a room he can breath in
*hugs* hope work goes okay 💕 Go on then, tell us about Virg (#1)
What do I like most about my favourite character?
Hmmm, Virgil is an outlier in my history of favourite characters. I usually go for the leader types like Jim Kirk or Jack O'Neill, but for some reason Virgil grabbed my brain and ran off with it.
And I'm happy he did :D
One of my basic requirements for a hero is a moral code. They have to be good, really good. I'm not a fan of villains or antiheroes. Call me square, cos I am, but the guys I follow have to have their heart in the right place.
While this can be said about all the Tracy boys, there is something about Virgil that is just good, kind, smart, calm, and safe. He is confident (except around Kip Harris, apparently :D) and good at what he does. He's dependable, arty, gentle, and ever so caring.
Yes, I've lost the plot.
But let's face it, he's just a good guy all round :D
By and from @onereyofstarlight for @such-a-random-rambler
Merry Christmas <3 I hope you enjoy the read and have a great day with your loved one!
Huge thanks to the various people who cheered me on and especially @gumnut-logic who was very very patient with me in those last days ><
I did give John a bit of a food sensitivity so warning for a vomiting-adjacent situation about halfway through.
I used the prompts "soup" and "second chances".
---
John wanted his dad.
He shivered, pulling the duvet tight around his shoulders as he silently debated the merits of dragging himself from the bed to go and find Scott.
He knew Scott wouldn’t leave him like this. Knew also that he’d want to know. But he couldn’t quite see straight, couldn’t fight against the force of his own weight even if he wanted too.
And Scott might be trying, more than any of their brothers realised, but he still wasn’t Dad. He wasn’t the one who’d called in to the office to work from home when John hadn’t been able to go to school. He wasn’t the one who put on foreign films, leaving off the sound so he could tell John his own version of the story. He wasn’t the one who’d changed sheets or felt his forehead or made soup.
That had always been Dad. Always.
And now he wasn’t here.
John rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, desperately trying to hold back the sob that was wrenching through him. It burned in his chest, as painfully hot as the rest of his skin, and he threw off all the sheet and blankets only for the freezing air to nip at his sweat-soaked skin, forcing him to burrow under them once again.
Maybe he didn’t really feel that terribly, maybe this was just all that grief he’d been shoving down up on Five while Scott and Virgil held together the remainder of their dad’s legacy.
A sharp, quick knock on the door penetrated his muddled thoughts, and faintly he could hear someone calling his name.
He groaned in response, still not sure if he was trying to say ‘leave me alone’ or ‘for the love of God, someone get Da– Scott’.
“Hey, John – woah, John.”
John batted away the hands instinctively reaching for him and pulled the duvet over his head.
“John, let me help.”
“No,” he said in a muffled voice with as much force as he could muster. “I’m dying, go away.”
He lost the tug-of-war in seconds, and the voice gasped as its owner got a good look at him with his flushed cheeks, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes that were too bright from fever and still red from crying.
Gordon peered down at him, clumsy teenaged hands checking his temperature and gently pressing against his swollen lymph nodes.
“Ow,” he croaked.
“I’m getting Scott,” he said and bolted from the room.
John didn’t say anything, letting his mind drift away in a haze of relief and exhaustion.
***
John blinked blearily as he peered into the light, squinting as Scott fell into view.
“Thank goodness,” he muttered. “Only you.”
Scott leaned forward, his hand reaching out and brushing damp hair from his brother’s forehead. John shuddered and pulled away from the touch, too hot and too cold and too much and not enough all at once.
Scott’s shoulders slumped and his arm fell, straightening the covers instead.
“Only me,” he agreed. “What happened?”
“Probably Alan.”
Scott sighed, shaking his head and looking nearly as unhappy as John felt.
“I should never have let you stay with him.”
“What exactly would you have changed?”
He looked away.
Back-to-back rescues had taken out the rest of them and John – who could solve differential equations in his head while gathering data and crafting models for three separate rescues at a time and who could still catch Gordon sneaking up on him without missing a step – he had come down from Five to run comms and care for their youngest brother in his place.
Scott hated it.
Leaving his brothers to suffer even through a relatively minor illness wasn’t in his nature, and he hated to see the way Alan tossed and turned through restless nights and fever dreams, John’s fingers running through his hair until his fever finally broke and he curled up in his brother’s lap in peaceful sleep.
And now it was John.
There was nothing else they could have done, but it didn’t mean the situation didn’t suck.
“You doing okay?”
“You mean aside from–”
“I mean without Dad.”
John froze.
“What do you mean?”
“You know. You were hardly ever sick as a kid, but don’t think I don’t remember.”
John sagged, sinking under the weight of a year’s worth of grief.
“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly, the old ache starting to burn again. He breathed in slowly, hating the way it shook and the way it had been a year and he was still stuck in the past and couldn’t move on. Hating the way physical fragility tore through his emotional resilience like it were armour made from paper.
“Can I do anything to help? I could find a movie?”
“No, don’t.”
John couldn’t bear to see Scott doctored into his memories, taking over the places where their dad belonged. He guarded each one closely, fearful that if he didn’t treasure them, they’d become lost for good. He’d already lost too many of his mom.
Scott nodded.
“I’ll make soup for lunch. Dad’s specialty.”
And John wanted to say no, to keep that memory too, but there was a compromise to all of this and he’d give up the soup if he could keep the stories. Mustering the energy for an argument felt impossible and although he wanted Scott to know, he was still working on how it felt to have him here.
It would take too many steps to explain and John didn’t really need Scott, not like Alan needed him, so his lips just quirked in the kind of exhausted smile that his dad would have seen and known to pull him close despite the ache deep in his bones, a stack of books already in reach.
“Sure thing.”
Scott couldn’t see what his dad always did, so he only looked relieved that John wasn’t going to fight him before he sidled out of the room, leaving John alone to pull up the list of audiobooks on the holo that he’d saved over the years.
He scrolled for a time, past the journal articles he’s saved for when he has time, past the texts he’d devoured in university, past the science fiction and the action that had occupied his teen years – that he still listened to on quiet nights – down and down, all the way to the very first book.
An Earthman Goes to Mars
He closed his eyes, not interested in the floating illustrations of red skies and red dirt from a planet he’ll never call home.
He just wanted to listen as his father’s voice read to him again.
***
“But why not?” whined Alan, tugged at Scott’s sleeve.
“Because I said so.”
“But John’s all alone in there.”
“Exactly, he wants some quiet right now.”
“But if he’s sick then he needs cheering up.”
“Maybe. But not right now.”
Not right ever, was what he was thinking, but Scott didn’t feel too badly about the slight obfuscation. He was busy peering at the cramped handwriting on the recipe card, not wanting to miss a single step or be away from John longer than he had to.
The soup was the only recipe Jeff had ever mastered, and none of them knew exactly how it had come about. All they knew was when they were sick, no matter the season, they got Dad’s soup, careful heated from a can with a few fresh ingredients and a whole lot of love thrown in. Scott had gotten pretty good at making it over the last year, what with Alan and Gordon bringing back every bug on the planet whenever they came back from visiting their friends.
Still, it had to be perfect; John was a fussy eater at the best of times growing up, and he wasn’t adventurous with his meals even as an adult, despite all the assurances Scott had overheard being passed between his parents as they got older. He still picked apart salads to eat each component separately – and that was a vast improvement on the flat refusal of childhood.
Somehow, that all fell away when it came to Dad’s soup. He wouldn’t eat anything else when he was sick, complaining that toast and bagels – the usual staples – tasted like cardboard, eggs were too rubbery, and the smell of burger patties cooking on the barbeque made him gag.
No pressure.
Scott stirred the pot and glared at it, willing the concoction to get a move on already. Logically, he knew John would be fine without him, was probably being a much better place than he himself ever was, but still the wait rankled at him. He’d feel a lot better if he were there with John, even if it was just sitting quietly next to him while his brother slept it off.
Finally, the simmering liquid thickened and he switched the element off and grabbed a bowl.
“How is he?” asked Gordon, leaning against the doorframe.
Scott looked up from the drawer where he was searching for a ladle.
“He’ll be okay.”
Gordon nodded and crept forward looking hopeful.
“Is there enough for leftovers?”
“No. Make your own lunch, I’ve got to get this to John.”
“Tell him to get well soon, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Scott hurried back to the bedroom and paused at the door, listening carefully for John’s soft snuffling snores. Instead, he could hear a vice, low and rumbling and familiar.
Achingly familiar, he realised as the cadence plucked at his memories. It was Dad.
Scott closed his eyes, placing the tray down while he stilled his shaking hands. He shouldn’t be surprised that John had recordings, nor that he was listening to them at this moment when he needed the comfort that he’d only received from Dad in the past.
Scott knew that he was going to open that door and the ghost of his father would disappear. He didn’t think it was so wrong to wait for a few more heartbeats and pretend that it really was him, that beyond all hopes and expectations he was still here. But then there was the soup, gentle tendrils of steam reminding him that, just like a memory, time slipped away and it would all grow cold if he just stood there and waited.
He nudged open the door with his foot and stepped inside.
John barely glanced at him, curled tightly in a ball and shivering.
“Aw, hell Johnny,” said Scott, balancing the tray atop the precarious piles of clutter strewn across John’s desk.
“If that spills on my processer, I’ll kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” said Scott. “Bunch over, let me help you get up.”
“Don’t touch me.”
Scott only raised an eyebrow and began to extract John from the burrito grip of his blankets.
“You know you’ll feel better, don’t be dense.”
“I’m not dense.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not light either,” he muttered. “Come on John, give me something to work with here.”
John groaned and pulled his arms out from the covers and began to shimmy further up the bed.
Scott seized his chance in an instant. He wrapped an arm under John’s shoulders, hauling him up the rest of the way and grimacing at the way his shirt stuck to his back. John shrugged him off, leaning back against the headboard and panting slightly from the exertion. His cheeks were flushed and Scott paused to examine his charge.
“Come on, you need nutrients.”
“I don’t care. I’m done.”
Scott ignored him.
“Can I turn this off?”
Their Dad was still calmly reading over them, failing to notice that for the first time neither of his sons were paying much attention.
“I don’t…” he trailed off sounding unsure. “It’s nice. Like he’s still here.”
Because, of course, he wasn’t here.
Scott swallowed carefully past the lump in his throat.
“I’m sorry I can’t be him.”
John’s gaze sharpened.
“Don’t be, Scott. You’re my brother. You shouldn’t keep that hanging over you, that’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this is fair.”
He held John’s eyes steadily. He knew it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he was gone, it wasn’t fair that he’d left behind a crack in their family. They were still trying to fill in all the gaps, and it looked like Scott had found another one.
“I can’t be him,” he repeated. “But you need us with you in his place. Will you let us do that?”
“Us?”
“Alan wants to see you. Gordon’s not saying it but you scared him. Virgil and Kayo will respect your wishes, but I don’t want you to say no just because that’s what you did with Dad.”
John shook his head with pursed lips and hugged his arms tightly around his torso.
“The soup’s getting cold,” he said by way of deflection.
Scott rolled his eyes, but didn’t press the point, instead reaching over and placing the tray on John’s lap.
“Got it?”
“I know how to feed myself, Scott.”
“Yeah, but you’re all weak and frail now.”
“Watch it, I’ll go back to Five.”
“You can’t even use a spoon – you think you’ll get past me? Past Virgil? Past Grandma?”
“I’m sneaky.”
“Let’s see that spoon action first.”
John glared at him, lifting said utensil slowly and deliberately to his mouth. Scott pretended not to see the slight shake in his motion. There would be time enough for that argument as the illness progressed.
It was still a relief when he didn’t need to intervene and it was Scott’s work, so he could be forgiven for the look of pride he expected to share with John instead of seeing the frozen expression of disgust that turned down the edges of his mouth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
“John?” said Scott, leaping up in alarm.
John gagged around the spoon, doubling over as Scott grabbed at the teetering bowl and lifted it up and out of harm’s way. He reached out, rubbing soothing circles across his brother’s back as he spat the soup back into the bowl, retching in an involuntary effort to get it out, gone, anywhere but his taste buds.
John threw back the covers, arms already shaking with effort as he struggled to get out of the bed and bolt for the bathroom.
“Stay there,” snapped Scott. “What do you need?”
“Water,” John said indistinctly, trying not to let his tongue and lips connect.
Water. Scott could do that, and fast, because in addition to looking completely miserable, John appeared to be approximately thirty seconds from throwing up.
“Here,” he said, thrusting the glass in his face.
John grabbed it and Scott said nothing, only glumly stared at the bowl of soup sitting on John’s bedside table. He didn’t understand it, he’d followed the recipe to the letter, and it had worked so well for everyone else.
A few minutes later John stilled. He didn’t look up, his hair hanging loose like a curtain drawn across his face. His breathing was irregular, the odd hiccups of overwhelmed emotion punctuating his quiet gasps for air, but he didn’t say a word.
“John?” Scott ventured, placing a hand on one shoulder.
The contact shattered the frozen image and John surged forward, wrapping his arms around his brother and to Scott’s horror, he was crying.
“It’s okay, John, I can make it again,” he said, wiping the mess of tears and sweat from his brother’s face as it struck him that John might technically be an adult, but he was still only eighteen and fatherless and sick and nothing would ever be the same for him again.
“No, you can’t,” sobbed John. “Because he’s gone and if you don’t have the recipe, no-one does.”
Scott grips him tighter and closer and wishing for a father he knows won’t walk through the door, and hating the way it took a year and a fever to get John to break and share his grief.
Because it’s not about the soup.
But Scott can’t fix that either.
Eight years later…
“Does he think he’s fooling us?” asked Jeff quietly, one eyebrow raised as he watched the holo.
John broke off mid-sentence, not seeming to notice the looks of grim concern Scott and Virgil sent each other as he scrubbed at his eyes.
Gordon snorted and folded his arms across his chest.
“Wilful ignorance. Trust me, Virgil’s monitoring for any reason to slam him into medical leave any second. The real trick is getting past the code – he’s sick, but he’s still a tricky bastard about it. Nearly gave us all a heart attack when he collapsed while running dispatch, what, five, six years ago?”
“Why hasn’t he come down?”
Alan scowled.
“He’s an idiot.”
“He can hear you,” snapped John. “I’m fine, it’s just a cold. What’s not fine is the airship that has two malfunctioning engines, ten people unable to reach the evacuation point, and a current crash trajectory centred on a city of two hundred thousand more.”
“John, I really think you shoul–”
“Virgil, you’re needed in Georgia,” John interrupted. “In fact, you’re all needed, stop fussing and get moving.”
“You should still rest John,” began Jeff, but his son only shut down the comms with a slashing motion.
“See?” said Alan. “Idiot.”
“How’s he really, Virgil?” asked Scott. “Quick overview, do I need to stay behind?”
“Worsening but still within the agreed parameters. And we need you, this is a big one.”
“I could stay behind,” said Alan. “I can run dispatch for him, you know I can.”
“We still need to get him to admit he’s sick.”
“What we need,” said Gordon, “is for him to stop hiding away on Five because he thinks the only reason to not be there is if he’s actively dying.”
Silence fell in the room.
Jeff looked between his sons.
Gordon was glaring at the space where John had been, frustration needled by old wounds of rejection when he only wanted to help.
Virgil’s jaw was clenched tight and, although he gave over no indication of the emotion, Jeff knew he was more upset than he was letting on.
Alan chewed on his lower lip, still used to deferring to Scott’s judgement.
And Scott – Scott looked stricken, devastated although he’d never admit it. He’d never managed to convince John to let them in when he was sick, counted it as a personal failing against his tenure of leadership.
Jeff knew differently.
“Boys, you need to go now.” said Jeff firmly. “Those people need you. I will handle John.”
They all nodded, and Jeff watched the worry and frustration shift seamlessly into professional determination, wondering at the men they had created themselves to be.
“Scott, wait a moment.”
He balked, then nodded, waiting silently next to his father while his brothers hurried to the hangar far below their feet.
“What do you need, Dad?” he asked as soon as the lounge room was free of listening ears. “I hate to admit it but John and Virgil are right, I can’t stay if it’s not an emergency.”
“Thunderbird One is plenty fast enough. You’ll make it well before the others. This is important.”
Scott sighed.
“John?”
“Tell me.”
“Not much to tell,” he said with a shrug. “John’s John. Never came done willingly, wouldn’t eat, didn’t want any of us around.”
He sighed.
“I tried, Dad, I promise I did. First time he got sick after you… left, I thought it was going to be okay. I mean it sucked but he listened to that dumb story you narrated back when we were kids and we talked and it should have been fine. I thought it helped.
His head was hanging low, the memory of what came next still gnawing at his gut.
“I guess not though. Didn’t speak to me for a week after he got better. He was always touchy about getting sick, you remember.”
Jeff looked at him.
“What I remember is a little boy who never learnt what it meant to need help, let alone how to ask for it, until he was well into his teen years, and who felt completely overwhelmed. Being sick isn’t easy to begin with, but imagine how much you hate it, and then remember that your brother has always found regulating his reactions to things outside of his control extraordinarily challenging.”
“Oh,” said Scott, cringing away and staring down at his feet. “He never told me that.”
Jeff sighed and placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder.
“No,” he said gently, “he wouldn’t. He probably assumed you knew.”
“Was that why you always kicked us out?”
“He needed some space. Four brothers are a lot for anyone.”
“Well, I tried that and look where it got us!”
“I’m not blaming you, Scott,” said Jeff. “John might have a hard time with it, but he still has to tell you what he needs. He can’t expect you to be mind readers.”
He squinted suspiciously.
“Unless that’s another change I’ve missed.”
Scott chuckled.
“Not yet at least. We’ll hook you up when Brains finishes the prototype.”
“Hmmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Go on, now, you’ve got a flight to catch.”
“FAB, Dad.”
Jeff watched the light showing Scott’s position as he hurtled down the chute towards his beloved ‘bird, before turning towards the kitchen.
He had a few things he needed prepare before his trip into space.
***
She didn’t say a word. Hadn’t, not for a long time, not since the first time when she’d worried and fussed and he’d put up with it until he couldn’t and she was locked out and whining in Virgil’s ear. They’d made a pact that night, he and her and so now she watched and Virgil waited and together they would make the call.
“EOS, calculate change in YPR angles and predict new crash zone.”
“Crash zone is now 41° 42’ N and 40° 36’ E. Error tolerance of 0.05%.”
The barest energy expense for her was seeming to take a colossal amount from him. She had seen him do those calculations a number of times, always checking the work he set her against his own organic brain. He’d laughed when she pointed out the futility, citing the need for trivial problems to keep things interesting.
“That’s still 2000 square kilometres,” he said slowly. “Isn’t it?”
Now, she just wondered how he was staying upright.
“Uncertainty is dropping as the craft continues to fall.”
“Fine. Everyone off?”
“Affirmative.”
“Tell Thunderbird Two to get in position.”
“FAB, John.”
She didn’t mention he’s already run through these calculations and she relayed them to Virgil nearly ten minutes ago.
It was for this reason, and this reason only, that she didn’t draw his attention to the rising elevator. Instead, she silenced the alert herself and waits for Jeff Tracy’s arrival.
Not that he would have noticed either way. Now that the danger had passed, John wasn’t paying attention to much, curled in a ball and floating listlessly as they fall in orbit. Each cough sent him spinning and she could see the exhaustion creeping over his body.
She captured the next transmission before it played and followed it back down to Thunderbird One.
“John can’t answer now.”
Scott swore violently, jerking back at her response.
Distantly, she could hear the laughter of Gordon and Alan over the open comm line, while Virgil snapped at them.
“What do you mean ‘can’t’, where is he?”
She swivelled her camera, watching him as he sneezed and searched blearily for the packet of tissues he’d brought with him. In freefall, they’d floated away while he wasn’t looking and she could see the irritation in his expression as he sniffed thickly.
“His concentration metrics have fallen below agreed parameters and his temperature is elevated by 0.6°C above his mean. Despite sleeping thirty percent longer than usual for the past four nights, he is not recovering.”
She paused, still watching.
“He is not being honest with you. And although I have done nothing to hide it, he has not realised we are having this conversation.”
“Damn it, John,” said Scott angrily, beginning to pull up the biometric markers. “Why didn’t these go off earlier.
“They are programmed to remain silent during missions.”
“Since when?”
“Since the last time you aborted a mission to return to John when he was experiencing minor symptoms.”
EOS waited, but the cockpit was silent. She ploughed ahead.
“Your father is on his way to him now.”
Scott exhaled steadily, releasing carbon dioxide, water vapour, and a couple litres of anxiety.
“Okay, fine EOS, that’s – look, thanks for the update. Sign him off, would you, it’s just clean-up now and we don’t need him for that.”
“FAB Scott.”
The transmission ended and she retreated, watching John quietly as she counted down the seconds until Jeff Tracy made contact.
***
John groaned, pressing the heels of each hand into his eyes, wondering if it was too late to drill a hole in his skull and be done with it.
He’d heard people used to do that, once upon a time, working to relieve the pressure that had ballooned over the last seven hours.
His head felt full of congestion, each sound reverberated in his blocked ears and he didn’t need to look in a mirror to know his nose was growing as red as his hair – every swipe of a tissue was like sandpaper scraping against his skin.
He couldn’t remember what it was like to breathe normally and he was starting to get a sinking feeling that the cold he’d been systematically dismissing for the last three days was about to body slam him into submission.
Idly, he wondered why EOS had gotten so quiet. She wasn’t nearby either which was strange. Maybe, he thought, that was a sign that he wasn’t so sick after all. Just like he’d told his family. Never mind the cover of code he’d slathered across the projection, never mind the voice modulation, and never mind the constant tickling in his throat.
If EOS wasn’t hovering, he must be fine.
Without warning, the gravity ring began to spin beneath him, the motion nearly imperceptible as he gazed out at the stars falling past Thunderbird Five as she swung through the Earth’s shadow. He could hear in her tune that when he pushed himself gently forward he wouldn’t be getting back up off that floor.
Better to float for a while longer.
His eyes drifted closed.
A strange thumping punctured the drone of the motors, the sound clashing against the familiar hum.
“John?”
He knew that voice, still heard it in his dreams, and maybe now he was sleeping, he thought, until two solid hands grabbed at his shoulders and his eyes flew open as he gasped in shock.
Only to collapse into a muddled heap on the floor at the feet of his very real and very alive father, and had he really forgotten that, but it hardly mattered because he was coughing and spluttering and oh God, that meant they all knew, didn’t they?
“Hey, now, you’re okay,” said Jeff, slipping an arm under John’s torso and hoisting him upright. “Keep breathing, it’ll pass.”
It didn’t feel like it would. It felt like betrayal, to wheeze over words he couldn’t say and not being able to catch his own breath.
He clung to his father’s arm, something real, and then it did pass and he was wiping away congested tears and breathing recycled air on the edge of space.
“How’d you know?”
“You’re a terrible liar, John,” Jeff said, indicating upwards, “and I had some help.”
“John,” chimed EOS anxiously running back and forth along her rail. “The probability of your continued stay on Thunderbird Five was decreasing. The energy output you have exhibited was steadily dropping. I was…”
“Worried,” said John, tiredly, still gripping his father’s arm for support. “You were worried. Like anxious, fear, concern.”
Jeff ran a hand over his forehead.
“I know what you’re doing, Dad,” said John, squirming away from him. “Don’t tell me that EOS wasn’t feeding you every biometric she has access to.”
He glared up at EOS and her camera array drooped faintly.
“Had access to.”
“I’m glad she did,” Jeff said. “But you know I still like to check these things the old-fashioned way.”
He made no move towards John, who sat with his arms around his knees, still prickly and hostile from EOS’s perceived betrayal. He sighed internally, making certain that the gentle smile never wavered from his face. He had thrown around a lot of confidence while Scott was watching, but truthfully, he wasn’t sure he would have any more success than his sons.
John sneezed, ducking his head behind his knees and the resulting image of him looking mildly dazed and confused as he looked up could have been a mirror to the memories in Jeff’s head.
Eight years was a long time and John wasn’t a child anymore.
***
They sat together on the floor for a long time, longer than Scott would have let him – or Virgil, for that matter. John could tell EOS didn’t like it, observing them without a word as she oscillated back and forth along the rail. A faint whirr betrayed her though and John could tell she was computing constant comparisons with all available data.
Probably transmitting it back to Tracy Island too.
Snitch.
His dad wasn’t saying much either, wasn’t even looking at him and only breaking the silence to bless each sneeze and cough that ripped through him.
They’d need to move soon with supplies starting to run low and used tissues tumbling from the neat pile he’d made, but he wanted to delay the conversation he knew was coming.
He wasn’t sure how they did this anymore.
John shuffled closer.
“Um.”
The sound hung between then and his dad looked up, expression inscrutable.
EOS seized the opportunity to interrupt.
“John, you have only five tissues remaining in your packet.”
Her camera array swivelled around to stare at Jeff.
“Did you know that?”
“I wasn’t counting.”
“Hmph.”
Another faint whirr and John groaned.
“EOS stop evaluating him, that’s not how this works.
“I am determining the most appropriate person for your care; logically, this is who should oversee your recovery.”
Her lights flashed.
“He isn’t doing a good job. You are shivering, your breathing is getting worse, and you have been lying on a hard floor for the past twenty minutes.”
“It doesn’t matter, EOS!”
“Yes, it does! Virgil would never–”
“And I don’t want Virgil, I only want him.”
Jeff looked over at him in surprise.
“You do?”
John slumped.
“I mean… I love Virgil, I do. But he never listened to me. None of them did.”
“How did you ask them to stop?”
“I…”
John had no reply. He knew he wasn’t being fair, that his brothers have only ever wanted to help. He wished his brain wasn’t so sluggish so he could play the game properly but, when simply put, he just didn’t have the energy.
Jeff sighed and pulled himself to his feet.
“Come on, then.”
“‘M tired.”
“Your friend is right – you need a bed and not a floor. And we need to talk.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
It’s not quite a statement of desire, but he needs this assurance, needs to establish the lines of trust between them before the battlelines were drawn.
“I won’t force you,” said Jeff, and it’s not a yet a truce, only a promise that John will hold him to and it’s the best he can give.
John grabbed his outstretched hand.
One step in front of the other, leaning on his dad to guide him, until together they made it to the small room John called his own.
“They’ve gotten bigger since I was in space,” said Jeff, with a soft smile.
He looked around curiously, eyes catching the digital frames built into the walls but his attention was brought back to his son as he doubled over in another coughing fit.
John said nothing as he felt his dad’s arms wrap around him, couldn’t protest but didn’t really want to, shaking with the effort to breathe through the spasms.
“Thanks Dad,” he whispered, not looking at him.
Jeff patted his shoulder and sat down heavily in the chair by John’s desk.
“Go sort yourself out then. Call out if you need me.”
John went meekly, exhaustion creeping over him with every step.
When he returned, his second skin swapped for soft flannel, he found EOS and Jeff deep in conversation.
She spun around when he entered, lights green with approval.
“Much better, Jeff Tracy. This will improve your final score.”
“EOS,” said John with a dark warning colouring his voice, but the effect was lost as he stood there in pyjamas, hair askew and a chapped, red nose.
Jeff only laughed.
“She’s fine,” he said fondly. “I’m glad someone’s looking out for you up here.”
“You should be in bed,” she said, immediately proving his statement correct.
John scowled but didn’t argue. He knew any case he tried to make would be weaker than Fischler’s claim to get space rated.
Jeff watched as John climbed under the thin covers, rubbing the edge of the blanket between his fingers.
“Right, I’m in bed,” said John, still rolling his eyes at EOS. “What next?”
“Now,” said Jeff, “why don’t you let me read you a story? For old times’ sake?”
John blinked.
“Uh, yeah, okay.”
Jeff smiled, squeezing John’s shoulder as he opened the book and began to read. He could tell that John wasn’t really listening, lost in his own thoughts against the backdrop of his voice, but then again, the story had never been the point.
“Do you think I’m difficult?” he asked suddenly.
Jeff paused.
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s just something Gordon said.”
“I didn’t think you made a habit of listening to Gordon’s opinion.”
“Yeah, well… it stuck. I know I don’t make it easy when I’m like this.”
Jeff lay the tablet down on his lap thoughtfully.
“Do you think it could be easier?”
“It used to be okay. Not easy, but okay. You know before we lost you.”
He sighed.
“I should have told them I was missing you. And that I needed some space.”
“Yes, you should have,” said Jeff. “They would have understood.”
“I did try,” said John, a pleading look on his face. “That’s why I stayed away; this is the place we made together. And it didn’t feel fair to make everyone tiptoe around me when I could just stay here.”
“So instead, you just chose not to tell them? How was that fair?”
EOS beeped quietly and they both looked at her.
“John, your brothers are worried about you,” she said. “They asked me to pass on a message.”
He nodded and a recorded holo began to play.
“Hey, John,” said Scott, looking awkwardly over top of the camera.
“Not like that,” hissed Alan’s voice.
“Yeah, Scotty, he’ll think we don’t want him back.”
“Shut up Gordon, of course we do,” said Scott, glaring at him. He turned and looked directly at the camera. “Honest, John, we really miss you.”
“We wanted to say sorry for being pushy all those years,” said Virgil, and the camera swung towards him. “Scott told us – well I guess Dad told him so don’t give him too much credit.”
“The point is, John,” said Gordon, grabbing the camera and waving into it. “We don’t mind being quiet and stuff when you’re around. Virg’s room is soundproof, we can crash in there.”
“You will not!”
Alan flipped the camera around and beamed down into it.
“Well, that was all, we just wanted to say we hope you get well soon. Come see us when you feel up to it.”
“Yeah, and call us if you need anything,” said Scott. “Anything, you hear?”
“We even told EOS not share this until you felt up to it,” said Gordon earnestly.
“And take care of Dad too,” said Virgil. “He’s as stubborn as you are.”
A chorus of goodbyes and good-natured elbowing brought the holo to a close.
“Thank you, EOS,” said John. “That, that helped.”
He looked up at her.
“You can tell them if you like. They should… they should know, right?”
“Seems only fair to me,” said Jeff.
John nodded and yawned.
“I think I’m done,” he admitted. “Will you stay?”
“If you need me to.”
“I don’t,” said John, drowsily. “But I want you to.”
Scott and Ned Tedford (because I was thinking of you when I added Ned lol)
Scott: Do you prefer to follow the advice of others or to forge your own path?
A bit of both, although one thing I definitely am is stubborn, so however I arrived at my thought process, you're not going to change it very easily!
Ned Tedford: What’s your favourite type of flowers?
Amused that you associated me with Ned, ahaha! I gotta say, though, I'm not really a flower girl. I mean, flowers are nice, and cacti are fun and spiky, but I couldn't actually name a particular type I would consider my favourite.
