I still appear to be stuck on a Hands theme, might be obsessed. @gumnut-logic tell me I'm not the only one?!
This doesn't really go anywhere, but hey! I also seem to be stuck in a Gordon Virgil rut, but I honestly don't care. FishTank banter all the way.
Cold hands Warms heart
John had always had cold hands, even before prolonged time in space had done a number on his circulation. His mother had always reminded him of the old saying “cold hands, warm heart”, which he thought was a nice thing to say, but the evidence did not stack up. Virgil always had warm hands, always. John was reminded of this as he stepped into the cockpit of Thunderbird 2, stamping his feet to try and get some warmth back into his extremities. He had been helping Gordon and Virgil on a North Sea rescue where an extra person was needed to help evacuate an oil rig. It was strange to be in the thick of the banter rather than observing it through the safe barrier of technology. Every now and again he found his eyes darting around to read holographic displays that were usually always at the edge of his vision, things like heart rates and wind speeds, and he was ashamed to admit that he felt a little naked without this protective layer of data. However the strangest things right now was the sight that was being enacted between his two brothers. Gordon and Virgil were standing facing each other, Virgil had both of Gordons hands squashed flat between his two flat palms, as if in prayer, while Gordon did a little dance from foot to foot, clearly also cold to the bone.
John stopped on the threshold for a second longer before deciding that since they were his ride home he might as well face whatever this was head on.
“Oh no Virgil, if you’re resorting to prayer, does that mean Gordons flying home?”
“Oh har har! I’m warming my hands up. The mans like a furnace, haven't you ever noticed? Don't ever get him to hold your icecream for you - voice of experience” with this Gordon, pulled his hand out, grabbed one of Virgil's wrists and thrust it in John's direction. “Here! See!”
I am well aware of Virgil's core temperature range, thank you.” he raised his own palms up in defense and edged around the pair to get to the passenger seats.
Virgil took back his hands and went to stow away something in the storage compartments at the back of the cockpit
“Anyway, you know it's more efficient to warm your hands by tucking them under your arms, it's closer to your core” even as he said it John realised his mistake. He could see a mischievous glint in Gordons eye from the other side of the cockpit. He watched with trepidation as Gordon stopped his little dance, straightened up and clapped his hands together once. Then, quick as a flash, Gordon spun on his heels and, as stealthy as a ninja, tip-toed up behind Virgil who was oblivious to the ambush as he continued his investigation of the storage compartment. John watched as Gordon brought his hands together mimicking the earlier moment of prayer, then slowly moved his arms out to the width of his brothers back, almost as if measuring him for a suit. He held this position for one split second before, with surgical precision, ramming his hands, fingers first, under Virgil's arms to nestle in his armpits. What followed was a surprisingly shrill startled squawk from the glorified hand warmer as he clapped his elbows into his sides in shock. That was quickly accompanied by a yelp from the now squashed chilly ninja assailant.
"What ARE you doing?!"
"Warming my hands" the ‘duh’ was left unsaid but most definitely implied. “John told me to do it.” he deflected.
“I did no such thing, and you know it” he was using his space monitor voice coupled with a medium strength glare.
“Well could you not? Get off!” Virgil shimmied his arms to try and dislodge the unwelcome attachment.
“Gladly.” Gordon removed his hands with a flourish. “John you never said it would be all sweaty”. Johns only response was a mid level eye roll, he was trying not to get pulled into this.
“Bit personal, Gords.” retorted the now abandoned warmer. “I guess you won't be wanting these then?” Virgil pulled out the items he had been hunting for before the invasive attack. In his hands he had a pile of heat packs and two fleece blankets with Tracy Industries logos stitched on ( left over from that year that Gordon was involved in the marketing budgets, strangely it was an experiment that was never repeated.)
“Awwh, you're the best brother, did I ever mention that? Definitely top 5” Gordon gushed and swept the assorted swag into his arms.
“Gordon you only have 4 brothers” john pointed dryly
“Yeah, but surely I deserve an honorable mention too” Gordon was now arranging himself in a blanket/heat pack nest in the copilots seat, devoting a lot of attention to making sure the blanket tucked all the way around his back and covered both legs. John made do with wearing his like a cape and sitting on his hands to warm them up.
Virgil looked across from the pilots seat to his two blanket clad brothers. “It looks like a day trip out for the pensioners in here, next thing one of you will be pulling out a bag of mints and photos of your grandkids.”
Gordon suddenly dived into his folds of blanket with alarming alacrity “not quite but I can offer you a slightly squashed box of mint Poppets and some pictures of Alan asleep with a beer mat on his face” he rattled the soggy cardboard box in what they assumed he thought was an enticing manner.
Shockingly nobody took him up on his offer.
I'm not quite sure where I was going with this. But the boys took whatever plan I had and ran with it. I guess I should just be glad it's no
