Thunderlovin

Fan of Thunderbirds OS and TAG. Creating photo art for my musings on the social, romantic and perils of the rescue work of the Tracy brothers of International Rescue. Creating art to inspire my own fics as well. Hope you enjoy.

[thunderlovin]

When eldest Bro looks like how we all feel, it’s time to head to our fave retreat in the U.S for some fun and some R'n'R .

Its the one place where we can cut ourselves off from the company and the rescue op.and just be friends and brothers. And, its the only place John will let us call him Johnny.

[thunderbirds-tracy-island]

[thunderlovin]

Love it!

[thescoutpilot]

| Oort Cloud |

A/N: Alternate ending to The Long Reach. Idea credits to the one and only @thecoolestcodex for giving this prompt.. you know I always like to give poor Scott a run for his money. First scene is NOT mine! It’s straight from TAG I just added description.

WARNINGS: Non-canon Main Character death, gore descriptions.. and a lot of crying. Tissues may be needed.

-✈️-

The soft clunk of the planetoid that broke apart was the only distant sound, maybe apart from the quiet buzz of a light. Otherwise, silent. Scott’s chest tightened as he exchanged a glance with Alan and banged on the airlock.

He wasn’t sure he wanted Alan to see anything. Their father was good at space survival, but for 8 whole years? And the calypso picked up that distress signal a long while ago… 

His hands hauled open the door. His precursory glance made him relieved to find nothing that Alan shouldn’t see- but also a little tighter that now who knows where their father was. A sealed room stood before them, use of everything upon the ship like emergency rations, water, and that sketch of Tracy island.

That must have taken Dad ages, he wasn’t the best at drawing but that was something else. 

‘He’s not here,’ Scott could tell Alan swallowed all of his disappointment back in his tone.

The entire floor tilted as a large thud echoed through the ship. ‘This place is coming apart!’ Scott eyed the exit as soon as possible.

‘But what about Dad!’ Alan pierced him with those little brother eyes. His expression scrunched up in worry, ‘he can’t just be.. gone?! I mean the lights are still on there’s air to breathe!’

‘He must’ve known the planetoid was breaking apart! And moved to safer ground, we’ll keep looking. We’ll find him,’ Scott put large gloves on his youngest brother’s shoulders. The touch eased that crumpled expression and Scott couldn’t help the edge of his mouth curl up in a smile.

‘And we’re not going home till we do,’ Alan pressed.

‘Agreed,’ Scott nodded as he took a dash for the exit. The rocks were to fall outside of the Zero-X. Adrenaline- usually a constant addition to Scott’s body- pounded through every fibre of his being. Debris from the planetoid swirled around with no apparent path, the gravity swings made them even more unpredictable.

‘I’ll take one more look around. You get back to Thunderbird 3 and move it to safety. I’ll be right behind you!’ Scott yelled as he watched his brother effortlessly glide onto his Astro board and head towards the outside of the planetoid.

Anxiety pulsed at Scott’s fingertips as he took another glance around, unable to see anything in the dust that the broken rock had created.

Just as he was about to leave, the rock tumbled from underneath him. His fingers burned as he tried to grab hold of the rock face, to keep himself from his fall but to no avail. Flailed attempts to start up his jetpack, hand scrambled to grip.

It hit him, from behind. His breath stolen and his jetpack crunched under the pressure as the rocks wedged him in the middle. His helmet lashed backwards into the rock behind; and the world went black.

-✈️-

iR blues had just disappeared as the rock face fell away. Jeff’s heart went just the slightest bit faster as he grabbed his pick and stuck it into the rock, slowly he wedged his way down, unable to see where his son with the unmistakeable ‘1’ on the side of his helmet had landed. 

As he moved down, he could see where the rock face had ended up, halfway inside another part of the planetoid, held together from sheer force. The only sign of his son was a small smidge of blue trapped between two of the rocks. 

Jeff’s heart dropped.

He sprung off the rock he clung to, his pick prepared itself to hit the rock where Scott was trapped. He struck it pretty well given his physical condition, and moved his way to the trapped blue between the rocks.

They were wedged good, and upon seeing that helmet tilted an unnatural angle from his son’s body he simply assumed the worst.  Scott was between three rocks, the two which squished him and then that itself was imbedded into another rock. No, no. Scott.

He shoved his arm down the crevasse to out his hand on his sons back. There was slight movement- breathing. It doesn’t ease Jeff’s father worry as his breath started to catch in his throat. ‘Son. Son! Scott! Scott now’s no time to sleep,’ he gently tilted Scott’s helmet back to see the cracked visor.

He refrained from language he probably shouldn’t use. The iR commander in him struggled to take grip in his body, because it was so much different when the person you rescued was family.

Scott had a gash on his head, from either his hit with the rock of a shard of his visor within his head he couldn’t be sure. His shoulder was surely dislocated, off on a weird angle from his body, and Jeff couldn’t see the rest of his son, other than the tiny tear between his suit and his helmet.

He vented air, Jeff knew that much, and it wouldn’t be long before Scott was lost to the planetoid himself. ‘Scott come on!’ He yelled before he gently rested Scott’s head against the rock with a gentle tink of metal against rock and shoved his hand further between the two rocks to push on Scott’s communicator in his sash. ‘Boys? Are you out there? It’s Dad,’ his voice cracked and tears started to work themselves down the Colonel’s cheeks. Not his usual but, oh gosh Scott no, keep breathing!

‘Dad!’ That was Virgil, no doubt to it, strong and vicious voice.

‘Get down here now! We’ve ran into a situation. All of you!’ He commanded and finally pulled from the baldric as tears worked down his face.

‘Scott come on!’ He tried to put on his best commander voice; but it broke. His eldest son’s breaths hiccuped.

‘Bring a med kit!’ He yelled through Scott’s comms again. 

Jeff’s hands clasped over the puncture in Scott’s suit. 

Just, just hold on son. It’ll be okay.

-✈️-

Alan was the first down there. They’d all taken Astro boards which- Virgil was definitely very bad at. Gordon- the fish actually found it pretty natural and well, John was John. 

They went to Scott’s ping which- was weird because it was Jeff who spoke- not their eldest brother. And why made Virgil feel like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

They’d found their father; yet where his hand fell down to was Scott wedged between rocks who gave a low groan.

‘Scott it’s okay. Scotty stay still,’ Jeff said quickly, his eyes darted up to his boys. Oh, gosh. Dads crying. He’s here.

Virgil watched as Alan gasped and held their father around the waist.

‘Oh my boys,’ Jeff croaked, ‘how I love you all. Now Scott’s wedged in tight, his suit is venting air.’

Virgil turned his attention back to Scott.

‘F.A.B,’ was all he could manage as he assessed the situation, ‘we can’t move the rocks we’re unsure if he’s got another tear.’

‘What-?’ Scott slurred as brilliant blue eyes flickered themself open.

‘Stay still son!’ Jeff scolded and reached his other hand to gently cup the side of his helmet.

‘Dad?’ Scott slurred as he took another gasping breath.

‘I’m putting a medscan on you stay still Scott,’ Virgil ordered as he clipped it to his sash.

He only got a groan in response.

Alan, who’d finished his hug with Jeff peered over the edge. ‘What does it say?’ He stared at Virgil’s paled expression.

‘He’s Uhm.. multiple internal injuries.. including a brain bleed. Pulse is weak, O2 levels dropping, he needs to be to earth now!’ Virgil barely was able to spit out. 

‘We can bring Thunderbird 4 down again? I’ll put him in a dry tube that supplies him oxygen so the suit won’t matter!’ Gordon suggested.

‘Gordo,’ Virgil swallowed back bile from worry, ‘he won’t make the trip home.’

‘What?’ All 3 brothers and his Dad stared at Virgil, he managed to swallow the lump in his throat yet again, his eyes burnt with unfallen tears.

‘With that brain injury he’s only lasting 10 minutes.’

‘We could try get there in time!’ Alan yelled.

‘Al, he’ll..’ Virgil couldn’t stop tears now, ‘he’ll die with the sheer speed we go. Even moving him from here could kill him.’ 

That sent his brothers into a frenzy of panic.

‘It’s Scott! Scott can survive speeds!’

‘What if we found something that wouldn’t make him feel as if he’s sustaining the G’s?’

‘Ask Brains!’

Their high pitched conversation was only interrupted by Scott’s cough. Blood traced itself down his chin from his mouth, his eyes shook slightly but they managed to focus on every single one of his younger brothers- and lastly his Dad.

‘We found you,’ he slurred but it was audible enough. 

‘You did son, you did. Hold on for us okay? We’re gonna find a way to help you,’ Jeff clasped his hand tighter against Scott’s helmet.

 Scott’s mouth tilted up slightly to smile, ‘love you,’ his words were back to front but Virgil understood. And the way he gazed at everyone.

‘No Scott you can’t!’ Alan- the smallest Tracy- wedged himself between the rocks so he could get closer to Scott.

Scott’s eyes trained on his youngest brother and you could tell the jumble in his brain got too hard to bear, cause he just stared at Alan like he didn’t even recognise him. 

‘Scott please!’ Alan yelled and grabbed his shoulder which received a wince.

‘Al?’ Scott mumbled as he slowly looked over Alan, ‘you’ve grown.’ 

Alan winced at how much confusion was in his big brother’s voice, ‘I know I Uhm.. I graduated Scott,’ Alan was going to keep the news till later but.. he couldn’t bear his big brother unaware.

Scott’s eyes seemed to try to focus on Alan again. A smile worked his way onto his face, a moment of clarity in those blue eyes, ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he whispered.

And he meant it.

-✈️-

Gordon couldn’t feel time as they stayed there with Scott. He now bounded in and out of consciousness. All ideas they had to save their eldest brother fell flat to the floor. They didn’t have enough medical equipment. Oh they should have taken so much more! How were they so unprepared for this trip? 

Scott’s breaths became less frequent, more hiccuped, you could see his entire diaphragm spasm when he tried to gasp for air.

‘He doesn’t have much oxygen left,’ Jeff whispered as his hand still cupped his son’s head. Alan had his hand, though limp and probably had no feeling to it either his dislodged shoulder. Virgil still fiddled with the holographic medscan readings as if he stared at them long enough the answer would appear. John held his eldest brother’s uniform closed with Jeff.

And Gordon could barely even watch as Scott’s eyes latched to all of them. He was in the stage he’d seen before, the clarity before death. Even with a beat up brain he just… he seemed to be present.

‘And you call me smother hen,’ Scott whispered as his eyes moved to Virgil.

‘Scott please save ur breath.. well, let’s try Gordon’s idea.’

Scott looked over all of them again, ‘you’ve all done so well.’

‘And I’m so proud of you son,’ Jeff choked as he watched his son’s blue eyes.

Scott’s focus changed a little, ‘I just…’ his words faded off to oblivion as his pupils dilated and his expression grew cold.

A yelp of pure terror faded from Alan’s lips.

‘SCOTT!’ Alan yelled as he shook his eldest brother, ‘SCOTT!’

Virgil sniffed and closed his eyes, ‘let’s.. let’s get him out of here.’

Gordon could barely look as they chipped at the rock face and slowly pulled their big brother from his restraints, those blue eyes never to gaze at his brothers again.

-✈️-

The trip and re-dock with the Zero-XL was simply silence. No one spoke, there was hugs and tears, but no words slipped from anyone’s mouth. As they entered the main part of the ship, no one even paid attention to the fact The Hood was pinned to the wall by MAX. 

Virgil laid Scott on the med bay and took his helmet off. He closed his eyes and mouth, before he set the helmet aside. He glanced over Scott. Gordon had piloted Thunderbird 1 back to the mother ship and no one said a word when the aquanaut bawled and took longer to get his big brother’s ship in. Cause everyone understood. Everyone got it.

‘Let’s go home,’ Jeff was the one to break the silence as he gathered the Hood up with a tangle of reinforced wire, ‘after I stow some baggage.’

‘F.A.B,’ came the small voice of Alan.

-✈️-

‘This is Zero-XL calling Tracy island,’ Alan said, no emotion present.

‘How’d it go?’ Kayo asked, a little too much hope in her voice.

‘We’ve got Dad,’ Alan whispered.

‘That’s great! You, you all don’t seem happy,’ Kayo couldn’t help but feel something was terribly wrong.

‘We uh, we have some news,’ Jeff shakily swallowed.

Kayo blinked as the Zero-XL touched down again onto the island, and the doors finally opened. 

Grandma Tracy absolutely looked overjoyed when Jeff walked down with the help of Gordon.

But everyone’s face fell when Virgil came carrying Scott’s body in his arms.

Grandma Tracy ran over.

‘What happened to him?! Quick in the med bay now!’ She barely even looked at how blue Scott’s skin was- once his favourite colour now ate at Virgil’s heart inside to out.

‘Grandma,’ Virgil teared up.

‘He didn’t make it,’ Jeff helped his son, ‘he got wedged between two very forceful rocks when they tried to save me.’

‘He’s dead.’

Virgil shivered.

Yes, big brother was dead. Dad was back. But what cost?

[thunderlovin]

Oh no.

[zero-xlent]

Do you ever wonder why you didn’t see the Hood for who he was long ago? How could you ever have been friends with him? Or did he change so much?

He changed, slowly. He always had a clever mind, sharp as a knife and ruthless in his dealings... but that was not originally a negative. His true colours came out slowly, and I didn't see it until it was too late.

I am sure he would say the same about me. That's the problem with power and money, you change. Whether for good or bad... your attitude towards life and the world around you changes. I'll admit, I had always seen my ambition and drive as a force for good. For humanity. Not everyone saw it that way, and I still do get challenged over it.

Sometimes I wonder what would be different had I seen it sooner. Would I have been separated from my family? Would he have hurt all of those people in his pursuit of power? Would he have enslaved a man?

Would we be on as good terms as we are with the GDF, with the world, had we not had a common enemy?

[gdf-colonel-casey]

Perhaps it is naive of me, Jeff, but I would like to hope that the GDF would have had the good sense to see the positive benefits that working alongside International Rescue could offer even without the Hood’s… additions.

[scramjettracy]

Alongside International Rescue… or alongside Jeff Tracy?

As I recall it took them one heck of a while to accept IR could be a force for good in his absence.

The Hood wasn’t the first to demand we hand over the Thunderbirds…

And on his reappearance it took the GDF and the World Government, what, 6 hours to decide they might order us to do it? Without you and Lady Penelope fighting our corner, giving us time to do the GDF’s job for them, what would have happened?

Don’t even get me started on Janus…

While I have the greatest of respect for many of its personnel, most especially yourself, forgive me for having my doubts in the amount of ‘good sense’ the organisation would have displayed in the absence of its favored few.

It is not an exaggeration to say that without your support, Colonel, while IR would have existed for sure, it is very likely we’d only have existed as outlaws.

[thunderlovin]

Yup

[thunderlovin]

Thanks to Titan Talon(Scott Tracy) for helping us out with the weekend climbing/bouldering intensive camp last month in Norway. Here are some photos of him doing his thing including the epic snacks, some views from the sky (course there's was some newwwwmmm...we're a flying club)

See everyone at the annual Summer retreat in August. Registration opens in June.

Salud!

Shaun

(Wing Warrior)

Owner Operator

AIRBORNE ADVENTURES

Family Owned and Operated

Since 2000

[squidsinashirt]

Back in KS it’s Mother’s Day so…

Love you always Mom. Thanks for everything 🤍

[thunderlovin]

Sweet boy. Sweet photo

[i-am-at-soup]

Heeeere's Scotty

Audio: Hope - Rustage ft JT Music & LongestSoloEver

[thunderlovin]

I love Scott's character. This depicts him well.

[docava-n-trix]

Uhhhh! 0www.....'m a doctor....but... think... need a doctor....ohhhh.

THE OWNER OF THIS WATCH 📉📉📉HAS TAKEN 📉📉 HARD 📉📉📉FALL OWNER.…IN.......VED....I....MIS...AP.

Helllp....Nuhhhhh.....

[docava-n-trix]

TRIX!!! SLOW DOWN GIRL!

TRIX!

[docava-n-trix]

TRIX! STOP!

[granny-turismo]

Another bucket list tick, and for all lovers of dance, a must 🇦🇷

What a beautiful city to explore and to enjoy. The locals entirely showed us up in any dancing and were a delight to watch!

Now, out for an evening of fantastic food and, of course, tango 💃

[gumnut-logic]

Decided to re-read Gentle Rain…it has been a while…

For the love of god, will you bloody well sit still!”

Kayo frowned.

“I need to-“ Scott. That was Scott.

“If you don’t stop moving, I will knock you out, you hear me?” It was a threatening tone. Kayo attempted to force her eyes open. They moved, but flickered closed again.

“Please, she’s my sister.” That sent alarm bells ringing. What the hell? Scott’s voice hurt. “Virgil...” Virgil! She struggled against the weight drawing her down. Virgil? Where was Virgil?

There was dust in her nose.

“Your sister is okay. It is you who you should be worried about. Sit still.”

“But-“

“What do you think your sister will do to you if you haemorrhage attempting to get to her? What do you think she will do if you go and die on her simply because you’re being a stupid ass and won’t sit still?

There was no answer. Scott? Virgil?

Her eyes opened only to encounter blur. Grey blur. “S-Scott?” That was her voice?

“Kayo!”

“God damnit, if you undo what little I’ve managed to do, I’ll kill you myself!”

Gentle Rain

[scramjettracy]

Almost a dead calm off the island tonight.

Weird really, feels like it should be a real doozy of a storm and yet? Peaceful. Beautiful. Serene.

Guess our hard days really are small in the grand scheme of it all… and yet.

Been doing some debriefing / horizon observation / yelling at clouds / watery catharsis with the brilliant, talented, courageous, strong and so very persistent against the worst of odds man I am privileged to call my brother. @squidsinashirt

How is it when we are well over half way through the 21st century do so many people still value fame and power or the chance to make a quick buck over human life? I will never understand it.

[brains-ir]

I've got some odd jobs I need help with in the lab if you need a distraction. Or if you want to talk about any of it?

[scramjettracy]

Gonna stay out here until a certain fish has splashed all he needs to…

But yeah I might take you up on that later. Thanks buddy.

[thunderlovin]

❤️ this

[idontknowreallywhy]

Anyone got any fluff or art or gifs or happy stories or random cats or anything of that ilk to share with me?

I’m having a bit of a… day… and would value a virtual hug of some kind I guess.

[thunderlovin]

Here's cake. Cake makes people smile.

[scramjettracy]

Dear Mr Scott Tracy,

I was very grateful when you pulled me from the burning building last week. I was praying for a miracle and there you were.

Despite the terror I felt, I was so distracted by your beautiful blue eyes and being held by your strong arms. Not to mention the dimples when you smiled at me!

Sincerely,

A very blushing fan (who would fall in your arms any day)

Oh, well err, you’re welcome of course. That’s what we do.

You did get thoroughly checked over for smoke inhalation and potential head injury before you left the hospital I hope? 😬

Please take it easy and do talk to someone if you are struggling - these kinds of experiences can mess with your mind if you aren’t careful.

Take care

Scott x

[thunderlovin]

Awwww. This is very sweet.

[paripurii]

Kinda wheezing at the fact that Thunderbirds Are Go season 1 set up John as like this no nonsense, introverted, doesn’t do relationships type that naturally led to fanon John also having all these tendencies and then BOOM s2 they introduce Ridley and then go “actually! this man is so pathetically down bad for this woman who is out of his league, that he’s willing to do reckless, crazy, almost getting himself killed things for her !!” (Still introverted ofc) and nobody moves.

I might be in the minority for this, but I adored that characterisation of him and it’s a real shame that they didn’t bring Ridley back for season 3 to further explore this for some reason.

[thunderlovin]

I love him and Ridley! I think it was brilliant.

[the-lady-razorsharp]

Want

How about some Scott/Havoc rarepair? I know several of you will be interested (@janetm74 may need a paper bag to breathe into after reading this)...I figure this has been lingering in my docs folder long enough. Don't know if it'll ever be done, or if it even NEEDS to be done, but still, I like it and I hope you do as well.

(This wasn't written for Thunderpride, but have a bi Havoc mention and an implied bi Kayo)

TW: Alcohol, semi-explicit discussion of cishet sex

Want

I’ve got to feel it in my blood, whoa

I need your touch don't need your love, whoa

And I want

And I need

And I lust

Animal

-Def Leppard

“Come on, sis,” Fuse whines. “It’s so boring just sittin’ ‘round here.”

Havoc doesn’t look up from the magazine she’s reading on her tablet. “You’re a big boy, go on.” She flips a page. “I’m not interested.”

“Don’t wanna leave you here by yourself,” he counters. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

Now she does look up, one eyebrow raised as she wonders what the hell he’s on about. They’re the Chaos Crew; when have they ever cared about being fair? “I can take care of myself. Go.”

“Just come with me.” Fuse gestures to the small apartment. “You ain’t been out in forever.”

“I went out just the other day.”

Fuse lets out an exasperated noise. “Doin’ the shopping don’t count. I’m talking ‘bout heading down the local for some fun.”

“I know what you mean,” she spits irritably. Though her foster brother is a big man, he can look like a child when he’s upset, and she feels a little guilty at his hurt expression. They’re all each other has in the world, and even though he’s a pain in her arse sometimes, she’d rather not drive him away by being bitchy. “Really,” she says, gentling her tone a notch, “I don’t mind if you go.”

He turns puppy-dog eyes on her. “I know, but I’d feel bad having a good time while you’re sittin’ here all by y’self.” He lowers his gaze to his thick fingers, worrying at his left thumbnail with the right one. “So come with me. Okay?”

Havoc puts down her tablet with a sigh. Maybe he’s right; she’s been on edge for days, and maybe a change of scenery will take care of whatever it is that’s bothering her. “All right. You’ve convinced me.” She can’t help a chuckle at the way his face lights up. “Go change. I’ll get myself in order and we’ll leave in a bit.”

As she goes to turn on the shower, Havoc wonders idly what her malfunction is. Their last encounter with the Hood could be termed a ‘success,’ in that it didn’t end with him shrieking like a banshee. The geezer has a habit of that, either screaming at them for some imagined fault or pontificating about how he’s going to ‘get’ the Tracys for whatever it is they’ve done to him. She snorts; she and Fuse have been working with him for the better part of two years, and she’s yet to discover what exactly the beef is between him and the boys in blue. Not that she cares, really, but it must be something big to make him go to the lengths he does.

Thoughts of the Tracys linger as she strips in preparation for her shower, and as she runs her hands down her sides, her mind turns to one of them in particular--Scott, the eldest, the pilot of the supersonic Thunderbird 1. One corner of her mouth lifts as she recalls how both the sleek, shiny craft and its pilot are built for speed. Scott Tracy is well known in the upper echelons of society as a fast mover, dating and dabbling but never quite getting caught by any one lover. 

Her smile widens with the thought that she has empirical--and most definitely carnal--knowledge of the heir to the throne of the Tracy empire. She closes her eyes, one hand slipping down her belly as she recalls how his tongue traced the same path, all the way down until—

“Hey sis, you got a sticking plaster?” Fuse’s voice snaps her out of her horny daydream as he barrels his way into the bathroom, a towel around his hips. He rummages in a drawer, seemingly oblivious to her state of undress, and is about to reach around her when she slaps him upside the head. “Ow!” he yelps. “What, I cut myself shaving!”

With a growl, Havoc yanks open the medicine cabinet, grabs the box of bandages and throws it at him. “Get outta here!” she screeches. Faced with his sister’s fury, Fuse lets out a squeak that belies his bulk and slams the door behind him. 

The shower is finally hot, and she steps in with a sigh, determined to put annoying siblings and their ability to ruin perfectly good fantasies out of her mind. As she stands in the spray and lets the water plaster her two-toned flick against her face, Scott’s specter hovers at the edge of her mind. This time there are no interruptions, and with a little wet friction to go along with Scott’s dirty talk in her inner ear, release is quick. She groans, glad that the noise of the water hides the sound, and stands with head bowed and hands planted on the shower wall as the pulses of sweet agony fade. With a blink, she’s back in the apartment, back in her lonely life, with only her big ox of a little brother for company. She sighs and finishes her shower, then shuts off the water and grabs a towel from the rack.

She goes through her preparations woodenly, drying her hair and leaning into the mirror to apply eyeliner and mascara. Sometimes she tweezes her eyebrows or uses the odd complexion mask--if she can withstand Fuse’s teasing about the green goop on her face--but she never goes in for the full rig of foundation and powder and rouge. Leave that to the pretty ones, she thinks, applying a coat of lip balm. Like that snooty blonde who Tracy number four seems to have a hard-on for--now there’s someone who fits the definition of ‘kept,’ she muses. The woman probably even wears fake eyelashes, all the better to bat them at the ‘slippy li’l fish,’ as Fuse calls him. 

The other girl in the Tracy circle--Kayo, the Hood calls her--now there’s a puzzle, Havoc thinks, moving to her closet. The woman is hot as hell, and Havoc distracts herself from her meager wardrobe with thoughts of getting her into bed someday. She’s seen Kayo kick some ass, and wonders if she can screw as good as she can spar. 

I bet Scott knows, an ugly little voice in the back of her mind sneers. With a scowl, she yanks a crop top and a pair of skinny black jeans off their hangers, then drags out a pair of ankle boots and slams the closet door.

As she pulls on her clothes, she lets her mind wander to a far corner of the planet, where the Thunderbirds nest in some fantastic alabaster nowhere. Her imagination furnishes it with a wonderland of tech hidden from prying eyes, inhabited by the shining examples of humanity that answer to the name of Tracy. 

Well, she thinks with a smirk as she zips up her jeans, they’re shining examples most of the time. Scott isn’t particularly shiny when he’s got her up against a wall, his voice a low, dirty growl in her ear. He isn’t the Armani-wearing Eagle Scout with his rakish smile and snappy salute. He’s…

Havoc barely notices that she’s stopped pulling on her boots and is now just sitting, staring unseeing at the worn floorboards. 

He’s beautiful. 

When he’s all she can see, all she can feel, the smell of him all over her and his calloused fingers coaxing her higher and higher--at those moments, he’s beautiful. She can almost let herself believe that he is there just for her, and not because she’s got an inside line on what the Hood is planning next. His skin going to gooseflesh beneath her hands, signaling that he’s mere heartbeats away from falling over the edge--that’s the moment she’s claimed as hers and no one else’s. He is beautiful and glorious and so damn good that it makes her ache when she thinks of how she can never hope to touch him. All her time with him is illicit, stolen, secret--that is, when she’s not actively trying to kick his ass.

She’s nothing but an unrepentant slut, she thinks, reaching for her other boot. Sex for intel, that’s their arrangement, and so she’s made a whore of herself on the regular just to be with him. Sure, her info is always on the level and of real use to him, but there’s been one or two times she’s been tempted to cook something up just to see him.

Sort of like now. She tells herself she doesn’t need anyone, not even Fuse, but if Scott Tracy suddenly dropped out of the sky to darken her doorstep, she’d concoct the biggest lie she could come up with so he’d stay a while. It’d be worth it just to have him undo the knot of desperate need that wraps itself tighter and tighter in her belly the longer he’s away.

It better be worth it, because after her encounters with Scott, her mood turns foul and black for days. Her brother tiptoes around her, trying to bring her out of it by making her coffee and leaving it outside her door, or sailing a note folded into an airplane over to her side of the living room, a misspelled sentiment inside scrawled in his messy hand (he never was one to pay attention to his books). She feels bad for Fuse sometimes, making him take the brunt of her ire and shame, but he never says a word other than to ask if she’s all right. She knows she doesn’t deserve him.

A knock sounds on her door. “You ready, sis?”

Speak of the devil, she thinks, and stands to peruse her reflection in the spotted mirror tacked to her closet door. An angular young woman looks back at her, bare arms decorated with vivid red roses from shoulder to wrist. Her black crop top reveals artwork that makes it look as if her skin has been stripped to the bones, more red roses weeping droplets of blood and spilling out of her ribcage. Her jeans ride low on her hips, exposing her navel with its black steel ring. She knows what others see: A woman with a body built for sin, one that invites looking but promises mayhem if touched without permission.

She wonders what Scott sees.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” she calls, and turns to open the door. Fuse fills the doorway and then some, dressed in baggy jeans and a black t-shirt printed with a menacing portrait of the Hulk. His black work boots are spotless, his chin is sleek, and his bleached braids are bundled into a thick tail against the back of his neck. She reaches out to finger one of the neatly bound ends. “You growing your hair out?” she asks, wondering why she hasn’t noticed before.

He blushes. “Yeh,” he admits, hand straying to the bundle. “Just for a change.”

“Vain little shit,” she quips, but she’s grinning as she gives the braid a tug. “Come on. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The bones of the pub’s building are centuries old, but attempts have been made to modernize it with some holographic games and a state of the art telecomm. However, the beer is still made on site from an ancestral recipe, and crowds still gather to cheer and curse at the footy. On Friday and Saturday nights, music blares from the speakers, the pulsing beat threatening to shake the ancient place from its foundations. Such is the case tonight as Havoc trails in Fuse’s wake; she can hear the thumping two streets away. Once they’re inside, she yells their orders at the keep, and is quickly rewarded with two glasses topped with a thick layer of foam. She turns to hand one to Fuse--and is surprised to see him already deep in conversation with a pretty slip of a girl.

So that’s it, she muses sourly, as yeasty foam slides over her hand. That’s why he’s been so insistent; he’s met someone--no doubt on one of his solitary jaunts when she’s begged off or thrown something at him to get him to leave her alone. The girl is cute, bright copper hair falling in carefully constructed waves down her back, apple green eyes fastened on his blushing face. She reaches out a dainty hand to touch his bulky bicep, one fingernail drawing a lazy pattern on his skin, and Havoc rolls her eyes. It’s all over but the shouting, as far as she’s concerned. This bird has her brother eating out of her hand, and she’s happy to leave him to it.

“Here,” she yells, digging an elbow into his ribs. When he jumps and looks down at her, she pushes the wet glass into his hand. “You got rubbers?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he stammers, darting a look at his girl. The redhead looks a little confused; no doubt the music has obscured the question, and she can’t quite parse who this tatted tartlet is to her beefy beau. “This is my sister. Sis, meet--”

He says a name that Havoc immediately forgets, and the girl gives her a hesitant smile. “Hi,” says Red, putting her hand out to shake.

“Charmed.” Havoc wipes her hand on the back of Fuse’s jeans to get rid of the beer spillage, ignoring his indignant squawk at her manhandling of his person, and gives the girl’s fingers a brief press. “You kids have fun.”

She takes her leave of them, scowling. Why is it that her goofy gus of a brother can find someone halfway decent, and people treat her like she’s a raging case of the clap? She’s had plenty of hookups, sure, and a few who she wouldn’t have minded them sticking around, but in the end, she’s always alone. Born bad, the social workers had said when they thought she wasn’t listening. No help for that one. Anti-social. Wednesday’s child. They’d shook their heads and drank their tea and she’d added one more wound to the dozens hiding under her skin.

In the crowd, a head of precisely combed, shiny brown hair catches the corner of her eye. Havoc’s heart stops and her fingers tighten on the glass. The shoulders below that head are wide, the deltoids perfectly muscled with long hours of heavy lifting. Biceps bunch as he raises a glass, and his other hand goes into the pocket of his jeans. His gray sweater rides his frame easily, and a slip of white at his collar hints at a pristine shirt underneath. Just the back of his neck is enough to make her break out in a sweat, and she waits breathlessly as he turns.

There’s no mistaking that profile. 

Havoc gulps and nearly drops her beer. She wants to melt into the sea of bodies, taking her glimpse of him with her to hold tight and savor, but he turns, eyes searching the crowd as if he’s felt the touch of her gaze. It’s stupid, because half the people in here are staring at this beautiful person as if he’s Zeus descended from Olympus to mingle with mere mortals, but he finds her eyes unerringly. To her complete shock, he smiles--actually smiles--as if he doesn’t know who or what she really is, and begins to push his way through the crowd toward her.

She stands there, frozen to the spot, and then he’s in front of her, beer in his hand like any working-class git on a Saturday night. “Hi,” he says, pushing his other hand back into his pocket. “Fancy meeting you here.”

As soon as he says it, his eyes twinkle at her, and she shuts her mouth. He’s been here before, looking for her. How many nights has he come here without seeing her, and he still kept showing up? “You’re an idiot,” she spits.

He rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you too.”

“What are you doing here?” Stop it, shut your pie hole or he’s gonna leave, you ruin everything--

He gestures with his glass. “Would you believe I’m a fan of their beer?”

She snorts. “I don’t have anything for you. He’s been quiet for months.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know. Small mercies.” The blue topaz eyes pierce her. “I had a few days of downtime and I thought--” He looks around at the noisy pub and its crowd. “This place is as good as any.”

“You slumming it, rich boy?” She arches an eyebrow. “Spending your holiday seeing how the other half lives?”

He frowns. “Okay, this was a bad idea. I’ll--” He must see something in her face, because he stops in the act of turning away and studies her for a long moment. He drains his glass, then reaches out for her nearly full one and puts both on a table cluttered with a dozen other glasses. “Let’s get out of here.”

Havoc can’t believe what she’s hearing, or what he’s doing, so she shuts her eyes and gropes for the first thing that comes to mind. “Fuse,” she blurts, but when she opens her eyes, her brother is nowhere to be seen.

“He was here a minute ago.” Those eyes scan the crowd again, then the laser-like gaze fastens back on her. “He was with a little cutie. I think they high-tailed it outta here.” He holds out a hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

His palm is warm against hers. She’d almost convinced herself that she was so lonely that she conjured him out of thin air, but he’s real. He smells right. He feels right. Scott Tracy is actually here, in the flesh, and she’s almost afraid to find out what comes next.

They walk up the high street, leaving the noise behind, and she shivers at the cool air after the overheated pub. He strips off his sweater and drops it over her head, leaving him in a long-sleeved thermal shirt. “Here.” He grins. “Bet you’re wishing for your armor right about now.”

“Maybe,” she shoots back, and for an instant she’s enveloped in a soft gray world that smells like him. She takes in a hasty, silent lungful before her head is free of the acres of knitted fabric. The garment falls to her hips, and she hugs it to her, savoring its warmth. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

“I told you. I had some down time, and I thought this would be a nice quiet place to spend it.” He shrugs. “I can get to London without too much trouble, and London’s a good jumping off place to wherever I need to go.”

Havoc stops and turns to him, exasperated. She gestures to the small hamlet and the countryside beyond. “You literally have your pick of anywhere in the world, and you chose to come to this tip?”

He blinks a moment, then steps up closer to her. “I wanted to see you.”

“Bullshit,” she says with a bitter laugh.

“I’m serious,” he replies, hands going to her shoulders. He gives her a sad little smile and touches her cheek. “Excuse me for wanting some time when we’re not looking over our shoulders.”

It’s what she’s wanted. It’s what she’s been dying for, and yet all she can think to do is make him angry, to push him away, to get him to stop looking at her like that. “Oh yeah?” is all she can say.

“Yeah.” He’s so close now, she can feel his warmth through the sweater. He lifts her chin with gentle fingers, and her eyes close as he leans in and kisses her. His mouth is warm and soft and strong all at the same time, and she gives a sigh as the tight knot in her belly comes undone.

She shouldn’t let him do this to her, she thinks, as her hands rise of their own volition and slide up his back. She’s tougher than this, but somehow she’s decided to grant him this power over her. He’ll never take her home, wherever that is. None of them would ever trust her. This is all she has, all she’ll ever have, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t hang on to it with both hands.

They part, and he smiles down at her. “Come on. My place is a lot warmer than this.”

His place, she finds, is a flat that looks like something out of a magazine. “Wow,” she says, and he shoots her a grin over his shoulder.

“This was a lucky find,” he says, closing the door behind her as they step into a wonderland of mid-twentieth century design. The tables are sleek, the sofa is a wedge of emerald green velvet, and bookshelves line three of the four walls. “The previous owner passed away recently, and a friend knew I was looking for a place in the area.” He gives her the smile of a proud homeowner. “I made a few changes to make it feel like home.” He sighs. “My only problem is that I don’t get to spend much time here.”

“You probably have a lot of these,” she ventures, trailing her fingers over the spines on a shelf. She hasn’t touched a real book since being locked in the dusty, disused room the orphanage called their ‘library,’ where she’d eventually succumbed to boredom and taken a few of the industrial-bound volumes off the shelf. These books look new despite their age, with bright dust jackets, and their titles are as far out as their owner: Biographies of people she’s never heard of; thick treatises on aeronautical engineering; novels with titles that promise adventure. She reaches for one, drawn by the odd title: The Hunt for Red October. There are several books by the same author on the shelf, and she flips through the one she holds for a few seconds before replacing it beside its fellows.

He’s moving behind her, and something clinks. “What, books?” He chuckles, pleased with his own joke.

She makes a rude noise. “Houses, dumbass.”  She turns from the bookcase to see him take two longneck bottles from the fridge. “This place is a total snug.” 

Scott raises an eyebrow and opens a drawer at his hip, then rummages around until he comes out with a church key. “What’s a ‘snug’?” he asks, popping the tops.

Havoc frowns, incredulous. “You ain’t never heard of a snug?” 

He huffs out a laugh and picks up the bottles. “You’re talking to a Yank, remember?” he quips, heading into the living room. 

He’s told her a few things about his childhood, in the moments they’ve spent lying together in their own twisted version of afterglow. Now she recalls that he is a farm boy at heart, and she can easily conjure his younger self, walking through rippling fields of gold under an endless blue sky. It’s a world hell and gone from the ancient stone side by side with steel and glass that forms the backdrop of her childhood. 

She blinks and reorients herself back to the present as he stops beside her. “A snug used to be a room at the pub where the local trollop would meet her boys.”

He hands her a bottle; she accepts, and they clink the necks together before taking a long drink. “Oh yeah?” He asks, keeping up his end of the conversation.

“Yeah. Lots of places had ‘em. Prob’ly still do.” She gives a grim chuckle. “This may be the 2060s, but people still get horny.”

Bottle to his lips, Scott raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement of both her words and the fact that yes, ‘horny’ has described the two of them more than once. He swallows and settles on the couch. “Well, the deed to this place is in my name, and you’re the first person I’ve had here other than the sales agent, but I understand what you mean.” He rests one ankle on the opposite knee. “That wasn’t my reason for buying this place,” he says, cracking a smile, “but I’d be a liar if I said you weren’t at least part of it.”

Havoc takes another drink. “A part of what?” If he’s implying what she thinks he’s implying, she needs more alcohol.

He sets aside the bottle, careful to park it on a coaster, she notices, and pats the cushion next to him. “I wanted someplace we could just be,” he says, as she perches on the edge of the sofa like a child in an antique parlor. “We don’t get much time for that.”

She snorts. “Not when you’re tearing around as one of the boys in blue,” she retorts.

“I was talking about you and I, but you’re right.” He picks up his bottle again, but instead of taking a drink, he picks at the label. “No one knows who we really are.” He chuckles, but she can hear a bitter edge to it. “My dad called it ‘Operation Cover-Up.’ We don’t publicly admit that we’re part of International Rescue, and our names aren’t mentioned anywhere in iR’s official publicity material.” He shrugs and takes a drink. “I think some people have worked it out, but we try to keep it out of the public eye as much as possible.”

“Ol’ Baldy’s got your number,” Havoc reminds him. “What’s he got against you lot anyway?” She shakes her head and takes a drink. “I’d ask him but...never seems to be a good time.” She smirks. “We’re always kinda busy trying to kick your arses.”

“It’s got something to do with a grudge against my dad,” Scott says, his fingers working at the label again. “Ultimately, I don’t care. I just wanna put him behind bars and make sure he stays there.”

Havoc takes another swig from her bottle, eyeing Scott for a long moment. She’s pretty sure he knows exactly what the beef is between his old man and the Hood, but he’s right; it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is why he spent some of his dad’s money on a jewel-box of a house just to have an excuse to come see her. It’s this question, more than any other, that both scares and fascinates her, like someone unable to stay away from fire despite being terrified of it.

Instead of asking, she decides to fall back on something she knows how to do. Setting aside her bottle, she leans over and twists her fist into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. She plies her mouth to his, feeling his surprise melt as he responds in kind. In moments, he pulls away to set the bottle on the floor, then raises his hands to thread them through her hair as they continue to kiss. She loosens her grip and works at the button placket of his shirt; when it’s open, she slips her hand inside to caress his chest. 

“Mm,” he hums against her lips. “That’s nice.”

She smiles. “I thought it was time to stop talking.”

“I agree.”

They continue to make out on the sofa, his hands lowering from her hair to stroke her sides, huffing a laugh when she twitches away from the ticklish touch. His palms slide lower, and he slips his hands into her back pockets to squeeze her glutes. She can feel him rally against her thigh as their kiss deepens and becomes more urgent, breath quickening, bodies stretching and settling against one another as if they’ve always meant to fit together.

“Let’s go in the other room,” he grits, removing his hands from her pockets and slipping them past her waistband. The calluses on his palms light the nerves on the taut glutes laid bare by her thong underwear. 

“Okay,” she replies, as if he’d suggested what program to watch. She slides out from under his hands and is walking toward the door at the end of the short hallway when he rises and moves past her. Catching her hand, he reaches toward the door and opens it, making a little ‘entrez-vous’ gesture. She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning as they enter the room.

So far, the only bedroom they’ve shared is a quilt-strewn bed tucked into a corner of a one-room cottage, situated on the fringes of a small, sleepy town in southeastern Australia. She’s not really even sure how he tracked her here, to another small, sleepy town in the south of England, but both places just happen to be near a regional airport. That’s a question for later, she decides, as she steps into a room that is as luxe as their former lodgings were humble. 

[thunderlovin]

I am loving this. Thank you once again.