Um, so I made a comment about Scott, in a leather bike jacket and jeans on a bike, and it wouldn't go away and leave me alone. So I rattled it off on the bus this morning on the way to work. Slightly based off a conversation that I had with my father when I talked to him about getting a bike. I'll let the ficlet talk for itself. Because Scott on a bike? That image never gets old. It takes place while Scott's still in the Air Force and Virgil's at college. I like fleshing out their pasts a little bit.
Disclaimer: Have I mentioned recently that I'm only borrowing them? And that I'll make sure I give Scott a good clean when I'm done with him. The Tracys may not be mine, but damn are they fun to play with.
The sound of an engine roaring up the drive and coming to a halt outside the old farmhouse is unmistakable, a low rumble that immediately captures the interest and curiosity of all the farm's occupants and draws them from their various locations in and around the house. Their interest stems more from the sound of the engine than from who it may be, there is only one member of the close knit family missing at the moment so logic states that it must be him. This is not the sound of a high powered car engine, however, this is something else.
The family all emerge in time to see the rider still astride the motorbike, booted feet firmly on the ground and helmet resting between dusty jean clad thighs. Scott Tracy grins at his brothers, blue eyes sparkling from under a shock of helmet tussled black hair. His brothers all grin back, crossing the drive at a rapid walk which betrays their interest, and Scott dismounts to greet them. Virgil gets there first, enveloping the brother he has not seen in months in a fierce hug. Scott laughs and returns it, holds the nineteen year old at arms length for a moment and then watches as Virgil breaks free and begins to examine the bike.
"She's beautiful," he says after a brief examination, running a hand along sleek black lines that have been dulled by the dust of the road. "How long have you had her?"
"Two months," there is no mistaking the pride in the older man's voice as he unzips the heavy leather bike jacket to reveal a soft black t-shirt.
"That is so cool," Gordon pipes up, Alan nodding beside him.
"Will you take us out on it?" Alan asks and Scott's face clouds for a moment.
"We'll see what father says," he replies, resting a hand on his youngest brother's shoulder. Alan looks crestfallen, something that never fails to make Scott feel guilty, and he would add more but for the arrival of the very man who holds Alan's bike riding dreams in the balance.
"What is that?" Jeff Tracy demands upon getting his first look at Scott's chosen mode of transport.
"It's a motorbike, dad," Gordon replies with all the scorn of a fourteen year old boy and, not for the first time, Scott wishes that his brother had learnt to keep his mouth shut.
"I can see that, Gordon," there is a chill note to Jeff's voice which immediately causes the youngest pair of Tracys to fall silent. "I want to know why your brother is riding one. Well, Scott?"
Scott stares at his father for a long moment, subconsciously drawing himself to attention under the flinty gaze. He is saved the need to answer, however, by another voice.
"My, my," Ruth Tracy says as she walks around the bike, a smile on her face that is both fond and reminiscent. "I remember you coming home on one of these when you were his age, Jeff." She looks straight at her son and the message in her eyes is clear.
On hearing her words the boys relax, Gordon even throws a cheeky grin his father's way. Jeff sighs, knowing that this battle is already lost, and claps Scott on the shoulder.
"Welcome home, son."
Artemis