This is a one-shot Scott fic inspired by a beautiful story called Johnny by Spinkle22 which absolutely deserves to be read by everyone. It captures perfectly the innocence of a slightly introverted but brilliant little boy. It's a fairly recent story, so should be on either the first or second page of the Thunderbirds board. Anyway, I would love to recommend it to everyone. It's like, a thousand million times better than anything I could write!
A quick word about Lucille's inclusion in the story. I follow the canon set out in the John Marriott book which says Alan is 21 while Scott is 30 (Virgil is 2nd eldest at 27). This means Alan was born when Scott was 9. So I have Scott at 10 here, and Lucille about to give birth any day. I may be a tad out, but if I made the boys any younger their dialogue here would be too sophisticated. (Working out canon v fanon and getting everything straight is one of the downsides of writing TB fanfic, as many writers know all too well.) I could, of course, substitute Grandma, but then their mom's death would be too recent and they wouldn't be such happy boys. Or I could just be navel gazing and worrying too much!
Anyway, here are the ages of Scott and Virgil.
Scott- 10
Virgil- 7
# # # #
I was sitting at the kitchen table when I said it. When I grow up, I want to be a fighter pilot.
Dad was also at the table. He was polishing his shoes with a dirty rag. Mom hates it if he doesn't put newspaper down first because he gets polish everywhere, but he never thinks to do it someplace else. Anyway, he said he was impressed. Listen to that, Luce, he said. Not just any old pilot, a fighter pilot.
Mom was at the counter chopping up some onions and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Why a fighter pilot, Scott? she said, sniffing like she was already crying. (Mom's going to have a baby any day now, so she cries a lot, but this time I think it was the onions.)
Because, I told her, fighter pilots get to fight in wars and stuff.
Why on earth would you want to fight in wars? asked mom, and this time she kind of looked nervously at dad.
To stop the wars getting worse, I told her. To stop more people being killed.
Well, that's very noble of you, son, dad said, taking over the conversation like he always does. Most people wouldn't give that reason. Most people would say something like, oh, I don't know, they want to shoot down the enemy and win lots of medals for bravery.
It's not cool to kill people, dad, I said. But sometimes it's necessary. I guess. Then I saw mom getting nervous again, so I thought quickly. Like if the war was really bad and there was no other solution. I looked at mom closely. I assessed the situation. Mom was chopping those onions hard, which meant she was nervous. I don't like making mom nervous so I changed the subject. Anyway, the jets are cool. I'd do it just to fly the jets.
Then dad and I talked mainly about jet engines and air speed velocity and boring stuff mom hates and she pretended to tune us out and went back to making the dinner. But I know mom's always listening. Mom doesn't miss much. She already gets nervous about dad taking risks, I don't want her thinking I'm going to start doing the same thing. But really, I want to be just like dad. Maybe even better. I want to be the best that I can be, just like on the recruitment websites. I want to be that guy in the cockpit with his thumbs up. This is my career, this is the path I've chosen for myself. This is who I am.
This is me.
# # # #
So, I'm at the top of the hill on my bike. It's like, the very best bike I've ever had. It's so aerodynamic it's not even a bike, it's a bird with wheels. I got it for my tenth birthday. Virgil whined something awful. Why can't I have one like that?
Because you got your Picasso painting set, I said. Your big fancy easel and all those great oil paints. This bike is the equivalent to what you got. Deal with it.
I hope you fall off, he said. No-one sulks like Virgil. He makes sure everyone knows it.
Well, I told him, if I do, you can laugh at me when I'm sitting in the medical center with stitches in my head.
I will, he said. I'll paint a goddamned picture of it. Virgil cracks me up when he comes out with curse words. He's only seven but he's got great comic timing.
This hill is very steep, and dad always warned us about going too fast down it. You boys may think you're invincible, but you're not. Dad loves reminding us that we're not superhuman. It started when me and Virge began jumping off the top of the closet onto the bed. Virgil went down the gap between the bed and the wall and got a nosebleed. He cried a lot and said his brain was leaking. What brain, I said. Dad stopped us from doing it, but when he went to work we still did it, although from then on it wasn't as much fun because I kind of felt I was breaking one of dad's rules.
So this hill. It goes almost straight down and it's kind of rocky, but it's good practise for testing my reflexes. I check the brakes first. They're good brakes, I only have to squeeze lightly and the bike stops, but not so hard that I fly over the front. I maintain everything on this bike. This bike does everything I tell it, and not a moment before.
My bike is my fighter jet. I use the rocks to navigate around as though they were the enemy coming towards me. My nerves are already on a hair trigger just looking at how steep the hill is. The sky is blue, the clouds are watching. The sun is in my eyes so I pull out my dad's old aviator shades and put them on. They cut the glare 100%, and they make me look professional. I'm not just riding my bike down a hill, I mean business.
This kid in my class is always cussing and saying things like don't f*** with me. He thinks he's a big shot but he's not, he just has a big mouth. But right now, at the top of this big hill with my legs and fingers twitching in preparation for take off, that's exactly how I feel.
Don't f*** with The Tracy. One day your life may depend on me.
I flex my fingers on the handlebars. I take a deep breath. I swat a fly away from my face. No-one can see how hard my heart is beating, but I can feel it in every part of my body. Thud, thud, thud, thud.
Tower to Scott Tracy. You're cleared for take off.
Roger, tower. This is Scott Tracy. All systems go.
Thud, thud, thud, thud...
My engines are fired. Man, are they loud. I lean forward. I bite my lip. I sure hope I can pull this off without landing on my ass. Virgil would have a field day. I grip the handlebars hard, fingers hovering over the brake levers. I hope I don't need them too soon.
Thud, thud, thud, thud...
I take my left foot off the ground, align my pedals. There's a split second where everything seems to stop.
Thud...thud...thud...
And then I'm off.
I'm airborne, and the wind is in my face and I'm screaming with my lungs fit to burst.
And nothing in the world is gonna stop me now!