A/N: Hello everyone, it's me again. I've managed to catch up on a few things recently, so that means I've been able to find a bit more time for writing. I know that this isn't Fulcrum, (sorry for those who are awaiting an update) but that particular story demands a significant amount of time and attention at the stage it's at, and I just don't have either at the moment. I still hope to get it out within the next week and a bit though, so let's cross our fingers, hey?
This fic is a bit of an experiment, really, but I won't go into too much detail here. In this case, it's probably better to just explain by way of just letting you read. It's more or less another multi-chapter, but it's an (unrelated) side project to serve as a distraction when I need to distance myself a little from the happenings in Fulcrum.
One last thing before I chivvy you on your way; I just want to urge you to keep an open mind and swallow your doubts before you make any assumptions about what is going to occur, coming from what is depicted in this first chapter. I have my reasons for making the choices I have in regards to this story, and I hope that you all can forgive me, even if you perhaps don't particularly like it. :D . That sounds very ambiguous, I know and I'm sorry about that, but I promise it'll make more sense once you read.
Enough of my ramblings, go ahead and take a look, and if you wish, please let me know what you think.
Disclaimer: If not for Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, I would not be able to play in this wonderful playground, so no; I do not own the Thunderbirds.
Enjoy!
It's when I'm jogging around the island, following the bare prints left by Scott earlier this morning, that I hear the sudden, faint wailing of the alert signal.
My wrist communicator simultaneously attracts my attention with a comforting buzz in my pocket. I don't wear it for exercise anymore; because I'll never forget the time it wasn't fastened properly and flew into the ocean. Dad wasn't pleased, to say the least.
I still keep it on my person though, because again, Dad isn't pleased when we're out of contact; either for call-out or emergency.
The sensation of the stridently vibrating watch against my leg feels both slightly itchy and rather annoying, so I slow to a paced walk; turning around to head back to the house and my waiting father. I pluck it from my pocket and strap it back onto my left wrist, taking in the scent of brine and hearing the parrots in the trees to my left; breaths coming in deep bursts, and my heart beating comfortably beneath my sternum.
The south beach trail is pretty short compared to the others, and easy on the legs and knees, which is a good thing, considering the way Scott's bad one seems to be acting up lately.
The sun is hot on my bare shoulders and chest, and the water bottle, slung in the bag over my torso bumps against my hip as I gain momentum, going down the hill I came up not long ago. The house is in sight now, but rather than speeding up to reach the lounge faster, I instead watch my feet, not wanting to take a tumble and have to have my brothers rescue me instead of heading out like we should be within ten minutes of the emergency call.
As I reach the paved garden area where the side of the villa 'yard' meets the hard-packed sand, I pull my t-shirt out of the back pocket of my shorts, and pull it over my head, covering the sunburn and freckles on the otherwise tanned skin, and replacing my cap in the same smooth movement.
Dad doesn't mind us wearing nothing on our top halves while we're out in the sun or on the pool deck, but in the house he much prefers us wear what he terms 'proper' clothing. I blame Grandma for that one, Granddad couldn't have cared less!
I almost run into Scott as I jog lightly up the side steps. He's coming from the direction of the kitchen, his hair mussed and limping a little, but otherwise retaining his sense of balance; enough to grab me before I tip ass over tea-kettle anyway.
"Hey, Virge," My older brother smirks. "Try not to trip over from exhaustion just yet, okay? At least wait until after the rescue, and then Dad can ground your sorry ass for being reckless and wearing yourself out."
I snort; a half-grin on my own face to match Scott's teasing one. So, he's in a weird mood today...
"What? So you can go and snatch my serving of Onaha's trifle? In your dreams, Scott!"
That and I know something I can use against him if he dares try!
The two of us have been moving towards the lounge while we're talking, Scott's hand set companionably on my right shoulder. I'm still hiding my sniggers as we round the corner at half-jog, and I know that once all of us have arrived we'll be all business. In the meantime, however, I can have a bit of amusement.
"Hey, Johnny!" I crow, as we turn the corner to see my second brother sitting at Dad's desk; Command and Control in motion, a loud beeping coming from the panels in front of him.
He's down from 'Five while Brains and Fermat are up there for the Easter break, and it's a good thing because it means that all of us will be together for Scott's twenty-sixth birthday, coming next week. He looks up and grins at me, his tortoise-shell glasses frames sliding down his nose, and pale blonde hair curling beneath the damp heat of the day. He looks tired, but happier than he has in a while. "Hey Kid."
"Where's Dad and what's the emergency?" I'm being a bit of a moron, but oh well.
He grins, kicking back and rubbing the back of his neck. "Earthquake in Osaka, Japan. Dad was out in the garden; he's on the way back at the moment."
John frowns at me in slight concern, despite being a smart-ass and flipping the answers to my questions around. Oh, how he loves to do that… "You're looking a little roasted, you okay?"
I sigh, ignoring Scott's smug look from where he's bent over the control panel, analysing the statistics before he heads for 'One.
"Just peachy." I retort, tugging my hat further down on my head to hide my face. "I forgot the sunblock, okay? Lemme be."
You only recently get over an illness, and your siblings act like you're going to keel over at any moment. Brothers. You can't kill 'em…
Pointedly ignoring John's smirk, I look down at my watch again. What's taking the others so long? Alan, I can understand (he's slower than a flippin' snail, even when he gets a fire lit under his butt), but c'mon! Time's a wasting!
Dad arrives just as I finish rolling my eyes. He's a little out of breath from the run to get here, but already set in Commander-mode.
"What's the situation, John?"
John quirks a rueful grin beneath the tip of his chin, but responds anyway, repeating the reply he just gave me, although a bit more formally and with less banter. "Orders?" He asks, moving quickly to vacate the desk chair, but not before snatching his glass of orange juice away from the spot where Dad's coffee cups usually sit.
Dad settles into place, peering at the screen, lips tightening as he sees the information Brains has sent down. "Okay. Although 7.5 isn't really a large shaker, considering what they normally get over there, I think—" He breaks off, running his hands through his hair with a frown on his face. "Where on earth are your brothers?"
The three of us shrug, and I grin to myself again, even though Dad's going to be getting antsy soon. They're taking too long, but it's hilarious to me because they still haven't realised…
"Well," Dad says, leaning back in his chair. "This is unacceptable. You really need to go. They're going to get a piece of my mind…"
The fifteen-minute grace period that Dad gives us so we have enough time to get from wherever on the island we are to the house is nearly up, and I can tell that he's getting tetchy. He doesn't mind so badly if we call into say we're on our way, but I know that the others haven't done that yet…
That thought is cut off as the comm screen on the side computer lights up, showing Alan's face.
"I'm sorry Dad!" He yelps, the sound of pounding feet in an enclosed space and his reddened cheeks announce that he's running somewhere along a corridor, presumably the one nearest the cliff side hangar. "I was up on the peak, nearly didn't hear the siren! I'll be there soon."
Dad nods, a little less displeased by the courtesy Al's displayed. "Fast as you can, Alan. It's an earthquake, and you're part of 'Two's crew."
My youngest brother's eyes light up with delight, even through his panting and the pink in his cheeks. He's only just fifteen, and not properly a full member of the team yet, although Dad does sometimes let him sit in on missions, even if only to have someone to keep an eye on readouts and such for those of us operating the 'Birds or auxiliary equipment. It's only on the busier rescues when we need all hands on deck, but it allows him to gain a bit of experience, even if it's in a non-physical capacity.
The monitor has barely blinked out when there's the sound of sneakers screeching along hardwood, and we all turn to see the source of the disturbance.
Uh-oh. The grin I've worn since I've walked in abruptly turns sheepish as the new arrival jogs lightly over to the desk where Scott and I are standing.
Quiet since we walked in, not an unusual occurrence when he's considering something important, Scott looks between me and the guy in front of me and smirks in amusement. Dad glances over while conferring with Brains over the re-established link to 'Five and shakes his head in resignation, but doesn't interfere, which makes me grin.
My newly-arrived brother, however, is a little less calm about the proceedings, having jumped to admittedly correct conclusions.
"Seriously?" Virgil cries in exasperation, crossing his arms to glare heatedly at me. "That gag's so old, it's flippin' ancient! Is it really that impossible for you to want to be yourself? Just this goddamn once?" He huffs, and I can't help that my smirk re-emerges.
I try and suppress my laughter at the look on his face, pulling my cap off and rumpling my hair; revealing features that are almost a mirror image to his.
We're identical twins; me and Virgil, but with subtle differences that are only obvious in full light, when we're side by side or front-on to the viewer.
My hair has a light, natural red to the sandy brown that doesn't show up in his. It's not half as obvious as Gordon's, but enough that it makes a difference. There's also more of a green mix in my hazel eyes, but Dad says that that's only definable when my hair isn't covered. I also have a few more freckles than Virgil, but unless someone is really looking, I've found that I can usually pull off impersonating him, which I tend to do a lot, as my recent actions demonstrate.
"Nope." I answer cheerfully. "You're all far too gullible. It's so fun! Scooter actually called me 'Virge' before. Clearly he's getting too old; his eyesight's failing!"
"Oi!" John —sole glasses-wearer in our immediate family— apparently takes offence at that one, scowling at me from where he's leaning against the door to his elevator.
I'm amused to notice that though Scott looks at me, he doesn't even favour me with a withering glance for all my effort. Damn.
I go to fire off a cheeky reply to John's outraged comment, but Dad, finished with his conversation, scans the room again.
"Enough, Kent. We're wasting time. You're all on this one; barring any complaints or injuries you've not seen fit to mention. Get set boys, it's going to be a rescue and recovery both..."
Dad frowns again, apparently coming out one short in his count of six sons.
He sighs. "Did anyone check if Gordon's on his way? He might not be up to going on the mission proper, but I'm still pretty sure he'll want to know what's going on."
"Don't worry, Dad." A new voice announces from the door behind us. "I heard, I'm here, and with your permission, I'm perfectly set to go."
My gaze falls with concern on Gordon, scanning him with my eyes to ensure that he's actually telling the truth.
He's always very diligent and sensible about knowing how much he can handle, but at the same time, the rest of us double-check to make sure.
What with everything he deals with on a day-to-day basis, as much as Virgil and I can sympathise to an extent, Gordon at times has a tendency to put himself way too much to the test, though never on rescues. It's just a habit that none of us can shake. We're just a clan of worriers, the lot of us.
Beneath the scrutiny of five pairs of eyes (six if you count Brains on the comm screen), Gordon stands as tall as he can on the ring crutches he is leaning on. His legs, badly weakened from the accident three and a half years ago that robbed him of his full mobility, are flat and firm on the floor, none of the shakiness that is often present in the limbs showing in his stance, even the right one, which is the most unsteady out of the two.
My brother's lips firm in confidence in his abilities; the promise to step back if he needs to shining steadfastly in his green eyes, and Dad nods, giving his permission for Gordon to take part in another mission.
People might well think it's an idiot's decision to allow Gordon to be a team member, but even with his limited role, in deference to his obviously impaired ability to operate in certain situations, Gordon is an indispensable part of our family's organisation.
Now that that's settled, I feel the anticipation of a new challenge spreading a euphoric grin across my face.
It's time to get this party started.
A/N: Okay. Now I've gone and got the important stuff out of the way, I know what you're thinking! I will again say that I have my reasons for what I've done here, and I promise that I'm not being stupid and have thought the reasons why Gordon's still an operative through! I'll welcome theories on why you think it's a good idea or not, but at the same time, I won't appreciate if you blast me just because you don't like it. Okay? *Smiles*
Saying that, I am eagerly awaiting reviews on what you all think about this little idea of mine. I really hope you enjoyed it, and even if you don't decide to leave a review, please know that I appreciate you taking a look anyway.
Cheers.
- Pyre. Xx
