Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Scott has always been special. Virgil has four brothers, and he loves each and every one of them with everything he has, but there's always been something different about Scott. There's a rhythm to his brother's thoughts that he's always known. Less a melody – he hears all of their melodies; John's cantabile, Alan's agitato, and of course Gordon's scherzando – and more the underlying harmony line.
Harmonies are subtle. Their effect is noticed, of course, the extra depth they give to anything unmeasurably powerful, but they are rarely picked out. Why should they be, when their purpose is to compliment and elevate?
Virgil hears Scott's melody, too, volante because Scott doesn't know the meaning of the word slow, but it's the harmony he resonates with. It's ever-changing, fickle with the mood, but no matter what it is, whether it be vivace, pesante or furioso, Virgil hears it and his own harmony adapts to match.
The others don't perceive the world the way he does, music something to enjoy rather than something to live and breathe, but it's no secret that Virgil compliments Scott. He is whatever his brother needs, whenever he needs it. And this is noticed.
Creepy, Alan likes to call it, although there's no malice in the word. Just a teenager deciding it's a riddle not worth his time and ignoring that it exists until it's thrown straight into his face – usually when they have to remind him to do his chores.
Mind readers, Gordon quips with the airs of someone who knows it's scientifically impossible but believes it might be true, anyway. Then again, this is the same young man who swears by his own sixth sense – even if he calls it by a rather more childish name – and has brushed closer with death than Virgil could ever comprehend. Maybe his squid of a brother knows something they don't.
A fact of life, is John's response whenever it comes up. John likes facts, logic and physics, and despite the lack of any science to possibly explain it, the brother sandwiched between them simply accepts it as a fact and moves on. He has better things to do with his time than turn his brothers into lab rats to prove what they can all see: whatever the reason, however it works, Virgil can read Scott better than anyone else, and vice versa.
Scott doesn't call it anything. He laughs at Alan's grumbles, rolls his eyes at Gordon, and shrugs along amicably with John's assessment. Virgil wonders what he feels. His brother doesn't breathe music, doesn't see people in terms of agitato, vivace, scherzando. Scott pushes forwards, sees challenge after challenge and surmounts them with all the grazioso he can muster.
But however Scott perceives it, Virgil knows he knows it's there. Knows he feels the thrum of their souls in perfect yin-and-yang. It's there in the way they'll turn to look at each other in the same heartbeat, entire conversations passing without a single word. It's there in the way Virgil will always be there to catch him, and Scott scouts ahead without a backwards glance, safe in that knowledge.
There in the lives they've saved, from broken-winged birds to strangers to family to each other.
It doesn't matter how, or why, doesn't matter how it manifests.
It's just there. Always has been. Always will be.
And that's all that counts.
Day Three of Earth&Sky Week on tumblr, using the prompt 'silent communication'. Rather belated, because my muse stuck itself in Scott&Gordon whump and refused to let me poke at anything else until I was done with that (will be posted in a little while!), and Virgil is grouchy at me because of it. He decided that the best way to show this was to make me drag out mostly-forgotten musical theory from the recesses of my memory.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari