A/N: Fluff and caring, because I desperately needed to write something sweet after Darkness and Instinctive. Enjoy!
And if you need to, use words
It was a quiet evening on Tracy Island.
After dinner, Scott and John had migrated to the billiards room for a game of pool as the weather turned chill and overcast, the normally brilliant night sky cloaked with a thick veil of clouds. Scott was idly leaning on his cue as John lined up a shot, the two eldest idly chatting about nothing in particular, when Gordon suddenly burst into the room.
"Scott, John! I need help!" Gordon looked like he'd been all but tearing his hair out not five minutes earlier, eyes wild and clearly distressed.
John flinched in surprise and only just stopped himself from taking a strike at the cue ball while Scott stood up straight, shoulders back and pool cue no longer held negligently in his hand. "What's the situation?" Scott demanded, all business.
"How did Dad show Mom he loved her?" Was the demand Gordon made in reply.
"Wait…what?" Scott took a moment to process the statement, thrown by the non-sequitur. Beside him, John also straightened up, blinked and exchanged bewildered looks with Scott, the same thought on both of their minds: Where did this come from?
Big brother mode kicked in. "Maybe we should take this back a step." Scott suggested, setting his cue aside and shepherding Gordon over to one of the large armchairs by the bookcase that lined the back wall of the room. John dragged over two more chairs as Gordon sank into his seat and immediately started worrying at one of the leather bracelets on his wrist. "Start at the beginning Gordon, what's going on?" Scott asked as he and John took seats as well.
"It's Penelope's birthday next month," Gordon started to explain, the torrent of words falling out of him, "and I have no freaking idea what to do! I mean, she's a Lady, she's got the house and the boat and FAB 1 and all the high society stuff and I'm just…I grew up on a farm in Kansas, like, the polar opposite of all that." He ran both hands through his hair and made a noise of dismay. "It's her first birthday since we started being an us, you know? And it's important, and I want to show her I love her, but I don't know what to do! But Dad knew what to do for Mom and I was still a kid and I don't remember how he loved her, just that he loved her and she loved him, and you're older and I thought you might remember." He looked up at them pleadingly. "Help?"
Ah. That explained it. John raised a querying eyebrow at Scott, who gestured for John to take the floor.
"There's something Dad told me once," John started, " 'Tell her every day you love her, and use words if you have to.'"
"That's great, but what the heck does that mean and why do you know it and he, " Gordon interrupted, pointing to Scott, "doesn't? You're Mr 'Ew, Humans', since when did you need relationship advice from Dad?"
"I'm not 'Ew, Humans', I'm just very selective." John retorted to the latter, looking a little affronted. To the middle comment, John first looked at Scott, got his nod and turned back to Gordon. "I know because I needed some advice while I was at Oxford and asked Dad. Scott got burned too many times, he never got to the point where he needed 'build a relationship' advice, he needed 'end a relationship' advice."
"They were very interested in the money tied up in the 'Tracy' part of the name, not me. I haven't really dated since my first year at college." Scott explained, an unreadable expression darkening his eyes for a moment. "But I remember some of the stuff Dad would do for Mom." He went on, his expression becoming more wistful as he remembered. "He'd bring her breakfast in bed on the weekends he was home, and he had a little nook set up for her with a recliner and a side table so she could read and have a drink and a snack. He never bought her flowers when he made a mistake, I remember Dad telling me about that. Mistakes got apologies and if he could he'd fix it. Flowers were because he loved her and he knew she liked flowers."
"And candles, she loved beeswax candles." John added, his chin in his palm as he reached back into his memories. "He'd make a point of going to a specific farmer's market to buy candles for her. Remember how he'd take us kids out on 'missions' sometimes? That was when she was tired or she'd had enough for the day so he took us out so she could catch a break."
"He'd draw a bath for her if he knew she was having a really bad or a hard day. Or he'd declare he was making dinner, even if it was her turn. If he was going away he'd write a bunch of notes and hide them around the house for her to find." Scott recalled. "And he made sure they'd go on dates regularly." He smiled at a memory. "One time when the babysitter fell through he set up a little table on the back deck like it was a cafe- white table cloth, little vase of flowers- bought some nice cake-type things, and they had a 'coffee date' while we watched a movie inside."
"Okay, that's all good, but what does it mean?" Gordon pressed. "I can't do half of that!"
"Simple," John shrugged, "He figured out what made her feel loved and did that. Mom's 'receiving love' languages were gifts, quality time, and acts of service." He ticked them off on his fingers. "So he got her things and did things she liked, things that made her feel valued and appreciated, and made spending time with her a priority. And he knew she was an introvert so he made it possible for her to have alone time in a full house."
"So what does Lady Penelope like?" Scott seamlessly picked up the thread of the conversation. "I know she likes quality time," he paused and looked at John who knew her better from their shared time at Oxford, "words of affirmation?"
John shook his head. "Not so much, she used to, but people happened and she doesn't trust words as much now. Actions first, then she decides if she accepts the words."
"That makes sense. It's sad, but it makes sense." Scott nodded, grimacing a little at what had been taken from their friend by others. "Gifts?"
"Yes but no." John's frown was thoughtful. "She has a lot of material possessions so it has to be something special, something with meaning. Otherwise it's just another thing she has to find shelf space for. She likes touch, but she doesn't allow it very often. Again, people happened to her."
"We tried the 'going on a date' thing for some quality time last month." Gordon shrank into himself at the memory. He'd wanted to take her out for a nice dinner, she'd demurred, but he insisted, wanting to do things the 'right way'. She had eventually allowed it with what he now recognised as the 'he's going to have to learn through experience' flavour of resignation. The meal itself had been fantastic, at a lovely upscale place in London, but the evening was ruined by other diners with their phones out taking pictures of them and at least one of the restaurant staff had to be on retainer with the local gossip rags, judging by the paparazzi who'd been lying in wait.
They'd cut the dinner short by mutual agreement, escaped out the back loading dock and went for a drive in the countryside instead where Gordon had apologised profusely and profoundly and she'd accepted his apologies and extended a remarkable amount of grace to him over the entire debacle.
"I have no idea what to get her that she doesn't already have." Gordon went on. "I mean, she's got every top designer on speed dial, a jewellery wardrobe, she's had every delicacy out there, she has perfumes from everywhere, most of her stuff is museum or art-gallery grade and her Great Aunt is organising the birthday party so I can't even do anything with that. I've been ordered to show up in a suit and look handsome and that's the end of my contribution." He glumly concluded.
"That is a challenge." Scott admitted, feeling well out of his depth on this one. "To be honest I'm not sure what to do. John?"
John was sitting back in his chair, brows drawn close in thought and his hand pressed to his mouth. Then he picked up his phone and started flicking through some holograms. "Gordon, didn't you find a new anemone on your last survey trip through the Cook Islands?" He asked absently as he checked a tide table.
Gordon perked up, catching the drift of John's idea. "Yeah, I did, completely new to science. And it's this ombre colour too- red to pink. You thinking name it after her as a gift?"
"Exactly." John nodded. "Virgil can probably make up a nice certificate or something if you ask him." He laid his phone on his knee, brought up a map, expanded it and highlighted a point. "It was here, right?" He asked, indicating one of the innumerable coral atolls that dotted the Pacific.
Gordon peered at the map and nodded. "Yup, that's the spot."
John zoomed in further, brought up a topological scan of the atoll and scrutinised it carefully. "Then here's the plan." John's voice was decisive but his grin was conspiratorial. "In eleven days it's a neap tide, low will be at 1945 and sunset is at 2034, so there'll be enough daylight and beach. You'll ask Lady P to come here at 1800 and bring her scuba gear and a change of clothing, something comfortable. Take her in Thunderbird Four, show her the anemone, and then instead of coming back here, you'll take her up to the beach. Scott, while they're underway, you and Alan will take Thunderbird One and set up a picnic dinner on the beach. I'll order it, Virgil's on the mail run to Auckland that day so he can pick it all up. So there's a gift, quality time and a nice, private dinner for two." John sat back, quite pleased with himself.
"But what if there's a call out?" Gordon fretted, worrying at his bracelet again. "What if we're needed?"
"Gordon," Scott half smiled, "after everything that's happened, you deserve a day off for a nice date. If there's a call, we'll make it work."
"I always knew you two were closet romantics!" Gordon grinned broadly. "Thanks guys. I owe you one."