Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
People complained about the English weather plenty – "too grey", "too wet", "too boring", "too cold", the list went on – but in Parker's mind, there was little that beat the fresh taste of rain just passed. In the distance, a rainbow flirted with storm-grey clouds, an indication that just because it had stopped here, didn't mean it had stopped everywhere. Likewise, somewhere the sun was poking her head out, not yet visible from the estate but surely not far off.
It was quiet, peaceful – even that blasted dog was hiding from the recent weather with Parker's ward, deep inside the manor – and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the scent of freshly-fallen rain on grass. Born and raised a city lad, the majority of his life surrounded by the concrete jungle of London or prison, even in his golden years it was a simple thing that never failed to fill him with awe.
His skin prickled, a sixth sense honed from a, uh, misspent youth, and slowly, cautiously, he let his eyelids crack open again, searching for the interruption. Petty thieves tried their luck with the Creighton-Ward Estate all the time, and with his Ladyship entertaining some very important guests, he was determined not to let some young upstarts ruin their day.
It wasn't a young upstart. Well, he supposed it was, but not an unwelcome one, and most of the time not really an upstart anymore. The years had not been particularly kind to the youngster, and unlike Parker's own youth, it wasn't even karma knocking.
But musings aside, what was one of their very important guests doing wandering around the garden, rather than staying in the nice, warm manor and not interrupting Parker's appreciation of the English weather?
Shoulders were slumped, gelled-back hair flattened and coat wet. Had he been out during the rain? Oh, Mrs Tracy would not be pleased when she realised one of her grandsons was trying to make himself sick. Not that Parker would tattle, but he wouldn't need to. She, at least, was inside the manor, warm and dry.
The young man hadn't noticed him yet, so he stayed where he was for the moment, observing. Some of the Tracy boys were simple enough to handle, the same approach reliable every time, but this one required a special touch.
Those slumped shoulders, the way he'd clearly slipped out into the rain with little care or thought for the later consequences… it was one of those days. The heavy, heavy days where the world weighed just a little too much, the losses too dear, too fresh even after all these years. The young man wanted solitude, an escape from self-inflicted responsibility. Parker, well in his golden years and with too many memories of young men spiralling away entirely with nothing to ground them, knew that solitude was not the answer.
Just… a change of scenery. For a while. And a supporting shoulder.
"Nothing like rain just gone," he said, stepping forwards to draw attention to himself. Never sneak up on former military. "Wouldn't you agree, Master Scott?"
Blue eyes flicked to him, widening in surprise for a moment before settling into something more melancholy again. The young man forced a small smile, painfully thin and worn, looking around him. "It's not too bad," he agreed. Parker chuckled dryly and finished his journey to his side.
"Not too bad, 'e says." He shook his head. "You young lads." The young lad in question managed another quirk of his lips. "'as 'er Ladyship shown you 'er new garden yet?" Strictly speaking, it wasn't finished and she wasn't intending on showing anyone until it was, but Parker didn't think she'd mind too much.
Scott shook his head, and Parker reached up to clasp his shoulder, guiding him down the path. Even through his gloves, he could feel the dampness of the coat, but he didn't comment. Not yet. The fact that Scott didn't react, even just to shake him off, spoke volumes.
The new garden was small, by Creighton-Ward standards. Surrounded by high walls, some ten feet at least, and entered by an ornate wrought-iron gate, it was perfectly secluded from the rest of the estate. As they passed through the arched gateway, Parker let his hand drop from the young man's shoulder.
"'ave a walk-about," he invited. Scott glanced at him, eyes clouding with confusion, and Parker shrugged, gesturing at the carved wooden seat tucked into an alcove in the wall. "These h'old bones don't move like they used to, Master Scott."
"You're not that old," Scott retorted, but he took the invitation for what it was and wandered down the central gravel path. He didn't stop to admire the flowers, but Parker hadn't expected him to. If he'd wanted someone to do that, he'd have invited Mrs Tracy, or Virgil. Scott just needed to move around for a while, walk off whatever had decided to weigh on him today, away from the ever-observant eyes of younger brothers.
Surrounded by high walls, and with said brothers all unaware of the garden's existence, there was no witness save Parker, and Parker had long learnt to become invisible. He sat on the seat, feeling the chill of the damp soaking through his trousers with no complaint, and waited.
The sun's rays had just broken through the lingering clouds, turning the drops of water clinging to petals and leaves into shining pearls, when a warm body settled onto the bench beside him. Parker said nothing, continuing to look forwards at the sparkling walled garden until Scott let out a sigh that sounded far more upbeat than his previous attitude.
"Thanks, Parker," he said. Parker glanced at him; shoulders were no longer slumped forwards, but loosely relaxed, and what had been melancholy eyes were brighter again, their determined shine renewed.
"My pleasure, Mr Scott." Scott frowned at him, but it was playful, not offended. After a moment, he smiled again, and Parker's own face relaxed into something similar. "h'Are you ready to go inside?"
"I am." No hesitation; the troubled young man from earlier had gone, leaving the confident one in his stead. Confidence always looked better on him.
"h'I think h'it would be prudent to take the servants' door, Master Scott," he offered, making his way to his feet and scowling as his back creaked. Golden age or not, he wasn't that old! "h'Otherwise your Gran might see you before you dry h'off."
Scott winced at the reminder of his grandmother's presence and inevitable disappointment, but then laughed. "If that's what you suggest," he agreed. "Lead on, Parker."
They didn't escape Sally Tracy's eagle eyes, but at least Scott was laughing again during their attempts, and refused to wilt under the eventual scolding. Parker met the woman's eyes once her eldest grandson was sent to dry off properly and find some fresh clothes, and saw the same relief in them. The world demanded too much from him, but it hadn't broken him.
If it took some English weather and a walled garden to hold him together, then that was what Parker would provide, as many times as it took. The young man wasn't going to break under the grey ninja's watch.
Another #fluffember offering, although perhaps a different type of fluff to yesterday's. 'Rose' only wanted to lend itself to angst, so it took a little bit of strong-arming and a pov shift to move away from that. I call this 'melancholy fluff'.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari