Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
IRRelief fic, using darkestwolfx's prompt "Any characters (but maybe including Scott) – going to the opera".
Thanks to Gumnut for helping me out with what's in Sydney - any errors are my own lack of research, laziness, and the excuse "it's 40 years in the future, things might have changed" - and how timezones work. I also seem to have transplanted TOS!Penelope's personality into her TAG counterpart because it fit better, oops.
Despite reassurances to the contrary, Scott was still fairly sure there'd been a mistake. The invitation may have come from one Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, a woman who most certainly did not make mistakes, but why a ticket to the opera would come for him rather than, say, Virgil – or even Gordon, if he was reading the air between the pair of them correctly – was utterly beyond him. Hell, it was the sort of thing he'd expect her to drag John to, for a bit of social time with no requirement to talk. An opera theatre was not exactly where you'd expect to find Scott Tracy.
An air show was more his speed, preferably as one of the performers. Not sitting in a secluded box for people of importance and expected to sit still and quietly for several hours. In a suit.
"Scott, are you ready?" Grandma rapped on his bedroom door loudly and he jumped, almost dropping the tie he was fidgeting with. "Lady Penelope's almost here!"
He was almost ready. A crisp sharp grey suit had been dredged out of the dark part of his wardrobe – the area where clothes he disliked hid away, and all suits registered highly on the 'disliked' list – and pulled on with extreme reluctance. Cufflinks, silver with diamond studs and in the shape of small planes, had been begrudgingly pulled out of hiding, and additional gel had been called upon to slick his hair back entirely, rather than its usual half wind-swept style.
It all felt stifling, and once the tie went around his neck it would all be complete. The man looking back at him in the mirror was stiff, and it was only years of scoldings from Grandma that stopped him scuffing his shiny shoes on the floor, just to break the perfect gentleman look. Scott was a perfect gentleman, thank you very much. He didn't need to dress up all fancy for that.
But Lady Penelope had insisted, and when Lady Creighton-Ward insisted, there was very little anyone could do to stop her. Just ask John.
His door hissed open, and he jumped as his grandmother entered the room, her eyes raking him up and down.
"Grandma!" he yelped, scurrying back a step or two and tugging at his jacket sleeves again, just to make sure they were absolutely perfect. The big Three-Oh might be looming in his not too distant future, and he might be the interim commander of International Rescue, but his grandmother could always reduce him to feeling like a child with his hand in the cookie jar with nothing more than a simple look. "What if I was still getting changed?"
She shrugged at him, unconcerned. "I used to change your diapers, kid. It's nothing new." She'd also dragged him, battered and bleeding and barely conscious, out of his uniform less than a week prior. He still had the stitches and bandages from the worst wounds, carefully hidden beneath the suit.
Neither of them mentioned that one.
"But I'd say it's a good thing I came in," she continued, striding forwards and plucking the tie out of his hands. "You can't wear this one." This one was a simple navy tie, plain and unassuming, and therefore Scott's favourite – if he had a favourite tie. He didn't. "Honestly, child, you know the man should complement the Lady's attire."
She rummaged through his collection, and years of experience led him to back off and just let her do what she wanted. When Grandma got an idea into her head, there was little chance of dissuading her.
"I'm not going as her date," he protested, though, just to make it clear. As a friend, perhaps, work colleague at worst, but he'd seen the aftermath of Gordon's jealousy after the charity auction and had no desire to be on the receiving end of it himself. Teasing younger brothers was all well and good until they retaliated with goop and other questionable substances at inopportune moments. John avoided the worst of it by virtue of being on Thunderbird Five, and not even Gordon was willing to ruin his entire rare stays Earthside. As a permanent resident of Tracy Island, Scott had no such escape, and he was fairly sure being the eldest brother meant anything went in their resident prankster's eyes.
"You're escorting her, and no grandson of mine will be embarrassing us or her by wearing the wrong colour tie," Grandma rebuked, finally pulling out a light blue tie and approaching him with it. The height difference was no obstacle to the formidable woman as she slipped it around his neck and tied it with a flourish into a Windsor. "There." She patted his jacket lapels down before stepping back.
"Lady Penelope's here," Virgil said, poking his head in through the door. "Gordon's drooling worse than Sherbet, just so you know."
A not insignificant part of Scott had hoped his brothers would be out on a mission when his 'h'escort' arrived. The raised eyebrow from Virgil and betrayed pout of Gordon had been bad enough when the tickets had arrived the previous day, and had only increased when Scott had immediately contacted their London Agent to point out the mistake, to be told there was no mistake, Scott, and we'll be collecting you at four pm tomorrow.
For once, the world was silent, and all four brothers were there, if one holographically, to observe as he somewhat stiffly made his way into the den, where Lady Penelope was waiting in a stunning pale blue evening dress – the exact same colour as his tie; clearly someone had been co-ordinating behind the scenes, and that someone was probably Grandma – and a matching bouquet of lace and faux flowers atop her head that Scott didn't think deserved the name of 'hat', but women's fashion had never been his strong point.
Gordon was, as Virgil had said, almost entirely oblivious to anything in the room except the blonde woman, although sadly not oblivious enough to miss Scott's matching tie. Amber eyes narrowed at him and Scott offered them an apologetic smile.
"Scott!" Perfectly manicured fingers caught his arm, Lady Penelope gracefully linking their arms together in a way that made it look like he was in control. It was an illusion – he wasn't. Gordon's eyes narrowed further, and Scott made a mental note to attempt to talk him down from whatever revenge he was no doubt plotting as soon as he got back. "You look amazing, dear," she continued. "Boys, I'll be borrowing your brother for the evening."
"By all means." Virgil was grinning broadly. "You two have fun."
"Oh, we plan to, Virgil," Lady Penelope reassured him. "Don't wait up for him; I'll bring him back tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Scott hadn't heard that before, and from the strangled noise Gordon made, he wasn't the only one who hadn't been told that little detail. "But…"
"The performance doesn't finish until midnight," Lady Penelope informed him. "I've made all the arrangements for the overnight stay, and we'll have you back here by this time tomorrow."
"But-"
"No buts, young man," Grandma cut in, her hand coming to his elbow. Between them, the two women started to steer him down towards the hangar, where Parker and FAB1 were no doubt waiting. "Go and enjoy your downtime."
Downtime. The thing he'd been on since that mission. That thing he would still be on until Grandma and Virgil decided the stitches could be removed and that he was ready for duty again. Suddenly things started slotting into place.
"See you tomorrow, Scott!" Alan called cheerfully, echoed by Virgil. Gordon made a noise that sounded more like a grunt than words, and Scott decided the best thing to do would be to ignore it as he was led downstairs.
"h'All the bags are packed, M'Lady," Parker greeted them as he held the door open. Sherbet yipped at them from the back seat. "Shut up, you." Manners drilled into him by his grandmother indicated that Scott should assist Lady Penelope into the car first, but before he could even make a move, she was slipping off of his arm and sidling all the way across the back seat, scooping Sherbet up in the same fluid movement. "h'After you, Mister Scott, sir."
With a nod to Parker, and stooping just enough for Grandma to kiss his cheek lightly in farewell, he folded himself into the remaining seat and pulled his seatbelt on.
FAB1 was not a usual Tracy ride. Scott wasn't familiar with the car like he was their fleet of transportation – both Thunderbirds and regular craft – and had rarely had the opportunity to travel in the pink Rolls-Royce. Much of that was down to his preference to pilot himself places, rather than be a passenger, and being trapped in a suit normally didn't stop him firmly placing himself in the pilot's seat of whatever plane was being used.
Grounded for injury as he was, however, the option of piloting had been forcibly removed by the family medics, leaving him with no choice but to recline in the back seat as Lady Penelope gave the order for them to leave the island. Palm trees didn't show the car the same respect as Thunderbird Two, and stayed rigidly upright as they passed between them, FAB1's flight mode engaging with plenty of time to spare before they ran out of runway.
The car was, for obvious reasons, not as fast as his usual rides. Even the regular aircraft they kept for official non-IR business went faster than Parker was currently going, and Scott quickly found the expanse of water passing below them monotonous. No doubt Gordon would find it fascinating, if he could tear his eyes away from Lady Penelope, but Gordon wasn't here and water wasn't Scott's preferred view.
"Are you sure you didn't mean Virgil or Gordon?" he asked, glancing over at the woman beside him.
"Quite sure," she confirmed. Sherbet let out another yip and jumped onto his lap, demanding to be petted. Scott acquiesced, running a hand over short coarse fur to the pug's obvious pleasure. "I'm aware that the opera house is not your usual preference, but your family agreed that a change of scene would be good for you."
"Even Gordon?" he asked, and was surprised to see a hint of colour in her cheeks.
"Gordon was not involved in the discussion," she admitted. "It was mainly your Grandmother and John, although I believe Virgil also had some input."
Why did that not surprise Scott in the slightest?
"Of course it was," he sighed.
"How are your injuries?" she inquired, and he winced.
"Healing," he evaded. She didn't press further, not that she needed to. No doubt Grandma had filled her in on exactly what injuries he had and therefore situations to avoid until they were healed. As it happened, sitting down for extended periods of time was one of the few things he could do under her instruction. No doubt the opera would fit the bill precisely.
Small talk was not Scott's preference, but Lady Penelope was a master of the art. Coaxed into discussions about his brothers and the newest GDF fliers, the journey to Sydney passed quickly. The fact that it was four pm when they arrived might have thrown Scott at one point, but jetting all over the world daily had long since dulled him to timezone changes and, thankfully, jet lag.
"I've secured reservations for dinner in our hotel," Lady Penelope informed him as FAB1 gently set down on tarmac and folded in her wings, returning to the usual form of a regular, if expensive car. "The performance begins at nine, but the doors open at seven thirty."
"You really have this all planned out, don't you?" he asked, thoroughly unsurprised. She smiled and gestured towards the opera house, now visible as they headed towards it.
"'Ere we are, M'Lady, Mr Scott," Parker said, pulling FAB1 to a gentle stop outside a hotel. It was suitably lavish for Lady Penelope's accommodations, no doubt five star with a three star restaurant nestled inside. Diamond-studded cufflinks fit right in, and Scott viewed it with some trepidation as Parker opened the door for him. Cars were not designed for long-legged Tracys to be in for any length of time – one of the many reasons Scott adored Thunderbird One was her unlimited legroom on longer flights – and it took him a moment to straighten fully, by which time Lady Penelope had materialised on his arm.
"Shall we?" He sent a glance back at where Parker was opening FAB1's deceptively large boot to reveal their overnight bags. "Parker will take care of the bags, Scott," Lady Penelope assured him, and without waiting for a reply began to steer him into the building.
The interior matched the exterior, marking this as a hotel clearly aimed at the upper class upon their visits to the Opera House. Holograms gave him a changing view of the Opera House itself through the years, its iconic silhouette particularly striking in dusk views in Scott's opinion. Undeterred by the lavish interior, Lady Penelope whisked him through to the desk, where Parker had already materialised, bags in tow, to claim both room keys.
It was easy to forget, with Parker's h'attitude and 'misspent youth', that he was perfectly competent in his primary role as butler and chauffeur to the Creighton-Ward estate. Watching him in what should be an arena far outside his status – one that felt far outside Scott's, despite the fact that he was, in fact, a multi-billionaire – never ceased to amaze Scott, who was content to let the Brits whisk him through the foyer, through some glass elevators and into a large suite with too many chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Through one open room he caught sight of a king sized bed.
Lady Penelope didn't bother asking him if it was good enough for him – she had, once upon a time, but Scott was fairly sure she'd got fed up of being told the various rooms she found for them were excessive and now just swept them up in the extravagance and expected them to appreciate it, or at least have the good grace not to comment unprompted. Scott had learnt that lesson, too.
Still the suite was a far cry from sharing a bedroom with two brothers in a small house in Kansas, and while Scott was getting used to being dragged to such places, he still preferred to stay more down to earth. Not having to share with a brother was enough for him (sure, he loved his brothers, but personal space was nice, too).
He was abandoned with his luggage – luggage he had not packed, so he had no idea what was in it and prayed that the person responsible had packed something comfortable and not just another suit – while Parker showed Lady Penelope to her own quarters next door. Parker had told him not to touch his luggage and that he would be back soon to unpack for him, but Scott had never had a butler and no intentions of starting now.
His stitches pulled worryingly as he picked the case up and he froze. Tearing stitches and bleeding through bandages was always a nuisance, but in the stuffy suit he'd been coerced into, it would be an utter nightmare.
"h'I told you not to, Mr Scott." Suddenly Parker was there, whisking the case out of his grip and making a beeline for the bedroom. "Your gran would 'ave my 'ead h'if you tore your stitches 'ere. M'Lady, too." Scott winced and followed him.
"At least let me unpack my own clothes," he said, jumping in as the case opened and Parker started to pull clothes out of it – oh joy, another suit. Why? It was only one evening!
"You 'ave h'one 'our h'until the restaurant reservation," Parker informed him, subtly blocking his attempts to get at his own clothes. "M'Lady h'expects you to take a walk h'around the garden with 'er." The older man had Scott hustled out of his own quarters before he even realised what was happening.
Lady Penelope emerged from her room at the same time, and Scott had known her far too long to even entertain the notion that it was coincidental. He didn't bother to comment on it, allowing her manicured talons to curl around his bicep once more as she left her room key with Parker – who had never even let Scott touch his – and swept back towards the elevator, Tracy firmly in tow.
"The gardens are delightful at this time of year," she informed him as though this was his first time in Sydney. Admittedly, it wasn't a place he'd visited much, and when he had been there, the scenery was usually the last thing on his mind. "We shall visit them properly tomorrow, but a short stroll will do us both wonders after our journey."
Not one to turn down fresh air at any point, Scott was willing to step outside the rear entrance of the hotel – just as grand as the front – onto neatly manicured lawns. Beyond them, the botanical garden loomed, with its trees in full bloom. Neither of them wore shoes designed for walking on grass – or far at all, in the case of Lady Penelope's heels, although Scott knew she could do a lot more in them than appearances implied – so they restrained themselves to the paths.
It was certainly easier terrain than Tracy Island boasted. The rocky, volcanic island had been chosen precisely for being remote and inhospitable, allowing them to train in secrecy, but it lent itself less well to the walking injured. Not that Scott considered himself walking wounded, but Grandma and Virgil both did, and restricted his permitted movements accordingly. To that end, he admitted it was good to get away from the island and the worried smothering of his family for a few hours.
The company certainly didn't hurt, either. Scott had a lot of respect for Lady Penelope, but thanks to their respective lines of work and commitment, rarely got to spend any time with her. There was also the constant worry of the paparazzi and rumours of more than just friendship flying, what with them both being filthy rich heirs and famous (even if Scott was technically not an heir anymore), but if Lady Penelope had proposed the visit, then that angle was certainly being taken care of. Kayo had been suspiciously absent over the last couple of days with no real reason given, and Scott chose to believe she was working some magic somewhere. After all, if his sister was on the case, nothing unwanted would be leaked – and even if it somehow got past her, there was John ready with a digital nuke.
He'd pulled that one before, more than once. It had proven very useful, even if its legality wasn't even debatable and the GDF were turning an obliging blind eye to the fact that sometimes information just vanished. Or they plain hadn't noticed; that was also possible, although Scott liked to think Colonel Casey was a little more observant than that.
Their hour in the comfortably warm Sydney sun passed quickly. Scott wasn't the best at keeping track of time, relying on John for that when it was important, but Lady Penelope seemed to have a built-in pocket watch because they wandered into the restaurant at precisely one minute to five to be seated by a waiter in a sharp pressed suit who held out a seat for Lady Penelope and himself before Scott could even grasp the back of his own chair. Scott prided himself on his quick reflexes; serving staff were truly in a class of their own. His injuries weren't slowing him that much, although he ruefully noticed that after an hour's easy stroll the act of sitting down was appreciated by his body.
Maybe he did need the break from rescues, not that he'd be admitting that to anyone any time soon. Sharp blue eyes followed his every moment, but Lady Penelope had enough tact to keep her observations to herself, so Scott wasn't unduly concerned about her.
Eating at a three star restaurant was far from Scott's usual fare, and he left handling the waiter entirely to Lady Penelope. The idea that they'd be attending the opera later that evening didn't phase him in the slightest as he offered them a shorter menu that would allow plenty of time for the final course to settle before they made their way towards the Opera House, and while Scott hoped that three star did not mean food arranged in an overly fancy manner but with very little actually on the plate – there was a lot of him to feed, especially in comparison to the delicate form of the Lady opposite him – he agreed with Lady Penelope's assertion that that would be perfect, thank you.
It took some dredging up of strict lessons on dining etiquette when he was younger and Dad was making his first millions from the depths of his memory, but Scott was quite pleased with himself for not committing a faux pas during the meal. The portions had been small, as he'd feared, but still filling enough that he thought he could probably survive an evening of opera. Which, now that it had sunk in that it really was him going and not one of his brothers, didn't seem all that terrible an idea. After all, he could appreciate good music – it was impossible to live with Virgil and not, although Alan was doing a good job at it, but that was teenagers for you – he just rarely had time to.
Time was something he had been rather forcibly given, courtesy of a rescue that had felt perfectly successful to Scott – no-one died, after all – barring an inconvenient injury that had him just coming out of forced bedrest. His family were rather unfortunately more influenced by the so-called 'cost' of the rescue – a fair bit of Scott's blood, an unexpected nap for a few hours and a dozen stitches – than the success. So maybe he'd given them a fright when he'd collapsed out of his 'bird and narrowly missed getting splattered on his own 'bird's hangar floor when he didn't quite land square on the extended access ramp (apparently – he didn't remember that bit but John was insistent), but that was nearly a week ago and he was fine now.
Well, near enough, he mentally amended as he stood up from the table and his stitches tugged threateningly again.
"Come on, dear," Lady Penelope tutted, once more scooping his bicep into her grip and guiding him out of the room and… back upstairs? "We're a little behind schedule, so you'll have to get changed quickly. Parker should have your new outfit laid out for you already."
"Get changed?" Scott looked down at his crisp suit. "Why?"
"We're two of the richest people in Sydney right now," she said, as though that should mean something. "Being seen in public in the same outfit twice just won't do. Don't worry, I'm sure Mrs Tracy has found something you'll be comfortable in."
Suits and comfortable were two words that did not go together, but Lady Penelope was a force to be reckoned with and subtly manhandled him into his own suite before vanishing into her own, neighbouring suite.
"There you h'are!" Parker exclaimed, ushering him forwards. To Scott's chagrin, there was indeed another suit laid out for him. "h'I'm under h'orders from your gran to check your stitches, so h'off with those." He gestured at the suit Scott was still wearing, and he cringed.
"Do we have to go through all this fuss, Parker?" he asked.
"h'Oh yes, Mr Scott. 'Er Ladyship's changing 'er dress and h'I wouldn't want to be the h'one to make M'Lady look bad by not wearing the right clothes, h'if you catch my drift."
Scott did catch his drift. That didn't mean he liked it, but both Lady Penelope and his grandmother were terrifying women when they wanted to be, and upsetting them would lead to nothing good.
There was some glee in getting rid of the tie, too, even if it was only going to be replaced by a black bow tie, by the looks of it.
According to tradition, stereotypes, and everything else, women took forever to get ready. But by the time Parker was satisfied his stitches were as they should be and got him into the new suit – a light blue waistcoat over a white shirt underneath the navy jacket, and matching trousers – Lady Penelope was waiting for him. Her dress was almost the same colour as before, but in a different cut and with a different assortment of lace and fabric perching on top of perfectly coiffed blonde curls.
"You look fantastic, dear," she informed him as he escaped Parker and his lint brush. "Are we ready?" A matching clutch purse occupied one of her hands, but the other resumed its default position of curling around his bicep and guided him back towards the elevator.
Even amongst other ridiculously rich people in their suits, Scott felt overdressed as he pretended to escort Lady Penelope, who was very much actually escorting him, to the doorway as Parker vanished, only to reappear in FAB1 by the time they left the building. Scott had no idea how the man did it, but it was a relief to slip into the pink car and away from any watching eyes. He was conscious that he wasn't at his best, and had no real desire to advertise to the world that the interim commander of International Rescue was injured. The suit did its job well and hid the bandaging, but Scott couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that everyone looking at him could see.
At least at the opera no-one would be looking at him.
Getting into the Opera House, however, required once again walking in front of crowds. A pink car drew attention, even in front of a spectacular building like the Sydney Opera House, and as Parker assisted first Scott, and then Lady Penelope out there was the tell-tale flash of photography. Scott hoped Kayo and John were on top of that.
"h'I shall be 'ere when you come h'out, M'Lady, Mr Scott," Parker said as Lady Penelope once again positioned herself on Scott's arm.
"Thank you, Parker," she said.
"He's not coming in?" Scott asked, surprised, as they made their way inside. Behind them, FAB1 drove away.
"The opera isn't Parker's style," she answered, flashing their tickets at the assistant, who promptly called for someone to lead them to their box. "He'll find his own entertainment for a few hours."
"Doing what?"
"Oh, I'm sure I don't know." Scott knew a conversation end when he heard one; whatever her butler was up to, Lady Penelope knew and had no intentions of sharing. Then again, considering Parker's so-called 'misspent youth', ignorance was probably a good idea. Having four younger brothers had taught Scott the value of plausible deniability long ago.
They were ushered into a small box, high above the stage, with enough room for four people to seat comfortably. Only two chairs had been set up, however, leaving Scott with the relief that he wouldn't be sat with strangers for several hours. Lady Penelope chose her seat, sitting down elegantly and looking entirely at ease in the velvet-lined chair, with her no doubt several-thousand-pound dress (Scott had no idea if it was actually a British dress) arrayed around her without so much as a crease wrong.
In comparison, Scott felt decidedly ill at ease as he sank into the surprisingly comfortable chair in his own far too expensive suit, leaning back until he found a position where the stitches didn't complain. The box had ample leg room even for a man over six foot in height, and Scott took full advantage of the fact that the box was almost impossible to see into, even if anyone wanted to people-watch instead of opera-watch, to stretch out his long legs.
There wasn't even as much as a tut from his companion, and in slight surprise he looked over to her to see a smile gracing her face.
"You may as well be comfortable," she agreed, although she remained prim in her posture.
"What about you?" he asked, and she laughed lightly.
"I've been taking posture lessons since before I could walk," she reminded him. "This is perfectly comfortable for me, but thank you for your concern." Pacified, Scott relaxed and turned his attention to the stage below them.
It was empty, the show still not due to start for another hour, according to the holographic interface on the inside of their box, ticking down the minutes until the show began. 00:59:01 ticked down to 00:59:00 and then so on, counting it down to the second.
It had been a long time since Scott had last been to the opera, or any stage performance – was it normal to have the timing of the start down to the second?
"Not everywhere," Lady Penelope told him when he asked. "But Sydney Opera House is one of the best in the world, and when you're the best, the timing is expected to be precise." Scott could respect that; enough air show routines had been down to the millisecond for him to appreciate the importance. He just hadn't expected to find it in an opera.
Lady Penelope picked up a pair of what looked like miniature binoculars and raised them to her eye delicately.
"Shall we see who's in the crowd tonight?" she mused, training the lenses at the not-box seating below.
"Using binoculars?" Scott asked, glancing down to see many men in stuffy suits and women in fancy dresses. "Really?"
"Opera glasses, Scott, they're called opera glasses. And of course. They have fantastic levels of magnification. Oh, that poor woman – whoever told her salmon and lemon work together like that?"
Scott blinked, lost at the sudden change in conversation.
"I thought you were supposed to put lemon on fish?" he asked, only for Lady Penelope to turn her head and stare at him for a moment, before shaking her head lightly.
"The colours, Scott, not the food. See that woman sat in the third row?"
He squinted, and she tutted before handing him the binoculars – opera glasses. Reluctantly he raised them to his eyes and peered through.
"The one dressed in pink and yellow?" he asked, finally locating someone who might have fit the vague description.
"The colours are salmon and lemon," Lady Penelope corrected. "But yes, her. See how the lemon overpowers the salmon? It makes her complexion look quite ill. I dare say she's wearing the wrong undertone foundation as well."
"The wrong what?" He supposed the woman in question did look a little off colour.
"Undertone foundation," she repeated. "The undertone of the foundation is important; using the wrong one ensures that even if you have the perfect hue, it won't match your complexion properly."
"If you say so," he said dubiously, beyond relieved that Kayo barely wore any make-up to his knowledge, and didn't expect him to know anything about it anyway. Then again, knowing Kayo her lipstick – lipgloss? Lip-thing – was probably modelled after that one Batman villain's and was toxic.
"I do," she said, shooting him a quick smile. "Your turn."
"What?"
"Pick someone," she explained, gesturing at the ever-increasing numbers finding their way to seats below. "We're people watching."
Scott gaped at her.
"Isn't that supposed to be rude?" he asked, gesturing at the opera glasses they both held.
"Everyone does it." She brushed his complaints off. "See, in the box opposite; the light just glinted off of their opera glasses."
"But why?"
"It's interesting," she smiled. "And also good practice."
Good practice for what, Scott managed to stop himself from asking, finally remembering that he was at an opera house with one of the best spies in the world. "So I just… pick someone?" he asked instead, beginning to scan the crowds with more intent.
"Anyone," she confirmed, just as his gaze was caught by a teenage boy who clearly didn't want to be there. He reminded Scott of Alan, for all that this teenager was a redhead and shorter than his brother. Lady Penelope laughed when he mentioned it, before finding him with her own opera glasses and agreeing.
People watching was surprisingly fun, once Scott got the hang of it, and found himself caught out when the lights dimmed and the stage was lit in spotlight. The holographic countdown declared 00:00:28 when he glanced at it, and following Lady Penelope's lead he focused his opera glasses on the stage, where at precisely nine pm, the show began.
And at precisely midnight, three hours of singing and a short interlude where refreshments had been offered (and devoured by a hungry Tracy), the final note cut off, accompanied by the lights, plunging the entire room into darkness. The applause was genuine, if at a polite volume, echoing through the darkened arena. Scott was more than happy to join in, having enjoyed the performance more than he'd expected.
It was even worth being stuffed into a suit for several long hours, although he'd keep that part quiet from his brothers. He had something of a reputation to uphold, after all, and as much as he'd enjoyed it, it was probably still more Virgil's thing.
The main lights slowly brightened, and Scott stretched his legs out. Even with the leg room, the lack of actually moving had stiffened his muscles up somewhat.
"So how long do we stay here?" he asked, looking at Lady Penelope only to find her already on her feet.
"No longer than necessary," she quipped, holding a hand out to him. "How are you feeling?" It was only the second time she'd referenced his injury all day, and Scott found that after the opera he was feeling slightly more charitable towards it being mentioned. No doubt an anticipated reaction from the short woman with him.
"I'm not designed to sit still for several hours," he shrugged, accepting her hand and hauling himself to his feet, ignoring the familiar twinge of a healing wound.
"No, I don't suppose you are," she agreed. "But you enjoyed the evening?" He smiled down at her as her hand once again found his bicep.
"More than I thought I would," he admitted. "Thank you for this."
"What are friends for?"
Parker was waiting for them, as promised, when they left the building, draping a thin fur coat over Lady Penelope's shoulders as they were exposed to the slightly cooler midnight air.
"Thank you, Parker," she said, gliding effortlessly into the back of her car and picking up a sleeping Sherbet – who Scott had seen surprisingly little of since their arrival in Australia, now that he thought about it. "I trust you had a successful evening?"
"h'Oh yes, M'Lady," Parker responded gleefully as Scott got in and shut the door behind him. "Most successful."
"Successful?" Scott asked, and Parker laughed.
"Those 'ooligans down at the casino never knew what 'it 'em, Mr Scott, sir. H'It's h'always worth taking them folk down a peg h'or two, h'if you catch my drift."
So Parker had been cheating cheaters out of their scammed earnings while they were gone. Scott supposed that wasn't surprising; Parker made no real secret that his underground skills remained sharp – indeed, all of the Tracys could cheat their way around cards, in no small part thanks to tricks taught to them by the butler himself.
"Well, it's been a long day, especially with all those timezone changes, so I think I'll turn in for the night when we get back to the hotel," Lady Penelope said. "I'd like to see the botanical gardens properly and I did promise to get you back to your brothers by four pm Tracy Island time tomorrow, so that will mean an early start, I'm afraid."
"I don't mind getting up early," Scott assured her as they arrived, and she smiled.
"Then I'll see you for a seven o'clock breakfast?"
"Do I have to wear a suit?" She laughed.
"I'll have Parker pick a less formal one out for you," she promised, and Scott groaned. "Sorry, dear, but this hotel has standards, and your usual attire doesn't quite cut it."
Parker caught up with them before they even reached the elevator, FAB1 parked away safely for the night, and Scott wondered if he and Lady Penelope were that slow, or if Parker was that fast.
"Seven am," Lady Penelope repeated as they reached his room, and Scott agreed. Parker opened the door for him with a "h'I'll see you h'in a moment, M'Lady", and followed him inside.
"h'Another stitches check, h'I'm h'afraid, Mr Scott," he said, and Scott rolled his eyes but submitted to it with minimal protest, glad to get out of the formal clothes and, once Parker was well and truly dismissed for the night, a third suit glaring at him accusingly from where the butler had laid it out, finally into something properly comfortable for bed.
Crossing timezones tended not to bother him after so long in International Rescue, but without the adrenaline rush of a rescue he found himself wearier than he would usually be at midnight. He glanced at his communicator, which he'd discovered packed in the bottom of his case, and debated calling John for a chat before remembering the time difference. Even if John probably wasn't asleep, Scott should not be encouraging bad sleeping habits in his brothers. The same went for the rest of them, and he had no idea where Kayo was, so contacting his family was dismissed for the moment and he sank into the soft mattress of the huge bed gratefully, only for a spike of pain to warn him that if he wanted to sleep through the night, he should take the next dose of painkillers – also packed without his knowledge, most likely by Grandma or Virgil.
Pills were thrown back with an accompaniment of Australian spring water from the minibar, and then he crawled back into bed. Sleep claimed him almost immediately.
The next morning came quickly, Scott's internal clock disturbing him at six. He didn't need an hour to get ready for breakfast, even if getting ready included pulling on another suit, but going back to sleep would be an exercise in futility if he wanted to be on time for breakfast.
Spying his communicator again, the timezone now worked in his favour. Six am in Sydney was a more sociable hour on Tracy Island, and he'd hooked up a line to Thunderbird Five before he'd finished considering doing it.
"Morning, Scott," John greeted him immediately. "How was last night?"
"I could have done without the suits," Scott admitted, rolling over onto his back. "But it wasn't bad." John, a brother well versed in the pains of being chosen as Lady Penelope's arm decoration, gifted him a small smile.
"I know the feeling," he agreed. "Are you still in bed?"
"Yup." Scott popped the 'p' and made a show of stretching out, even if John could only see his head and shoulders. "Big bed. Nice bed. Comfy bed. I have an hour 'til breakfast. There's time."
"Scott Tracy being lazy; I never thought I'd see the day," John commented, and Scott scowled at him.
"I have to wear another suit for breakfast, John. For breakfast!"
"So you're procrastinating getting dressed by calling me," his brother surmised.
"Can't I check on how my brothers are doing?" he asked maybe a little defensively, raising an eyebrow.
"You could, except you haven't asked yet." Pesky smart younger brothers.
"I'm asking now." John raised an eyebrow at him in return, but humoured him.
"Everyone's fine; they had a late-night rescue but that went fine, no injuries. Does mean they're all still in bed, though."
"Even Gordon?" It was a very tired squid that didn't surface with the sun, regardless of what time he went to bed.
"Even Gordon, luckily for you."
Scott blinked.
"Luckily for me?"
"The usual rumours aren't flying around, but there are still pictures of the two of you going to the opera last night on the net. The less time between him seeing those, and seeing you, the less time he has to scheme." Scott groaned.
"Can't you just get rid of them?" he asked.
"It looks more suspicious if I delete everything regarding the two of you," John told him. "All of the captions refer to you as friends or work colleagues, though. Kayo and I made sure of that."
"Thanks." Well, it was better than nothing, he supposed. His eyes fell on the suit Parker had laid out for him the previous evening and he groaned. "I'd better get up," he grumbled, glaring at it. "I'm supposed to be meeting her at seven for breakfast and I want a shower first."
"Watch your stitches."
"Yes, Virgil."
John chuckled. "See you later, big brother." His hologram vanished, and Scott set aside the communicator before reluctantly leaving the bed and heading for the ensuite.
Showering with stitches was always a nuisance; they were old enough to get slightly damp without consequences, but it was still annoying to have to mind them. Still, the wound was getting better and Scott was cautiously optimistic that he'd be allowed back on duty soon – he'd have cleared himself a few days ago, but Grandma and Virgil called had that 'nonsense' when he'd suggested it.
Dried off, he left the room with a fluffy towel around his waist to find Parker standing there, already perfectly dressed for the day.
"Morning, Mr Scott," he said, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Scott was wearing nothing but a towel. "h'I've been h'asked to check your stitches h'again before you get dressed." Scott snatched at his underwear and beat a hasty retreat back into the ensuite to pull them on.
"Give me a minute, Parker!"
From the timing, he heavily suspected this occasion to be John's fault, and made a mental note to complain at him later.
Parker's presence did not vanish after the stitches check, the butler instead insisting on helping Scott with his suit and tie – a pale pink one, this time, not that Scott had known he owned one in that colour – and piling on the hair gel when Scott attempted to return to his usual style.
"Aren't you supposed to be Lady Penelope's butler?" Scott asked as the man wrestled the comb away from him and made him sit.
"'er Ladyship h'is less of h'a disaster when h'it comes to dressing 'erself for the h'occasion," Parker retorted, and Scott groaned.
"You're not exactly aristocrat class yourself, either," he pointed out, slumping forwards until a light jab in the back made him straighten up.
"h'I learnt from the best, Mr Scott," the older man retorted. "h'And you should respect your h'elders."
"Right, sorry." There was a large mirror on the wall opposite, and Scott watched his transformation back into the perfect rich gentleman with a small amount of despair as Parker added one last dollop of hair gel, combed it in, and pronounced himself satisfied.
The clock proclaimed 06:57, and with no small amount of gratitude to his father for not employing an army of servants and putting him through that rigmarole every day, despite reaching billionaire status, Scott left his room to meet up with Lady Penelope – dressed in a pale pink to match his tie, as Scott had suspected – for breakfast.
It had always been drilled into Scott that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and it was clear that the Australians agreed. Unlike the previous evening of small plates of food arranged artistically, breakfast was a far more hearty affair, much to the delight of Scott's stomach. Lady Penelope offered an amused smile as he dug in.
"A change from your grandmother's cooking?" she asked, daintily picking at her smaller breakfast.
"Definitely," he agreed, and they both laughed. "So what's the plan for today?"
"Nothing much, I'm afraid," she said. "The time difference between here and your home works against us this time, so we'll only have time to visit the gardens before we have to leave."
"Do I have to get changed again?" he asked, and she smiled.
"No, I think we can spare you the trauma of a fourth suit," she laughed, and Scott relaxed, finishing off his plate with gusto and draining his coffee. "Shall we go?"
"What about our rooms?" he asked. "Don't we need to check out?"
"Parker has that all in hand," she assured him. "I just need to collect Bertie from him, and then I'll be ready for our walk."
"Sherbet's coming with us?" Scott asked, somewhat surprised. After the lapdog's absence from everything the day before, he'd expected him to remain in Parker's care.
"Of course," Lady Penelope told him, correcting his assumption. "Bertie loves going out for walks."
Well, Scott had no particular issue with the small dog, so he had no complaints about the additional companion as Parker materialised outside the restaurant, dog in arms and ready to be handed over to his mistress.
"We'll be back by midday," Lady Penelope informed him as she took her dog, Sherbet making contented little noises as he settled into her arms. "If you could arrange a packed lunch for our journey back that would be appreciated."
"Yes, M'Lady. h'Enjoy your walk."
"Oh, I'm sure we will. Shall we, Scott?" With her arms full of dog, there was no subtle grip on his arm, but Scott remembered the way out of the hotel well enough from the previous day, and it took very little time for them to leave the building and end up back in the manicured lawns of the hotel's garden.
Unlike the previous day, they didn't stick to the lawns, but headed towards the trees and other fantastic flora visible in the botanical gardens themselves. Unsurprisingly, despite the relative earliness of the day, there were already some people milling around, admiring the flowers. An unspoken agreement had the pair avoiding them, seeking somewhere more quiet after the previous evening.
The gardens were huge, however, and it was simple enough to slip past the other admirers of nature to find a quieter area.
"A nice change from your usual atmosphere," Lady Penelope observed, and Scott laughed, thinking of noisy brothers and roaring engines.
"Less chaos, for sure," he agreed, "a few less rocks, too." While Tracy Island had some greenery, it was at its heart a volcanic outcrop – great for challenging exploring but not so much for casual strolls to admire nature.
If he didn't know Lady Penelope as well as he did, he might have thought that she was picking her route at random through the large area. High heels did nothing to stop the woman from finding the less even paths amongst the trees and higher shrubs, and while she was not walking with purpose, she was steering him slowly in a single direction.
Their eventual destination, after an hour or so of very casual walking, turned out to be a carved seat, overlooking the harbour. Lady Penelope sat herself down on it gracefully, gesturing for Scott to join her. Sherbet yapped as he did so, wriggling out of his owner's grip and landing on Scott's lap, looking up at him expectantly. Relaxing back against the sandstone, he scratched the dog behind the ears.
Underneath the shade of the trees, protected from the Australian sun, it was easy to relax and watch the ships manoeuvring in and out of the harbour. Scott couldn't actually remember the last time he'd just sat and watched the world go by – usually, he was having to chase after it in a Thunderbird as disasters struck, or there was the endless paperwork to juggle. With both Thunderbird and paperwork strictly forbidden and out of reach, and a very determined Lady beside him, he'd been left with very little choice and found it was actually quite peaceful.
Was this what John saw, when he got a break from calls? Maybe he should ask him about that at some point. Birds sang overhead, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves above him, although not quite strong enough to free his hair from its heavily gelled confines. For the first time in a long time, Scott just let himself exist in the moment.
"As lovely as it is here, we must be heading back." Lady Penelope's voice broke the silence suddenly, and Scott was startled to discover more than an hour had passed. "I would like to keep my promise to your family, so we do need to leave Sydney by midday."
Scott could just imagine the fuss if he wasn't back by then – not because they didn't completely trust Lady Penelope and Parker, but because the pair had a reputation for arriving where they said, when they said. It would take more than having a single Tracy guest to delay them. A delay would be concerning, to say the least.
Still, it was with some reluctance that he found his feet again, brushing his back off and hiding a wince as painkillers decided they'd done their duty and had worn off at some point while he was distracted. Blue eyes focused on him, but Lady Penelope didn't comment. She did, however, scoop Sherbet up with only one arm, linking her other through with his. Scott knew better than to refuse the silent aid, if only because it was Lady Penelope, and let her guide him back towards the direction of the hotel and the waiting Parker.
It was just before midday when they arrived, Penelope sliding into the car before Scott joined her.
"h'I h'obtained some sandwiches for you, M'Lady, Mr Scott," Parker informed them as he lowered the travel table in the back of the driver's seat and placed the paper plates laden with said sandwiches on it. "There are drinks h'in the cup 'olders. h'I 'ope that'll do?"
"Indeed they will, thank you, Parker," Lady Penelope assured him.
"Mr Scott, h'I took the liberty h'of putting your painkillers and some water h'in the door," he continued, and Scott spotted them.
"Thanks," he said, and reluctantly fished them out as the car began to move, trundling through the streets before the wings engaged and they lifted into the air.
Parker was no stranger to the appetite of the Tracy family – or the lack of cooking ability exhibited by their grandmother – and the sandwiches turned out to be numerous enough to keep Scott quite content as they flew over the ocean, back towards Tracy Island and the brothers that were no doubt waiting for him, provided they weren't out on another rescue.
Sure enough, Thunderbird Two was still happily in her hangar when FAB1 trundled in at precisely four o'clock, according to the communicator Scott had strapped back to his wrist, uncaring of whether or not it belonged there while he was in a suit.
Also there was Virgil, who left his tools at the sight of them and hollered a call of "they're back!" into his comm as he jogged over to the car. Gordon immediately tore into view, clearly having been waiting as much as doing maintenance on Module Four, and in an echo of twenty four hours previous immediately zeroed in on Scott's tie, which matched Lady Penelope's current dress perfectly.
"Lady Penelope, you look amazing!" he gushed, almost knocking Scott out of the way in his haste to help the woman out of the car. Sherbet yipped at him and the aquanaut flinched backwards, to Scott's amusement.
"How are you?" Virgil asked Scott, drawing his attention to his dark haired brother as worried brown eyes looked him up and down.
"I'm fine, Virgil," he assured him. "You can ask Parker if you don't believe me." Virgil had an annoying habit of never believing the words 'I'm fine', for some reason.
"Parker?" his brother immediately asked, and Scott sighed, drifting away as the questions about his health started again. An entire day of not being treated like a patient had been a welcome break. Unfortunately, that put him in Gordon's line of sight, as Kayo materialised and headed straight for Lady Penelope, elbowing the blond out of the way.
Amber eyes looked him up and down in an echo of Virgil's, only there was less worry and more scrutiny in the gaze before Gordon locked eyes with him.
"Gordon-" he started, hoping to head off whatever storm was headed his way, but Gordon interrupted him with a raised hand.
"Uh, uh."
And then he was tackled in a hug, Gordon's arms carefully avoiding his stitches.
"Gordon?"
"I'm still not happy you got to go and I didn't," his brother grumbled. "But you look better than you have all week, so it was obviously for a good cause."
"I- thanks?"
"But the next date is mine," Gordon added, glowering up at him. "Got it?"
"That's not my call to make," Scott admitted, as much as he'd like to say 'yes' just to get Gordon off his case. "The only one who gets to decide that is her."
They both looked across at where the two women were discussing something in hushed tones, the words "Sydney", "arrested", and "GDF" floating into earshot. For some reason, that seemed to cheer Gordon up, as he released Scott and took a step back.
"Yeah, well, you look ridiculous." Parker's carefully crafted hairstyle was mussed up, and Gordon made a face at the amount of gel that came off onto his hands, wiping them vigorously on his shorts. "Gross. Go get yourself back to normal and stop looking like a pampered billionaire."
Scott grinned at him. "But Gordon, didn't you know? I am a pampered billionaire."
Gordon whacked his arm. "Go. Change. Don't worry about the luggage – Virgil's already got that." Scott whirled around and sure enough, his case was being carried towards the stairs by his brother.
"Seriously?" he sighed, leaving his younger brother to his failed attempts to get Lady Penelope's attention away from Kayo and jogging to catch up with Virgil. "I can carry my own bag."
"Doesn't mean you're going to," Virgil retorted, moving it out of reach when Scott tried to reclaim it. "Go take the elevator up." Scott matched him, step for step, and Virgil stopped, grumbling under his breath, before turning and heading back down. "Fine, we'll both take the elevator. Come on."
Admitting defeat, he followed, leaning against the wall as it carried them up to the den.
"Where's Alan?" he asked, noticing a lack of his youngest brother.
"Freighter ran into some trouble just out of orbit," Virgil shrugged. "Brains went with him, and John's joined them with the exo-suit. They should be finished soon."
"Why didn't Kayo go?" he wondered, and Virgil laughed.
"Turns out Lady Penelope had some other business in Sydney as well as going to the opera," he said. "Kayo's been handling the fall out while you two had a nice walk in the park and gave Lady P. an alibi."
Scott stared at him, making no move to get out of the elevator when it arrived.
"You mean I was playing distraction in a spy mission the whole time?"
"Seems that way, bro," Virgil grinned, taking hold of his elbow and guiding him out, towards the final set of stairs. "Judging by the papers, you made a fantastic one. They're full of conspiracy theories why you two were at the opera last night, although John's culled the worst offenders."
Scott sighed and picked at his bejewelled cufflinks morosely.
"No wonder they were so determined that I wear overpriced suits," he moaned. "Get me out of this thing; I've had enough."
Virgil laughed again, pushing his way inside Scott's room and putting the case down on the floor.
"I'll leave you to it," he said even as Scott all but ripped the tie away from his neck, letting the expensive pink material fall to the floor. "See you in the den when you're done."
"Sure."
It took very little time to get the offending clothes off, and his usual, comfy attire on. His hair was a lost cause that required washing to get all of the gel out, however, so Scott just left it in its Gordon-ruffled state to be dealt with later, especially as the unmistakable sound of Thunderbird Three roared through the house; a glance out of his window showed him the large rocket returning to her silo, youngest brother presumably on board.
What he hadn't been expecting, as he made his way back down to the den to find everyone gathered there, was the third person on board.
"You look better," John said bluntly, crossing the room and putting a hand on his shoulder, surveying him critically like two of their younger brothers already had. "I thought as much this morning, but holograms can be deceiving."
"This morning?" he heard Gordon ask, but Alan chose that moment to leap at his two eldest brothers and hug them both, John's recoil coming too late to escape.
"How was it?" the youngest asked excitedly. "Did you see the bridge? Was the Opera House all lit up?"
Scott didn't get a chance to answer before John cut in.
"Get off, Alan."
However, their youngest brother was like a limpet when he wanted to be, and with Scott not particularly trying very hard to escape, John's struggles were fruitless, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room.
"Dog pile!" Gordon yelled suddenly, and Scott joined the laughter as Virgil got willingly dragged in, the four youngest brothers making a ring around the eldest.
"Guys!" John complained, but there was no real bite to his tone.
"Well, isn't that just a picture," Grandma commented. "Kayo, be a dear and take a photo of my grandsons."
"Already done." She flicked it up onto a holoprojector, and after a few moments the five boys disentangled enough to see it. Four of them were laughing, with the fifth wearing a reluctant smile. It was a total mess, with limbs everywhere and Gordon in danger of falling over where he was half-clinging to Virgil's back. Alan wasn't even facing the camera, a bright blob of blond shielding most of his face from view.
"That's awful," John said, at the same moment Lady Penelope asked Kayo for a copy.
The two long term friends looked at each other, one frowning, the other openly amused, before John shook his head and extracted himself entirely from the crowd of brothers. Scott watched the exchange, amused, before realising his brother was heading back towards the hangars.
"John, where are you going?" he asked.
"Back to the office, and sanity," the redhead retorted.
"You don't even want some cake?" Lady Penelope asked. "It's chocolate."
Cake? "When did we get cake?" Scott asked, turning away from where John had paused to look at her, still dressed in her posh pink dress.
"h'I did, Mr Scott," Parker waved. "While you were h'out on your walk this morning. M'Lady h'asked that h'I pick h'up the cake she h'ordered yesterday."
"It's in the kitchen, ready to be eaten," Grandma interjected, and Scott blinked as his three youngest brothers vanished in a stampede, Kayo already long gone.
"Fine, I'll stay for the cake." John's reluctance was entirely put-on, in Scott's opinion. "Come on, Scott, or the vultures will have eaten it all before we get there."
Scott laughed, and hauled himself back out of the sofa.
"Race you!"
As he and John tore down the stairs, both slowed down by injury or gravity, he heard more laughter from the den, and the click of another photograph being taken.
IRRelief is an amazing idea and bless Gumnut for coming up with it! For those that don't know, it's a collection of prompts anyone can add to and use on tumblr, with a focus on fluff, to give us something to do while we're stuck indoors. Full details are on tumblr under the tags #irrelief and #irrelief2020
Thanks for reading!
Tsari