Title: The Splinter
Author: Gumnut
27 Feb 2020
Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS
Rating: Teen
Summary: Now he has backup.
Word count: 1010
Spoilers & warnings: SPOILERS for 3.25 & 3.26
Timeline: Sometime after 3.26
Author's note: Just a short fun fic before work. Family fluff with a little whump. I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: Mine? You've got to be kidding. Money? Don't have any, don't bother.
-o-o-o-
"C'mon, Virg, it will only take a minute."
"I'm fine, Gordon. I'll fix it myself." Virgil sighed. His brother had been badgering him all the way home from the rescue. No doubt as soon as he could he would grab Scott and the nagging would double. Hell, they may even try manhandling. "It's only a splinter."
"Have you seen the size of it? I've seen two by fours with less wood in them."
Virgil turned to stare at him. "Exaggeration, much?"
Strawberry blond eyebrows flared at him. "I say it as I see it."
They were walking down the corridor from the hangars. Both of them were covered in mud and forest detritus, tired and looking forward to a decent shower and sleep. The only difference between them was Virgil was missing one of his gloves and the wrist of his uniform was torn.
He was holding his hand rather gingerly.
"I will see to it. Stop worrying."
Gordon glared at him and hit his comms. "Thunderbird One, you there?"
"Gordon!" Virgil stopped dead. "Don't you dare!"
"Thunderbird Four, what's your situation?" Scott's voice had the familiar roar of rockets and strained atmosphere behind it. The Commander was returning from the other side of the planet, having been on a separate rescue to that of Two.
"Hey, Commander, I need your assistance with a stubborn operative who is injured and refuses medical treatment."
"What happened?!"
Great, now Scott was worried. Virgil cut in. "It is nothing, Thunderbird One. Gordon's just overreacting."
"He has a massive splinter in his hand! You know, one of those piano and artist hands of his. And he won't let me treat it."
"Virgil-"
"I'm fine, Scott. It's just a splinter."
His big brother's sigh was loud enough to travel the distance faster than the 'bird he was flying. "ETA in fifteen minutes. Then I'll kick your ass, but in the meantime, I now have backup." And Scott cut the connection.
What?
Gordon snickered. "Hmm, I really should have thought of that."
"What?"
At the end of the corridor a door opened and his father walked through. "Virgil? Scott said you were injured?"
Aw, crap.
-o-o-o-
Gordon left him with his father. The older man took one look at his hand and, taking his wrist, dragged Virgil through the hallways to the infirmary without a single word.
He was deposited rather pointedly on the bed while his Dad poked around in the supplies. "You flew home with that in your hand?"
Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.
"Uh...it's nothing."
Grey eyes pinned him. "Really, Virgil? It is over an inch long."
Virgil mumbled. "Wasn't really measuring."
"I see we need to go over flight safety again."
"I'm fine, Dad. Gordon was there if it became a problem."
Antiseptic was dabbed on his palm liberally and Virgil winced.
"So why wasn't he flying?"
Automatic response. "She's my 'bird."
His father said something unintelligible, but the words 'stubborn' and 'idiot' were clearly heard.
"Really, Dad, it wasn't an issue. It doesn't even hurt." Of course, that was the moment his father chose to move it in exactly the wrong direction and Virgil's gasp did little to add to his argument.
"You were saying?"
Virgil didn't answer but he couldn't help but glare at his father. There was a distinct difference between arguing his health with his Dad versus Scott.
Scott he could railroad with enough stubbornness. Dad...well, he was the guy who hadn't given up over eight years stranded alone beyond the reach of mankind. The man had learnt patience enough to outlast just about anything, including his boys.
A hypodermic appeared and Virgil was forced to acknowledge the correct dose and application and then wince as the needle went in. God, injections in his hands always hurt so much, damnit.
But his father was ever so gentle as he prodded and then pulled the chunk of wood out of Virgil's palm.
"You won't be playing the piano for a while."
Virgil didn't comment. Wasn't the first time. At least he could still paint. Thank goodness for being ambidextrous...though he had to admit that his right hand produced a different kind of art to his left.
"Virgil?"
"Hmm?"
"You okay?"
"Yeah, Dad."
Grey eyes appraised him for a moment before giving the small wound a final examination and wrapping Virgil's hand in a soft bandage.
"Is that really necessary? It was only a splinter."
His father suddenly gripped his wrist and closed his eyes, head dropping.
Virgil's eyes widened. "Dad?"
Voice raw. "Do you have any idea what an injury like this could mean untreated?"
"Um..."
His father straightened and rolled up his sleeve.
Virgil knew what was there. He had seen it on many of the scans he had done, at the hospital...
In his dreams.
It was a jagged patch of skin on his Dad's inner forearm. The first time he saw it, he had thought the worst, that his father had given up, that there was a time...
"Infection, Virgil."
"I know, Dad."
"Don't treat it so lightly."
"Yes, Dad."
His father sighed and sat down beside him on the bed, an arm wrapping around Virgil's shoulders, drawing him in.
"Dad, I'm covered in mud."
"I don't care."
His father rested his head against Virgil's and for a moment they just sat. Dad was ever so much more tactile since his return. Hugging had become an everyday thing. Not that any of them minded in the slightest. Now Dad was, for the most part, healthy, they were slowly getting used to a new groove of having him around to help, to poke and prod.
And to hug.
Virgil let his eyes close and relaxed against his father.
"You don't have to push it, son."
"I-I know."
"Be kind to yourself."
"Yes, Dad."
In the distance, a murmur became a roar announcing the return of his big brother.
"Because Scott is going to kick your ass, anyway, so let him do all the hard work."
A snort.
"Yes, Dad."
His father just hugged tighter.
-o-o-o-
FIN.