So uh... if anyone has any uni advice then feel free to send it my way. I'm moving to uni tomorrow and I am an anxious boi. Seriously. I'm freaking out. Good news for you guys is that I deal with all emotions by writing more fics, even if those emotions include utter terror with a sprinkling of dread. On a more upbeat note - hey, look, a long chapter!
Scott had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a simple plan. It was a plan that involved checking in on each individual family member, because if they fell apart completely then they had absolutely no chance of saving the world. Several things occurred to derail this plan: Kayo vanished, Virgil went back to bed and Grandma decided that Scott himself was the one who needed to be worried over.
The Roundhouse was completely concealed by clouds. Scott pressed a hand to the window and felt the cold through the glass. There was a familiar anxious energy under his skin and it kept him from sitting. He paced back and forth while Grandma settled onto one of the cushioned benches by the window and waited. She still had a pancake left and delicately sliced it into even bites while Scott walked off the faint panic. Somehow his grandmother had the ability to make him feel both safe and uncomfortably like he was being studied under a microscope at the same time.
Grandma finished her pancake. She set the plate down and put her hands in her lap, looking at him expectantly. Apparently Scott's pacing time was up – he couldn't avoid this conversation any longer. But if Grandma expected him to start talking first… well. She'd be better off hoping for time to reverse itself back to normality.
Fine rain drove across the sea. The other islands in the archipelago were concealed in a delicate shroud of grey fog. The weather was steadily closing in. On one hand, this made it easier to imagine that this was all just a nightmare, that beyond those clouds the world remained as bright and brilliant as it had once been. But then there was the other perspective, the snarling thought that whispered directly into Scott's ear, because poor visibility meant you couldn't see the danger creeping up on you until it was too late. There were infected out there somewhere, riding the waves, and until Gordon took Four and confirmed that they were dead dead rather than living dead, they had to work on the assumption that these creatures were still a threat that could wash up on their shores the second that the tides decided to stop acting in their favour.
A hand landed on his shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around and smashing his elbow into the window in the process.
Grandma winced in sympathy. "Sorry, kid." She pulled a face. "Funny bone, huh? Nothing much to laugh about though."
"Holy shit," Scott whimpered, cradling his wounded arm to his chest and shooting her a rebuking look. "Oh, don't tell me to tip the swear jar. You're worse than Gordon and I put together."
Grandma's smile was fiendish. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm perfectly polite." She sank back onto one of the benches and patted the space beside her. "Come and sit down. Have a chat with your old grandma for a few minutes. The world won't fall apart without you there to keep an eye on it."
"Really? Are you sure? Because the last time I took some time to myself I woke up to find the undead ravaging the planet, so."
"Don't get smart with me, Scotty, now sit your ass down."
Scott obediently sat down. He wasn't entirely stupid. Grandma wasn't someone you messed with, especially not when she was already stressed. He was still waiting for the dreaded spoon of death to make an appearance.
The aircon unit sighed. The house seemed unnaturally still.
"Where is everybody?"
"In bed," Grandma informed him. "Well. Gordon and Kayo are probably sparring. Penelope's watching a film with Parker. Brains is with Virgil. John's a wildcard. Alan's asleep again." She patted his knee. "But we're not here to discuss them. We're here to talk about you."
Scott leant back to knock his head against the window with a long groan. "Do we have to? Hey, here's an idea, let's talk about anything else. How are you?"
Grandma narrowed her eyes. "I've tried giving you space because you tend to close yourself off when you're hurting. You're a lot like your father in that regard. But clearly space isn't what you need right now."
"I'm fine."
"You know how I feel about liars, Scott."
He knew she meant nothing harsh by it, so why did his heart lurch? He wiped his palms against his jeans. The energy under his skin was back with a vengeance. His eyes burnt. He pushed the heels of his hands against them and inhaled deeply. His pulse was racing like he'd just finished a rescue.
"Gordon told me he could get through to you. He practically begged me to give him twenty-four hours. He said he could get you out of that room, which, I have to concede, he did. But…" Grandma's hand rubbed circles across his back. "You're bottling everything up again. You're your own worst enemy."
"Not my worst enemy. The infected take that title. Or the Hood. Heh, maybe he's been eaten."
"Scott."
"What?"
Grandma studied him. "Stop deflecting," she murmured. "Just talk to me, kid. What's going on up there?" She tapped his temple. He just about managed to keep himself from flinching. "Hey. Can you look at me?"
He pressed his back to the window. The glass was cold and real. Around him, the edges of the room seemed blurry. Grandma took his hand and squeezed. He resisted the urge to pull away.
"I've killed people."
Grandma didn't sound shocked. "You put monsters out of their misery."
"Who the hell gave me the right to decide who gets to live and who dies? We don't know if there's a cure for this. We don't know anything anymore. I just… I don't know. I'm tired, I know that. Dad would be able to figure something out, but I'm not him. I don't even come close."
Grandma paused, deliberating over her next words.
"Your father was a great man," she said at long last, still sounding a little uncertain, "but he wasn't perfect. No one ever is. We do our best and some days that isn't enough, but at least we can say that we tried. You're not superhuman and you can't fault yourself for that. Now I don't know what you've seen out there. I don't know what it's like. But I know that it's horrific and more than any sane person can be expected to cope with."
Rain tapped against the glass.
"You should go to the Martian Colony."
"We won't leave you behind. Are you really prepared to give up on Earth?"
Scott watched fog roll across the beach below. "No," he admitted. "I'm not. I don't know where to even begin to fix anything, but I'm not going to give up."
Grandma smiled. "There's that Tracy stubbornness." She patted his back. "I'll be keeping a close eye on you, fly-boy. I'm no fool – I know there's a lot more going on in that head of yours that you're not telling me. But…" She sighed. "I'm going to have to trust you to know your own limits."
"Hey, Grandma?"
"Yes?"
"You… you know I love you, right?"
She drew him close. Her hugs were strong and determined and he buried his face in her shoulder, feeling her hand card through his hair.
"I know, Scotty," she promised. "I love you too. All of us do, very much."
Scott had formed a mental to-do list. He needed to write it down and run it past Kayo and possibly Parker too so that they could sort the different tasks in an order of priority. EOS had confirmed that his adopted sister was still sparring with Gordon in the gym and there was no chance of this changing anytime soon as Gordon was too stubborn to admit defeat and Kayo wouldn't back down if her life depended on it. It would be easy enough for Scott to head down there and call off their fight for the day, to send Gordon for a shower and food and to ask Kayo for her thoughts. However, there was something more important that he had to do first.
Gordon's room was now empty. Alan's bedroom was similarly deserted, although it had seen some significant changes since Scott had last stepped foot in it. The chest of drawers had been shunted across the room so that the bed could be pushed against the wall and the carpet was littered with crumpled drawings, the ink smeared beyond recognition. Scott resisted the urge to smooth the paper and try to figure out exactly what it was that his youngest brother had been depicting, because Alan was like Virgil in that regard – processing emotions through art – but boundaries existed and had to be respected, so he forced himself to step away.
Virgil's door was propped halfway open. MAX was crouched in the entrance, a movie playing from the projector on his back. Scott sidestepped to squeeze past and knocked on the doorframe.
"Hey, Virg? Have you seen Alan?"
Virgil wasn't actually watching the movie. There was a sketchbook balanced on his knees and a set of watercolours on a tray alongside a plate of cookies that he'd been hiding in his secret stash for months. He traced the outline of a feather in delicate amber, then looked up.
"Not recently. Have you checked the den?"
Scott leant heavily against the doorframe. He seriously wasn't in the mood for a wild-goose chase, but if that was what it took to find his youngest brother then so be it.
Brains, slowly working his way through one of the cookies, tucked amongst the pillows at the head of the mattress with his back supported by the wall, gaze fixed on the movie, offering silent companionship, finally tuned into the conversation.
"You might have b-better luck checking the Thunderbirds," he suggested, pausing the movie.
"I'll take a look." Scott patted MAX's head on his way past. "Thanks, Brains."
Brains smiled. "N-not a problem."
Virgil lowered his sketchbook for a moment. "If you find the kid, tell him to make an appearance at lunch or I'll be tracking him down and forcing him to eat one of Grandma's creations."
Scott grimaced. "Virg, it's the apocalypse. Is the threat of torture really necessary?"
Virgil leant over Brains to retrieve something from the bedside drawer. Years of reflexes honed by younger siblings throwing miscellaneous objects at his head meant that Scott managed to catch whatever it was mid-air before it could collide with his face. Further inspection revealed it was a ration bar, raspberry flavoured.
Virgil caught his questioning look. "Give that to Alan or John, whoever you find first, and make sure they actually eat the entire thing."
Scott slid the ration bar into his pocket. "Gotcha." He shot Brains a smile. "Enjoy the movie…" And then because he couldn't help himself… "…enjoy the company too."
Virgil picked up the nearest missile – a cushion – and lobbed it at his brother's head. "Get out!"
The hangars were a safe space. They always had been. They held the manifestations of hope within them – people looked to the skies and saw the Thunderbirds and knew everything was going to be okay before too long. Even now, with the world burning to ashes around him, Scott felt some of the tension drain from his muscles as soon as he stepped foot in the massive space. Two towered over an empty Pod Four while the module's usual occupant was suspended in its tank, glimmering under the turquoise lights. Holographic designs for zombie-proof upgrades were projected along the sides where Brains had begun work and paused – presumably at Virgil's request.
Thunderbird Shadow had moved since the last time Scott had seen the craft. Clearly Kayo had performed some sort of perimeter check over the past ten days. They definitely needed to have a discussion about fuel rationing.
Thunderbird One. His baby. His pride and joy…
…the only Thunderbird he couldn't bring himself to look at.
Three's cockpit was lit up. A warm glow shone from the windows to illuminate the ceiling panels so dizzyingly high above. The hatch was pushed mostly shut, but a thin beam of light revealed a gap where the door was still open. Scott stole a spare grapple pack from Brains' workstation and took the fast route up to Three's cockpit rather than going through the palaver of Alan's launch chute.
The last time Scott had been in Thunderbird Three was nearly a month ago. He'd accompanied Alan on a rescue to retrieve a ship that had run into trouble on the dark side of the moon. It had been an easy mission and they'd spent most of it teasing John over the comms because Virgil had been asleep still, Gordon was in the midst of a training session on the simulators, and no one dared to tease Kayo, which left their resident space-case as the only target. It had been fun. Life had been enjoyable. Stressful, sure, but so simple compared with today.
While Alan had been steadily destroying his room day-by-day, he'd kept his Thunderbird in tiptop condition. The floor practically gleamed. There wasn't a speck of grime to be spotted anywhere. Even the holograms above the control column seemed brighter than usual. Or maybe that was just the thrill of being in a Thunderbird, that soft thrum that ran underfoot as though the rocket were a living, breathing creature.
Scott released the grapple.
"Hey."
Alan didn't move. He was slouched in his chair, still in PJs, socked feet balanced over the edge of the steering controls. Eventually he lifted a hand. "Hey."
Scott took this as invitation to venture further inside. He closed the hatch firmly until the locking mechanism clicked so that they could be safe in the knowledge that no one could barge in without permission. Three's lights dimmed to a gentle glow. Alan still didn't look up. Scott wasn't quite sure what his brother was looking at, so simply slid into the co-pilot's seat and waited. Patience wasn't his strong suit but then again it wasn't Alan's either, so it wouldn't be too long before the kid cracked under the pressure of silence.
"You know," Alan said at last, in a strange, strained sort of voice that suggested he was attempting for humorous but was falling very far short of that goal. "I always thought the zombie apocalypse would be cooler. I've been kicking zombie butts for years but now it's happening in real life I'm completely useless."
"You're being safe," Scott corrected him.
Alan hooked a hand over the back of the seat and hauled himself upright. With greasy hair askew and dark circles, he didn't strike a particularly inspiring character. But he had that determined glint in his eyes that had been missing for too long. It was that look of classic Tracy stubbornness, the moment when a decision was made to stand tall and undefeated and to fight back no matter how terrible the odds may be.
"What's the point in that?" Alan sat up straighter, feet smacking against the metal plating. "What am I being safe for? What's our end goal? Mars? Rebuilding Earth? I'm kinda done sitting around waiting for the world to fix itself, Scott. I want to get out there and make a start."
Scott examined the tip of Thunderbird One's nose cone through the window and recalled that red paint glittering with the reflections of flames. "Do you have any idea what it's like out there? Because what you saw that day in New York… it's worse now. A lot worse."
Alan tugged a sleeve over his hand and fiddled with the loose threads at the ends. "I cleaned Thunderbird One. There was uh… zombie muck. And stuff. So. I kinda guessed that shit's not a party anymore."
"It's not a videogame."
"I know." Alan traced the edges of the steering controls. "I know," he repeated quietly. "But what's the alternative? We stay here, on island, forever? We go to Mars? We find a bunker? All of those options involve hiding."
"Hiding's better than dying, Al."
Alan caught Scott's gaze and held it. "You didn't raise me to run away from a fight."
Scott silently cursed his past self. "I hoped I'd raised you to have better survival instincts though."
"Sure. But…" Alan was clearly choosing his words carefully, hanging onto each one until the very last moment and considering its impact. "You taught me to be true to myself, no matter what. I can't hide away while people suffer. I'd rather fight for a better world and fail than have to live with knowing I didn't even try."
Years ago, this rocket had been Dad's ship. Maybe if their father was still around things would be different, but now… Three was fast. Three required instinctive flying. Three needed a pilot who was brave enough to risk flying into space where every move could decide the fates of everyone around. Three was unquestionably Alan's.
"Dad would say no. Hell, Dad wouldn't have let any of us try. He'd have us on Mars before you could even ask the question."
"Okay," Alan agreed easily, "but you're not Dad. It's not his call. It's yours." He leant forwards in his seat, bracing himself against his knees. "We trust you to make the right decision."
"Have you been talking with Gordon?"
"Does it matter?"
Scott looked out over the hanger. "John thinks International Rescue is done. That there's no one left to rescue. And yet you're asking me to send you into the middle of the apocalypse on the off-chance that we can save the entire damn planet."
Alan shrugged. "Hey," he grinned. "Saving the planet is what we do best."
There was a pause.
For once, Alan didn't break the silence.
Scott rose from his chair. "If we do this," he said at last, "then we do it together. You don't take risks. You don't run off on your own volition. You listen to me, and you do what I say. If we go out there as a team then maybe, just maybe, we'll have a chance. We have leads. We have a home base. We have our ships."
Alan came to stand next to him. From all the way up here, in Three's cockpit, the rest of the Thunderbirds – save for Two – seemed strangely small.
"Is that a yes? We're going to try?"
"It's not a no," Scott admitted, albeit reluctantly.
Alan contemplated this reply with a slowly dawning smile to rival the sun. "Virgil has this theory that we're like our Thunderbirds."
"Yeah?"
"Uh huh." Alan nodded. He didn't lift his eyes off Thunderbird One. "'Cos they all represent something different, right? Like, Thunderbird Five listens and reassures people and everyone knows that no matter how awful things get, there'll always be someone answering their call. And it doesn't matter how horrible I've been to him in the past, John's always there for me. He does the same for all of us."
"Okay…?"
"Well…" Alan hesitated. "If we kinda mirror our ships, and Thunderbird One is the first on the scene and so represents hope, then… think about what that makes you." He shrugged. "I'm just saying. We've got this. We've totally got this, 'cos you're the one leading us."
Deep in the bowels of the island, on the lowest level that ran just behind the hangars, there was a long room with soundproof panels lining the walls. At one end were a series of reinforced targets. Above these stood a window with one-way glass. Scott overlooked this room, unseen by the occupant, and observed his brother raise a gun and achieve a near perfect score. From the pockmarked wall surrounding the targets, this was not an instinctive skill.
It took another two minutes for Scott to pick his way through the maze of corridors and stairs and by the time he reached the door to the indoor shooting range, John had the protective headphones back around his neck and was busy unloading ammo back into a box. Scott peered at the targets. Suddenly he was very glad that his brother had never decided to become an evil mastermind. John picked up new skills quicker than Thunderbird One hit hypersonic speeds and apparently becoming a talented marksman was just another title to add to his resume.
John didn't acknowledge Scott's presence at first. He stowed the revolver away in the locked case and finally turned to face his brother, arms crossed, stance set in a rigid way that suggested he was expecting a fight.
Scott simply slid his hands into his pockets and nodded to the targets. "You've got a good aim."
"Yeah, I do now." John wandered to the end of the room and ran a hand across the gauges in the concrete. "You should've seen me three days ago."
"You got this good in only three days?" Scott couldn't quite keep the note of incredulity out of his voice and tried not to wince at the souring glare John sent him. "I didn't mean it like that. But… seriously, Johnny, how much time have you spent down here? Is this where you've been hiding?"
"I wasn't hiding," John snapped. "I was being productive. Up until now Gordon was the only one who's good with a gun."
Scott waved a hand. "Uh, yeah, hello, ex-Air Force Captain here."
"You panic any time you take a shot that isn't a grapple."
Sometimes Scott really had to keep his temper in check, but… "Fuck you."
John didn't retaliate. He had his back turned to Scott but after a moment his shoulders slumped. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He clawed a hand through his hair with a choked chuckle. "That seriously uncalled for. Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm a dick."
"Yeah, you are, but not all the time."
"Just most of the time."
"If you're waiting for me to disagree, John, then you're gonna be waiting a real long time."
When Scott and John argued it was a little like the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. People ran for cover. The fallout was never pretty. Thankfully, John backed down with a huff, muted by a half-smile. He lifted a hand and Scott tossed him the dry towel. Shooting could be sweaty work… when you were practising it non-stop for nearly six hours that was.
"So," John said, letting the towel drape around his neck as he reached for a water bottle. "You finally tracked me down." He sank onto the bench and peered up at Scott. "You're late. I expected you two days ago."
Scott crossed his arms and attempted to look stern. The truth was that he was too glad to see John on his feet and proactively engaging in an activity to be anything other than relieved.
John tipped back until his head bumped against the wall. "Grandma's been worried about you."
"I know."
"So was I."
"Really?"
"Scott."
"Yeah, I know, I didn't check on you, you didn't check on me, checkmate, call it even, whatever-the-fuck, I don't care, we've got bigger fish to fry right now, starting with a supply run."
John sat up. The towel fell to the floor with a miserable flop.
"I didn't think I was the best person for you to see. But Scott, c'mon, who do you think got past the electronic lock? Gordon's good with a lockpick but he's no hacker. I had to stop him from kicking your damn door in. Grandma was about five seconds away from helping him." He drained the water bottle and set it aside. "Virgil's caught up in his own head. Alan's… he needs a shower, but he's coping. You're not doing well. You want to know why I didn't check in on you? Because I'm a coward. Because I'm close to the edge myself at the moment and I know your history and I can't afford to see you like that right now, so I sent the only person who could cope with that situation."
Scott hesitantly sat down on the bench beside his brother. John had picked up the towel and was wringing one end of it, the fabric pulled taut between hands that should never have had to prep and fire a gun but had been forced to all the same. Life was a bitch sometimes. Scott partly wanted to go back to bed and take another nap, but that wasn't on the cards for hours yet.
So.
"How about a deal?" he suggested, eyeing the targets at the end of the room to fake nonchalance but secretly keeping his attention on John the entire time. Little Brother certainly looked interested, his grip on the towel slackening slightly. "I tell you if I'm falling apart and you tell me if you're struggling. Agreed?"
John sat in thoughtful silence, clearing thinking it through. "You swear you'll keep to your side of the bargain? You won't lie and push yourself past your breaking point?"
"No pushing the limits."
"I don't believe that for a second."
Scott held out his hand and watched as John's gaze focussed on his bruised knuckles. "I punched a mirror," he explained.
John exhaled slowly. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Call it a show of good faith." Scott stood up and offered a hand. "I'm telling you now, I'm not doing brilliantly and that's proof, but I'm not giving up."
John finally took the outstretched hand and hauled himself upright. "Alright. You've got yourself a deal. But do me a favour, before we go out on that supply run?"
"Depends on the favour."
"I'm not Gordon."
"You're just as sneaky. C'mon. What is it?"
John held out the revolver. "Take the shot."
Scott resisted the urge to just storm out. "John, I took multiple shots in Jerusalem."
"I know. I also know you nearly hyperventilated afterwards." John tapped his wrist console. "Readouts from your suit, remember?" He tilted the gun. Sleek metal gleamed in the light. Scott repressed a shudder. "If you can't do this, I won't judge you."
"I can do it."
"You sure?"
"I just need a minute."
"Okay."
"Don't say it like that."
"I'm not saying it like anything."
"Give me the gun."
In hindsight, wearing protective headphones would have been a good idea. Scott knew the instant he took the shot that he'd been hearing that high-pitched ringing for the next hour. The torn paper on the target boards fluttered to the floor in tiny scraps. A series of neat bullet holes smoked in the centre. He turned back to his brother.
"Satisfied?"
John had a faint note of pride in his eyes, but this was quickly hidden behind a neutral smile. "You always were the second best shot in the family."
"Second best?"
John let the door bang shut behind him. As it bounced open and closed a few more times, Scott could hear his brother's laughter echo down the corridor.
The gun was heavy in his hands.
A final bullet nestled in the chamber.
Scott raised the gun.
The target rocked with a last shot.
A thin tendril of smoke rose from the dead centre.
Scott left the room without looking back.
The most urgent issue they had to sort out was the matter of supplies. Scott conferred with EOS, John and Kayo and decided that heading across to New Zealand was their best bet as soon as light dawned the following morning. While this was a sensible strategy, Scott hated the opportunity it gave his brain to think up all the worst-case scenarios and consider the possibility of said scenarios actually occurring. He ended up pacing the lounge for most of the night until Grandma came and found him and forced him to lay down on the sofa at least if he truly insisted on not going to bed.
It made the most sense to take Thunderbird Two. Virgil ignored Gordon's offer to fly, claiming that it didn't matter whether or not it was the end of the world because there was no way anyone else was flying his girl when he was perfectly capable of taking the controls.
"Virg is freaking out," Gordon commented, standing at Scott's side in the empty module.
It was strange to see his younger brother in the sleek black of Brains' redesigned suits rather than their original International Rescue blues. It highlighted that new edge to Gordon's character, that sense of danger, a sense that it wouldn't be wise to cross him. He'd been cracking jokes all morning to try to keep their spirits high and it had worked to a certain extent, but they all knew the risks here. Flying into any disaster zone could be intimidating but at least then they knew what they were walking into. Beyond EOS's primary scans, they had no idea what was waiting for them in New Zealand.
"I think we're all freaking out," he said at last.
Gordon shrugged. "I dunno, man. I mean, sure, I'm scared shitless right now, but also… there's a part of me that's just relieved to be doing something productive. Besides," he flexed a bicep with an exaggerated wink. "I've been training to kick some serious zombie butts for nearly a month now."
"You guys realise your radios are still on, right?" Alan's voice crackled from Scott's wrist console.
"And for the record," Virgil interjected. "I'm not freaking out. I am experiencing a healthy amount of concern."
Gordon snorted. "Right-o, Virg."
"I will feed you to a zombie," Virgil muttered.
"Hey Scott," John asked over the radio, "how much ammunition do we have again? Enough for me to waste a bullet on these two before they drive me up the wall?"
"It's a fifteen-minute flight, I think you'll cope," Scott sighed.
John made a small noise of disbelief. "You have more faith in me than I do."
"When doesn't Scott have more faith in us than we have in ourselves?" Gordon pointed out. He scuffed his boots against the floor of the module. "Anyway, we're about done down here. You guys ready to go? Alan? Finished crying to your creepy reptiles?"
"They're called bearded dragons and you know it," Alan replied haughtily. "At least I don't serenade an aquarium every night."
Scott observed Gordon's soft smile and chose not to intervene. Gordon was far smarter than anyone gave him credit for and Scott was completely convinced that this familiar banter they'd fallen into was all part of his younger brother's scheme to set them at ease. By the time the lift had carried them into Two's cockpit, Virgil was significantly less tense and Alan's apprehensive expression had shifted into a look of concentration as he scoured through the information EOS had forwarded to his wrist console.
Gordon bounded across to his usual place at Virgil's side. Technically this was Scott's position, but he wasn't about to pull rank. He took the spare seat beside John and prodded his brother's bicep when the green glare of John's contacts made it obvious that his attention was elsewhere.
John blinked. "Sorry, what? Did I miss something?"
"Only Gordon cracking jokes." Scott tried to keep his gaze off the gun at his brother's hip. It just seemed wrong, on so many levels.
John leant back in his chair and flexed his hands. It had taken him a day of training to get used to his new zombie-proofed suit and he still wasn't used to the bulkier, metal-knuckled gloves. Scott didn't say anything because John hadn't said anything in return when Scott had balked at the idea of carrying more than one gun, but there was that silent note of concern that hung in the air between them, and it rang both ways. Thank God Virgil wasn't on top form so far as brotherly observation was concerned because an emotional conversation wasn't on either of their agendas right now.
Thunderbird Two was familiar. She was safe. Scott hadn't flown into zombie-infested territory in her before and therefore there were no bad memories associated with this cockpit. And yet, as sunlight streamed through the windows and the glass refracted rainbows across the floor and Alan's boots and John's gloves… Scott could feel his heartrate picking up. He clenched one hand into a fist and forcibly kept his breathing even. This was fine. Everything was fine. He was fine.
The distant boom of Thunderbird Shadow breaking the sound barrier was just audible over the rumble of Two's engines. Kayo's plan was to do a full sweep of the area and report back before they landed. She was going to remain scouting while they filled the Module with supplies so that no unwanted guests could sneak up on them.
Take-off was as smooth as ever. Flying was Scott's safe place and always had been, even when it wasn't him at the controls. So why the hell was his heartrate through the ceiling? He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He was walking into this with weapons and a team and enough information as physically possible, and yet the instinctive panic in his veins was so vicious that it was a struggle to keep the fear off his face.
John casually knocked their boots together.
Scott exhaled.
John tilted his head. His eyes were glowing green again.
"Stop scanning me," Scott muttered.
John didn't even try to deny it. He leant back in his chair and crossed his ankles. He looked the very picture of ease if you didn't know him, but Scott did know him, which was why he knew it was all a clever guise. This time it was his turn to knock their boots together. John didn't open his eyes, but his lips twitched with a smile. Scott returned his gaze to the back of Virgil's head, satisfied with a job well done.
"Approaching New Zealand airspace," Virgil reported. There was a slight waver to his voice, but it was mostly hidden under International Rescue professionalism. Apparently it didn't matter what colour their suits were: as soon as the uniforms went on – snap - they were in work mode.
Kayo's avatar appeared above the dash. "Shadow to Two, I've completed my initial checks and there doesn't seem to be any activity." She gnawed on a thumbnail, clearly uneasy. "Having said that… something doesn't feel right."
"Do you want to cross reference with my squid sense?"
Kayo closed her eyes momentarily. "No, Gordon," she said wearily. "I do not want to cross reference with your squid sense."
"What about Johnny's creepy alien senses?"
"I don't have alien senses, Gordon, I have tech-infused contacts," John interjected, still keeping his eyes shut.
Gordon gestured vaguely. "Eh. Same difference."
John sat upright, eyes flaring green as his contacts bombarded him with holograms. "No, it is not."
Alan couldn't quite stifle his laughter in time. It was the first sound anyone had heard from him since take-off and Scott couldn't keep the relief off his face. Gordon twisted his chair and shot them a smug smile. Scott was half-expecting him to bow too, just for good measure, but then Virgil announced that they were starting their descent and safety regulations demanded them all to be in their chairs facing forwards. Not that this would have stopped any of them ordinarily, but the odds were already against them and combined with the infamous Tracy luck… yeah, they were gonna play this one by the book as much as possible. Sometimes rules weren't made to be broken.
Wispy clouds danced past the window. The gentle blue of the sky was replaced by the murky grey of the smog that constantly plagued the lower cloud levels as the world smouldered. Scott couldn't help the selfish part of him that was glad to be sitting far back, away from any windows. From the tension that held Virgil's shoulders rigid and had Gordon inhaling sharply, the view couldn't be promising.
Alan turned to catch Scott's gaze, something very young and uncertain stamped on his face. There was a gentle thump as Two settled on the tarmac of the empty parking lot. For a moment, all was still and silent. Virgil relinquished the controls and flexed his hands a few times.
"What now?" Alan asked in a very small voice.
Scott swallowed past the bundle of nerves that had decided to enter his throat and hold his vocal chords captive. His hands were shaking again and he concealed this by drumming his fingers against his holsters.
"Kayo may have done recon, but that doesn't mean we all need to go in at once. More people just provides more targets. Virgil, Alan, stay here, wait for my signal. Have Two ready for lift-off, just in case. John, Gordon, you're with me. Let's go."
It took Gordon a moment longer to catch them up. The platform had already started descending into the Module and he jumped over the edge to land in a classic superhero pose like an absolute nerd. Scott told him as much, because it was the end of the world but he was still a Big Brother and annoying his siblings would never grow old. Gordon, a very responsible, mature adult and official member of International Rescue, stuck out his tongue.
John observed these proceedings with slow-dawning horror. "My god," he whimpered. "We're all gonna die."
Gordon winced and glanced up to check that the platform had fully descended and that they were no longer at risk of being overheard. "Y'know," he said quietly, "I really hope you don't have spooky alien senses, Johnny. I also really hope that was a joke."
John didn't respond to Gordon. Instead, he looked to Scott. His hands were balled into fists. Scott's heart was hammering like he'd run a marathon. This was just wrong. It was weird, having Gordon here, where Virgil usually was. Scott wasn't sure he wanted to ask the question, but Gordon volunteered the answer anyway.
"Because my squid sense is saying the same thing."
"We're not going to die," Scott said. It sounded more like an order.
John examined the light gleaming on his metal-covered knuckles. He'd never been a fighter. Scott could distinctly remember his brother coming home day after day with fresh bruises and a bloody nose and a refusal to give up names or let Scott kick anyone's ass to within an inch of their scrawny high schooler lives. And yet now John was here, having beaten a punching bag off its hook two hours earlier and fully prepared to empty a gun clip without hesitation. Scott wasn't sure what to make of that. He had the distinct feeling that he'd failed his brother, but he couldn't pin down the exact reasons.
"I haven't got alien senses," John reminded them. "So, it's just your squid sense, Gords, and history shows that that isn't the best judge."
Gordon exhaled slowly. He stepped closer so that they were in a circle, the three of them, shoulders brushing. "I hope you're right."
"I'm always right," John announced. "I'm the smartest in the room."
"The humblest, too," Scott quipped, and earnt an elbow to the ribs for that comment. "Youch. Bloody hell, John. Eat more. Why are your elbows so bony? I feel like you just stabbed me. I only just finished healing as well."
"If you want me to eat more," John said pointedly, "then we should probably go and retrieve some food."
Scott looked to the closed Module door. Gordon audibly gulped.
"I can't believe the pair of you are ex-military," John teased. He knocked his boot against Scott's and squeezed Gordon's shoulder on his way past. "Come on. You hold the places for best and second-best shots in the family, and I'm looking forward to showing you both up."
Gordon finally chuckled. "In your dreams, Johnny."
John clicked the safety off his gun. "Don't call me Johnny," he shot back, and lowered the Module door.
Ah, y'all know it's gonna get worse before it gets better. Am I talking about the fic or my university experience? I guess we'll see.
Review?
Kat x
