Happy Christmas to those who celebrate it! To those of you who don't, have an amazing weekend!

I present to you: fluff. I mean, yeah, sprinklings of angst because it's me and it's this fic, but... fluff. Side note: this was supposed to be the Christmas chapter but I got side-tracked so now the chapters and my posting schedule dates don't line up so spoiler alert, you're gonna have to deal with reading some Mariah Carey references next week. But hey, it'll still be December so it totally counts!


"I'm now rooming with Gords, so Alan and Parker are sharing with you," Scott informed his brother with a bright smile. "Deal with it."

Virgil stared at him. "Scott, we can't fit four of us in a room. There's only three beds."

"Oh no," Scott announced as obnoxiously dramatic as possible, trying not to laugh. "I guess you'll have to share a bed with Brains. How unfortunate."

"You are the bane of my existence."

"Thanks, Virg. Love you."

"You're a jerk."

"You are the light of my life, little brother."

"Screw you."

"Sweet dreams, Vee."

Virgil flipped him off. Scott laughed in his face and then fled before Virgil could catch him.


Time shuffled into early evening and then, finally, what could safely be considered night. Without dawn or dusk to divide the day, they had to rely on clocks alone, but for the first forty-eight hours they trusted their own bodies to prompt them – exhaustion set in quickly and without any immediate tasks demanding attention, it was simple enough to sort rations into a rough dinner and fall into bed without worrying too much about the finer details.

The first week brought nightmares. Some were feverish, strung into a strange delirium between an overheated waking mind and a frightened subconscious, whilst others were the result of too many thoughts and too many memories and too many fires blazing on the planet below to believe their journey was over yet.

On that first night, Scott hit the bed and crashed until the hazy blur of two-AM saw movement shuffling across the room. Instinct assured him that there was no threat. There was a faint stutter of words in the darkness. He rolled over and lifted an arm. Gordon didn't hesitate, still shaking as he buried his face in the pillow and refused to say another thing. Come morning, when EOS gently sounded an alarm as Virgil had coaxed some form of breakfast from the rations, and Gordon rolled out of bed with a haunted light in his eyes, Scott didn't push the matter. And so they continued – chasing away the nightmares with each other's company but never broaching the subject in daylight for fear of breaking that fragile vulnerability found in the early hours.

John dragged himself out of bed around noon, fever finally broken, seemingly no worse for wear but sticking to loose-fitting civilian clothes rather than the constrictive layers of his spacesuit. He retrieved his own rations and escaped to one of the many windows overlooking the rest of the solar system. Alan stuck close to his side until Kayo roped the kid into helping her transform one of the spare storage zones into an artificial farm. Scott hung back a little, hovering until John finally turned away from the window and levelled him with an expectant stare.

"I'm fine."

Scott folded his arms. "That fever suggested otherwise."

"I pushed myself too far." It was the first time he'd ever heard John admit as much. "I paid for it. But that's all it was." John slid off the window ledge and caught Scott's shoulder on his way past. "Stop overthinking it. I'm fine. EOS agrees. If that changes, I'll tell you."

"Promise?"

"What, are we five?" John relented. "Yeah." He let his hand fall back to his side. "I'll tell you, alright?"

Kayo's yell echoed around the satellite, aided by EOS's speakers and Penelope's shout, summoning everyone to pitch in. It wasn't really necessary, but it was the closest thing to a family activity they were going to get. Scott hunted down a pair of jeans he didn't mind getting ruined by artificial soil and mineral compounds and coaxed Gordon into joining them at the same time, having found his brother hiding in the gym.

Kayo stood in the centre of the room-turned-field, hands on hips, chin slanted with an edge of stubborn pride. There was a streak of dirt across her cheek and her eyes were slightly red-rimmed, irritated by the chemical replacements she'd mixed up to supplement the meagre minerals normally plentiful on Earth. Alan was on his back, covered in mud, all sunny freckles and a laughing grin, hair turned brown and a once-green shirt stained ochre. Penelope was crouched in one of the makeshift channels, seeds guarded in her hands. She glanced up and beamed, rising to her feet and delicately picking a path through the soil to reach Scott and Gordon.

"Here." She clasped Gordon's hands and gently eased the seeds into his cupped palms. "Careful."

"Drop any on pain of death," Kayo called with a wink.

Gordon examined the precious contents, gaze softening. Penelope rose onto her toes to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek.

"I could do with a hand," she offered. "Would you care to join me?"

Gordon stared at her. For a brief moment, something akin to a genuine smile crossed his face. It was gone just as quickly, but it left something tender and warm in its wake, returning that missing spark to his eyes. He transferred the seeds into a single palm and let Penelope slip her hand into his own.

"Okay then. If you insist, Penny."

Penelope's smile could have rivalled the sun. She squeezed his hand, tugging him after her as she led the way into the centre of the room. "Oh, I absolutely do."


Life fell into an easy pattern. And wasn't that a miracle in itself? The simplicity of an existence without fear, without checking for monsters in the shallows and shadows, without an old wound aching with the promise of a future curse. Thunderbird Five was the key. Without Five, there would never have been a functioning International Rescue. Without Five, they would be lost. On Earth lay a home that they could not return to and on Mars lay a home they could not reach. Five tied the two together and created a soft space of comfort between them, possibilities slotting into place so that they were one and nothing all at once, like looking through two sets of old film roll and seeing a mismatched picture that was true to neither camera but created something entirely new.

Five was John's home. Since they'd first lost him – and in turn he had nearly lost them – it was his chance to bring them to his own safe place, to show that he cared – as if anyone had ever doubted that in the first place. As children, they had watched their father find adventure amongst the stars. Now, together, they found something more precious – perspective, healing and, after months of drifting apart, finally, they once again found each other.

Five was a multitude of words and lights and promises all tied together in hope disguised as a moving star. When they first arrived, there was that faint metallic smell of filtered oxygen, the chemical taint of space-rated goods, whispers of old books with that withered paper scent and a hint of chocolate – because John had always had a not-so-secret sweet tooth. As the days went by, it became something new, something else, something more.

The kitchen became infused with tea and cinnamon, a hint of oil made its way into the vents as Brains fell headfirst into a new project, the showers alternated between jasmine and mint soaps, and the ghost of buttery popcorn haunted the Observatory alongside a floating blanket patterned with red racing-cars. Books piled up on an abandoned control panel. A hologram projector showed a paused movie. Piano music filtered along the Gravity Ring. A dash of paint stained the kitchen sink. A tank of bearded dragons took up pride of place on a table with a sketchpad propped against its side. Fluffy blankets adorned a chair. The hatch to Three remained permanently unlocked. Alan's shoes littered the cockpit. There was chocolate powder on the pilot's seat. Photos – both printed and holographic – were tacked up along the rim of the airlock.

They took their Thunderbirds and made them home and then, once they had found that easy rhythm of life and discovered how they all fitted into it, they began to heal, and they began to plan.

It wasn't easy. It certainly wasn't fun. Most nights Scott found himself jolting awake to the taste of salt and a racing pulse or a strangled cry from the opposite side of the room. Most mornings saw the gym already lit up, equipment whirring and shoes pounding the rubber run of a walking machine as Parker or Kayo or Alan chased away nightmares that weren't quite memories but were too close to reality to shake off as a mere bad dream.

But there were positives, too, and it gradually grew easier to look for the light amid the dark. Grandma found the adventure her son had gone searching for all those years ago. Penelope gave up on the expectations she had been carrying on her shoulders ever since she'd first learnt what it meant to be known as a Creighton-Ward. Kayo let her defences ease into open warmth. Virgil picked up a paintbrush and didn't put it down again until the emotions were printed on paper where they could no longer hurt him. Parker eased himself into the background melody of their lives with as much care and not-so-secret affection as he had doted on Penelope for so many years.

And then there was John. John, who for so long had held the world at an arm's length and run from people for reasons Scott would never fully understand but had accepted and respected for years, until they lost each other, and suddenly none of it seemed to matter anymore. They were here. They knew each other. There was no reason to hide. The world was broken but their family was not. That was something special. That was something worth cherishing. And, for the first time, John was making the first move.

"You know," Scott remarked, propping himself against the doorway to his brother's room, "for someone who claims to hate physical contact, you're sending some pretty confusing messages."

John glanced up over the brim of his laptop. Alan, mostly asleep but awake enough to murmur a complaint, snatched at his brother's sleeve as John lifted an arm away from where he'd been holding Alan close to his side, both sprawled across the bed with the laptop at the end in pride of place.

"I don't hate physical contact," John said at last. He nudged his glasses further up his nose – and that was new, too: the lack of alien green, replaced by natural blue, open and honest and no longer hiding behind the protection of tech barring him from joining everyone in the real world. He returned his arm to Alan's shoulders. Alan burrowed his face into the pillow in front of him with a contented sigh.

Scott racked the memory banks for every time he'd seen John flinch away from touch and came up with too many examples to count. "Since when?"

"Since ever." John shrugged. "It's not my way of showing I care, that's all, and I like my personal space. But with certain people, if they ask first rather than just ignoring my boundaries, I don't mind it."

"More often now though," Scott pointed out. It wasn't a critique or even praise; it was simply an observation.

John propped his chin in one hand and lowered the laptop screen a fraction. "Yes," he admitted after a brief moment of thought. "I told you – death provides perspective. Look, have it this way – you know I care. You all know that. But I've never been open with it. Now I want to be. And this…" He gestured to the way Alan was mostly asleep, relaxed and draped along his side like an affectionate housecat. "Everyone has their…" He waved a hand, searching. "Love languages – damn, I even took that psych unit in college, how did I forget that phrase… anyway – and physical touch is pretty high up on your list."

"My personal list or us as a family?"

John levelled him with a deadpan look. "Both."

Scott hadn't really considered it in that way. But then again, it was so obvious, obvious in the ways they had always interacted with one another – with a pat on the back from Virgil, Gordon casually standing close enough to knock shoulders, Alan bounding into hugs like an excited golden retriever puppy, and Scott himself seeking out the same expressions of affection – even in the way that Penelope tucked herself under their arms and that Kayo would offer a fist bump or high-five that would melt into a brief hug. It was clear to see in Grandma's forehead kisses and Brains' and Parker's awkward shoulder pats. John saw and he wanted to be a part of it, just on his own terms, and Scott was more than happy to let his brother go at his own pace.

"It's different up here," he commented.

John's smile turned teasing. "Really? I hadn't noticed. I did wonder why there was no gravity in the Observatory or why I could see so many stars outside."

"Why are you like this?"

"Trauma."

Scott winced. "John. Johnny. You're killing me here."

"Come and watch the movie with us then, you'll find it's a pretty good fix for that sort of thing." John frowned as Alan rolled over with a faint snore. "Okay, I take that back – come and watch the movie with me, because we accidentally left our brother on Earth and somehow brought a sloth with us instead."

Scott poked Alan in the forehead and grinned as the kid batted his hand away with a protesting whine. "Hi there, sloth."

"G'way, Scotty," Alan complained, slurred with sleep. "M'not a sloth."

"Sloth," John confirmed, patting Alan's back with a wide smile. "Without a doubt." He lifted the laptop so that Scott could take its place. "I'm going to start calling him Sid."

"Sid?" Scott double-took. "Like… that sloth from Ice Age?"

"Yep."

"Since when do you make pop-culture references?"

John directed a pointed look at Alan, which, yeah, alright, fair enough. "Movie?"

Scott shuffled back against the cushions. John yawned and hit play. The lights dimmed automatically. Alan nearly fell off the mattress, rolling over as he flailed an arm, seeking the optimum sleeping position and finally settling on flopping over them both, pillowing his head on John's knees.

"That cannot be comfy," Scott whispered.

John gave him a look. "Are you saying my knees aren't comfortable? I'm offended."

"No, of course they're not. You're bony as hell. Every time you elbow me I think I've been stabbed."

"Well, you would think that, because you're overdramatic," John muttered, and proceeded to elbow him to prove his point. Scott yelped. John beamed at him and bonked his forehead against Scott's shoulder.

"What is this?" Scott patted his brother's head. "Is this some sort of apology for stabbing me with your weirdly pointy elbows? Are you now a cat? Are we recreating that scene from How to Train Your Dragon? I need some context here, Johnny."

"Okay, now you're talking too much."

"You started it."

"Shut up and watch the movie."

"But you started it! You can't complain when you started it."

"Shut up."

"John."

"Scott."

"You're a menace."

"Thank you."

Scott laughed. Alan growled in protest. John bit back an amused chuckle.

"Movie?" he asked, still trying not to laugh.

"Movie," Scott agreed.


Night-time was, to put it simply, weird. For starters, there was no division between night and day in Space, so they set all the clocks to the Pacific Time Zone as on Tracy Island and kept to their usual schedules according to Earth. EOS automatically started dimming lights across Five as sunset embraced the planet below. It was a routine. It helped. Night-time wasn't actually the problem – that was sleeping.

For the first week, Scott couldn't sleep longer than two hours at a time. Gym workouts helped. Eventually, as they settled into a new normality, his subconscious finally accepted that he was safe, and allowed him to rest without suddenly jolting awake, almost certain that danger was close-by. Now, nearly a month on, he was able to go five hours. His health thanked him for it – which then, in turn, meant Virgil stopped fretting over him quite as much.

Gordon, however, was another story. The roommate allocations had changed slightly, as Alan wound up bunking with John and Parker insisted on his own space, eventually taking up residence in what was technically a storage closet but could just about fit a bed, leaving Brains and Virgil with their own room again. But Gordon had stayed with Scott the entire time without a single complaint. Even during the day, he tended to stick to his two eldest brothers like glue, as if he still couldn't accept that Five was a safe place and no one was at risk of becoming zombie chow. His jokes had slowly returned, but he seemed so irrevocably lost and Scott wasn't sure how to help. At the end of the day, he wasn't a licenced therapist, and his brother needed professional advice – hell, they all did -that none of them could provide.

But at night? At night the sense of normality lifted. At night, there was that sense of otherness that reminded each of them in their individual ways that they were technically stranded. Out here, amongst the darkness, they were safe, but they were not living.

Sometimes, when Scott couldn't sleep, he'd leave Gordon to their shared room of white tiles and white ceiling and white paint and went in search of colour. He'd find it in a handmade blanket thrown across the ledge jutting out from a window where he'd feel for the soft scratch of aged yarn and wrap himself in memories of home as he watched the stars spiral into oblivion. Occasionally, Earth would pass into view.

As the weeks passed, more and more fires burnt themselves out. Earth was no longer an inferno but mere embers. From here, it seemed an impossible task to even consider fixing things. Yet out there, on other satellites, on a dusty red planet, and even on the scorched world below, there were others, survivors, and so long as Scott held International Rescue at his fingertips, his job was not done.

It was on one of these nights that he found himself with company. Typically, when he heard footsteps pattering along the Gravity Ring to join him, the culprit was Gordon, freshly torn from a nightmare or having woken naturally with a sense of unease at finding himself alone, seeking reassurance without admitting it was that which he longed for. He'd take up the second half of the blanket and press his nose to the glass. There was something hypnotic about the stars – peaceful, familiar, soothing. But this wasn't Gordon. The steps were heavier and rang wearily rather than unnerved. Their owner didn't instinctively tuck themselves onto the ledge or put their head on Scott's shoulder.

Scott swung his legs off the ledge to make room, suddenly grateful that he was in socks. Five's temperature never changed, eternally set in that comfortable range of optimum human productivity, but the floor panels were cold to touch. He examined the colourful strands of the blanket's trim, spilling over his knees to reflect in the windowpane, waiting for Virgil to break the silence first. There didn't need to be spoken thought. Company was often enough these days.

"Have you been keeping track of the date?" Virgil sort of fell into the vacated space, tucking his feet under the blanket with a shiver despite the warm temperature. He rested his cheek against the glass, fighting back a yawn and losing the battle almost instantly.

Scott shifted the blanket a little further onto Virgil's side. "It's been a month all but three days since we got here. I don't know about the actual date." He tracked the distant glow of another satellite cresting the curvature of the Earth. "Why?"

Virgil tapped a childhood rhythm against his knees. "No reason," he murmured, tipping his head back to lean against the frame of the window. Scott caught his eye and he backtracked. "It's just… well. Are we going to celebrate Christmas?"

"Shit." Scott sat upright. "When is that?"

"Next week."

"I didn't even…"

"Yeah." Virgil offered a small smile. "I know. Me too." He traced an intricate pattern across the glass, not truly seeing the planet beyond. "I only realised because Kayo was talking to the Martian base earlier and I remembered they wished us a happy Thanksgiving when we first came up here. The dates line up. So."

"It could be worse," Scott mused. "Alan could still believe in Santa Claus."

Virgil chuckled. "Don't. Really though… are we going to celebrate? I don't think anyone else has realised, so we could just… let it slide."

For the briefest of moments, Scott genuinely considered it. It would be so simple, so painless. In the future, one of them would probably mention it was a new year and they'd realise huh, we missed a few holidays didn't we?

He jolted upright. "Hold on a fucking minute."

"Holy hell," Virgil muttered, rubbing his shoulder where Scott had accidentally shoved him into the window with the movement. "Warn a guy, would you?"

Scott grabbed his brother's biceps. "Virg. Virgil."

"Yes, that is my name…"

"We missed John's birthday."

"Oh my god," Virgil whimpered. "We are terrible people. The worst siblings. I'm going to cry."

"In my defence, I genuinely thought it was still September until about a month ago, and then there was so much else going on that it just didn't cross my mind. Wait, shit, does that mean… we were in New Zealand in October…"

"I repeat, I'm going to cry."

Scott thumped his head against the glass. "Right. Okay. So we are definitely celebrating Christmas. Christmas joint belated birthday. It's going to be great."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"You sound very determined."

"When do I not?"

"A valid point."

They moved their conversation into the kitchen. This was one of the rare rooms where it was easy to forget that they were living on a satellite. Penelope had neatly lined up a collection of teas that she had brought with her. At some point Alan had sketched the Thunderbirds and tacked the drawing onto the fridge with a Golden Gate Bridge magnet. There was a faint smell of cinnamon clinging to everything. An empty mug sat in the sink, awaiting a wash. EOS had changed the hue of the lights from sci-fi blue to a homely golden glow.

Virgil pried the fridge open and scoured the contents. Kayo's farming endeavours – aided by Brains and Parker and also Alan, oddly enough, as the kid had taken a real shine to it – had helped their supplies immensely. It didn't escape anyone's mind that they were going to have to make a proper run down to Earth to retrieve more rations sooner rather than later but for now they didn't have to worry. It made a nice change.

Scott stacked the clean plates from the draining board away in the cupboard. Virgil set about refilling the kettle and dished a spoonful of vanilla syrup – practically a relic but still in date from John's time as Five's sole inhabitant – into a third mug because they'd heard whispers from the Observatory on their way past, proof that Alan was up and around and probably challenging Conrad – safe and sound on Mars – to a video game quest. Scott silently slid him the decaf coffee – because they were trying to get into good habits here – and Virgil sidestepped around him to retrieve the cocoa powder for Alan's mug. It was effortless - they worked together without words, as simple as clockwork, the perfect team as they had been before the apocalypse and would probably remain so long after the world stopped burning for good.

"EOS could change some of the lights around here," Virgil suggested, holding out a hand for the spoon Scott was already passing him. "Make them more festive. We could have a hologram tree. Put on some Christmas music. Hold a movie marathon. Classics, not the reboots, I can't be dealing with the art-style of the thirties' Polar Express remake."

"So…" Scott turned the thought over in his mind. "What you're saying is that instead of a proper dinner and all of the traditions…"

"Which we can't physically do anyway," Virgil pointed out.

"…you're saying we should have a PJ Day."

Virgil drummed his fingers against the side of his mug. "It could be nice."

"Nice is such a tame word. You hate it. You've always hated it. Pick something else."

"It could be a new tradition. We deserve something good, something that's ours to look forward to rather than having it tainted by remembering how it should be, how it was pre-Z-Day."

Scott frowned. "Z-Day?"

Virgil waved a hand. "I've been spending too much time around Alan. Don't ask." He took a sip of his drink. "So? Thoughts?"

"I like it. It's a good plan."

Virgil eyed him over the brim of the mug. Soft light reflected across the pattern – gold waves, pale green, serene, creative. He tilted his head in question. "And?" he prompted gently. "What else are you thinking?"

Scott pushed himself onto the counter, heart pounding as he nearly dislodged a pot of Penelope's precious tea. "I'm thinking," he said gradually, "that we've been here a month. I'm not saying we should go back to Earth, but I am saying that I'd like to start taking some steps forwards."

Understanding dawned on Virgil's face. "You want to check out that satellite."

"Yes." Scott leant back against the cupboard. "Yes," he repeated, a little relieved to finally have the thought out in the open where it could be dissected and considered. "That's exactly what I want to do. It's been a month, Virg. We're in a better place now, all of us. I know it's not perfect, but I don't think it ever truly will be. If Kayo and I can get some answers from that satellite, then we can plan our next move. It might not even mean we have to return to Earth for months yet, but it'll give us a rough idea."

Virgil shook his head with a fond smile. "You've never been good at sitting around." He shot Scott a teasing look. "Honestly, these adrenaline junkies. I never know what to do with them." He tapped the handle of his mug thoughtfully. "Alright. Let's talk to the others about it."

"We won't do anything until after Christmas," Scott assured him.

Virgil held up a hand. "Don't let the cat outta the bag just yet. It can be a nice surprise." He tilted his head towards the door in explanation and Scott slid down from the counter just in time to greet Alan, pattering through the entrance in a chaotic mess of yawns, bleary eyes, a stolen Harvard hoodie and a couple of bearded dragons, one perched on each shoulder.

"Hey." He made a beeline for the counter where Virgil set the drink in view. "Ooh, thanks."

"How's Conrad?" Scott asked.

"Good." Alan yawned behind his mug. A bearded dragon bobbed its head in displeasure. "He's just.. you know… his family was on Earth. We're Mars' only contact outside of the Mercury mining crew. It's hard for them too, watching Earth burn." He bit his lip. "I dunno. It's just weird. Everything's weird. Sometimes I feel okay, like a normal okay, and then I'll remember." He took a sip of his drink, hesitating. "Then I feel guilty for ever feeling okay in the first place."

Scott exchanged a look with Virgil.

"If you broke your leg," he said at last, "and it healed, would you then feel guilty for walking around on it again? For living your life as you had done before it was broken?"

Alan blinked. "Uh… no?"

"Well, what about amputees? They never get to walk around again." It wasn't his best analogy, Scott would freely admit that, but c'mon, give a guy a break – he was tired, alright? "The point is that you should never feel guilty for healing. It sucks that others don't get that, but that's not your fault. You can't do anything to help them. You can only help yourself. And you achieving that feeling of okay? That's incredible. That's proof of just how strong you are."

Alan petted a bearded dragon's head with one thumb. "I guess," he mumbled to his socked feet. He was in stripey socks, and they were vividly blue against the tiles. "Thanks." He lifted his mug. "Thanks for this too."

"Get some sleep," Scott told him.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Alan."

"God, fine, Dad." Alan turned on his heels, yawning again, probably not even registering what he'd said. "Night guys. Love you."

Virgil elbowed Scott out of his trance. "Love you too, Al."

"Yeah," Scott croaked out. "Love you, bud. Good night!"

The distant hiss of a door closing signalled that Alan had finally turned in for the night.

"That was sarcasm," Scott announced, sort of faint and shell-shocked. "I know that was sarcasm. You don't have to tell me."

"Quit freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out."

"Yes, you are. You're right, that was sarcasm, but c'mon, it's not even as if this would have been the first time he's called you Dad. It's always an accident. Stop overthinking it."

"I'm not overthinking anything."

Virgil reached over and flicked him on the forehead. Scott batted his hand away.

"I'm not overthinking," he repeated. "At all. In fact, I don't even think."

Virgil laughed aloud. "Oh, believe me, I already knew that." He knocked their shoulders together. "Seriously though. I thought you'd had a similar conversation about this with him before we left home?"

"Sort of," Scott admitted. He tipped sideways to rest his head on Virgil's shoulder. "God, I don't know. It's just weird. I feel like I'm… betraying Dad, almost? It doesn't make sense, I know. But… he'd have killed to watch Alan grow up. It's one thing for me to admit I look at Al as if he's my kid, but for him to admit he kinda returns the favour? That's different. That feels like I'm stealing Dad's right as a father."

"That's insane."

"Thanks for your words of wisdom, Virg."

"I'm serious." Virgil prodded him until he looked up. "Dad's… Dad was great. He made his mistakes, but he did his best and we turned out alright. But he's not here and if we're honest with ourselves… he's not coming back, Scott. He's gone. And I know you haven't fully come to terms with that, which is alright, I'm not asking you to, but you have to realise that if he could hear this conversation, he'd say you're being ridiculous. He'd be proud of you. And the bond you have with Alan? He'd be proud of that too. Heck, he'd probably congratulate you."

Scott didn't say anything. Virgil patted him on the back.

"C'mon. Bedtime, old man."

"You realise I'm not that much older than you, right?"

"Bedtime," Virgil repeated. His smile took on a mischievous gleam. "We've got a Christmas to plan."


Can you tell that I hold all of my emotional conversations in the kitchen? Not sure why or when that became a thing.

Review?

Kat x