FINALLY I got this done. I know it’s a day late but it was hard as heck to focus on anything yesterday. So here’s a Virgil for you all, a little bit late because TB2 takes it’s time.
I didn’t go with a full-body pose because i didn’t feel it was really needed, and it saves some time. XD For this picture I got some inspiration from both Extraction and Breakdown because honestly I can’t help feeling that Virgil is very, very good with kids and really gets a lot of enjoyment out of making sure people are safe. I’m kinda sad it took so long to get this done because Virgil’s fun to draw. He’s lots of nice soft shapes. :3
And yes, I’m going to do my DARNDESTto get Scott done tonight too, because I have an image in mind already.
I, as a semi-expert in all things magical, still have not figured out what magic was in use the day my husband was born that made him so freaking GORGEOUS!
It was very odd, Lucy thought, as she watched Virgil sleep.
He’d been up for hours, wailing and refusing to be comforted. He wasn’t wet, he wasn’t feverish, had been doing all the important things babies do when they’re healthy…but still he would not sleep!
As the sun came up, Lucy tucked Virgil into the babywearing sling and shuffled into the kitchen to make herself a much-needed cup of coffee. Jeff would drop Scott off at preschool, and John, her quiet child, would give her no trouble, but she’d need all the moxie she could get to stay awake after this all-nighter.
Then a curious thing happened: The moment the fresh, hot brew sputtered into her cup, Virgil quieted. He blinked a few times, then yawned, and by the time she’d added milk and sugar, he was sound asleep.
Jeff thought she was nuts, but when she demonstrated a few nights later, he had to believe: Virgil, at the ripe old age of two months, loved coffee.
Two years later…
Lucy was nursing Gordon and drowsing in her chair, slowly rocking and humming to her sleepy, milk-drunk newborn. A tiny hand pulled on her pant leg, and she woke to see Virgil standing beside her. “Hello, sweetheart. What can Mommy do for you?”
“Mama coffee,” he said, pulling at her hand.
She chuckled. “Maybe you’re right, love. Maybe Mama does need a little bit.” She gathered Gordon up and rise from her chair, then put him over her shoulder to burp as the coffee brewed. She turned away to retrieve the milk from the fridge—and saw a tip-free tumbler next to her mug. There was Virgil, grinning at her.
“No, coffee is for grown ups, sweetie.” She went back to the fridge. “How about some apple juice?”
He shook his head. “Want coffee!”
She looked at him for a long moment, then said: “okay. Mama will make you your very own ‘coffee.’”
Virgil clapped his hands in delight.
Lucy poured his cup full of milk, added a half teaspoon of sugar, then splashed a small dollop of coffee from her cup into his. She stirred it well, blew on it until it was only lukewarm, snapped on the spill-proof lid, then handed it to him. “Here you are. Try that.”
She fully expected him to make a horrible face and tell her “ew, nasty!” However, Virgil climbed up on the chair next to her and promptly drank from his cup. His brown eyes lit up. “Good!”
“Oh dear God,” she laughed. “What have I done?”
Many years later…
Virgil stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. First things first: Coffee.
“You know,” said Scott, sitting at the table with his own cup, “I can’t remember when you didn’t drink coffee.”
“Oh?” Virgil poured a cup full of the elixir of life. “Hmm. Neither can I.” He gazed into his cup with a fond smile. “I dunno why, but it always reminds me of Mom.”
-End-
Awww, that last line….
Beautiful
Nutty
(Returned from first day back at work…have fallen on face)
::gasps:: This is the most adorable, wholesome thing in the world and I love it I love it I love it!! My new comfort fic!!
Scott grabbed his brother, but as always, he was no match for the anger-fuelled strength of those heavy lifting muscles and Virgil dragged him towards their group of rescuees, heels digging furrows into the dirt. “Goddamnit, Virgil, stop!”
But his brother wasn’t listening.
Scott had no idea what had set him off. Setting Virgil off was rare enough before coffee, on the job…it…birds had more teeth.
“Gordon! Get over here and give me a hand.”
He used his height as leverage to pull the man back, but Virgil snarled and attempted to shake him off.
He almost succeeded.
Gordon appeared, wide-eyed and grabbed at Virgil’s other side.
“Let me go!” His brother tried to throw both of them off and almost succeeded.
It was Scott’s turn to snarl. He flung himself in front of his brother and forcibly brought him to a halt. He had never seen so much anger on the man’s face. “Thunderbird Two!”
Virgil hissed between his teeth, but brown eyes finally latched onto Scott’s and he watched as sanity clicked into place.
Thank god.
“Talk to me, Virgil.”
“I’m sorry, Scott, that was my fault.” John’s voice was unusually tense. “I shouldn’t have told him.”
In Scott’s arms, Virgil suddenly went limp. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking assholes.” His brother turned and shook both of them off and stormed back towards his ‘bird, cursing the entire way.
Gordon stared at Scott, eyes still wide. “What the hell?” Virgil wasn’t one for profanity most of the time.
“What was that all about, John.”
“I’d rather not say.” John cleared his throat. “I will report at debrief.” And his space brother closed the connection.
“John?” Scott punched his comms. “Thunderbird Five!” But there was no answer.
Scott pressed his lips together and Gordon joined him in packing up the pod they had used to pull the tourist bus off the side of the mountain and trundling it into Two.
There was no sign of Virgil.
When International Rescue took off, it was Two that took the lead, his brother obviously still agitated and accelerating to match.
It wasn’t until all their rockets had been packed away in their hangars and their uniforms replaced by harmless cotton and flannel that John told him exactly who they had saved today and the legislation those people were responsible for and exactly what that legislation meant for young girls, young transpeople and society in general.
Scott’s mind locked up, caught between his core beliefs and reality.
Gordon snarled beside him.
But it was Virgil’s quiet sob as Grandma held him, that brought the truth home.
Everyone was worth saving.
Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
-o-o-o-
Oh Virgil… I can’t blame you for that one little bit, but I’m still so sorry it hurt. ::hugs both Virg and Nutty::
Why do I get the impression that EOS might be about to make her feelings known…?
What a completely perfect read on a hot day like today. I love the images you paint of all of them enjoying themselves - floating, fishing, letting their hair down (literally, in Kayo’s case). A gorgeous, relaxing, cheeky and completely wonderful bit of fluff. ❤️
I was speaking to Virgil earlier, you know the little random chats that come out when neither of you are doing anything in particular? It was one of those moments.
Me *watching him paint*: Which medium is your favourite?
Virg: I don’t have one.
Me: You must have, everyone has a favourite with everything.
Virg: I’m not touching that when there are five of us and you have a favourite of the day.
Me: That’s just to keep things fair. Come on, what’s your favourite?
Virg *clearly thinking about it carefully* Oil. *Points to his canvas with his brush*
Me: Oil? That looks really hard though.
Virg *shrugs , adding another careful brush stroke*:It was at first, and pretty scary. All the old masters painted in oil and I never thought I’d ever come close to being as good. I was so afraid of messing up and failing.
Me: Yet you still did it?
Virg: Yep. That’s the thing with oils, there is no such thing as failure. If you make a mistake, you wait for it to dry and paint over it. Everything can be saved, everything can be salvaged. You just have to trust yourself and try. It’s a good lesson for life too, even when something seems daunting and impossible, you should always try.
The voice was familiar, but not. Or rather, it was a familiar voice that was warped by pain, hoarse and hurting.
“Why do you have to push just that little bit more?”
And it was quiet, little more than a whisper in the dark.
Scott shunned it and skittered away. It hurt to hear the hurt in that voice.
“It’s Dad.” The words were barely there and Scott had to strain to hear it. “I know it’s Dad. And sometimes I hate him for it. Because of what he does to you.”
That forced his attention. Hate Dad? How could the voice possibly hate Dad? The voice loved Dad as much as Scott did. So, so much.
“I know you won’t listen. Probably won’t even understand. Deny it if you do.” A sigh. “But you are scaring the shit out of me, Scott. You’re doing all of this for Dad as if he is some goddamned messiah or something. And each time, you’re risking more.” There was a strangled sound. “I’m trying to keep up…god, I am trying…to keep one step ahead of you, but I can only save you so many times and then one day…”
A rustle of fabric.
“Please don’t do this to me.” That was almost a sob and it had Scott clawing at the darkness, desperate to reach his brother and provide the reassurance needed.
But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. His brother needed him, but he couldn’t respond.
The voice stopped after that for a long time. There was sound, but it was just more fabric and muffled breath that was more distress than anything else.
It made Scott struggle harder. What happened? Why couldn’t he move?
What had upset Virgil? Because it was Virgil sitting beside him. Each shaky breath he heard, proved that.
Virgil, please.
“I can’t do this without you, Scott. I don’t want to.” Another wretched breath. “Please…stop. Please.”
Scott realised he had a hand, because suddenly the grip on it was tight. Rough calluses, familiar with warmth, were clinging to him.
He tried to grip in return, but nothing.
What the hell was wrong with him?!
Hair brushed his fingertips. It was soft and slightly damp, a familiar texture lacking the usual hair product. It was enough information for Scott to visualise his brother post-shower, hair drying into the soft curls Virgil hid from the world.
His forehead touched to the back of Scott’s fingers.
Virgil.
Scott realised he must have been injured. Probably a rescue. What rescue was information he could not recall, but the thought did prompt him to locate the rest of his body.
He encountered medicated fog. There was muffled pain in his left leg. Hell, all down his left side.
Virgil was on his right.
Virgil was always on his right.
John on his left.
His younger brothers behind.
He was the eldest. Their leader.
But not right now.
Right now, chances were he was in hospital, injured, and more a source of worry for his family than anything else.
And he still couldn’t move. Couldn’t reach out to his brother to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.
“You know, sometimes I wonder what Dad said or did to you that inspired such loyalty and sacrifice. What set you on this hell-bent mission to be so much like the great Jeff Tracy.” A rough swallow. “He’s Dad, Scott. Our father. He’s not you and you’re not him. You will never be him!” The words were spat out. “I don’t want you to be him! I want you to be you.” An exhaled breath. “I want you to be happy.” An inconsolable sound. “To be safe.”
The fingers wrapped around his twitched a little tighter.
“Mr Tracy!”
Scott startled. But it became immediately obvious that the Tracy being referred to was Virgil as soft shoes hurried over.
“You are not supposed to be up. You put too much weight on that injury and you could do further damage.”
There was a groan from the side of the bed. “I just need to sit with my brother.”
“Your brother is healing and no doubt would not want you injuring yourself further on his behalf.”
“Please…”
The pain in Virgil’s voice had Scott clawing at the darkness.
“Sir, the doctors were adamant, not to mention your grandmother. You are lucky to be alive and they would like to keep you that way. Now back to bed.”
The hands holding Scott’s tightened enough that if it wasn’t for whatever medication was in his system, he’d be feeling that enough to yell. His fingers were rammed up against that forehead again, hair teasing their very tips.
Virgil.
He did his best to return that grip, to let Virgil know he was heard. To reassure a distressed little brother. But nothing…nothing! He wanted to scream. It was his job to look after his brothers and being able to hear but unable to help was the stuff of nightmares.
“Mr Tracy, your brother is very ill, but he is improving. He will get better. Please, look after yourself, if not for you, then for him.”
There was hot breath against the back of Scott’s arm as the smallest of whimpers tickled the hairs on his forearm.
And then his hand was gently placed back on the sheet and let go.
No.
Don’t leave me.
The thought escaped before he could countermand it.
Virgil was obviously injured. The groan at the scrape of a chair and hurried footsteps told him that much. The nurse muttered gentle encouragement as his brother grunted with obvious effort.
A bed creaked.
Virgil was safer in bed.
But Scott was left by himself, unable to move or speak or even open his eyes, and the combination of fear for his brother and fear for himself and the inability to do anything for either of them set his heart racing. Panic began to set in.
“Rest, Mr Tracy. Everything will feel better for sleep.”
Soft footfalls stepped efficiently on linoleum, and came closer to Scott. His heart thudded in his ears.
There was a tug at his left arm and a soft tut-tut from the nurse.
Something cold crawled up his arm and wrapped around his heart and his thoughts, disconnecting them. He lost the feeling in everything and oblivion took him.
-o-o-o-
Oh Virg… God, Nutty.
This is such powerful stuff. Every punch of emotion hitting Scott hit me as well, right in the chest. And it’s such a gorgeous hurt. Thankyou for the wonderful feels.
