Yellow Sky

Summary:

Scott has always struggled to control his anger. He learned long ago how important it is that he finds a way to do it. A much younger Gordon was the reason he learned that lesson, but it's not Gordon's fault he's close to losing it now, in the middle of a dangerous rescue...

Notes:

This is the third installment of The Bittersweet Symphony, a series that looks at our boys today and considers an incident from their childhood that helped to make them the way they are.
This story draws heavily on the first installment, An Aquanaut Walks Into a Bar. If you have not read that story, much of the significance and impact of this one will be lost. It also features an incident briefly referenced in Edge of the World: Here be Dragons. And, of course, the title is a 'Hamilton' ref.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Thank god for Virgil.

Wasn't the first time Scott had thought that over their career as Thunderbirds – over the course of his remembered life, come to think of it.

Thank god for Virgil. Should have that tattooed on his inner thigh or something.

Because these winds were killing him, killing them both, and Thunderbird Two's hatch was open to the elements and the chair lift was being readied, in the face of a blizzard that redefined whiteout, that had One swinging about like a child's toy dangling from the flimsiest of strings, and Two was hanging there, redefining mountain peaks.

Virgil, somehow, was keeping Two steady enough to allow Gordon, securely harnessed, to venture his head outside into the blast and get a feel for the situation. Which currently could be described as ten to twelve people trapped in a wildly swinging cable car, one hundred and fifty feet above the valley floor in northern Italy. Four cable cars extended from mountain top to valley, two on top of another two, each one suspended on a pair of parallel cables. This particular car was hanging off one of the lower ones, one half of the clamps that kept it securely fastened broken loose in the blizzard so that it tipped at a dizzying angle less than a yard from one of the supporting pylons. Even from his position in One Scott could see kids in there, huddling against adults. When the flying snow shifted just enough he could see the faces of those parents. Numb with terror, and the horror that comes with knowing you brought your children with you to their deaths. It made a very private part of his heart hurt whenever he saw that look.

All attempts to send securing lines from Two above had been thwarted by the proximity of the pylon only feet away. Light plastic alloy with a thin metal frame couldn't attract a magnetised clamp as all that iron could. It meant their time to rescue was only as long as the remaining clamps were strong, and with the angles of swing the car was achieving, that strength was being eroded by the second.

"Gordon! What do you think?"

"I think I should have been an accountant." Gordon pulled his head back in to increase the chance of being heard over the howling wind. "The chair's gonna be impossible as a straight option, I think. The top cables and the towers are in the way."

Virgil's voice, as improbably steady as his bird.

"Can you get close enough to bring them across to the chair if I keep her tight?"

"Rope and tie 'em?" The lightness of his tone betrayed nothing of the fact his kid brother was about to somehow swing out into this maelstrom on the end of a line and take twelve lives in his own hands. If he stopped to think about it, it would chill the hell out of Scott. "Yeah. Best option, I think. Gotta get them over fast as we can, and I just wanna take one run if we can get them into the chair."

A blur of dark against the shattering white, and a line was fired across to the roof of the cable car. The automatic clamp at the end bit hard into the car's surface before activating the magnetic grip.

"Alright. Getting in tight now."

Scott watched as Virgil extracted every last bit of stability out of the big green whale of a craft. His own bird strained and shifted against the forces sweeping down across the Alps, crazy in their directional shifts, frightening in their power. How Virgil worked so precisely with something so bulky confounded Scott, but the wherefores of it didn't matter. As long as Virgil could do it, and Gordon could manoeuvre that agile body of his well enough to keep from being dashed against the pylons, against the side of Two, against the cable car…

"Gordon, you sure you can do this?"

"Piece of cake. Unh." That came from Gordon trying to let himself gently out of the access hatch, keeping an even pressure on the harness line. Scott could see how the wind flattened him against the underside of Two, how he pushed himself further off from it, against every instinct of self-preservation. "With – with cherries and - cream on top."

If Gordon was panting like that, the effort required was immense.

"I'm going to come in upwind, Virgil, see if One can't keep some of that off of Gordon."

"Negative, Scott. The crosswind's too strong."

"No, I can do it." Staying back was simply not an option. "I'm calculating the ergs against One's stabilisers. She'll do it."

Virgil's voice was doubtful.

"If you say so."

The moment he brought One into the headwind and then turned sideways, bolstering the airspace in which Gordon was now sliding against the blizzard's force, she shuddered and bucked like a skittish horse. He grunted with the strain of holding her there, even though the engines did all the work, even though the controls were powered and took almost everything away from the pilot in effect. He knew they all did it. The sheer unavoidability of gripping controls tightly and urging a body to turn the machine beneath them was a ridiculous failing they were all prey to, and he didn't even pretend he was ever going to deny it.

Now he worked as much with his mind as his body to keep One stable, keep her helping to shield Gordon as he did their everyday work of risking his life in terrifying circumstances for strangers in peril.

"Shit." Gordon sounded harried, but not overwhelmed. "This is tricky. Thunderbird Five, any way of communicating with these guys?"

John came through, "Sorry, Gordon. I'm not getting any kind of signal anymore. That blizzard's knocking out the phone transmission."

"Okay, okay. Okay."

Three okays in a row was I'm-in-trouble in Gordon speak. Everything in Scott urged him to fix that, right now.

"Gordon. What do you need?"

"Just – unh – just hang on a sec. Gotta get this door open. Not exactly – uh, cooperating."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No, I got it."

"I'm coming over."

"He's got it, Scott." Virgil, deep and sure. "Gordon, I'm sending the chair down now. You'll need to get a line from it to the car."

"Yeah. I've got – okay, I'm in."

And then it was the Gordon Show, the one that took centre stage when people were screaming and whimpering and threatening, as they were now... Get us out of here! Get me off here! Au secours! Where have you been? Where have you been? Nos ayudan! My children, my babies, take them, please, take them…

He'd heard the Gordon Show a hundred times before, more, and it always impressed him in a way he'd never pass on, because come on. None of them spoke of the things that impressed them about each other, unless it was Virgil, the one man cheer squad. Brothers' rules of engagement demanded otherwise. Virgil was just weird like that.

"Okay, folks, it's all okay now. You're all fine now. Just stay calm, take it easy. Relajarse. Détendre."

And really, how could he sound like this was less a swing in a blizzard, more a walk in the park? Scott had his own calming routine, he knew that, but it went into a well of dry deprecation that somehow managed to insult his people into certainty. Gordon's was easy and light and totally sure, and now he was chatting with the kids like it was all one big fun adventure in the sky especially arranged by the parents, who were probably near incapacitated with fear at this point and no doubt dumbfounded by the sunny little guy telling them to chill, this is just standard operating procedure, folks.

"Gordon, sooner's better."

Virgil, heart-beating the rescue.

"Okay, I just got word we're good to go. We've got a secure chair over there, about fifteen feet, and I'm gonna harness each of you up and take you over to it, one at a time, okay?"

Another voice, snarling.

"You can't! There's a goddamn blizzard, you can't! Where's the proper damn rescue?"

Alpha male turned whipped cur, and of all the treacherous types to encounter when rescuing, this was the one Scott most distrusted. Gordon's response was perfectly practiced placation.

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to take a seat. I'll take Mom here and the two kids first, and then we'll get the rest of you off. It's very safe."

"No! Here! Here!" The panic in the man's voice sent every kind of alarm through Scott, and useless as it was, he found himself warning, "Gordon, watch him."

"Yeah, yeah, got it, One. Ha, no sir, that's my controller, telling me there's a good window for bringing you all off here." There wasn't, of course, but Gordon's ability to bullshit was spectacular in rescue mode. "It's not just me up here. We've got a plane just sitting over there, and we'll get you to it, no problem, if you all stay calm and do as I say. Please put away your money, sir."

It was only because he knew Gordon so well that Scott heard the 'you stupid asshole' under that particular directive.

"There's more. I've got more."

"Sir, I really don't want your money. I need you to sit back down while I get Mama here harnessed up. There, you're all set. Vamos, mamacita, yes, I know, they're coming over next, okay? Uh, bébés siguiente. Jeez, John, you got a better translation for me?"

"Does she understand you?" John's tone was as cool as ever, another anchor for the brother being tossed in a failing tin can murderously high in the air.

"I think so. Yes. Yeah, okay, we're good. Leaving the car now. First one coming over, Two. We're – unf."

"You got eyes on him, Virgil?"

"Nope. Heat monitor only." Virgil's voice was down another octave, which Scott seriously didn't think possible. "How you doing, Gordon?"

Scott jumped in on the heels of that one.

"Keep talking to us, Thunderbird Four."

Heavy panting on the line was their only answer for several long seconds, and then another grunt.

"Relajarse, Mama, stay here, hold on. Espera. Bringing back kids now. Yeah, hey, guys? This is slow going. Might do it in groups. Get the kids over, then extend the line and get those three up into Two. It's taking long enough that by the time it came back down we'd just be bringing another one over."

Scott frowned. "Your call, Gordon. Will they get themselves out of the seats once they're in Two though?"

"I think. I'll explain to – yeah, can you move please sir, let me in – thanks. I'll explain to the kids, they'll get it. Hey, Fabiana? Yeah, you're next. Take you over to Mom, okay? Amalia, I'll take Fabiana and then I'll come back for you. You'll be the first ones up into the plane, and then I need you to hop out of the seats and the chair will get sent back down, okay?"

A high-pitched voice, a girl trying hard to keep it together for her younger sibling's sake. "Sure. Fabiana, just hold on tight, do what he says."

"I don't wanna go out there!"

"Listen," and Asshole was back, obviously talking into Gordon's ear, the desperation cranked up another notch. "Listen, I run a big company back in the States. Plangett's Engineering, heard of it? I can give you pretty much anything you want. Just get me off first."

Oh, boy.

"Sir, your wife and your kids will be next."

"Hey, come on now. Come on. I mean, us Americans, we gotta stick together, right?"

If it was possible to drop the temperature any further in that tiny, frozen car, they just lost twenty degrees.

"Your family is next, sir. Please sit down."

"You don't understand! Christ, what kinda moron – listen, no, I'm sorry, but man, listen, I can give you anything. Name it."

"Come on, Fabiana. That harness looks real cute on you. I can see your mom over there, can you see her?" Scott was pretty sure that was a complete lie, but he could imagine the little girl blinking through the snow, trying desperately to see what the man in blue was seeing. "We'll be there in a minute. Ready?"

A swear, muffled, moving away from the mic, and then the sound of the blizzard filled his ear piece as Gordon started on his second trip.

"Virgil? How are you holding up?"

"Oh, just peachy, Scott. One blown away yet?"

"Not quite yet."

The blizzard was thickening. If it kept up like this, give it another half hour and they'd be able to walk over to rescue these people. Scott drummed his fingers on the console.

"You think I should go in there?"

"No, I think he's got it. But – keep listening."

A snort he couldn't resist. "Copy that."

Whenever Gordon's voice cut back in it brought with it a sense of the effort it was taking to slide himself and another person up and along a thin wire in the teeth of a force eight gale, only to manhandle them into a seat at the end of it.

"Guys, got two in my pocket, heading back for the third."

"FAB, Four. Take it steady."

"Really? Great advice. Thanks, Overlord."

He heard Virgil's chuckle. Okay, so his pleadings for care were a never-ending source of amusement for his siblings. Sue him. He defied anyone to sit and listen as their kid brother dangled a hundred and fifty feet up in the air and not urge caution. If his words were any kind of bargaining, he'd offer them on each breath, take the mockery forever. They were his own offerings to the gods of salvage, and to not cast them out would be to tempt their rebuke.

And at a hundred and fifty feet in the air, that would only be unthinkable.

The third child was harnessed up, Gordon's chatter bright and cheerful as he took her across the abyss to where her mother strained for her through the snow filled sky.

Scott heard him yelling above the gale.

"Alright, remember, straight out and back from the edge when you get up there, okay? Promise?"

Apparently a promise was given, because Gordon's next words were, "We're set. Take 'em away, Virge."

"Got it."

Even with squinting, Scott couldn't see the chair being retracted deep into Two's hold. Visibility must be less than ten feet. Shitty, shitty conditions for a rescue, and not having eyes on it as it happened less than fifty feet away just ratcheted up Scott's tension.

"They in? Virgil? You got them?"

"Standing by, Scott." Ugh, two of his least favourite words, and Virgil, damn him, didn't keep the knowledge of that out of his voice. "Yeah, we've got the first group out, and the chair lift's going back down."

"Come on," Scott muttered. A vicious gust caught One, and cursing, he worked hard to bring her tail back around, maintaining that meagre resistance to the wind that was all he could do at this stage.

The gust brought snow, but then, as blizzards could do, a patch of comparatively clear air carrying only a sparse swirl of snowflakes followed it. For the first time, Scott could see the cable car, could see Gordon expertly swinging back to the door, even as he heard him start to say, "Okay, I need - "

"I get it, I do." Asshole again, and Scott's fists clenched. "Playing hardball, huh? Look, you're a working stiff, you don't get how this works, but I have real money, guy. I go next, and I can set you up for life."

A woman's voice, confused. "Bernard, what are you - ?"

Gordon almost never sounded harsh, but when he did, it packed a surprising punch, full of WASP and Dad and his own brand of allergy towards selfish jerks.

"Sit your ass down. Now. Over there. Ma'am? If you'd come here and get this – "

And Scott was watching, his brain a half second behind in understanding what his eyes were telling him, as a man suddenly lunged past Gordon, visible as a blur of blue, and grabbed onto the harness attached to the wire. The action seemed to drag Gordon along in its wake, spinning him around and back through the car door, falling out and down for a heart obliterating moment until the security wire and his own arm snagged him, legs working wildly for balance, half in and half out of the cable car.

Scott gave an involuntary shout. Virgil's response was instant, and its urgency made a lie of every measured comment to date.

"What? Scott, what?"

The man was hauling himself up the line, but after only a few feet he stopped, stymied by the slipperiness of the wire and the cold that froze it to his bare hands.

"It's okay. Gordon got knocked, but he's still secure." It took a lot, but Scott resisted his almost overwhelming need to demand something from Gordon to affirm his safety. It looked like Gordon was pulling himself back up into the car, and he'd need all his concentration for that.

It might also have something to do with the fact that Scott's heart was pounding in his throat, pretty effectively blocking further speech.

"Gordon!"

"Hold on, Virgil, he's getting himself back in. Give him a moment."

"He came out of the car?"

That was the closest Virgil ever came to a yell on a rescue.

"He's okay, Virgil, I can see him, he's back in. He's sitting on the floor of the car."

"Gordon? Come in, Gordon! What's going on?"

Virgil, unsighted, was quickly losing his moorings.

Gordon wasn't answering, and while the snow was clear enough for Scott to see him, he couldn't tell anything else about him. He could also see the wire jerking as the man began cycling his legs in mid-air, obviously panicking, equally obviously a danger to himself and to anyone who tried to rescue him.

"Dammit," he breathed. "Gordon, what's your status?"

A crackle on the comms, and then Gordon was there, and for the briefest of moments, Scott allowed himself to feel reassured.

"Yeah. Here. So. That happened."

"Are you okay?"

"Huh. Yeah. Um…"

More ice in his belly than was flying outside, and Scott brought everything to bear in the way he asked the next question.

"What's your status, Thunderbird Four?"

"I'm – yeah. Maybe a bit- ah, dammit, that stupid sonofa – I gotta go, Scott, that guy's out there, he's gonna get himself killed."

"Gordon! Are you hurt?"

A pause, as Gordon obviously weighed up the demands of the situation with the need for honesty.

"My shoulder's pulled a muscle, I think. Kinda wrenched. Maybe worse? But I can still get the job done."

The second youngest Tracy admitting he was in any way hurt? In the middle of a rescue, no less?

"Alright. Standby." The situation had just become extraordinarily clear to Scott, and all uncertainty fled as he checked his instruments and then handed over to distant control. Thunderbird One shifted a little in the handover, but then stabilised again. "Thunderbird Five, you have oversight of One's controls. Please acknowledge."

"Acknowledged." Surprise and concern in John's voice, but tamped down into something that sounded like mild confusion. "Scott, I wouldn't advise that in these conditions."

"I wouldn't advise it either, but it's happening. Can you manage?"

"EOS has secured remote control of One, Scott. We'll do our best, but make it fast as you can."

"FAB. Gordon, I'm coming over."

A deep groan from Gordon.

"You're kidding me. Uh, newsflash, Scotty. Blizzard."

"I know." Amazing how much more comfortable he felt when it was his own life on the line. "I'm coming on a line, with jetpack to adjust for turbulence. I'll be there in thirty seconds."

"What? No, come on. Virgil?"

Virgil would be on his side, Scott knew, and he confirmed it almost at once.

"Looks like back-up's needed, Gordon. Just hang in there, we'll rescue your sorry ass."

"I don't need res – ooh." And that was Gordon trying to stand up and suddenly finding himself sitting again. "Okay. Don't crowd me, just give me a sec here."

Scott chuckled, dry and hard. "I'll give you more than a sec. Coming over now."

He used the instruments on board to connect to the heat sensors in the cable car, then fired the line low into the vessel. The usual satisfying thump of connection was lost in the howling.

The impact of the blizzard, survival suit or not, was immense. Even just standing in the hatchway saw him using every ounce of strength in his thighs to stay upright.

"Leaving One." And leaping into a turbulence that threatened to spin him upside down in the first ten feet. He angled his body, expert at this, and the jets pushed him forward and straight, one hand clutching the mobile clamp circled around the wire. Only fifteen seconds of travel time, but it was as purely challenging as anything he'd ever done, to barrel into whiteness knowing the target would suddenly appear right in front of him.

And it did, a block of dull darkness becoming more distinct in a half second of further travel. He angled his body to bring his legs forward so that his boots connected with the door at the front of the car, then cut the jets to allow himself to wrangle the door open.

He almost stumbled over Gordon.

His brother was sitting, his own body holding very still in the tell-tale position of someone with a dislocated shoulder, folded in and very obviously not moving.

"How did you plan to get out there and grab him?" Scott said, by way of greeting.

Gordon spoke through clenched teeth.

"Figured I'd get someone to pull it back in for me."

"Uh-huh. Nope. You're grounded. I'll go get Mister Me-first. You stay put."

"Yeah." Even in this pale light, with the helmet on, Scott could see that Gordon's face had gone a pasty grey. "You have my permission to do that."

"Good to hear. Virgil?"

"Here, Scott."

"Gonna grab my line and shoot it into Two's belly. Figure I can ferry them up with the jets, speed things up a bit."

"FAB. Just be careful."

"Yeah, yeah." A quick, gentle squeeze on Gordon's uninjured shoulder, and Scott opened the door again, disengaged the line to the car from One and re-directed it to Thunderbird Two, visible only as a faint square of yellow light from the hold. He fired straight up through it, knowing that no one would be in the way of it. Anyone in the hold would be standing well back from the opening.

He connected, attached it to his belt, and set off.

And it happened just as he approached the man flailing in mid-air, stuck to the wire, half in and half out of the harness that was the only thing stopping him from plummeting to a death he'd almost ensured. A moment, a jolt, and the pure anger that banked for explosion the moment Scott saw this man push his little brother out of the way let him know it was there, ready and waiting.

There was a time when a much younger Scott Tracy would succumb to that anger. Ballistic, destructive, hell-bent fury that consumed him, that left nothing of reason or compassion in its surrounds. He knew it well, and he channelled it carefully, harnessing its energy to keep going when fate and exhaustion and physics told him he couldn't. The ability to do so was hard-won, and the victory was never a conclusive one.

Oddly enough, it was Gordon who taught him to deny it.

And Gordon was uppermost in his thoughts as Scott reached over, grabbed the harness and pulled it into a tight throttle, bringing the man with it.

Shocked into submission, the man grasped Scott's hands and stared, panicked, into his eyes.

"I've got you," and if it sounded a good deal less reassuring in the way Scott delivered it to this particular rescuee, well, he should be damned grateful he got it at all.

With the jet it was easier, but not easy, to get the man off the line and up into the belly of Two.

Scott dumped him as unceremoniously as he had ever dumped a human being in his life.

"Stay there," he said, and wrenched the harness from the man.

"You – you can't – "

"I said, 'Stay!'" All pretence at respect gone, and Scott bent over to let just an ounce of that fury out through his voice. "You left your family behind. You nearly killed yourself. And you knocked my brother out of that car, you risked his life and got him injured. I'd be just as happy to make sure you stay down with my fists. Do you understand me?"

The man was a fool, and a selfish one at that, but even he understood the message Scott was sending. His eyes dropped and he brought his hands up together against his chest, hunched over against their burning pain.

"My hands – "

"Will be dealt with when I know everyone is safely off that car." Scott's lips curled, and he went to say something else; but then he just muttered, "Ah, you're not worth it," and turned back to the screaming wind and snow.

"You okay down there, Thunderbird One?"

"FAB, Virgil. Beginning Operation Human Chairlift."

It took twenty minutes to get Gordon back into the safety of Thunderbird Two. He was the last, at his own insistence.

"Hey, if I'm here, they know they're gonna be rescued," he said, in a low voice to Scott when Scott's own desire was to take him first.

He understood, and he knew his need for Gordon to be safe was simply a reflex to be overcome. Through his earpiece he could hear Gordon chattering away to the remaining travellers, coaxing out stories and nerve-drenched laughter. When it came to just the last passenger, the man shook Gordon's good hand before leaving with a tiring Scott.

It was doable, using the jet pack and the line, but it wasn't without extraordinary physical effort. By the time Scott recovered his footing in the swinging cable car for the last run, he had to stop and lean against the door jamb just to get back some of the breath snatched away by the wind.

"Look at you. Getting too old, Scotty. Virgil, get the wheelchair, this guy's not gonna make it."

"Shut – shut up."

Maneuvering a harness around an injured body was something they all trained for, but even so, it was impossible to complete the task without causing pain. Mannequins didn't gasp as an arm was lifted slightly to slide a strap beneath it, and even in the roar of the blizzard, Scott heard the soft groan as the harness was tightened and clipped to.

"You okay there, Four?"

"Mmmm."

Non-verbal responses meant Gordon was finding his happy place just now, he'd return the call when he got back. Scott's lips thinned in another spark of anger at the jerk who did this, and he used it to find the energy to lift Gordon to his feet, bring him secure against his own body, and launch himself back into the blast chamber between the cable car and Two.

Over the years of rescue work, and even before that, in the USAF, Scott had come to recognise that the last trip was the most perilous. A sense of premature relief; the tiniest moment of relaxation. Dad identified and cautioned against it; instructors hammered the stakes home, again and again. Accidents on airfields underlined the point. And yet, Scott felt it, the second they left the dangling, crippled car – a little kick of gratitude, a little involuntary lessening of tension. It made him hold on to Gordon just that bit tighter.

"Almost there," he said, and the wind took his words for a chew toy. Gordon didn't reply, just hung on as best he could and really, that's all Scott wanted from him.

Green rendered grey by the snow loomed ahead – and then they were up, into brightness and air that didn't try to shred the flesh from his bones, and Scott's feet were suspended over whirling whiteness for several seconds before Virgil closed the hatch beneath him and he could lower his boots to solidity for the first time in twenty-five frenetic minutes.

"Virgil, we're all done. I'll get Gordon settled then head back to One."

"Uh – negative, Scott. One's gone."

"What!?"

"Sorry, Scott, I need to work on my phrasing. The second you two were on-board EOS sent One vertical. She'll be above this weather in no time."

"Wow, Virge," Gordon said, as Scott lowered him to the floor. In the interior light of Two's hold, a faint sheen of perspiration could be seen across a face that was now a pasty white.

"Yeah. Wow, Virge." Scott muttered it as he fussed, re-positioning Gordon slightly so that a strut supported his back.

"Sorry. Hold on. I'll find us some yellow sky."

"Ha." It was a weak kind of laugh, more of an exhalation, as Gordon brought his left arm around to support his dislocated right shoulder. "You – you remember when Dad would say that?"

"Sure." Scott came back from one of the first aid lockers that lined the walls of the hold and knelt back beside him. "'Let's go find some yellow sky.' Somewhere quiet in the middle of a storm."

"He'd say that."

"Yeah."

"Dad."

"Yeah."

"Not blue."

"No, not blue."

"That's kinda weird, hey."

This was Gordon drifting in the wake of his damage, and Scott quickly readied the site-specific hypodermic shot that would steady his course. It was a kind of magic, this part, one he didn't get to see as often as the younger three did. He watched as the analgesic hit its target, as Gordon's mind, folded upon itself in agony just like his body was folded around the injury, loosened and relaxed almost at once as the siege upon his consciousness was raised. A lopsided grin cut through the white of Gordon's face, and Scott gave an answering one when he saw it.

"Better?"

Gordon dropped his head back against the strut.

"Yeah. Oh, yeah. Thanks, Scott."

Scott nodded, and lifted his eyes for the quick survivor assessment survey that was second nature to him now.

Twelve people; four children, three teens, five adults.

The three teenage girls, probably on a gap year tour of Europe, thin and dressed more for cute than comfort – they needed thermal blankets, stat. So did the mother and her two boys, the elder of whom was staring, glaze-eyed, at the floor. In fact, given the particulars of this rescue, thermal blankets all round sounded like just the thing.

The woman was clutching at the younger boy as if she were the child. Scott wasn't always one for reading a room in ways beyond survival needs, but this time, he couldn't help but wince internally. What would it do to her, to her boys, to know that their husband and father had tried to buy his way to safety ahead of them?

And speaking of…

"I need to see the pilot."

"Hey," Scott said to the elder of the two boys, catching his attention from the study of Two's floor, "What's your name?"

The boy raised green eyes sick with disillusion to his. It made something catch in Scott's chest, that look. The contemptible moron at his back couldn't see what he was doing, what he'd done, when he looked at his son's face, and the thought of it hurt a man who had every reason to hero-worship his own dad.

"Travis."

"Well, hey, Travis. Think you could come help me, grab some blankets for everyone?"

The boy looked questioningly at his mother, who hesitated until Scott gave her the smile Gordon once described as reckless use of dimples in a built-up area.

"He'll be fine, ma'am."

"Are you listening to me?" Mister Me-First moved over to stand in Scott's personal space, obviously recovered from whatever submissiveness Scott had won earlier.

"No, sir," and Scott turned the same smile on him as he'd given the man's wife, "I'm really not."

"I need to speak to the pilot, dammit! Where the hell are you taking us?"

"Well, right now I'm heading over to that locker. And I'm relying on this brave boy to help distribute blankets to everyone." Scott beamed brighter, but his eye assumed a hard glint that even someone as self-absorbed as Me-First couldn't fail to read. "Is he your son?"

"Well, yes, but I don't see – "

"You must be very proud of him. And his brother over there. They handled themselves so well. If you'll excuse me, sir…"

"You have no right to take us anywhere we don't want! I need to get back to Turin, I'm meeting some very important people there tomorrow, and I can't get waylaid by some kinda cowboy operation like this! You better let me speak to the pilot, goddammit, and if you don't want one hell of a lawsuit on your lap, mister, you better do it now."

The temptation was there, so strong. Just to haul back and deck this guy. One hard punch, a tap really, right to the jaw, just – there. Shut him up, set him down, put him out of commission. And no one would blame him.

"Scott? How are things down there?"

Hell, they'd probably give him a round of applause.

"Fine, Virgil. You got someplace in mind to land?"

"Turin's socked in. We've got clearance into Milan."

"FAB."

"Milan?" Me-First was nothing if not predictable. "Everything's in Turin! The hotel's in Turin! Everything's there, my portcom, all our clothes – what the hell am I gonna do in Milan?"

But Scott didn't even need Virgil's voice, or Gordon's sympathetic look, to remind him.

He'd made a promise, to himself and to his dad and to Gordon, most of all. Just over ten years ago, come to think of it.

He thought of it, and put his arm around Travis's shoulder, trying to find some way, however feeble, of compensating for a father who would never ask that kind of promise from his son.

"Come on. Let's get those blankets, maybe some hot chocolate, what do you think? And afterwards, if we ask nicely, you can hear that one, over there – " he pointed to Gordon, still smiling with the relief that comes with the death of pain, "murder the latest k-pop."

His brothers safe, the people safe, warmth and light and somewhere ahead, yellow sky. And if the incessant complaint of a selfish jerk was hardly the best of travelling conversation, well, Milan was close, Two was loud, and he had the thought of the promise kept to brighten the way home.