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“Oh yes, it’s a perfect specimen, modern engineering at it’s finest. The ultimate in luxury and, dare I say it, class,” the overweight, balding man, already slightly red in the face before he’d ingested his third brandy of the night, continued to wax lyrical about the beauty of the ship they were currently on.
Scott Tracy, son of the self made millionaire, Jefferson Tracy, risked a quick glance at his pocket watch, seeing the time to be nearing half past ten and the middle aged bores that surrounded him were showing no signs of ending the night.
His stomach gurgled loudly and he murmured the expected begging of their pardon, even though it was a perfectly normal bodily function. It wasn’t his fault that his stomach was rebelling. The ship might be the height of luxury, as Franklin was taking great delight in detailing once again, the food might be prepared by one of the top gourmet chefs in the world, but it didn’t suit his pallet. He’d be happier with something a little less sophisticated.
He wasn’t one to enjoy such a large number of courses, such a variety of flavours and textures all battling for supremacy on his tongue. He missed the simple yet wholesome meals he’d grown up with.
He tucked his watch away and yawned, making it as exaggerated as was possible in polite company. This was really not his scene at all, sitting amidst a smog of cigar smoke and brandy fumes breathed out by blustering old fools.
“Are we keeping you up, Tracy?” Jones, an oil tycoon from old money, asked with a slightly sneering tone. The Tracys were seen as common rich, having not come from such old stock as many of the people that made up the first class passengers. That was typical of the wealthy old blood, they made looking down on people their main purpose in life, along with the hoarding of money that is.
“Just tired,” Scott shrugged. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I think I might turn in.” He finished the last half inch in his glass and placed his half smoked cigar in one of the many ashtrays that littered the table.
“Turning in alone, are we?” said a large man whose mustache made him look very much like a walrus, his suggestive wink making everyone laugh.
“Yes,” Scott answered sharply. They all knew that he was a confirmed bachelor and had no intention of getting married any time soon. He rose to his feet and politely made his exit, bidding them all a good night with a respectful bow of his head.
Walking quickly he practically ran down the grand staircase, not even looking back in his desperation to be away from his companions. He headed straight for his room, already tugging at his bow tie, more than ready to slip into something a little more him.
Once inside he wasted no time in stripping out of his stiff suit and changing into a more casual outfit of trousers, shirt and a hardy jacket. Settling down in a chair he picked up his book, prepared to wait for another hour for the majority of the other first class passengers to retire for the night before he would venture out.
When the time came he replaced his bookmark, leaving the book on the bedside table for later and jammed a hat on his head, pocketed his room key before he took the stairs up to the next floor where he could access the open areas of the Promenade deck.
At this time of night, after then stewards had called lights out, when the air was cold and the sea spray froze to your skin, the likelihood of meeting anyone out there was slim to none. Still he strolled casually, keeping that air of importance and entitlement that he’d learnt from others, knowing that he was less likely to be questioned if he looked and acted like he was allowed to do anything he wanted.
He reached the part of the deck he needed and lent causally against the railings, taking a few moments to look out over the dark water, looking to anyone who might spot him like he had not a care in the world.
Checking over each shoulder to make sure that no one was around to see him he took a firm hold of the railing and swung first one leg over, then the other. Carefully he lowered himself as far as he could before he let go, dropping down onto the Bridge deck, the promenade for the Third Class passengers.
Once he’d landed it was a simple enough task to find the staircase that led to the lower decks staircase, it's access restricted to Third Class ticket holders only. Not that it bothered him. Rules were made to be broken, or so his father said. Rules like class and etiquette were always up for breaking, he didn’t believe that a person's worth should be measured by the money they had in their pocket. Some of his favourite people in the world were as poor as church mice, never wanting charity, content with their lot. And, although they had precious little of their own, they were always willing to share what they had. In comparison to the men he had just left, who would look down on someone who didn’t have at least a five figure bank account and would shove aside a hungry child on the street, he knew who he’d rather give his time to.
He’d decided to go down there after charming one of the maids that had come to his room the previous night, bringing his requested jug of drinking water. He was well known for being able to put anyone at ease, something he was rather proud of and exploited daily to get his own way, and soon she was giggling in response to his teasing and replying in kind.
“Come on, Maria,” he’d wheedled. “Can’t you find me something fun to do? Are you honestly telling me that there is nothing on this boat that’s better than wasting my evenings listening to old men trying to outdo each other for the title of world’s most boring man?”
“Sir!” she’d had gasped, completely scandalised. “To think you would even say such a thing.”
“Do you wish for me to slowly go insane? Is that what you want? Maria, I’m surprised at you. All I’m wanting is a little fun that doesn’t consist of smoking my lungs black and drinking my body weight in brandy. I shall get fat, sitting around doing nothing the entire journey.”
“There is the promenade, and the gymnasium, the swimming pool even, you’re not limited, sir.”
“Boring,” he whined, pouting in his best impression of his youngest brother, his bottom lip sticking out.
“Sir…” she was weakening, he could tell. He changed tactics and flashed her his most winning smile, the one that made his already obvious dimples deepen to full effect.
“Sir I cannot allow you to leave the First Class areas.”
“What if you didn’t allow me?”
“Sir, I am not in a position to stop you.”
“Then say no more, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble,” he promised her. He didn’t need her help, he was perfectly capable of exploring on his own.
He trotted down the stairs to the Third Class accommodation and common areas, intent on finding himself some more intelligent conversation and maybe a couple of people that would be in need of a sponsor when they reached New York.
He decided to follow the sound of laughter coming from one of the dining salons in the hope that he would find some livelier company and maybe a drink or two that wasn’t brandy. It was strange but, going this way rather than taking the First Class elevator like he had when making grudging use of the swimming pool, he encountered no one that sought to stop him. It was like they never expected anyone from first to want to come to the public rooms of the lower decks, they wouldn’t believe that someone of his wealth and standing would actually choose to mix with the common folk. Well that was where he was different.
He had barely taken a step towards the friendly, relaxed chatter when the giant boat seemed to shudder right down to its bolts, along with an ominous rumbling sound. Abruptly the laughter stopped and panicked chatter filled the air.
Scott dithered for just a second, torn between wanting to continue on his mission and the need to find out exactly what had occurred. As always his need for information and to know everything there was about a situation won out and he ran back up the stairs to the Bridge deck, uncaring as to whether anyone would spot him now. He raced through the restaurant, through the corridors of suits where his own room was located and back up the grand staircase, once again cursing the ridiculous class divide that meant he couldn’t just choose where he wished to go without smartly dressed, polite but insistent staff refusing him access.
Upstairs there was a more orderly sense of calm, a few people were out of their rooms and grouped around muttering about the noise disturbing them but in general they didn’t seem to care.
“What happened? What was that noise?” he demanded to know time and time again but everyone shook their heads, seemingly unable to provide him with an answer that would satisfy him.
He was growing more frustrated by the second with no one giving him a clear answer or even bothering to respond to him at all. There was something going on, he could tell, the engines had stopped and the staff were darting here and there, holding whispered conversations but refusing to speak when he ventured too close. Scott Tracy was not one to take such treatment lying down. His father had always taught them that if you wanted information you should go straight to the top and he was perfectly within his rights to demand an explanation from the captain should he so choose and so he would.
As expected, uniformed staff barred his way and he steeled himself for a vigorous argument. He hated not knowing what was going on, especially when things did not seem right at all. He’d tried being polite, he’d tried greasing the palms of a few stewards but had gotten nowhere, now he was preparing to resort to force.
“Look here, you. I demand to be allowed to speak to the captain, I’ve served my country, I have experience in emergency situations and there is most definitely something amiss. Now stand aside and let me pass, damn you!”
“They’ve launched the first lifeboat!”
He spun on his heel to locate the source of the cry, the murmurings of his fellow passengers now increasing in volume and the stewards in urgency as more people poured in from all directions.
“Where?” he demanded to know, not prepared to waste any more time with such nonsense. The look on his face must have shown he meant business for the steward lifted a shaking hand and pointed upwards.
“Boat deck, sir.”
“Thank you,” Scott managed to snap out as he ran for the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently as it rose far too slowly for his liking.
The above deck was in a state of calm chaos, that was the only way he could describe it. Now one seemed to be in a hurry and, when he looked over the side of the boat into the water he saw, to his disgust, that the lifeboat was barely a third full.
“Hey, you!” he yelled to the nearest crewman, “what’s going on here?”
“Boat hit an iceberg.”
“It’s going down?” Scott couldn't have been more shocked if the man had dropped his pants to moon him. The crewman declined to comment, but Scott could tell by the look in his eyes that things were not good.
“We need to get organised,” Scott decided. “How can I help?”
The steward paused, eyeing him suspiciously, but then he nodded, apparently seeing the sincerity in Scott’s offer.
“You’re First Class?” looking sceptically at Scott's clothing.
"I am," Scott nodded, pulling his room key out of his pocket as proof.
“They might listen to you then. If you can, gather as many women and children as possible and lead them here, take the stairs, not the elevators, we don’t know how long the power will last.”
Scott nodded again and took off. In all he made three trips, helping to rouse sleeping passengers by knocking on doors and relaying the news. He gathered his charges, leading them as calmly as possible to the upper deck and helped hand them into the few lifeboats that were there.
By his second trip the relatively calm disorder had been replaced by shouted orders and frantic questions as people swarmed towards the lifeboats. His third, and last, trip saw him having to shield his charges with his own body and deliver a knockout blow to the jaw of a blowhard that insisted that he should be allowed to go first as he had the money to pay for it. At this point in time Scott had never cared less for money and social standing, all he cared about was the fact there were thousands of lives at stake and very few people seemed to know what they were doing or even care.
Many that he had tried to deliver the news to were either ignorant or perhaps indifferent to the fact that the ship they were on was in very real danger, perhaps even doomed entirely. He could feel the ship listing, feel the way that the water must have been filling the bowels of the boat, its weight dragging the bow below the water line.
The crew and stewards had been trying their hardest to implement some kind of system for evacuation while retaining order but their words were falling on deaf ears as the human instinct to survive at any cost took over, creating a frenzy of activity the likes of which many would never have seen before. Firework rockets were being launched at regular intervals, acting as distress flares that lit up the clear night sky, their sparkles momentarily taking the place of the bright stars that twinkled in the heavens above.
People pushed and shoved to get towards the boats, all seeking to secure a place there. The sound of distressed crying and the occasional panicked yell disturbed the freezing cold air, sometimes drowning out the bellowed orders of the crew that continued their fight for order and the haunting strains of the orchestra that were still doing their duty, seeking to calm the panicked passengers and bring some degree of comfort.
Leaving his charges huddled together for both safety and warmth Scott dived into the fray, yelling out orders in sync with the crew, helping to gather passengers and lower them into lifeboats that were still being launched.
“What of the lower decks?” he asked when there was a slight pause in the proceedings. The lifeboats were all on the upper deck where the lower class passengers were forbidden from setting foot.
“Every man for himself,” the crewman said with a dismissive shrug, pushing Scott aside to continue with whatever it was he was doing.
Disgusted by the attitude of the crewman, Scott did his best to help, trying to weed out the most vulnerable in an attempt to get them to safety, ignoring the class protocols.
“Come on, in you go,” he ordered, trying to hustle a middle aged lady, dressed in furs, into one of the last available boats. All around them he heard screams as people, in a desperate attempt to live, threw themselves overboard, deciding to take the risk of landing in the icy water and striking out for a life raft rather than give in to the certain death that awaited them if they stayed onboard. Scott himself knew that he would be counted among those names that would no doubt appear on the passenger list, those that had perished aboard the ship they had billed as unsinkable, but to him, one life, his, in exchange for the dozens he had likely saved by staying, was worth any sacrifice.
The older woman dug her heels in, fighting to break free of his hold, determined to stay on the sinking ship.
“No, my daughter, I won’t leave my daughter!”
“Madame, you must, you must go.”
“No!”
“She’ll likely already be aboard one of the boats,” he soothed, “you don’t want to stay here if she’s already off.”
“Really? You think she’s safe?” her tear filled eyes locked on to his, begging him to tell her comforting lies and he found himself unable to deny her.
“I’m almost sure of it,” he hedged, hoping that she wouldn’t have listened to his words that carefully.
She nodded, clinging to his arm as she finally accepted his help, allowing him to hand her into the lifeboat that was already lowering. She kept her eyes locked on his as the boat continued its descent towards the water, like she was in need of a friendly face. In an effort to further reassure her he dredged up the last of his reserves and managed as bright a smile as he could. It was only then that she looked away.
“Mama!” the scream had the lady’s head whipping round, searching the deck, her eyes darting everywhere, frantically searching.
“Daisy!”
“Mama!”
The woman dived forward, reaching towards the ship for her daughter. A younger woman beside her wrapped her arms around her middle, dragging her back as she attempted to throw herself bodily from the lifeboat, caring nothing for her own life in her desperation to reach her daughter.
The woman’s daughter did the same, hanging on tightly to the railings as she attempted to lift her skirts to fling her leg over.
“No! Stay there!” Scott yelled. He was off running before he even realised he’d made the decision to move. Fighting against both gravity as the doomed boat’s bow sank lower into the water, tipping her up at a crazy angle, and the dampness that made the deck as slick as an ice rink.
He reached the woman's daughter, Daisy, just as she succeeded in getting one leg over the top railing. Scott caught her around the waist and hauled her back onto the deck and into his arms. She reacted like a wild cat, clawing at his hands as she sought her freedom, focused on nothing but getting to her mother.
“No, listen to me,” he commanded. “You throw yourself over like that and you’ll die, is that clear enough for you?”
His harsh words shocked her into stillness and she nodded dumbly, the breath sawing painfully in and out of her lungs.
“Please, help me,” she begged over the sound of fevered prayers from other passengers that drifted on the air.
“I will,” he promised her. His words seemed to calm her and she relaxed her grip a little on his arm.
Frantically he looked around for inspiration, his eyes finally settling on a free swinging rope attached to a pulley that had once held a lifeboat, which was still near the ship. Quickly formulating a plan in his head he grabbed at the rope and hauled it up to the deck. Working fast he created a loop at the end of the rope, securing it further up the length with a strong knot that he knew wouldn't shift. Holding it steady he helped to guide her legs through so she was sitting in the loop like it was a rope swing. He lifted her over the rail and, with the help of the pulley, succeeded in lowering her close enough to the lifeboat that she was able to be helped aboard.
His last sight of her was her terrified but grateful face looking up at her. He’d fulfilled his promise to her mother, she was now safely aboard a lifeboat.
The bow of the ship had sunk even lower in the water during the few minutes that he had spent helping Daisy and he realised that, if he was to have even the remotest chance of surviving he would need to get to higher ground, towards the stern of the ship. He’d seen this kind of thing before, on one of his campaigns during his service. He’d seen the way a boat could behave as it sunk and knew the force of suction a ship could create as the water rushed in to fill the cavities it had previously missed.
Fighting once again against gravity, the freezing cold damp air and his own fatigue he continued his slow but steady progress. His legs burned with the effort of the uphill trek and he found that he soon had to grip hold of the railing and use it to pull himself along and keep himself upright.
He kept his eyes facing forward, his focus on the end of the stern and his best chance of anything resembling safety, and so he didn’t see the huddled figure that was plastered against the railing until he’d tripped over them.
“I’m so sorry,” he automatically apologised, his ingrained manners still with him even in the direst of circumstances.
Like his voice had done something to snap the figure out of whatever daze they were in, the head lifted and he was facing the tear stained cheeks and wide, wet eyes of Maria, the sweet little maid who only yesterday had been responding so positively to his attention. Now she was a trembling, terrified mess as she sat huddled on a rapidly rising deck staring at certain death.
There might be nothing he could do for either of them but, he thought, at least she could die with someone beside her that while not loving her, at least cared. He held out his hand waiting for her to make her decision. He wouldn't force her, that wasn’t his way and he schooled his expression to project as calm a demeanor as he could. She watched him, her body still shaking with sobs that she was clearly fighting to control. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and placed her hand in his. After giving her hand a comforting squeeze he pulled her to her feet and locked her hands on the rail.
“We have to go higher,” he told her, allowing for no arguments and, with a steely determination he hadn’t expected, she nodded and began to move, following his lead.
They could still hear the sounds of desperate men shouting instructions about lifeboats and ropes and, further down the boat where the bow was now fully submerged, he saw a group of crewmen wrestling to release one of the collapsible boats that had remained on deck. They had managed to get two free but, before they could lower them over the side of the ship they were swept into the water by the force of the waves rushing in as the bow sank still further.
“Hurry,” he urged, pushing her forward in a last ditch attempt to reach some kind of safety. Climbing hand over hand they inched their way up the sharply sloping deck until they could go no further.
“Here,” he urged, pushing her tighter to the railing. “Hold on tight and swing your legs over when I lift you, we need to be on the outside, can you do that?” She nodded briefly and tightened her grip as he grasped her waist and lifted her up as high as he could manage at such a steep angle. She wasted no time in scrambling over.
“Put your arms through here, your feet too.” With his help she thread her arms through the rails and wedged her feet against the deck. Once she was secure he followed her over, clambering over the railings and bracing himself while he caught his breath before shifting position.
In an effort to protect her as best he could Scott got behind her, her smaller body sheltered by his own. He reached around her, caring nothing for decency now and keeping the proper socially acceptable distance, he slid his own arms through the rails, holding her in place. He braced one foot against a board that was affixed to the outer side of the rails, the other he wedged against a railing strutt.
“Don’t worry, Maria, I’ve got you,” he promised. He heard her exhale in a rush, her body trembling against his both from cold and fright.
“Sir,” she whispered through chattering teeth, “thank you.”
“I’m Scott, by the way,” he grinned, trying to keep his tone light. “I think this situation allows us to drop the formalities, don’t you?”
“Yes, thank you, Sco-” Her words were cut off as the sound of an explosion rent the air and the lights that had burned so brightly gave up their valiant fight, the whole ship plunged into darkness as the sea water rushing into the ship reached the boilers which surrendered with a mighty boom.
Risking a quick glance over the side he saw the dark water below littered with debris and the floating bodies of those that had already either thrown themselves overboard or fallen. Some were clearly dead but many were still moving, attempting to swim, screaming for help and sobbing in fear.
“Hold on tight,” he ordered, feeling the stern lifting even higher, almost vertical. Below them people lost their grip, slipping and sliding down the deck, hitting railings, walls and people as they fell. He knew what was happening, the weight of the bow filling with water was dragging the structure down even further, there was only so much pressure that the hull could take before it split like a banana skin. He’d seen it before, he knew how this ended.
“We’ve only got one chance at this,” he told the woman who shivered against his chest, striving for as positive a tone as he could. “When the hull splits, because it will split, and soon, it’s weight will be gone and that’s the only thing that’s holding this part upright. It’s gonna come crashing back down towards the water and when it does I’m gonna need you to be brave and push off against the rails and let go. The second we hit the water we have to swim for it, we need to get as far away from this part as possible because the water is going to rush in and sink this in a matter of minutes, if that. And when it does it’ll suck anything around it down with it. You have to be brave, can you do that?”
She gulped the frigid air but nodded determinedly.
“Not like we have much of a choice, is it? Either way we’ll be in the water, best give ourselves a sporting chance.”
“Best to,” he agreed. “I’ll try to stay close by, but I can’t promise anything. Whatever you do just swim up, head for the surface and then get to the nearest boat if you can, don’t wait for me, don’t hang back, just save yourself. Got it? Promise me.”
“I...I got it,” she promised.
"Good girl."
As predicted the stern continued to rise and then with a screech of tearing metal and an almost unholy groan that seemed to come from deep inside the heart of the boat, the hull split. The sound of inhuman screaming reached its zenith although it was momentarily drowned out by the mighty boom of metal hitting water as the huge chimney stacks parted company with the deck.
“Get ready!”
Scott braced himself, protecting Maria as best he could as the stern shuddered with a shock wave as the metal ripped, feeling the vibrations of the stacks hitting the surface of the water. Then it happened, the stern seemed to hover in mid air for a second before dropping like a stone,crashing down to the water.
“Now!” Scott bellowed over the screams, hearing distant splashes as bodies hit the water in quick succession. Braced as he was, it was hard to move but he managed, pushing off with his legs and throwing himself bodily backwards as far as he could. His body acted on instinct despite the cold, years of practice making it second nature as he turned as best he could in midair, angling his body into something that better resembled a coordinated dive than a cannonball.
His hands hit the water first, breaking the surface as predicted, his head and shoulders following as the height of the dive drove him deep into the water.
The freezing cold hit him like a train as the water surrounded him, icy daggers biting into his limbs. He flailed, his arms and legs pinwheeling as he tried to strike out for the surface as he had instructed Maria, but the dark and the cold were disorientating. He’d been turned around and no matter where he looked he couldn't see anything, no light, no shapes, nothing.
His lungs had begun to burn, feeling like a deep weight in his chest as he fought his body's natural need for oxygen, knowing that the second he gave in the deadly water would flood his lungs and death would be certain.
Without warning he was moving, a wall of water shoving him sideways and he distantly realised that the stern must have sunk but he found it hard to care. He was dying, he knew it now and yet his every instinct still screamed at him to fight until his very last moment, with every ounce of the dwindling strength his tired and battered body contained.
He stared out into the darkness, refusing to close his eyes, that felt too much like giving up, like accepting his fate and that was something he would never do. He could hear his father in his mind, hear his voice as clearly as if he were standing next to him, quoting their family motto “Tracys never quit.”
A flash of something caught his attention, something moving in the water in front of him and he instinctively strained towards it. Was it a person? A piece of debris that he could use as a buoyancy aid? Anything at all.
Whatever it was moved closer, slicing through the water at a fast clip. As it neared it took on a familiar form, that of a person, the head and shoulders leading down to a toned torso but that was where the similarities ended. For, instead of seeing the legs he had expected, there was a powerful tail. It moved with the motion of the sea, allowing the creature to slide through the water like it was nothing.
It looked nothing like the pictures he’d seen of these supposedly mythical creatures, mainly because, where he was used to seeing what must be a mermaid as a beautiful female that just happened to have a tail, this one was obviously male.
Scott blinked as it neared him, allowing him to see its face clearly and it was a face he knew almost as well as he knew his own.
His brother, or the creature that had somehow assumed his face, wrapped its arms around Scott’s waist and with a flap of it’s muscular tail it carried him upwards.
Scott’s head broke the surface and with it came a rush of icy, but so welcome, life giving air. He sucked it into his lungs, inhaling and exhaling rapidly until he felt sure he could breathe again.
The creature was still holding him, he could feel its hands under his armpits, could see its face mere inches from his.
“Wh...what are you?” he stuttered, shocked to his core.
The creature opened its mouth to answer but the only sound that came out was a series of clicks and then a high pitched screech that hurt his ears. It reared its head back and spat a long stream of water straight into Scott’s face.
***
Water splashed all over his face, bringing Scott back to consciousness as he spluttered in shock.
He sat bolt upright, almost headbutting the grinning form of Gordon who was still leaning over him an empty water bottle clutched in his hand.
Scott blinked wetly, his head aching fit to burst.
“Are you kidding?” he yelled, which did nothing to ease the pain in his head. What the hell had happened? God, he’d had the strangest dream, where the fuck had that come from?
TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER
“Every night in my dreams…”
“Gordon, no,” Virgil groaned, checking the coordinates that John had sent them.
“And spaces between us, You have come to show you go on…”
“Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One.”
“Come in Thunderbird Tw-”
“Near, far, wherever you are…”
“Oh no,” Scott’s hologram facepalmed so hard that Virgil was worried that he might have knocked himself out if it hadn't been for the helmet he was wearing.
“I believe that the heart does go on, ” Gordon continued to sing, waving his arms around like he was conducting an orchestra. “Once more, you open the door, and you’re here in my heart and my heart will go on and on.”
“I’m going down, I'll meet you there,” Scott signed, cutting the connection, his hologram immediately replaced by John’s.
“The boat isn’t in immediate danger but-” John started, then stopped, his eyes darting to the copilot seat as he got distracted by the sight of his brother.
“Love can touch just one time, and last for a lifetime, and never let go ‘til we’re gone.”
“I don’t want to know,” John shook his head, his hologram blinking out of existence faster than Virgil’s eyes could track.
“Gordon, please stop…”
Gordon ignored him to reach over and press the button that glowed with a small blue symbol, that of Thunderbird One.
“YOU’RE HERE, THERE’S NOTHING I FEAR
AND I KNOW THAT MY HEART WILL GO ON.
WE’LL STAY FOREVER THIS WAY
YOU ARE SAFE IN MY HEART AND
MY HEART WILL GO ON AND ONNNNNNNNNNN!”
*beep*
John’s hologram popped back up again.
“Scott just got hit in the head by a swinging mast, you and Celine Dion here better hurry up, he’s gonna need a little TLC.”