Work Text:
“…Johnathan Tracy. Who in the world decided to let you out in public?” Lady Penelope’s tone is aghast as John disembarks from Thunderbird 2, he and Virgil the last of his brothers to arrive for her annual gala.
“Well, hello would have been nice, but I suppose from a lady of your status I have to take that as a compliment,” John comments dryly, a suitcase in one hand and a garment bag over his shoulder. He still walks like he’s expecting to weigh slightly less than he does, favouring the balls of his feet, giving his stride an uncharacteristic bounce.
“Hello, Master John!” Parker volunteers from his position by the door of FAB1. “Nice flight?”
John grimaces and shrugs. “I slept through it. I should have come down an extra week early. I’m not even used to island time yet, and now I’m eight hours out of sync. I think it’s supposed to be noon? I’ve been up since four this morning and I just want to go back to bed.”
Lady Penelope kisses his cheek perfunctorily as Parker takes his suitcase and the garment bag with his dress uniform. “If you dressed in the dark I suppose I might be able to forgive you, but really John. Was that your father’s?” She plucks the front of his shirt. “He always did have the most dreadful taste.”
“Have you been talking to Grandma Tracy?” John questions, rubbing his eyes. “I like this shirt. Why does everybody hate this shirt?” He gestures to the (frankly hideous) gold piping tracing his torso. “It’s got integrated circuitry for gestural control of TB5, and it gives me an adhoc version of my HUD in the comm’s control if I need it. Brains helped me rig it up. It’s only a fraction of the type of capability I have in orbit, but–”
“I’m sure it’s a technological masterpiece. Take it off, I don’t want it in the car. Parker, fetch John something less offensive.”
“Right away, mi’lady!” Briskly, Parker flips open John’s suitcase and begins to rummage through.
John balks at this. “Hey! You can’t be serious–”
Lady Penelope fixes him with a disapproving stare. “If you were quite serious when you put that thing on this morning, then I’m afraid I’m as serious as a heart attack. Honestly, John.”
Parker holds up a pair of t-shirts from inside John’s luggage. “These seem to be our best available choice, mi’lady. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or this rather charming affair with the peculiar triangle and rainbow combination?”
Lady Penelope shudders. “The former, Parker. I did mean it, John. I have a certain image to maintain, I really can’t be seen with you in–that. Please don’t force me to send you on in a cab, it offends my sense of propriety.”
By the time Virgil joins them, John is sulking in the back seat and Lady Penelope has persuaded Parker that this is a cause worthy of employing the flamethrower.