Work Text:
Even though the Tracys don’t like to flaunt it, the truth is they’re rich. Like really, really rich. They live on an island and rocket fuel ain't cheap.
Each of them has their own income streams, and no, it’s not just from Tracy Industries.
Scott still has his military pension, plus royalties from a few projects he’s done over the years, sponsorships, interviews, and a handful of documentaries he quietly consulted on.
Virgil’s wealth comes from his art, his music royalties, and several engineering patents that fund themselves at this point.
John has royalties from his books, essays on spaceflight, human psychology in isolation, and the philosophy of exploration, along with interviews, research grants, and academic deals.
Gordon has his old WASP pension and… a few mystery sources of income he’s never quite explained. The others suspect it’s from coaching or swimming endorsements or possibly betting on races but Gordon just smirks when asked.
And then there’s Alan, who ever since turning seventeen has been competing when he can in (and winning) car races. Those paychecks aren’t small, either.
Of course, on top of everything, there’s Tracy Industries, the powerhouse that keeps their lights on and their birds flying but even without it, each one of them is a millionaire in his own right.
So once in a while, they indulge in something frivolous.
And this? This was one of those times.
—
Scott had felt bad that Virgil had once again missed his own birthday. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, rescues didn’t wait for cake and candles, but Scott wanted to make it up to him somehow.
He remembered an old friend from his Air Force days, a guy named Derek, who collected vintage planes and rented them out. After a quick call, a few jokes, and a favor cashed in, Derek agreed to give Scott a good deal.
When Scott told Virgil he could pick any of the planes, Virgil’s reaction was immediate.
“Are you serious?” he asked, eyes wide, voice almost breaking into laughter. “Any of them?”
Scott grinned. “That’s what Derek said. He trusts us.”
“How did you manage to get him to agree to that?”
“He owed me a favor, that and a really good deal,” Scott said, trying not to smirk.
Virgil gave him a look,” how much.”
Scott shook his head,” nope not telling you.” giving him a smile. “Now please pick one, we don't have all day.”
Virgil turned toward him, then passed him, pure excitement lighting up his face. He walked over to a plane behind Scott. “I can’t believe he has one of these,” he said, stopping in front of a polished, beautifully restored de Havilland DH.82 Tiger Moth. “There aren’t many left in the world.”
Scott chuckled as Virgil walked around it, awe in every step. “You like it?”
Virgil laughed, shaking his head. “Scott, this is incredible.”
“Well,” Scott said, grinning, “shall we go up?”
Virgil didn’t even answer, just nodded fast, his whole face glowing.
—
They got her airborne easily enough, the old Tiger Moth humming smoothly despite her age. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in gold and rose as they passed over the Tracy ranch.
From above, the fields glowed like patchwork gold.
Scott banked the plane slightly to give Virgil a better view.
Through the comm, Virgil’s voice came, soft. “Thank you for this, Scott. This is amazing.”
Scott smiled, steadying the controls. “No problem,” he said, wishing to see his little brother's face. But he just chuckled, “Happy birthday, Virgil.”
Virgil’s answering laugh filled the headset when Scott rolled the plane. It was a good day. Virgil laughed like a child and Scott got to brush up on his mechanical flight controls. That and his brother smiled is worth any price.