In honour of 💛FishTank💚 Week and this prompt - *Food on the Go* - please enjoy a little reblog snippet from Lone Star (which I promise I haven't abandoned, honest!)
Thunderbird Two’s pre-flight routine was so familiar to him by now that Virgil didn’t even need to think about it. Which was unfortunate, because right now he was trying to consciously remember where he’d gotten to and drawing a blank.
“Gordon, will you please stop staring at me? You’re putting me off.”
He turned and glared at his co-pilot, who was scowling back at him from the rear of the cockpit.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
Virgil shrugged. “I was hungry.”
The scandalised look of betrayal on his little brother’s face was almost comical. “It was my last bar!
“Yeah,” he grunted, “You said.”
“It’s your own fault. I warned you last week that we were running low.”
“‘Running low’ is not ‘run out’,” grumbled Gordon, stalking to the front, “I was saving it.”
“You were not. You forgot it was here.”
He scoffed. “Okay, fine then. Next time you want to ‘save’ something, save it on your own ‘bird. You leave snacks lying around my ship, you should expect them to get eaten.”
Gordon opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again; instead he flopped into his seat and pouted dramatically. “I trusted you. You’re supposed to be the nice one.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” said John, his wry smile materialising in front of them from the console.
“Johnny!” Gordon sat upright, an immediate grin plastered across his face. “My new favourite brother! Please tell lunkhead over here that I’m not speaking to him.”
Virgil blinked. Lunkhead?
“Nope, tell him yourself. And don’t call me Johnny.”
The grin disappeared into a pout again. “But if I tell him... the not speaking… Ugh!” Gordon flung himself back into the chair with a whumph. “That’s it, I have no brothers!”
Virgil rolled his eyes. So much drama over one little snack!
John turned to face him, apparently totally indifferent to the threat of being disowned. “Could you please do something about him? I can hear his whining even with the comms off.”
“...I don’t whine,” muttered Gordon into his chest.
He always looked much younger when he sulked; so much harder to resist giving in to.
Virgil chuckled. “Okay, fine. But only because it’s you.”
He reached into one of a multitude of little cubbies around the console, pulled out two hidden celery crunch bars, and tossed them into Gordon’s lap. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”
Gordon gave a little whoop of joy. “I knew you were holding out on me,” he exclaimed, falling on the snacks like a starving vulture.
“Yeah, well, don’t forget to chew,” replied Virgil. “I’m pretty tired, and the Heimlich takes effort, so…” An involuntary yawn cut off the end of his sentence as if to prove the point.
For a moment all was peaceful save for the sound of chewing.
