Work Text:
Virgil wiped his hands on a rag and set his feet in the direction of the kitchen for a cool drink. He had got a lot done, but it was probably time for him to come out into the daylight after so many hours in the hangar workshop. He was also very conscious that it was definitely time he took a turn a kiddie wrangling after so many hours of relative peace and quiet. Only someone who shared living space with preteens and toddlers could describe a workshop with a CNC machine and a metalworking lathe “quiet”. Cautiously creeping into the kitchen, he was hopeful that he might be able to grab a cold beverage before he got spotted and strong armed into providing snacks for everyone 5ft and under in the nearby vicinity.
Scott was sitting at the breakfast bar, a jug of iced tea gathering condensation by his elbow. Spotting Virgil, he gestured towards the jug in invitation, but quickly bowed his head back to the work in his hands. Scott plucked a pin from where it was held between his pursed lips, stabbing at the fabric in his lap. Apparently satisfied with its placement, and lips now free of pins, he could extend a proper greeting to his brother.
“Alight?” Scott asked, which was shorthand for so much that didn’t need spelling out after so many years working and living together. It said, ‘hows your back?’ , ‘have you eaten’, ‘Have my kids/your kids/any kids done anything dangerous physically/mentally/financially recently that I should know about or do something about?’
“S’all good,” Virgil replied, and that was a sufficient answer for it all. Scott nodded. Pinched the end of a thread and made the umpteenth stab at trying to thread the needle. “Need a hand?” Virgil asked.
“Nah, I’m good,” umpteenth and 1, accompanied by a low growl.
“Isn’t that precisely what they said the glasses were for?”
Scott just huffed, then waved a grabby hand in the direction of Virgil's head. Virgil shook his head with a laugh, but did still take the prescription safety specs off the top of his head and hand them across to his brother. They were a low magnification for detailed work after the last time Virgil got workshop dust in his eye from peering too close at components. They were chunky safety plastic, and more than a little scratched, but still Scott was happier to borrow them than go in search of his new prescription reading glasses. Virgil tried not to laugh at the sight Scott presented, dusty safety specs perched on his nose, peering at a bundle of fabric on his knee, hunched over on the high breakfast bar stool perch.
“What are you doing?” Virgil asked, curiosity getting the better of him, as he climbed up onto the next stool.
“Quick repair on Mr Cuddles.”
“I thought Mr Cuddles was blue.”
“No, that’s Miss Cuddle-Hug.”
“My bad.”
“Gordons distracting them with water polo.” There was a loud splash and a scream from outside.
“Sounds like Alan's the horse again,” Virgil deadpanned.
Scott just hummed his agreement, eyes glued to his work. Then with a satisfied grunt he bit the end of the thread off. “Done!” The thread and the pins were stashed in the small sewing kit to his side, the same one that sewn generations of Tracy children's buttons back on and performed emergency repairs on an entire menagerie of stuffed animals, and that was just counting Gordons.
Scott relaxed a little into his seat, and took an offered glass of iced tea gratefully.
The peaceful moment was interrupted by a solid plinkety plonk from the piano upstairs. Try as he might, Virgil couldn’t stop the visible wince at the sound.
“Ahh another young musician just starting on their musical journey.” Scott smirked as he handed the safety specs back to Virgil.
“They’re definitely….improving.” he agreed, a little stiffly.Then he could maintain it no longer, he turned to Scott, twitching with particularly discordant note. “Was I that bad?” he asked dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Oh worse,” Scott hissed back.
“God, I’m so sorry.” Virgil winced again.
“Ha! It’s nice to hear,” Scott laughed again at Virgil's raised eyebrow. “It’s nice to hear the next generation making it their own.” he reflected a little wistfully.
The music shifted, this time to a tune the player seemed more confident with. Some parts were almost recognisable. Virgil cocked an ear towards the sound, frowning in concentration. “Definitetly improving though.”
He picked up his drink and found himself drifting towards the stairs almost without conscious thought. As Virgil drifted up the stairs, Scott trailing behind him, the melody repeated, this time even more confident. Reaching the top of the stairs, Virgil leaned on the top half height wall, so he could watch without disturbing the maestro. He began to notice a certain tick, they leaned dramatically into the key changes and flicked their wrists out on the top notes theatrically.
He leaned across to Scott at his side and whispered “Whats with the…” he mimicked the flick.
“People in glass houses Virge.” Scott gave him a very significant look.
“I don’t!” the look was reapplied twofold. “Do I?” Virgil asked incredulously.
“Where do you think they picked it up from?”
Virgil blushed.
“Hey,” Scott nudged him with his shoulder. “If that’s the worst thing we pass on, I’ll call it a success.” There was a resounding crescendo, although possibly not where the original composer would have wanted it, and then arms were thrown theatrically up in the air with the finale. Scott stifled a laugh behind his hand. “Oh yeah, that’s all you.” he confirmed before joining Virgil in applauding loudly.