Work Text:
John Tracy is having a great time. Holographic projections of Earth and of various rescue readouts sift gracefully through his slender, gloved fingers and once John is satisfied with the virtual information, he relays the data projections to his brothers and allows himself to drift.
There’s an effortlessness in the way John glides about Zero G and today he feels utterly weightless. He’s glad of days like this, days where EOS can run through ship diagnostics, Tracy medical data and rescue protocol without John needing to lift a finger. He’s glad of days where his morning bagel is crisp to a perfect degree and he can actually finish it without rushing and giving himself indigestion. He’s glad of days when he can rely on his brothers to perform each rescue efficiently, reliably and safely, without need of interference or intervention from the space drifter.
He’s glad of days where he can ignore the machines that hum slightly louder than usual, where he can ignore EOS’ soft whir of concern at the faint cracks that start to appear in the glass surfaces of Thunderbird 5. But it’s OK, none of these things matter. Because John Tracy is having a great time.