Standard disclaimer: I have no rights to them, but hope no-one minds too much if I borrow them to take part in this very brief fic.

Set immediately after "The first of many?" (best to read that first!) – just a little after-thought. The usual brand of TV with hints of AU– and if you don't understand the references at the end you'll have to go hunt out my other stories.

This is dedicated to anyone who complains that I never let Scott win an argument...no, really…

...

Sashes.

"What's in this one?" Alan demanded to know.

The box didn't come from their regular suppliers.

John stopped wheeling the trolley with the deep freeze supplies to take a look at the box Alan was indicating. He couldn't fathom it either, and, curious, dug out his pocket knife, and ran it around the seal. He rummaged quickly.

"Oh, it's the high viz stuff we ordered." He pulled out the contents, spilling most of the packaging onto the kitchen floor. "Reflective sashes."

Alan peered over dubiously. "Sashes? Great. Why couldn't you have ordered vests or jackets?"

"Only came in orange and yellow. These were the only thing in the catalog with five distinct colors. Don't worry. They clip onto whatever you're wearing – they shouldn't slip."

Alan peered more closely at the pile. "Are those what I think they are?"

"Matching belts, yeah." John sounded unenthusiastic. "Cool, or what?"

"Definitely what. We don't really have to wear these, do we?"

"Once big brother gets an idea in his head, it isn't going to go away. Want first pick?"

"Sure."

"Cost you a double date with the Delaney sisters next time I visit Harvard."

Alan looked around quickly to check Tin-Tin was no-where in the vicinity.

"Only if I get to keep Belle afterwards."

John lifted a wicked eyebrow. "Why stop with one? They're a very game two-some."

Alan considered this. "You're disgusting, you know that? It's a deal. Give me the orange one."

"Ear-marked for Gordon, remember?"

"I know that. But it isn't exactly orange. More tangerine."

"He'll still want it. Orange was always his favorite color. Why do you think we used to call him Tig'?"

"I thought it was because of the annoying bounce factor."

"That too."

"So it isn't actually first pick you're offering me?"

"Come on – you seriously want to go head-to-head with Gordon over a sash? And do you really want orange or are you just doing this to annoy him? Can you imagine what he'll do to you, and for how long? Pick again."

"You have a point, oh fair one." Alan peered into the box again. "Jeez, they really are ugly. Give me the white one. Lesser of five evils. Actually, the white is okay. Pity whoever gets stuck with the lilac, though."

He headed off to hang it with his uniform.

The jungle drums beat fast in the Tracy household, John reflected. It took less than three minutes for word to reach Gordon's ear. John heard the thunder of feet and reached out wordlessly, the orange sash and belt dangling from his fingers.

Gordon snatched them from him in glee. "Alan said they were ugly. Boy was he right. Oh man, it's peachy, just peachy…"

"You're sure you want orange?"

"Yip. If I have to look a schmuck, at least let me look like a koi carp schmuck."

"You can do that just by standing there with your mouth open," John told him.

Gordon was unabashed, and darted off with his prize towards the lounge. "Love the purple," he shot back over his shoulder.

John shook his head. "There's no displeasing some folks," he mused to himself.

In the distance, the sound of piano playing stopped. John heard the distant buzz of conversation, and was unsurprised when Virgil appeared momentarily.

John watched as the big man held up the remaining sashes and considered their relative merits one at a time. Virgil was plainly unimpressed.

"Couldn't you have got green?" he complained.

John shrugged. "This is just how they came."

Virgil sighed. "Blue is not my color. I'll leave it for one of you blue-eyed boys. As for the lilac...well…words fail me. On second thoughts, no they don't. It's unbelievably effete."

"This from the man who wears neck scarves and frill shirts."

Virgil ignored him. "Well, I guess it'll have to be yellow."

It was a while before John's last customer called.

Scott, John recalled, had given himself the task of helping Hackenbacker make the adjustments to the hoist in Two. But his first port of call on returning to the house was – not unusually - the kitchen, where John was still stacking supplies.

"Hey there," Scott called out conversationally on hearing rustling.

John stuck his head back out of the walk-in larder.

"How're you doing?"

"Oh, it's you. We're good. We're pretty much fixed down there. Hopefully we can all survive Alan's next attempt to decapitate us."

"Sashes arrived."

"So I see." Scott picked one up curiously. "Not quite what I had in mind."

"Did the best I could."

"Knew I should have got Virgil to order. You have no dress sense. Where are the rest?"

"The piranhas have been and gone. You're looking at it."

"Couldn't you have got Yale Blue, for crying out loud?"

"You said high viz. Dark blue would kinda defeat the object."

"S'pose. Oh well, light blue it is, then."

"Not on your life. Put it down. It's mine."

"No way."

"I got here first. Take the lilac, and like it."

Scott began to laugh. "I am not wearing that thing, bro'."

"Come on, you know the rules. First come, first served."

"Not fair. I was stuck doing the overhaul, you know that."

"So what? I had to fetch them from the mainland."

"Look, I go out on more rescues than you do. I'd actually be seen in that thing."

"Wasn't that the idea?"

"Well there's seen and seen. How in hell will anyone take International Rescue seriously if the field commander is wearing that thing? It's practically pink. It's...it's seriously, well...you know what I mean."

"Still not my problem, B.B."

"Do me this one little favor. C'mon – it isn't much to ask," Scott cajoled him, pleadingly. "After all, you owe me a wife, for pity's sake."

"Oh, I wondered when that one was going to rear its ugly head. Well, if it comes down to that, I figure you owe me a serious amount of alimony."

"Oh, it's money, you want? You mercenary little..."

"Yeah, okay."

"Sorry?"

"Money. I'll cut you a deal."

"I'll give you stocks forecasts for a month."

John considered this seriously. Scott's tips were usually dead-on. But he shook his head. He presently had a cash-flow problem. "Nah."

"How much?"

"I must have saved you millions on the gold-digger."

"In your dreams."

"I'd settle for less."

"How much?"

John named a figure. The haggling began.

...

John smirked a little as he fingered the sash and then flicked it on over his uniform. He didn't mind so much. After all, he was now a six-figure sum better off, and he figured with his reputation he was plenty man enough to get away with lilac anyway...

…