Little one-shot concentrating on Virgil and Alan. It's a nothing fic, no plot. And kinda cheesy...
Inspired by a true story, where I play the half good/half bad tennis player and the good looking, good tennis player/caring brother who is currently putting his little sister through EMT Training is my big brother! Just because he's in the Marines he thinks he's MacGyver.
By the way, my vision of Virgil Tracy includes him being an asthmatic and a rugby player, which you'll find out in the story...
"Fifteen - Love!"
"Yeah Virgil," Grumbled Alan from the other side of the tennis court, "I love you, too."
Virgil laughed, raised the tennis ball high in the air and gave it a sharp swing.
The inexperienced player on the opposite side of the court did his best to return the yellow ball, but ended up swinging too late and letting the tennis ball roll happily past him.
"Alan! C'mon, play like a man! The score's at thirty-Love, and we just started!"
"Virge, you play the most weirdest games ever. Rugby? Seriously? And now, what the hell, you think you're Venus Williams? And Tennis is definitely not a man's game. Give me football and I'll beat you easily."
Virgil pointed his Wilson racket at his little brother, "Tennis is a serious game!" He wiped a little sweat that gathered on his forehead while taking out a tennis ball from his pocket. Virgil got into a crouch and served just like he did a few seconds ago.
Alan bit his lip in concentration and, with one hand, swung loosely at the fast approaching ball, causing it to hit the tennis net. The youngest Tracy sighed and threw his racket on the ground. "Let's go Virge, I'm getting kinda tired."
"Aw kid, not now. At least you're swinging and actually reaching the ball. Baby steps,my little brother, baby steps."
A reluctant Alan agreed.
The spacious court the brothers were playing in was just a few metres away from one of the many shorelines in Tracy Island, if either of the brothers took a small walk they would find themselves stepping on sand instead of the court grounds.
Virgil and John were the most frequent visitors to the tennis court, followed by the eldest brother Scott and their dad, Jeff. Gordon and Alan opted instead for the swimming pools and the basketball courts, respectively.
It was pretty easy to see that Virgil knew tennis, and knew it well. Anybody could see that-even by the way he dressed. Moderately priced Puma sneakers, white socks that reached the middle of his toned calf muscles, immaculately cleaned white shorts and a tight fitting workout shirt made the middle Tracy stand out from his opponent, who was wearing a KU Jayhawks shirt, loose mesh blue shorts, and pricey Adidas.
Virgil took another tennis ball from his pocket and tossed it over the net to his younger brother, "you serve".
Alan was unsure of how to do it, of course he'd seen Virgil serve a ball since his brother was a teenager, but some things are harder than they look. He threw the yellow ball high in the air and swung madly when it was in his vision, missing horribly and making the blond spin.
Virgil chuckled, "try bouncing it on the ground, and swing when it comes up," He offered.
Alan followed his brother's advice, got a good grip on the racket's handle and took a nice, strong swing.
Virgil shaded his eyes and tried to locate the airborne ball, once he saw it he ran after it, and stopped once the ball landed on brown area.
"Out!"
"Virgil, please!"
"Please, that's O-U-T out."
Alan sneered, "just swing, pretty boy".
His big brother smiled and did just that, sending the ball square in the center and at just the right height, a serve that's impossible to miss.
Alan took this chance as his time to shine. He took one step to the right, held the racket with one hand and not dropping his sights on the incoming ball, took a swing.
Not expecting to get the ball returned to him, Virgil scrambled to the tennis ball but was a few seconds too late. The ball bounced a total of three times before Virgil could jog over to pick it up.
"Yes!" Alan jumped and started doing a victory dance, adding some uh-huh's, oh yeah's and a 'Go, Alan. It's your birthday, it's your birthday, go Alan'.
"Fifteen – thirty," Virgil jogged towards the net and leaned his arms over the edge, "nice swing!"
Alan laughed, "Pretty boy is jealous?"
"Not a chance, your ratio of scoring is one swing to five terrible misses," Virgil retrieved a ball from his shorts pocket and threw it to Alan, "serve."
"Yes, pretty boy. This is where the young grasshopper teaches the master, otherwise known as pretty boy. Seriously, Virge, stick to rugby."
"Yeah, well, pretty boy is mad. Serve the damn ball Alan Tracy," By now, 'Pretty Boy' was in position, ready for whatever the young grasshopper threw his way.
Alan laughed upon seeing the concentration etched into his brother's face. He threw the ball into the air, and smiled when he felt the small ball make contact with his racket. A little tap was all Alan needed to give, and the ball sped towards Virgil.
This time, the middle brother was prepared. The serve was pretty low and to the side, so Virgil took a small dive and returned the ball to Alan with perfection.
The blond brother ran towards where he expected the ball to land, never taking his eyes off it. Because of this, he failed to see a thick twig that had broken off from one of the many nearby trees in his path, and Alan realized he tripped until it was too late. Before his cheek made contact with the warm floor of the outdoor tennis court, Alan heard a sharp crack coming from somewhere in his body.
Virgil's eyes widened and he dropped his racket as he ran with all his might, jumping over the net and reaching his brother within a few seconds after the accident.
"Alan! Can you hear me? Are you awake? Alan, please, wake up!"
Blood pooled around Alan's head like a halo, and it was Virgil's worst fear that his baby brother suffered a head wound. Virgil froze and dug into his back shorts pocket for his inhaler and took a quick puff before replacing it back again. He lifted Alan's head for a closer inspection, and gave a sigh of relief when he saw that the blood wasn't from a head wound, it was in fact just a big nosebleed.
Apart from that nosebleed, Alan had a small scratch on his cheek, and his entire right calf muscle was quickly turning into a dark purple. Amazingly, Alan was conscious and with Virgil's help, he could sit up and talk.
"Can you breathe, Allie? Do your lungs hurt?"
"Nah," Alan breathed out, "just my leg, it feels like hell," Alan proceeded to put a hand to his nose.
"Do you think you can do a big favor for me?" Virgil sucked in a sharp breath, he hated to ask of this to his suffering brother, "Can you stand up, try to walk?"
Alan stopped, and took his hand away from his face. He placed both palms flat on the floor, and braced himself. Shakily, and with one ugly looking leg hanging limply, Alan managed to stand on just one leg.
"Lean your weight on me, Alan," Virgil hooked his brother's arm over his neck and easily handled the sudden doubling of weight to support.
Like this, the brothers managed to hike slowly toward their home. They reached the kitchen where they found Gordon at the table, flipping through Car & Driver.
"Gordon! Get ice, now!" Virgil barked.
The brother in question jumped at the order and scrambled to the fridge, removing three plastic baggies filled with ice wrapped with paper towels-which Virgil keeps in stock in case of something like this happening.
Gordon threw the baggies to Virgil and now could finally see what his older brother was so worried about. He looked at Alan's leg, and nearly gagged. The auburn-haired Tracy caught his baby brother's blue eyes and easily detected pain Alan wouldn't dare mention. Instead of staring at the black/blue/purple bruise that was spreading like jam over Alan's calf and almost reaching his knee, Gordon motioned for his brother to sit down while Virgil expertly worked. The ex-EMT worked in automatic mode, putting pressure on the injured leg, while instructing Alan to tilt his head so his nose could stop bleeding.
"Need anything else, Virge?" Gordon asked with an alarmed tone.
Distractedly, his big brother motioned for him to go away, most likely because it was going to get gory, and also because he didn't want his other little brother to see Alan in more pain than he is in now.
Gordon took the hint. He dried his chlorine-infested hair with the towel that was around his neck, and then wiped his face. When he reached the pool again, Gordon looked around for the shirt he dropped this morning and threw it over his head. He headed towards the stairs, but stopped short once he saw the drops of blood all over the marble floor.
Hmm, the drops are facing...that direction. Gordon snapped his head up and quickly made out the familiar shape of the two tennis fields, thank you, CSI: Miami, the red-head thought. Pushing the recent discovery to the back of his mind, Gordon reached down and wiped the blood with his towel before running to the bottom of the stairs.
"Alan got hurt while playing tennis!" Gordon yelled.
Suddenly, two pairs of footsteps sped towards the staircase, but with all the rumbling and commotion, it felt like twelve.
Jeff and Scott Tracy thundered down the steps.
"Is he okay? Is he breathing? Where is he? Is he with Virgil? Go get Virgil!" That was Dad.
"I swear, if Virgil did ANYTHING to him he'll be sorry. I told that piano-playing punk to go easy on him! Never trust a friggin' artist!" Gordon laughed, that was definitely dear big brother Scott.
Jeff and Scott reached Gordon in record time, and the second-youngest led them to the kitchen where Virgil was crouching in front of a sitting Alan, touching and squeezing random parts of Alan's bad leg to test his baby brother's reaction.
Both Alan and Virgil looked up at the same time to see their oldest brother, their father, and Gordon, all with worried looks on their faces that could make the most caring grandmas in Kansas hang their head in shame. Before his family could do anything else, Virgil stood and raised a hand. He had a serious look on his face and explained that Alan fractured his leg.
"He'll be fine, but he'll have some level of difficulty walking for about a week. Dad, Scott, Fish: my recommendation? Ice, chicken soup, and lots and lots of cuddles and young Mr. Tracy here will be just fine." Virgil patted Alan's shoulder for emphasis, and the youngest brother smiled up at him.
After the family had a little laugh, concern set in.
The brothers all set to work on different tasks. Scott lifted Alan up in a fireman's carry and took him to his room. Virgil took out the supplies Alan would need during the week. Gordon cleaned up more blood Alan left behind in the kitchen, and Jeff took out all the ingredients he would need for some old fashioned chicken soup.
"Right," Scott returned to the kitchen, "Alan is all set up, the pillows are propped, TV is on, he has a good supply of entertainment material, and he called me Scottie. Cuddles, check," he sat down on the kitchen table.
While opening a box of noodles, Jeff talked to his three present sons, "everything's in the pot. Chicken soup, check."
"Ice, wrapped around paper towels and placed in small plastic baggies, check," Virgil rattled the ice box for emphasis.
Gordon shook his head, "Is this weird? Check," he got up and left the kitchen, "if you need me I'll be at the shore," the red-head yelled to his family.
A chorus of "don't stay too late, Gordon Cooper", "stay safe, kiddo" and "get more ice!" followed the second-youngest. Gordon shook his head and started jogging towards the beach, the waves lulling him forward.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Scott and Virgil were preparing a tray to take up to Alan with things like ibuprofen and Children's Tylenol. Scott picked up the small box on the tray and shook its contents, "Children's? Virge, are you serious? He's 21!"
"So?" Virgil snatched the box from his brother and set it on the tray again, "It's not too strong on him, and he doesn't stop developing until he's around 25!"
"Good Lord," Jeff grabbed a bowl from the kitchen cabinet and poured the contents of the steaming pot into it, "you mean he'll get even taller?"
The three Tracy men laughed and with a tray filled with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, crackers, Children's Tylenol among other things, made their way upstairs, and to Alan's room.
"Knock, knock," Virgil tapped lightly on Alan's open door.
"Come in," Alan's voice croaked from inside his bedroom as the blond propped his pillows and prepared himself for the mother henning to come. Here we go, Alan mouthed to himself.
Scott appeared first, carrying a tray laden with comfort stuff. Then his Dad poked his head in, walking slowly to his youngest's bedside. As Scott settled the tray in a comfortable position on Alan's lap, Virgil walked confidently in and sat on Alan's desk chair while Scott leaned against his brother's nightstand. Jeff sat at his son's bedside, watching Alan intently as he heartily gulped down his dad's-delicious!- chicken noodle soup.
An eerie silence hung around the room. Scott and Virgil exchanged glances before looking at their dad. Jeff looked at his oldest, then at his middle son. He got the hint and stood up from the edge of the bed. "Your old man's here for you, Alan, but I think you're in good hands," Jeff smiled, "I'll come back to check up on you later, I love you." With that, the Tracy patriarch retreated from Alan's room, the soft hissing of the door marking his departure.
"OK, Alan, I'm just going to say this straight out, did Virgil beat you with his tennis racket?"
"Watch it, flyboy!" Virgil yelled from the other side of the room.
"No way, Scott," Alan assured his brother, "I didn't see that a branch was on the field, and naturally, I tripped. There were leaves that I could have tripped on, too. I'm such a klutz."
"Really, kid," Scott sighed, "I don't know how you made it past high school."
The brothers shared a good laugh and continued to tell stories of the many times that Alan managed to harm himself and/or others until Jeff called for Scott to join him in his office.
Scott chewed on his lip and ran a hand through his hair, "coming, dad!" he yelled while walking briskly to the door. Scott lowered his voice in an imitation of his father, "Mission Complete. Operation Save Alan Tracy is now over, good work boys. Next phase, Damage Control."
Alan laughed, and Virgil snapped a quick salute, "Orders will be followed, sir!" This made the youngest laugh even more, and finally, Scott was out of the door with a promise to come back again.
Virgil got up out of the desk chair and started straightening up around Alan's room, all the while making sure his baby brother was in the best care. "Remember: take two tablets, with water. None of this 'I can take it dry' stuff, you know I hate that. Try to get as much mobility in your leg as you can without hurting yourself. Yell for me if you need anything," Virgil walked over to Alan's bed and kissed his little brother's forehead. He kept his lips a little while longer to check for fever, but finally backed up when Alan's temperature seemed normal.
"Later, kiddo," Virgil turned around and headed for the door when he was interrupted by Alan.
"Virgie, wait!"
Virgil froze, and sat on Alan's bedside, the spot his father recently vacated, "What's up? Need anything?"
Alan sucked in a sharp breath, "Nah, just...just..thanks. For everything. Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest kid in the world because I have a brother like you. Really, if it wasn't for you, I'd be in horrible pain."
Virgil reached out to ruffle his brother's hair, "I knew you had a sensitive bone somewhere in your body. I just knew it," Alan smiled at this, "That was really sweet, and you know that anytime something happens you can count on me. Always, little brother."
"Good, but I don't think you'd count on me much once I get better," Alan smiled.
Virgil raised an eyebrow in a signature Tracy confusion look, "and why is that?"
"Because," Alan shrugged, "I'll be kicking your butt in Tennis!"
FIN
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