Hey everybody! Bet you weren't expecting this so soon, huh?

This chapter is dedicated to Taylorj2000 for three reasons: (1) Being the FIRST to review to this story, (2) giving me my ONLY prompt for A, and (3) giving me a brother's name to go with it. (I know you said apple juice wouldn't work as an injury, but all I heard was a challenge and I was ITCHING for a challenge.)

A big thanks to my beta, 1monster2, for putting off dinner to get this ready.

Enjoy ...


A is for Apple Juice

Gordon crept into the kitchen, his stomach not letting him sleep until he could find something to fill it. He had all but starved at dinner when the only thing available was the weird meatloaf thing Grandma had served up – made even more disturbing by the fact that she called it tuna casserole. Scott and Virgil had been lucky enough to be responding to a brush fire in the Serengeti at the time, so they missed it.

Some guys have all the luck.

He imagined that Alan would be joining him, unless his horde of junk food was still intact; Gordon had eaten his last few snacks after Grandma made lunch and had been counting on dinner to make up the difference. So here he was, at 1:07am, trying desperately to find something he could eat other than leftovers. He pulled open the refrigerator, its soft glow filling the kitchen as he scanned the contents.

Burned chicken from lunch … nope.

Grandma's tuna casserole … heck no.

Radishes … was he really that desperate?

Apple juice … that could work.

Pulling the jug off the shelf, Gordon set it on the counter and removed the lid – remembering at the last moment what Virgil said he would do to him if he drank out of the carton again. How his brother would find out, exactly, he wasn't sure, but why take chances with a guy the size of a bear? Turning around, he opened a cupboard to retrieve a glass with one hand while he closed the refrigerator with the other.

Bad idea.

The kitchen was darker than he remembered and turning to get the juice only succeeded in knocking the thing off the table. Gordon scrambled to catch the jug, which caused him to drop the glass. Based on the sound, it couldn't have broke into more than five or ten pieces on impact, so at least that was in his favor … kind of.

Carefully putting the jug back on the counter, Gordon backed up to the corner and followed the wall to the broom closet. So far, so good. Now he just had to circle around the table and open the refrigerator to get enough light to-

WHAM!

Apparently he had spilled more apple juice than he thought, but at least his t-shirt was absorbing most of it, so he shouldn't fall again. Unfortunately, his hand found what his shirt missed and the second he tried to push himself up he slipped, slamming back into the floor … right into where the glass fell.

Crap.

^A^P^P^L^E^J^U^I^C^E^

Virgil made his way down the hall, wondering who was up at this hour of the night. He and Scott had got back late from Africa and had pretty much headed straight to bed, which is where he would still be if he hadn't remembered that he needed to set a diagnostic running if he didn't want it to take all morning. He had been halfway to the hanger when he heard the first noise from the direction of the kitchen. Based on how tired Scott had been, his guess would be that either Alan or Gordon were trying to raid the cupboards to add to their respective hordes. Normally he wouldn't care, but normally the two of them squirreling away their nuts for the winter didn't involve breaking glass.

Hurrying upstairs, Virgil went straight for the kitchen to see who might potentially need stitches. Since he wasn't trying to be stealthy, and seeing what you were dealing with was kinda important for a medic, he immediately switched on the light.

"Gee," he muttered to himself, "I wonder what happened here."

A smeared puddle of apple juice was on the floor along with the pieces of what must have been a glass mixed in. The jug was still on the counter, though the lid seemed to have vanished – along with whoever made the mess. The only really concerning thing was the few drops of red mingled with the golden liquid. It seemed more than juice was spilled here.

Knowing that he had to get the mess cleaned up before he had more patients to deal with, Virgil found the broom discarded nearby to throw away the glass and sopped up the juice with a towel. He would have to come back with a mop to take care of any sticky residue, but last he checked, your feet sticking to the floor was not injury inducing. Once that was taken care of, it was time to see which brother hurt himself with apple juice.

He started with Alan, but found the kid sound asleep on his floor. It wasn't likely that he could drop off so soon after cutting himself, but there was always the chance he was faking. Kneeling down next to his little brother, Virgil did a quick visual examination. No obvious markings from the glass, no sign of bruising. He took a closer look at Alan's arms and legs, running his hands along the limbs to check for injury. Nothing. Just to be sure, Virgil lifted the kid's shirt. Not even a scratch.

It wasn't him.

Leaving him to … well, keep sleeping, Virgil slipped back into the hallway. The next room was Scott's and, though he had been exhausted when they got back, there was always the chance he had a craving for a midnight snack. Virgil stepped inside the darkened room, lit just enough to make out the form stretched across the bed. If – by chance – Scott was not the juice thief, he was going to have to tread very carefully so as not to have six feet of cranky brother coming after him.

Virgil lifted the blanket on the end of the bed, checking to see if there was any traces of juice on Scott's feet. He didn't see any, not that he had much of a chance before his brother pulled them deeper under the covers.

"Wha'r you doin'?" came a low grumble as the blankets shifted.

"Just looking for apple juice."

The confusion in the bleary look he got in return was too genuine to be faked and Virgil excused himself with an apology. That only left Gordon. Of course there were more people on the island, but chances were good that none of them would have pulled a slip-and-run. Still, he had to be sure.

Like Scott, their resident squid was in bed, wrapped in a tangled mess of blankets and sheets. His eyes were closed, but he was just a little too still to be truly asleep. As he approached the bed, Virgil caught a whiff of sweetness that confirmed his theories. He grabbed the blanket with his right hand and yanked hard, switching on the light with the other.

Gotcha!

"Hey!" Gordon protested, jumping to his feet. "What's the big idea?"

"House call,"Virgil replied cheerfully.

"What makes you think I need a house call?"

Virgil pointed to his brother's upper arm where five band-aids had been crisscrossed to form very ineffective wound care. It only took five minutes in the infirmary to replace it with a sterile dressing – after he made sure no stitches were required.

"Next time turn on a light," he advised after getting the whole story. "It's safer that way."

"Not if Grandma catches you," Gordon snorted. "Speaking of which, you got any food?"

Virgil shot him a look as he stripped off his gloves, but decided to have pity on him. After all, he did keep food in every emergency kit for … well, emergencies. He tossed him a powerbar and went back to putting away his supplies.

"Thanks," Gordon said, digging into the snack. "You have anything to drink?"

Unable to resist, he handed over a juice box with a large apple on it.

"Try not to spill."

"I hate you."


So, what do you think of the first hunt for the injured?

Let me know what you think as well as challenge words for B. (I can't write anything without a challenge word.)