Chapter Eighteen
By the time they get down to the kitchen-diner Gordon's grey in the face, every muscle a bundle of high-tension wire wanting to be out of the chair.
John's there, as predicted, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets in a much more casual way than Virgil had found him yesterday. He makes his way cautiously toward them at the sight of the pair and Gordon rolls his eyes at the blatant concern.
Virgil parks him neatly next to the breakfast bar and Gordon is instantly trying to stand. Big brother hovers close as he climbs up onto a breakfast stool, Gordon's fingers white as he holds onto the edge of the table for dear life. His leg groans in the exact way his throat wants to, so he swears quite a lot instead, the bright cinders of pain dulling down a little too slowly now he's settled. He's just glad John doesn't scold him for it.
"Gordon." John's tall and lanky and relieved as he strides over and reaches out a tentative hand to pat the aquanaut's shoulder. "It's good to see you up." Gordon grins warmly up at him, kind of thrilled to have him here. Their spaceman's really not home nearly often enough - to the point where it's become almost weird to see him in the flesh, and not just as a pale blue hologram.
It's funny because Gordon and John probably have the least in common of them, all at the core of it. They're like chalk and cheese. The sun and moon. Gordon is wild and exuberant; untameably colourful and John is just so quiet and clever in contrast; all bleached out by life in space. But, Gordon's come to realise, gold rank in NASA pools is not so different from gold in the Olympics as you'd think and Gordon and John are just as similar as they are different. Like the sea and sky; wildly different and yet so bizarrely similar because, at the core of it, they're both International Rescue blue.
After all, the void of the ocean and the void of space aren't that different at all, when you get down to it. They both live their lives reliant on oxygen tanks and strict rules and the fear that if even the littlest thing could go wrong it could present a life-threatening problem. But then, many of their rescues are like that. 22,400 miles into orbit there wasn't a lot that John, specifically, could have done for Gordon or Scott, except to be the constant voice on the other end of the Comm line, praying to hear anything, anything at all, and that feeling of helplessness is about as crushing as the pressure of the depths of the ocean.
"Can I get you guys anything?" John offers, already wandering away, back toward the kitchen. "Uh, a drink or something?"
"Coffee?" Gordon perks up considerably at the offer.
"Ah, let me," Virgil insists, quickly making his way over to their astronaut brother. Gordon always burns the coffee, he's lost count of how often he's had to remind him not to pour boiling water directly onto the granules, and John, hideously converted to a tea drinker by the Lady Penelope, never makes it strong enough, but Virgil's a god of the cafetière and a mug of steaming dirty bean water with cream and a good heaped spoonful of sugar gets quickly pressed into Gordon's grateful hands with a cautionary;
"It's hot."
Gordon burns his tongue anyway, the sensation sharp and prickly, but, pacified by the instant heat that blooms bright in his stomach, he doesn't much care. It was so cold and… Gordon's hands are shaking, and he tries to hide it by pressing the mug down to the table.
He doesn't get as much of a kick from the coffee as he'd like from it though, and he feels kind of betrayed when Virgil sheepishly admits its decaf.
"... It's a bad idea with your meds."
"Breakfast?" John, a master of subtle deflection, offers just like they hoped he would. "I was making oatmeal but there's cereal or toast, if you'd rather."
"Are you not bored of oatmeal?" Virgil asks, part genuinely, part in humour. His brows crease as they watch their brother dig a bowl from the cupboard, John pointedly ignoring the jibe. He's looking considerably steadier than he was the last he'd seen him and that's a big weight off Virgil's mind. "We were hoping for pancakes, if you feel up to it."
"Pretty please?" Gordon makes a show of batting long, honey lashes at big brother, his voice syrupy sweet. "With a cherry on top?" John laughs at that, the sound short but warm.
"I think I can manage that for you." He's already getting out the pancake pan. "I've never been in this kitchen so much." He comments, and isn't that a damn tragedy.
The astronaut turns away to focus on the stove, pleased to be useful to them, and Gordon nudges his arm against Virgil's, who's sat beside him, keeping an eye.
"He's gotten skinny again." Gordon sounds disgusted, nodding at the sharp ridges of their spaceman's turned back and watching the way the muscles in Virgil's jaw tense. "It's good to have him home for a while. For him too, I think." He keeps his voice low, conspirative. Virgil makes a soft noise of agreement beside him, unwilling to comment more and draw John's attention to their conversation.
The astronaut is buried in a Grandma Tracy brand cable knit sweater, his posture curled over the heat of the stovetop, pancakes quickly piling up. He's all thick socks and subtle shivers, even though their Island is definitely too close to the equator for him being cold to make much sense. Unaware of the scrutiny, the astronaut frowns and bends to inspect the panhandle, close enough that he should probably be wearing those glasses of his. He wiggles the bolt that connects the handle to the dish of the pan like it's coming loose.
Space messes you up. Gordon reminds himself grimly. It's gotta be one of them whack space things. He turns to ask Virgil about it but there's a clatter of the spatula into the pan, and he whips round to see John's face go grey, one hand pressed to his chest where he can feel his heart thrumming unsteadily.
"Alright John?" Virgil's on his feet faster than Gordon can process what's happening. He sounds wary but not panicked and the youngest of them finds that reassuring.
"Yeah, stood up too fast from the cupboard, is all." John blinks a few times, looking over at Virgil as if surprised he's suddenly so close. Like his vision has just faded back in. "I, uh…" Virgil very gently guides him away from the hot stove, lifting the spatula from the pan.
"Go take your oatmeal and sit with Gordon for five," Virgil instructs, no room in his tone for argument. "I'll finish them up." John makes pancakes American style, thick, buttery and ever so fluffy, and there's already a tall stack of them fresh out the pan; it's not going to take much finishing up. "What'd'ya want on them?" Virgil has evidently decided that his hovering is better dedicated to John than Gordon right now. He makes his way over and gently pushes his hip into John's to get him to move over. "I'll do the toppings, John can you sit with Gordon?"
"Got any berries? Syrup?" Eating lots of fruit is a bit of a leftover habit from Gordon's Olympic days, fuelled by life on a practically tropical Island, though now that he's allowed more sugar he's definitely addicted. Much to everyone else's horror, when the words Gordon Tracy and sugar high are put together.
"Strawberries?" Virgil offers from behind the fridge door as he rummages through the chaos. Said strawberries are starting to look like they need eating; a little wilted and a couple going kind of mushy. He'll pick out the best bits, slicing off bad, mushy flesh with a sharp little paring knife. "Oh there's a mixed bag of frozen berries in the back here," He discovers, upon further rooting around in the fridge and freezer. "Want a bit of both?" Sounds good to him and Gordon seems to agree, the kid flashing him a thumbs up from his seat at the table.
John's brought his plain, boring old oatmeal over to perch opposite his brother. Having him hanging around for breakfast, sitting at the table with them… it's a more unusual sight than Gordon would ever like to admit. It reminds him a little again, uncomfortably, of after the Hydrofoil. John had been around for more breakfasts then. For a while.
John, probably without even noticing he's doing it, squeezes the hand resting on the table into a fist and Gordon acts completely without thinking as he reaches out to touch it. He runs one finger, feather-light over the sharp peaks of John's knuckles, feeling the hard ridge of each one. The spaceman raises an eyebrow at him, curious, tolerant.
"Sorry," Gordon says, withdrawing his hand and watching as those ginger brows furrow, confused. "I, uh…"
"Pancakes!" He's saved from having to admit he was checking that John was really there by Virgil springing over carrying a plate stacked high with perfect golden circles, smothered in berries and syrup. It gets set down between them, blocking John's hand from Gordon's line of sight. It makes John feel so much further away than the other side of the table. Might as well be 22,400 miles, but Gordon would never admit it aloud.
He wouldn't have a giant, golden stack of pancakes, dripping syrup, if John were up in space though.
"Hey, if you think I can eat all that you're mad." Gordon can't help the ripple of thrilled delight that rolls up his spine though. He's had nothing concrete to eat but a peanut butter sandwich and that slice of pie since they got home.
"Just do your best, Champ." Virgil claps a friendly hand on his upper arm, ruffles his hair, and settles into the seat beside him, intent on murdering the stack of his own.
Quiet falls between the three brothers, interrupted only by the sound of chewing and John's spoon scraping against the ceramic of his oatmeal bowl.
"So, uh… Not heading back up to 'the office' soon, Johnno?" Gordon really hopes not. John shoots him a look for the nickname but licks his spoon clean and shakes his head.
"Not yet, I get the feeling I'm of more use down here at the moment." And isn't that kind of upsetting; that the spaceman has broken the problem down into not what he wants to do, but how useful he is. "I… It'd be good to see Scott back on his feet before I go. Besides, Eos has a handle on things up on Five, and we're fielding calls out to local authorities the best we can. If anything really major comes up I need to be down here and ready to fly."
"When was the last time you flew anything that wasn't in space," Gordon snorts. He spoons a strawberry off his plate and plops it in John's bowl. The astronaut looks considerately at it for a moment, then shoots him a smile, grateful. He is getting sick of plain oatmeal. One strawberry isn't gonna hurt.
"I'm up to date on the training sims." He tells them, because of course he is. "I don't anticipate any major problems if I have to take any of the Birds out."
"If you ding Four, I'll put bleach in your shampoo," Gordon threatens idly, squinting at him.
"I wouldn't dare." John raises his hands in objective surrender, but he looks amused.
Virgil looks over at the aquanaut with a raised eyebrow. "Gordo, you're worried about a ding when Brains has had to scrape nanocrete off it? Rebuild it? Twice?"
Gordon glances at Virgil, his expression a mix of amusement and 'don't take his side'.
John cracks a small smile at Virgil before looking back to Gordon.
"I promise to look after her, if necessary." John says, placating and even between them. "But I don't imagine it will be." His eyes flick down to the watch at his wrist, his connection to Thunderbird Five and his precious little AI, wondering if he should check in with her, just in case. "Mmm…" Oatmeal finished, John pushes his chair back and stands, all long lines and seriousness. "I'm going to check in with 'upstairs'," A nod toward his wrist makes it clear what he means. "Hang in there, Gordon." He hesitates, then pats an awkward hand down on his brother's shoulder. The contact blooms warmth idyllically in his synapses. "I'll be at Dad's desk. If you need anything at all, just let me know."
"Thanks, John." Gordon grins sunnily at him, "You're the best." Virgil makes a mock offended noise somewhere behind him, as if wounded, but there's no kind of heat to it.
...
A/N: Short but sweet! Sorry for the gap between updates, Kelly's not been about writing much and I'm terrible at keeping anything going on my own! Here's a bit more though and I fully intend to wrap this all up somehow, hehe! It'd be amazing if you could drop us a review with your thoughts xx