Chapter 88.

It was gone three in the morning when Scott returned.

John scowled as his eldest brother wordlessly let himself into the room, grabbed a towel and headed straight for the shower. The altercation that had gone down between him and Alan sixty minutes earlier had effectively robbed the redhead of any plans that involved sleep. After brushing his teeth and changing into his slacks, John had settled down in the double bed he'd previously shared with Gordon and set about occupying his overactive brain. He'd checked Scott's location on his phone's tracking app and, after confirming that his eldest brother hadn't hurled himself off a cliff, had put on some ABBA and focussed his attention on nit-picking a newly published study on the eleventh ring of Uranus.

After blasting himself clean, Scott emerged from the bathroom, a blue t-shirt yanked halfway over his head. He'd changed into his pyjama pants and didn't acknowledge John as he walked to the unoccupied side of the bed and pulled the duvet back. The redhead shifted to make room for him, silently cringing at the apathy oozing from his usually dynamic eldest brother.

Scott spent the best part of ten seconds arranging the pillows to support his spine, then pulled out his phone and began to tap away at several unread messages. A well-timed stretch afforded John a brief peek, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes when he saw that the majority were from Kayo.

After catching up on his messages and e-signing a couple of mission reports, Scott opened up a game of Fruit Ninja and began to slice and dice the uppermost layer of his stress away. John, who'd just hit upon a particularly interesting paragraph that detailed the chemical composition of Uranus's ring particles, did not respond positively to the obnoxious sound effects emanating from his brother's phone.

Clearly, sleep was off the cards for the eldest Tracy as well.

After trying (and failing) to block the noise out, John bookmarked his article for later and re-started the ABBA track he'd shut off when Scott had first entered the room. He was rewarded with a glare capable of melting titanium.

"Turn that shit off," Scott growled, nudging John with his foot when the redhead responded with his own glare.

"Only if you mute your silly game," John retorted, smirking inwardly when Scott's left eye twitched ever so slightly.

"I can't anticipate where I should swipe without the sound effects on," the eldest brother argued, "I just want to finish the level I'm currently on. Then I'll stop."

If there was one thing John knew about Scott, it was that he was utterly incapable of keeping a lid on his urge to win. Even something as innocent as a single-player phone game wasn't safe from the eldest brother's competitive streak. If an activity featured a ranking or scoring system of any kind, Scott was there, and wouldn't stop until he'd straight up won, or set an unattainably high score that nobody else could ever hope to beat.

Consequently, the eldest Tracy was always the last to receive an invite whenever Alan hosted a gaming night. His nasty habit of tossing controllers out the window if looked like he just might possibly lose had earned him an outright ban from the youngster's gaming station.

'I just want to finish the level I'm currently on. Then I'll stop.'

All available data indicated that this wasn't likely to happen.

John didn't verbalise his response, opting instead to turn his music up by two bars. Scott retaliated by swiping fruit as if his life depended on it.

John turned the volume up another two bars.

Scott began deliberately detonating bombs.

A sudden thumping on the wall behind the bed nearly caused both brothers to jump out of their skin.

"Hey, pipe down!" yelled the disgruntled occupant of the room next door, "Some people are trying to sleep here!"

John bit his lip and hastily put ABBA to bed. Scott cringed in embarrassment and aborted his fruit massacre. Neighbourly behaviour didn't come naturally when you spent most of your life on a secluded private island.

Wordlessly, both brothers pulled their pillows horizontal and switched off their bedside lights. After setting his phone to wake him in just over three hours' time, John curled up on his side and waited for sleep to claim him.

Scott on the other hand, knew he'd never be able to do such a thing. His argument with Alan was still on replay inside his head and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was failing in successfully shouldering the legacy their father had left.

Ten minutes of tossing and turning ensued. John tried his hardest to be patient with his brother. He could tell he was distressed, and intended to live up to the promise he'd made to their grandma of listening if Scott suddenly decided that he needed to vent.

Five more minutes of fidgeting followed, culminating in Scott tossing the duvet off his body in disgust. John wasn't unhappy with this arrangement; Scott gave off a ridiculous amount of body heat even when he wasn't stressed. Anyone who had the fortune (or misfortune) of sharing a bed with him soon found that sleeping next to the eldest Tracy was like sleeping next to a furnace. The added heat brought about by his impromptu date with anxiety was making poor John feel like a potato that had just been dropped into a pan of boiling water.

In no time at all, the phone was whipped out again. Desperate for a distraction from the events of the evening and his own inner bully, Scott began to work through the hundreds of unread emails that were sitting in International Rescue's email account.

John groaned out loud as the light from his brother's phone began to irritate his eyelids. Groping blindly towards the other side of the bed, he weakly thumped Scott's arm in protest, "Turn that damn thing off and lie down. If you must do something, go for a walk or go bug Kayo. I'm sure she'd be delighted to see you at this hour."

Scott didn't answer, but did as John asked and switched his phone off. After sitting upright for a few minutes, he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and braced his hands against his knees. A few minutes later, the bedside light was flicked on to aid in the hunt for some painkillers Scott knew he hadn't packed, but decided to search for anyway.

Irritation turned into full blown pain as John flinched at the harsh light assaulting his eyeballs. Sitting up, he was not at all amused to see Scott rifling through both of their bags, his confusion and emotional instability clearly evident.

John had never been the patient one of the family. His superior intellect was born from his desire to do things quickly (similar to Scott) and to take control of the situations he was presented with. Unlike Scott however, he lacked the tolerance and self-restraint required to deal with people (at least in person).

They were both running on twenty one hours with no sleep. As the younger brother, John felt entitled to crack first.

"For goodness sake, Scott," the redhead snapped, dropping his head into his hands and massaging his temples, "You're going to drive me into an early grave with this behaviour. I know what Alan said to you was wrong, but you do have to admit that you come over pretty strong with everything that you do. Most people would talk about their troublesome thoughts, but here you are, tossing my underwear around the room at half past three in the bloody morning instead."

Scott ground his molars and continued in his fruitless search. He could feel his sanity eroding, and his head hurt so badly…

"I mean, sure," John carried on, "You've always set the bar ridiculously high for yourself, but that's not what Alan needs anymore. He's got the brains and the intuition to succeed. I hate to say it, but the only real threat to his progress is you treating him like he's still a baby."

Scott snapped.

"That's because he always will be a baby to me, John!" the eldest howled, "Do you have any idea what it was like to stare down at him after dad disappeared? To gaze at the innocent, oblivious face of a child, and know that from that moment forward, he was your complete responsibility? Do you know what it was like to have to answer all of Gordon's questions about why mommy and daddy suddenly weren't around? Do you know what any of that was like?!"

John opened his mouth, but was forced to close it when it became apparent that no counterarguments existed.

"Take your shot," Scott dared, opening his arms, "Go on, take your shot. Tell the rest of the world to come and take their shots too. I may look like I'm made of steel, but here's a secret, oh dear brother. I bruise. I bleed. I hurt. And right now, I'm bleeding over an exchange that even the most perfect of parents would probably balk at. I'm sorry for keeping you awake, but to be perfectly honest, the only alternative I can think of is me drinking myself into a stupor. As someone who delivered a lecture on professional conduct to his youngest brothers not two hours ago, I feel that this would be an unwise choice, however. Professional duty takes precedence over personal indulgence."

At the mention of the word 'professional', Scott burst into tears. He prided himself on the hold he usually had on his emotions, but he was tired and knew that things had been said that shouldn't have been said.

He owed Gordon an apology.

Alan…well, he wasn't sure what to make of Alan.

Upon seeing tears streaming down the dimpled cheeks of his brother, John heaved himself out of bed and crossed the room in two strides, enfolding Scott's shaking form in a hug he so desperately needed.

The redhead wasn't proficient at any kind of physical contact, but had received enough hugs from Gordon over the years to know how to pull off a decent one.

Scott's sobs gradually dissolving into a series of wet hiccups offered confirmation that the back rubs he was throwing in as an added extra were doing their job.

It might not have been the talking therapy Grandma had originally suggested, but it was a significantly happier and calmer Scott that climbed back into bed fifteen minutes later.

Actions were sometimes better than words.

-x-

Virgil's couldn't say his evening was going much better.

After nursing Gordon through the worst of his drunken sickness, the engineer had intended to grab forty winks before his alarm sounded in (approximately) three hours' time.

Tragically (for him at least), Gordon had startled awake after just twenty minutes (repeat: twenty minutes) and announced that he couldn't sleep because he was hungry.

Again.

Virgil had groaned and buried his face under his pillow. One more hour. That was all he needed. Just one more hour…

Unfortunately, hungry Gordon waited for no one. After changing out of his pyjamas and into his trademark jeans and Hawaiian shirt, the aquanaut had whispered that he was going to borrow FAB 1 and make a brief trip to the nearest twenty four hour pizza joint. EOS had remotely unlocked the Pink Rolls Royce and he'd be there and back in a flash.

Naturally, Virgil didn't believe a single word that came out of his brother's mouth.

After pulling a grey jumper over his nightshirt, Virgil followed his alarmingly energetic brother down to the carpark and climbed into FAB 1's passenger seat. Gordon was practically fizzing with excitement as he put the key in the ignition and thanked EOS profusely.

"Okay, what are you craving?" the aquanaut asked, swinging out onto the road, "Pizza? Chinese? Indian? Italian?"

Virgil screwed up his nose. After watching Gordon toss his cookies for a solid ten and a half minutes, the last thing on his mind was food, "I don't mind. Whatever your little heart desires."

Gordon nearly swerved into the wrong lane in excitement. How he'd managed to pass his driving test remained a mystery to all of his brothers. Parker refused to talk about the experience he'd had teaching the fourth Tracy to drive. Apparently, his therapist had recommended it as a coping strategy.

As Gordon tied himself in knots over which signs to follow (and ranting about how they were all in Spanish), Virgil took the opportunity to check his phone to see if Scott had tried to call him. The tracking app showed that brothers one and three were safely in their room and, if their vital readings were anything to go by, sound asleep.

Relief washed over the engineer like a wave. John would have the situation well under control.

"Okay, we're here!" Gordon chirped, his earlier argument with Scott long forgotten, "Let me know what you fancy and I'll add it to my order."

Virgil blinked, instantly recognising the distinct yellow and red neon sign they'd pulled up next to.

McDonalds.

A voice that sounded as if it belonged to a corpse (but thankfully spoke English) crackled out of a microphone somewhere, "Good evening, and welcome to Maccy D's. What can I get for you?"

Gordon returned the greeting with unbridled enthusiasm, "Hi there! I'd like to place an order for six people please. How's your day going?"

The voice didn't answer, which in Virgil's eyes, spoke volumes.

"For takeaway or to eat in?" the corpse asked.

Gordon's keenness didn't waver, "Takeaway please."

A frown began to infect Virgil's face as his sleep-deprived brain did the maths, "Six people? You're not ordering for all of us, are you?"

"Of course I am," Gordon sniffed, digging around in his back pocket for his credit card, "I know how these things work, bro. If I order for just myself, I'll spend the next hour hiding in the closet while beating you all off with a big stick. Do you remember what happened last time John ordered takeaway and you pinched one of his fries while he wasn't looking?"

Virgil twitched. He still had a rather embarrassing scar on his left buttock from that particular confrontation.

The corpse was back, "Okay, what can I get for you?"

"Hmm," Gordon rested an elbow on FAB 1's door and cast his eyes skyward, "Can I please get one McChicken BLT, one crispy chicken salad, two boxes of cheese wedges, five McFlurries, two chocolate and four caramel, two triple cheeseburgers, one double cheeseburger with extra pickles, three veggie dippers, six apple pies, two millionaire's doughnuts, four chicken legends with extra mayo, a toffee latte, six chicken Mcnuggets, nine boxes of fries, three vanilla milkshakes, no wait, I want one…four vanilla milkshakes, a big mac, five sweet chilli wraps, a wad of napkins because someone's gunna puke, four cheese dippers and a large bottle of water please."

Silence.

"Oh, and a bag of sliced apple to help balance it all out," Gordon finished, smacking his lips in satisfaction as he retracted his head back inside the car.

Corpse sounded horrified, "Please come round to the payment booth. Your order should be ready in a minute."

"F.A.B!" Gordon chirped, shifting FAB 1 into gear and cruising around to the contactless payment machine, "Sorry bro, but most of those cheesy treats are for me. It's been a stressful day, and I deserve a reward. Be warned, I'll be firing at will."

Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes, his brain still reeling from Gordon's monstrosity of an order. There was, on reflection, a very real chance that his brother had just broken McDonalds.

"No way Scott and Alan can stay mad when they set eyes on all of this," Gordon muttered, beaming with unrestrained joy as four large takeaway boxes were wordlessly handed through FAB 1's window. The stench of deep-fried food clung to both brother's shirts, and Virgil knew that Parker would kill them if the elegant Rolls Royce stank like a roadside diner in the morning.

"Food does have a knack for bringing people together," Virgil conceded, his own lack of hunger abating slightly as he laid eyes on one of the sweet chilli wraps, "Sure beats the stuff Grandma churns out."

Gordon snorted around a mouthful of cheeseburger, "She should get her own cooking show: Ready, Steady, Burn."

For that first time in far too many hours, Virgil laughed out loud. Gordon could be a royal pain in the neck, but he was the best companion a person could hope for on a bad day.

"We should probably get this back while it's still warm," the aquanaut observed, cramming another piece of cheeseburger into his mouth before re-starting FAB 1, "Ring the guys and tell them that breakfast is on its way."

Virgil yanked his phone out again and obediently speed-dialled Scott. After five long rings, the eldest brother answered, "N'ello, Virg? Gyaah…wha time 'izzit?"

"The time you're usually up by," Virgil retaliated, putting the call on speaker so that Gordon could eavesdrop, "Rouse John and Kayo, we've got breakfast inbound. I'll give Alan a call separately. You off for run this morning?"

A sound of pained fatigue echoed down the line, "I'm surviving on an hour and a half of sleep, Virgil. If I run my ass will fall off."

Gordon gave a snort of mirth and nearly ran a red light.

"Sit tight," Virgil chuckled, his finger poised to speed-dial Alan, "We got you your favourite; hot apple pie and a chicken BLT."

A brief pause ensued as Scott digested this information, "And a toffee latte?"

"Yes, and a toffee latte," Virgil affirmed, shaking the container near his phone's microphone for emphasis.

A click as the connection was severed. Scott Tracy was satisfied.

"Now all we have to do is get the pink machine back in the state she was in when we hijacked her," Gordon declared, indicating to turn back into their hotel's compound, "So far, so good."

"The worst of the smell should dissipate if we leave the windows open a bit," Virgil advised, "The forecast is dry for the next nine hours."

Happy that they'd managed to appease one brother and return their London agent's car in top tip condition, Gordon allowed himself a brief moment of cockiness as he reversed the Rolls Royce into its designated parking space.

Splat.

Cockiness swiftly shifted to horror as a well-aimed bird turd landed on the windscreen and began to slide down towards the immaculate pink bonnet. The distant cooing of a pigeon that sounded far too pleased with itself was like a knife to Gordon's eardrums.

"Laugh while you can!" the aquanaut simmered, glowering at the giggling Virgil, "But know this; every time a bird shits on a car I'm driving, I make a point of standing outside and eating a plate of scrambled eggs, just to remind them what I'm capable of."

Virgil only laughed harder.