Chapter 93.
One round of x-rays, an acetaminophen prescription and two foot braces later, and Scott found himself back in the (relative) safety of Tracy Island's den.
A trip to the podiatry unit at one of Buenos Aires's busiest hospitals had forced the last of the fight out of him. He'd willingly allowed John to taxi him home in Thunderbird One, hadn't complained when Gordon blew an extortionate amount of money on a new Argentinian leather harness for Celery, and had responded listlessly when Kayo had asked if their Friday night date was still on.
"It's only pizza and a movie," Virgil sighed, his frustration at Scott's melodrama evident as he plumped his brother's pillows for the third time that hour, "Just because you can't walk for a while, doesn't mean TV and takeaways are off the agenda."
Scott mumbled something unintelligent and contemplated drowning himself in the glass of juice Virgil had just handed him.
"Cheer up, bro," Alan chirped, dumping himself on the sofa next to his injured brother, a bag of tortilla chips in hand, "If you like, I'll happily take one for the team and fill in for you. Kayo did mention that she thinks me and her have potential in the future."
A snort jumped out of Scott's nose, "Was this before or after you got your ass bitten by fire ants?"
Alan paused, his cheeks bulging like a shocked hamster, "N-None of your business…"
"Uh-huh," Scott replied, snatching the packet of chips away and dropping them over the back of the sofa into an empty laundry bag, "You all need to mind your own business. What happens between me and Kayo stays between me and Kayo."
"Oh, that doesn't sound suggestive at all. Not one little bit," a new voice piped up. Scott didn't need to turn around to know it was John.
"Zip it, space carrot," the eldest brother warned, waving his glass at Virgil for a refill, "Or I'm slitting the throat on your Netflix direct debit."
John blanched, but was smart enough not to act on impulse. The hold Scott had on the purse strings was like a metaphorical gun to the forehead.
"Hey, get your own snacks!" Alan whined, leaning over Scott's torso and extending his arm in a pathetic attempt to reclaim the smoked paprika chips he'd been enjoying thirty seconds prior.
"Did someone say snacks?"
Scott sighed as Gordon's hands instinctively found their way inside the laundry bag he'd dumped the offending chips into, "Gordo, you need to watch the carbs. You're gunna start gaining weight if you're not careful."
Nobody had said anything, but the ongoing lack of rescue calls was starting to have a very real impact on the brother's bodies, as well as their minds. While Scott and John officially met the clinical criteria for insanity, Gordon and Virgil were gradually surrendering their toned waistlines for 'flab', as their grandmother poetically put it.
The lack of high-intensity rescue work made daily life on Tracy Island hideously boring, which in turn made sticking to any sort of routine near impossible. Gordon had ceased doing laps in the pool each morning before breakfast and Virgil hadn't been caught doing push-ups in well over a month. Both brown-eyed brothers seemed much more interested in spending their free time catching up on trashy TV and binging their way through whatever junk food they could find in the cupboards.
Interestingly, Gordon and Virgil were the only ones who had to actively work to maintain healthy BMIs. Scott and John both had monster metabolisms, and Alan was still in the phase where he could rely on teenage hormones to coast him through his junk food addiction.
Gordon and Virgil were different. Without the daily exercise both their professions necessitated, muscle quickly shifted to fat. Granted, their slobby eating habits were mostly to blame, but it was still incredible how five brothers with the same DNA could have such different bodies.
Virgil blamed the dominant brown eye trait, while Grandma blamed Gordon's habit of sneaking food up to his room and Virgil's inability to say 'no' to his younger brother.
"Wait! That's….paprika…" Alan cried, trailing off as Gordon paused mid-chew, his face contorting in disgust. Ever observant, John wordlessly handed his younger brother a tissue, turquoise eyes going skyward as Tracy Number Four emptied his mouth into it.
"Ugh, how can you eat those things?" Gordon gagged, dragging his tongue across his arm in an effort to rid his mouth of the spicy flavour, "Tastes like that time Grandma tried to make a cooked breakfast."
Scott hummed in agreement, "I never knew it was possible to burn juice."
-x-
One of the major downsides of two broken feet was the complete lack of mobility that came as part of the package.
Scott had never been one for accepting other people's help, including that of his brothers. As far as he was concerned, asking for help was a sign of weakness, on both a physical and emotional level. He was Scott Tracy. He couldn't afford either.
Unfortunately, his smashed metatarsals made independent movement near impossible. With the exception of army crawling and bum-shuffling, he had no way of acquiring the food and water that was necessary to sustain life. He wouldn't be caught dead sliding across the floor like a penguin, and had no desire to field test how long it took for a grown man to die from starvation and (or) thirst.
Thankfully, he had a brother to help him.
Virgil was the only one Scott would accept assistance from. Alan and Gordon were swatted away every time they swooped too close, while John and Grandma's offers of help were politely (but firmly) declined.
Being the strongest brother meant that Virgil had no difficulty taxiing Scott wherever he needed to go. Late night trips to the fridge, impromptu visits down to the hanger to gaze longingly at the dust-covered Thunderbird One, and jaunts to the beach each morning to watch the sunrise were all covered by Virgil's big heart and even bigger arms.
Gordon had had the misfortune (or fortune) of seeing the engineer piggy-backing Scott up the stairs at dumb o'clock in the morning one night after he'd nipped downstairs for a glass of water. The aquanaut had nearly cracked a rib laughing, much to the dismay of the island's sleeping inhabitants.
Everything had been going swimmingly…until Grandma voiced her concern about Scott sleeping on his own while under the influence of painkillers.
In contrast to his usual self, the eldest brother slept like the dead when dosed up on acetaminophen and was prone to falling out of bed. The risk this posed to his already damaged distal limbs was too great for Sally, and an order had been issued for one of the other four to share a room with him until he finished his prescription.
Kayo had been the first choice, however had been violently vetoed by Alan, who'd claimed that such an arrangement would make him 'uncomfortable'. Gordon's argument about Alan's room being at the other end of the hall had fallen on deaf ears, and the threat of a tantrum had loomed.
Eager to avoid conflict, Virgil volunteered to move Scott into his room until the eldest brother healed. They'd shared a room up until Gordon's birth, and the thought of regressing back to a well-liked childhood routine was met with controlled enthusiasm from both parties.
Day one passed without a hitch, as did day two. Day three was a bit rocky, courtesy of a certain Tracy snoring for half the night, and day four was riddled with accusations of blanket hogging and pillow thievery.
Day five had been educational (for Virgil), and not in a good way. Apparently, Scott's coping mechanism for insomnia was to drown himself in paperwork, which was something Virgil's room lacked. Not happy with having nothing to occupy his sleep-deprived brain, Scott had poked Virgil awake and requested a 'lift' down to their dad's desk, where stacks upon stacks of unfinished reports lay, their words waiting to be caressed by his eyes….
Being the pushover that he was, Virgil had sleepily agreed. Upon arriving at their destination, the engineer had taken up residence on the sofa and snoozed the rest of the night away, only to wake up four hours later with a bad back.
Day six saw one Tracy start their day by getting kicked clean out of bed. Independent witnesses were non-existent and evidence scarce, however if the sonic crash that had reverberated around the house was anything to go by, Virgil had been the victim and Scott the perpetrator.
Virgil complained that Scott slept diagonally. Scott complained that Virgil weighed his side of the mattress down with his newly acquired 'flab'.
Day seven began with a discussion about the possibility of Scott moving into John's room.
-x-
Despite his dominance over Virgil, Scott's insecurity over his broken feet meant that he ended up pushing his date with Kayo back six weeks.
Not that Kayo minded in the slightest. She was quite happy to wait until the eldest got his shit together before dusting off the outfit she'd planned, tried on, sent Penelope pictures of, re-tried on, washed, ironed, and lost sleep over.
It had taken a one-off cash payment to Gordon to bring the subject up and some very loud coughing on her part before Scott caved and suggested they go through with their date that very evening. Elation wasn't a common emotion to witness in Kayo, but the manner in which she'd torn off up the stairs after receiving this news could be described in no other way.
"Aww, cute," Virgil cooed, propping his chin up on hand and absently stirring a breakfast smoothie for Scott with the other, "Whoever said romance is dead."
"It's not dead," John interjected, reaching for one of their grandma's freshly cremated cookies, "It's hooked up to an oxygen mask and trying not to have cardiac arrest."
Gordon and Alan both snorted into their bowls cereal, however quietened down when their eldest brother shot them a look that could have peeled the paint off the walls.
"Anything else you need?" Virgil asked, ambling over to Scott with a freshly made blueberry and banana smoothie, "You want some help getting ready later, or are you good?"
Gordon sniggered at the look of pure outrage that descended over Scott's features. It was as if Virgil had just offered to change his diaper.
"I'm good," Scott snapped, oblivious to the blueberry moustache he was now sporting, "This may come as a surprise to you, but it's my feet that are broken, not my arms. I'm quite capable of dressing myself, and have been for the last twenty six years."
"Just offering," Virgil replied, his tone diplomatic, "Considering you've been living in slacks all week, I wasn't sure if you needed help getting your jeans on."
In the background, John gagged like a cat with a hairball as his grandmother's baking laid siege to his taste buds.
"Oh, I know someone who'll be happy to help you take 'em off," Gordon quipped, pushing his chair back and cupping his hands around his mouth, "KAY- mmph!"
Despite his allegiance to the aquanaut, even Alan knew when to draw the line where Scott was concerned. Rumour had it that there had once been a sixth Tracy brother who'd died under mysterious circumstances not long before Alan was born. According to the Tracy rumour mill, this mysterious sibling had perished after antagonising Scott one too many times…
Both Sally and Virgil dispelled the story as fiction under questioning, however Alan wasn't convinced. Grandma could have easily baked the body into a pie to conceal the evidence, Scott and John were cagey by nature, and Gordon would have been too young to remember anything…
Alan had no desire to end up as the 'surprise' in their grandma's 'meatloaf surprise' by getting on the wrong side of his eldest brother. Mysterious sixth brother or not, Scott was a volcano when angered and, of all the brothers, was the one most capable of committing fratricide.
Cue the hand Alan had slapped across Gordon's mouth
Across the table, John was indifferent to the plight of his two younger brothers. A quick scan of his family's internet search histories (because what else was EOS good for) had turned up some rather shocking results:
Virgil: What would I look like as an anime character?
Grandma: Why are oranges round?
Gordon: What would a chair look like if your knees bent the other way?
Alan: How many chickens would it take to overpower an elephant?
Kayo: How to literally get away with murder.
Brains: Tycho Reeves – The Full Story.
MAX: YouTube - My Little Pony Season 4.
Eyebrows were raised as the tea John had previously been holding in his cheeks was suddenly spat clean across the table. Exclamations of shock and disgust went ignored as turquoise eyes locked onto the final result.
Scott: Custom engagement rings.
"What the hell?!"
