Chapter 113.

This is the longest I've ever gone between updating chapters and I apologise for the delay. On that note, this will be the last chapter update of this story for a little while. I have a new creation in the works that I want to devote myself to wholeheartedly, so updates for this story won't be quite as regular for the time being.

I am most definitely not ending this story though, as I still have plenty of chapter ideas archived away. I've worked on this nonstop since April 2020 and have relied on it to get me through three lockdowns. It's my baby and I'm not ready to say goodbye.

I am however ready for a new challenge, and since I can't focus when I have more than one creative project on the go at once, Taste of the Tracy will be will be dropping back to a slightly reduced upload schedule in order to accommodate my upcoming Gordon-centric magnum opus.

I cannot thank every single person who has favourited, followed, and reviewed this story enough, not to mention the people who have reached out and gotten in touch with me as a result of reading it. I'm unable to put just how much your actions have inspired me into words. You are all so amazing, and I hope you'll stay with me as Taste continues to trudge along, albeit at a slightly slower pace.

Love, love, and more love!

-x-

"You denim wearing bastard."

Scott smiled, "Technically, only my jeans are denim. And considering Gordon and Virgil also wear denim, that's a generic insult that applies equally to all three of us."

The middle three Tracys shared a look of unanimous guilt as they digested Scott's recount of what was coming to be known as, 'the engagement fiasco'. Apologies were offered when it became apparent that their lack of faith in Scott's integrity had been the catalyst for the entire situation. In the interest of fairness, the eldest volunteered to bear a quarter of the blame, since the trail he'd left for his brothers to follow had been littered with poor communication on his part.

Much to Alan's horror, they'd slept through the ward's scheduled dinner time and wound up having to ask Jacinda to bring them whatever leftovers she could find. Thankfully, the kitchen operated a contingency menu for scenarios just like theirs, albeit with a slightly reduced choice of options.

"What is this?" Gordon asked, frowning in concentration as he chewed experimentally, "It's kind of bitter, but also kind of sweet…I approve."

Virgil sent his tongue to do a bit of detective work before reaching a conclusion, "Chicken seasoned with cumin, probably grilled. The earthy notes aren't really my thing, but beggars can't be choosers."

Gordon hummed in approval and scooped up a forkful that far exceeded the limitations of his mouth. After beating all of his brothers to the finish line, he stabbed a straw through the carton of apple juice he'd requested and proceeded to wash his dinner down, sparing no thought for the obnoxious slurping sounds he made in the process.

"Knock knock!" came Jacinda's voice from the corridor.

"Cumin!" Gordon replied, snorting juice through his nose at the hilarity of his own joke.

Scott, Virgil, and Alan hastily cleared their plates as Jacinda trotted through the door, "Anyone up for seconds?"

Ever predictable, Gordon raised his hand, much to the young nurse's delight. In the two days since they'd been admitted, the aquanaut had made it his personal mission to swiftly (and smugly) rise through the ranks of favouritism.

"Now that you're all awake and fed, how about we get your physicals done?" Jacinda suggested, grabbing a couple of blood pressure cuffs from a shelf by the door, "If I collate all of your results before the overnight shift gets into full swing, my supervisor should be able to sign you off before she goes on her break. Who'd like to go first?"

To everyone's surprise, John kicked off his blanket and made an affirmative motion with his hand. He hadn't been able to bring himself to touch the culinary abomination he'd been brought. While it had achieved the impossible by containing nothing he was allergic to, it had also achieved the impossible by fusing itself to his spoon and refusing to let go.

Good thing he had a brother called Gordon who also doubled up as a waste disposal unit.

-x-

Two hours of poking, prodding, and question asking later, and all five brothers were returned to their beds with the promise that they'd done 'very well'.

Alan and Virgil used the brief period after their examinations to catch up on sleep, while Gordon busied himself with building a card tower and Scott and John went over the logistics of retrieving Thunderbirds One and Two from Caribou Lodge.

"Excellent news!" Jacinda cheeped, gliding back through the door, "You've all passed with flying colours and have been given a discharge time of ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Gordon, Scott, the results of your eye tests were a little foggy, if you'll pardon the pun. They don't have any bearing on your fitness to be discharged, but I'd suggest maybe investing in some eyewear. The optician has given me a few pairs that I recommend you try before you leave."

Both brothers aborted their respective tasks and accepted the glasses that were on offer. Scott in particular looked as if his favourite aftershave had just been discontinued.

"Better?" Jacinda asked, extracting a sheet of paper from her clipboard and holding it up so that Gordon could read it. The aquanaut studied the letters in front of him for a few seconds before making a face and removing the lenses from his nose. While John could pull off the bespectacled look effortlessly, Gordon himself had a horrible feeling it simply wouldn't work with his Hawaiian wardrobe.

Scott meanwhile, was having an even worse time, "Uh, I need help seeing the clock. Not the Pyrenees."

Jacinda frowned, "Too strong? Here, try these instead."

Gordon watched with intrigue as his brother donned the second pair, "Oh yes, bro. Those really do your silver fox vibe justice!"

The glee Jacinda felt at Gordon's comment died on the vine when she spied Scott blinking like an owl, "Still too strong?"

"I'm afraid so. I think I can see the future."

-x-

Consistent with the brother's routine back when they'd lived on the ranch, there was an epic battle in the morning for use of the shower.

"Scott!" Virgil bellowed, pacing in front of the door with a towel looped around his neck, "You've been in there for three quarters of an hour! John was in and out in ten."

Something that sounded suspiciously like a bar of soap getting lobbed at the door was the only reply Virgil got. He knew Scott took personal hygiene to a whole new level, but what the hell could possibly be taking him so long? He didn't have anywhere near as much hair as Kayo, and there was only so much rinsing and repeating one person could do before they disappeared down the drain.

It was another fifteen minutes before Scott emerged in a blast of steam, his thick brown locks as glossy as a stud stallion's backside. He'd somehow managed to acquire the same level of fragrant stink that he maintained at home, yet with nothing but the scentless toiletries their ensuite came stocked with.

Bastard.

After shooting his only older brother a glare capable of stripping the linen off all five of their beds, Virgil pivoted on his heel and made for the now vacant bathroom.

Only for Gordon to scamper around him and nip inside at the last possible second.

A 'crunch' sounded as Tracy Numero Dos ground his teeth together with enough force to make a dental X-ray laugh.

"Gordon!" the engineer bellowed, thumping his fist against the door and barely flinching when the hinges creaked in warning, "Out! Now!"

"Too late, I'm in the buff!" came the rather chipper reply.

The aquanaut's announcement didn't concern Virgil in the slightest, for it was without an ounce of remorse that he barged into the bathroom regardless, cursing when he nearly went flying over the shirt Gordon had discarded on the floor. For once being biologically related to the blond menace had an advantage, in as much as Virgil had seen him in less clothing than was socially appropriate on far too many occasions.

The towel in Scott's hand was relieved from hair drying duty and dropped onto the floor when a shriek sounded from the other side of the wall, closely followed by a thump and the sound of something falling. The eldest wasn't a betting man, but all available evidence pointed towards Virgil extracting Gordon from the shower by force. The aquanaut's vocalised resistant was noble but futile, considering their engineer brother could be as tough as a titanium spork when needed.

"What the-?" a squawk that sounded anything but male sounded as Gordon filed a rather loud complaint, "Virg! Put your phone away! Gyah! Scott, help! He's filming me!"

"Not filming," the engineer retorted, his voice muffled by four inches of plasterboard, "Photographing. Now grab your shit and get out before I pull out your fingernails and use them as letter openers. Oh, and no retaliation, otherwise I'm turning this baby that I've just snapped into a decal and plastering it all over Thunderbird Three."

Alan honked in outrage, while Scott pondered whether Virgil had factored the (relative) isolation of space into his threat. John merely sighed and returned his attention to calculating which ventilation duct he was going to escape through.

"Bitch, you'd better not put that on canvas," Gordon sassed, his accent shifting to something that vaguely resembled a southern twang, "I will be on you like shit on velcro if I see my ass staring at me from anyplace other than the mirror."

"I'll bear that in mind," Virgil retorted, opening the door and shoving the half-dressed Gordon back into the main hospital room. The aquanaut, half-blinded by the t-shirt that was stuck halfway over his head, gave a hiss of discontent when his towel was lobbed out after him, a final parting shot from a certain engineer who was both graceless and cruel in victory.

Thankfully, a welcome distraction was trundled though the door before the fourth brother could succumb to the impulsivity of revenge.

"Celery!" Scott exclaimed, his face the perfect blend of shock and delight as the little mutt's travel crate was wheeled in on a delivery trolley, "How did you get here?"

"A lovely young lady dropped her off at reception," Jacinda replied, unloading their furry charge and propping the trolley against the wall by Alan's bed, "Pets are allowed in our private units, and since the billing instructions we received for you included a request for all five of you to be in the same room, her presence is authorised. One of our dispensary technicians will take her out if she needs the toilet before you depart, but otherwise she must remain caged at all times I'm afraid."

Gordon's features rearranged themselves into an expression of pure joy as he skidded across the linoleum floor on his knees, inserted a hand inside the crate, and began to gently caress Celery's scarred head. The little mutt squealed in happiness, her tail thumping against the bars as she tried desperately to squeeze her nose through a gap that was barely big enough for Gordon's wrist.

Predictably, the gap won.

John gave a groan of despair when he felt his nose begin to twitch in irritation. It wasn't that he regretted seeing Celery. On the contrary, he'd actually grown quite fond of her over the past few months, but the nasal convulsions that came as part of the package were a pain to say the least. Gordon's vigorous petting of the little mutt's head wasn't helping matters, and it was with an aura of resigned suffering that the redhead succumbed to a sneeze so strong, he swore he saw ten IQ points shoot out of his left nostril.

"What was the lady's name?" Scott enquired, aware that the private room they'd been sitting in for the last two days was no doubt the result of someone paying through the nose, "Was she old or young?"

"Young," Jacinda replied, collapsing the sack truck that she'd wheeled Celery in on, "I can't remember her name unfortunately, but she signed the visitor form. I want to say it sounded similar to sourdough, but that's probably my memory betraying me. Black hair, ponytail, rather a brisk manner."

A look was exchanged between Alan and Scott, each confirming the other's thought with a nod. Gordon was too busy lavishing fuss on Celery, who looked on the verge of wetting herself with excitement, and John was still gathering visual data on the ventilation ducts.

Kayo.

Dread washed over Scott at what their Head of Security would have to say to them when they got out. He'd been unconscious during the ambulance ride and had no memory of anything he might have said or done. He had a horrible feeling he may have quoted their most recent water bill to the nurse who'd unloaded his gurney.

"Did she have any messages for us?" Scott asked, his tone neutral as he absently checked his reflection in the kettle. He may have been on the losing side of the impending war, but Thunderbird One be damned if he wasn't going to march into battle looking anything other than his best.

Pillowcases and blankets were bundled into a laundry bag by the door as Jacinda made a head start on stripping Virgil and Gordon's beds, "She did actually. Her phrasing was a little, uh…coarse, but she was smiling as she spoke."

Scott felt his right eye twitch slightly. Kayo and smiling added together typically resulted in psychological trauma, especially when subdivided by blackmail and with panic factored in.

Jacinda carried on, blissfully unaware of Tracy Island politics, "Her exact words were, 'I'm parked outside by the exit. Send them out to me once the discharge papers have been signed. Standard formation if you wouldn't mind; little bastards up front, big ones in back."

It took eight whole seconds for Kayo's message to fully sink in, however only three for Scott to react.

"John, grab the bags. Alan, open a channel with Juneau Airport," the eldest instructed, striding around the room like a hostage negotiator, "We'll catch the first flight into Auckland and make our way home from there by water. The bathroom has a fire door we can exit out of after we're given clearance to leave. I'll make up some excuse about one of us leaving something important in here so that we have a reason to return. Our window looks out over the street, which means the carpark is all the way on the other side of the building . All being well, Kayo shouldn't spot us when we depart. Uh, John? What are you doing?"

All available attention (bar Gordon's) was swiftly redirected to the redhead, who had fused his pillow to his face.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" came the muffled yet irritated reply, "I'm trying to suffocate myself."

Blue eyes narrowed as Alan's adolescent brain struggled to make sense of his brother's weird behaviour, "Oh…okay. Uh, how's it going?"

"Badly," even through the pillow, brothers one and five could practically see the scowl on John's face, "I've managed to seal my nose and mouth, but every time I start to get lightheaded, my grip loosens enough for me to breathe again. It's annoying."

The adolescent brain struggled some more, "Oh…well, that's too bad…I guess?"

A groan filtered through the polyester, "It's beyond bad Alan. We're beyond bad. Look at us. Look at us, I say. Five highly trained pilots, first responders and emergency strategists, and yet our lives have been on a steady downwards trajectory ever since Kayo and Penny initiated their stupid dating exercise thingamajig. I used to be someone. I used to be respected. I was the linchpin in a motley crew of professional sanity drainers. And now look at me, stuck in a hospital room that smells of pee with a dog named after a vegetable and four people who claim to share my DNA, two of whom require both hands and a roadmap just to find their own asses."

A gasp of horror tore out of Gordon as he began furiously sprouting off at his redheaded brother in an attempt to salvage Celery's lost honour. Against the backdrop of Virgil singing in the shower (at the top of his lungs, no less), Scott chose the path of least resistance and groped for the aspirin in his back pocket.

Alan's priorities were slightly different.

"Out of curiosity, which two are you referring to?"