It was a lazy day.
Virgil suspected John, who had been kicked off Five the day before, had Eos routing all but the most dire situations to local authorities whether Scott authorised it or not.
There were days where Virgil wondered if Scott was really in charge, since John had so much ultimate say.
But that thought was for another day. He was tired and it was likely going to be a day off - please let it be a day off - and he was going to find a corner of the Island to sit alone and scribble in his sketchbook.
He ended up on Mosaic Beach, a personal favourite on the edge of the caldera. Gordon had mentioned it the day before regarding the quality of flotsam available after the last storm and Virgil thought he would see what he could find.
It was overshadowed by an ancient pokey tree brilliant in red blossom and the sand here was a mass of black and white swirls as the coral detritus fought the eroded igneous rocks – the reason they had given it its name. Gordon was right - there was all sorts of things tossed up the sand and Virgil spent the first half hour wandering along the strip of sea wrack picking up shells and whatever caught his eye.
One of the shells appeared determined to return to the ocean and it was with a small smile that he picked up the tiny hermit crab and watched it curl up into its shell.
Holding it gently in his palm, he sought the shade of the giant tree and sat down on the sand in its shadow. Here the breeze was gentle, the sand cool and, leaning back against a rock, he set the little crab down on a smooth patch of sand, along with his small hoard of shells and let it scamper across the little landscape that resulted.
Sketchbook out, he spent the next few minutes sketching the crab madly as it moved about. It shifted angle at random and he found himself increasingly switching from real life to a character sketch. A little personality sprouted from the page that reflected the little crab's determination.
Ever aware of the crab's needs above his own, he sketched fast, took a few photos and then gathered the little creature in his hands once more. He trotted down to the rock pools at the edge of the beach and found a spot he felt the crab would be happy.
Crouching down, he watched it scamper into the water.
His lips curved into a smile.
Gordon would know what species it was, where it lived and how to best care for it. Virgil was pretty sure he knew what type it was. Mel was pedantic about crabs and had given them a list of 'these are endangered, tell me if you see them, kill one and I will kill you'. Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn't a long list, so Virgil had memorised it. This little guy...he should be happy here.
The crab found some weed and promptly hid under it.
The rockpool drew Virgil's eye a little longer before he finally stood up and let the breeze cool his face. A sigh at the sun's warmth and he wandered back to the shadow of the pokey tree and sat down again.
The little crab stared up at him from his sketchbook, spritely and determined.
Kind of like Gordon really, despite the claws.
That prompted a smile at the thought of his fish brother's reaction to being compared to a crab.
He would squawk, but he would love it.
Virgil returned to sketching the shells and bits of coral he had collected. Rearranging them, repositioning for lighting. He picked one up and stared at the colours created by a little mollusc. He was ever amazed at what Mother Nature was capable of. Simple geometrics and chemical formulae made one of the world's strongest and most beautiful substances in nacre. Another broken shell showed the rainbow of colour that he knew his paintbrush would never quite be able to capture, much less the pencil and stick of carbon he had with him today. He was left with a little snapshot from his phone...which was never quite the same either...and what his memory could provide.
Perhaps it was nature's way of ensuring it was always the most beautiful.
He shifted to scribbling down the beachscape after that. It wasn't the first time he had drawn this beach, but as with all beaches, it was different every day as the tide sculpted it.
His fingers grew more and more lazy, his lines wandering through more emotion than reality as the day drifted on. At some point, he ate the sandwich he had packed, quite happy to not care what time of day it was and refusing to look at his watch.
Eventually the sketchbook was set aside and he let himself just stare out at the ocean lagoon, eyes tracking the movement of the distant waves and the laps of the ripples against the shore.
And nature's rhythms lulled him to sleep.
-o-o-o-
"Hey, big bro, you might want to drop by Mosaic Beach before the tide comes in." Gordon waltzed past the desk Scott was sitting at with a smirk on his face.
"What?" Scott's brain was still stuck in working out what the hell Simmonds meant by the 'urgent memo' that had interrupted his afternoon off.
"The snoring is scaring away all the wildlife." With that Gordon grabbed a book off the shelf on the far side of the room and backtracked out the way he had come in...without another word.
Scott was left staring where his brother had been.
But then Gordon was worth ignoring some times.
He turned back to his display and continued to try and work out why Simmonds had ordered sixty plastic flamingoes and then memo'd him about it in a panic.
It took him a good few minutes more before throwing it back at Simmonds' supervisor in Japan with a 'concerned' note.
What did Tracy Industries need with sixty plastic flamingoes?
He shook his head and forced himself to stand up and not invest any more in any comms from the business. Today was hopefully his day off and he refused to fall into the trap of losing himself in all the things that required attention.
All the things.
He paused mid rise.
But no. No! Vacation day. He forced himself away from the desk and out onto the balcony.
It was a beautiful out here. The afternoon sun was blazing in a brilliant blue sky without a single cloud. The sea was murmuring far below. It was an artist's dream.
He blinked as certain Gordon utterings connected neurons together.
A frown. "Gordon!"
No answer.
Another frown and he strode back inside, following the recent tracks of his fish brother down to the kitchen.
Scott found him reading at the table, a phone that was most definitely not his in one hand and the book in his other.
There were lots of photos of crabs.
"What are you doing?"
"Confirming the identification of a crab."
"Why?"
"Virg found one down on Mosaic Beach and I wanna make sure it is what I think it was so I can report it to Mel."
The dots that had been connecting earlier fused into a solid line with an arrow pointing directly at Gordon. "And where is Virgil?"
"Snoozing on the beach."
"And why do you have his phone?"
"Because his drawings were excellent, but I needed a colour shot."
"Gordon!"
His brother didn't even look up. "What?" But then he blinked and frowned at Scott. "He's fine. Well above the high tide line." A glance down at the book again. "There, that's it. Oooh, Mel is going to be so excited."
Scott glared at Gordon for a whole second longer before storming over and snatching the phone out of his hands. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen and took the path that would lead him down to the reported beach.
Younger brothers were hard work.
The little beach wasn't the closest on the Island. Probably one of the reasons Virgil chose it to get away from those pesky younger brothers. Trust Gordon to find him anyway.
He fingered Virgil's phone in his hand as he walked. The green leather case was embossed with an elaborate dragon design.
Looking at it, all he could really feel was fondness.
He must be tired. Grandma was right. He needed a day off.
Easier said than done. It wasn't like he could park himself on a beach and fall asleep.
He grunted as he stepped over some rocks to start the climb down to the little cove. The path was thin and wove amongst several pōhutukawa trees – or pokey trees as Alan called them, their dark green leaves adorned with puffs of red blossom. Birds darted between them squawking at each other. That combined with the surf in the distance and the breeze rattling palm trees, it wasn't the quietest of places.
Nevertheless, he found his brother sprawled against a rock under the largest pokey tree at the edge of the beach, snoring his head off.
Definitely noisy.
Virgil was dressed in an old pair of work shorts and a t-shirt with a hole in it. Both sported spatters of paint and clearly showed how relaxed his brother was trying to be.
Beside him on a rock, carefully placed, no doubt by Gordon, the brat, was a sketchbook and a box of drawing tools. Virgil's artist backpack lay folded up supporting his head - again likely Gordon.
Virgil snorted and curled up just a little more against the rock.
Gordon was a shit, but he was a kind one. Virgil slept like the dead and would likely need one of those waves off in the distance to wash over him if he was going to wake up before he wanted to.
Staring a moment longer, Scott sighed, gave up and sat down beside his brother. He dropped the phone onto the sketchbook and looked out at the beach.
Virgil continued to snore.
His biggest little brother had always snored. Scott had cornered him and got him tested for a variety of sleep issues, but he was fine. Just loud.
The terrible two used to make a point of pointing it out as much as possible. But that was before the hydrofoil accident.
Gordon didn't know it, but due to his injuries, he now snored, too.
The ribbing about snoring in the Tracy household had dropped to a minimum since, Gordon the only unknowing ribber.
But Virgil remained the major noise maker and the brothers worshipped the soundproofing in the villa.
Regardless of the racket, Scott did find it strangely quiet out here. Sitting on the sand with nothing to do was oddly relaxing. Of course, he wasn't really one to do nothing and Virgil's sketchbook was right there. Gordon had obviously already stuck his nose into it and Scott was pretty sure Virgil wouldn't mind if he took a peek.
Would he?
Lifting the phone off the book, Scott carefully picked it up and nestled it in his lap...ever, ever so careful. Okay, so he had some respect and not a little fear of damaging Virgil's artwork.
The pages were thick and stiff and likely designed to support wet media as much as dry. Most of the work in it was pencil, however, maybe some charcoal? The darks were so deep in some that they had to be.
But Scott was no artist and really only had eyes for the content.
The first page found him looking at himself. Virgil had obviously either captured Scott's likeness on the sly or drawn from a photo or holoprojection. His drawing stared up at him in almost all three dimensions. The expression on his graphite face was thoughtful, almost wistful. He could see his rendered self was thinking or planning and totally distracted...which was likely why he had no clue his brother had captured this shot.
But the artistic strokes were strong and sure, simple in their complexity.
Scott blinked, moved that his brother was so talented and capable.
Though he really shouldn't be surprised.
Turning the page, he discovered their grandmother.
He had to smile. The concentration on Grandma's face was almost comical. A bowl and a recipe book sat in front of her and the very tip of her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she frowned at whatever she was reading.
There was a touch of caricature in the drawing, a little exaggeration, but done with love and fondness, not mockingly. His grandmother was beautiful.
Scott swallowed and turned the page to find several detailed scribbles. They looked like pieces of machinery and the pages had notes written down the sides.
It was a spark moment. He knew Virgil well enough for that. One of those times when his thoughts all came together and saw him running naked out of the shower to grab whatever he could find and get it written down.
Several major equipment improvements had occurred exactly this way. It appeared that at some point, this sketchbook had been the nearest note book and had borne the brunt.
He stared at the diagrams, doing his best to work out exactly what they were. Sharp notation, numbers, that had to be the backend of a pod. It clicked. This was part of the pod assembly redesign from the previous year. Virgil had come to him with some major improvements, including a pod body redesign. What followed had been a massive overhaul of all the 'birds' assembly systems and a whole new set up, including colour changes according to which Thunderbird housed which pod. Virgil and Brains had been buzzing for weeks.
And it was possible it had all started here on this piece of paper. Now he could see the scribbled down inner workings of the assembly mechanism and the shape on the second page was a worked and reworked pod shell.
He glanced over at his brother who was still snoring peacefully. Virgil was amazing. Scott could not have been prouder of what his little brother had achieved. Yet Virgil never really boasted or bragged or even highlighted what he had done. He was just there. Always there, one step behind him ready to help.
He must be really tired because now he was getting emotional. There had been a few times in the last couple of years where he had come close to losing Virgil. He hadn't, but there had been nightmares and many a night where he had spent reassuring himself that his biggest brother was still with him.
And yes, he could stand outside his brother's bedroom door and listen to him snore.
It gave him comfort.
Gordon had caught him once.
That had been a heartbreaking moment.
Because his fish brother hadn't said a thing, just reached up, squeezed his shoulder, dropped his forehead against Scott's arm and just stood there for a solid moment. Another gentle squeeze and he left, not even looking up at Scott before he was gone.
It said more than any words.
Scott sighed and turned the page...only to come face to face with Gordon again. Though this time the joy in their fish brother's eyes was lighting up the page. He was grinning at a shell and there was a speech bubble - 'Virgil, come and see this!'
Scott had to smile. Gordon was notorious for sharing his beach discoveries. Virgil was usually the target because at least he knew a little bit about their little brother's fascinations. Scott loved to see Gordon happy, but honestly, he couldn't tell the difference between one shell or another. He tried. He honestly did, but Virgil had the patience of a saint and was much more engaging.
Scott loved to watch the two of them instead.
And yes, he saw Virgil sneak things into his pockets. Usually shells, but occasionally rocks and bits of coral. Those finds made their way back to Virgil's studio and there was a whole corner devoted to marine still life.
Which was why it was no surprise when the next three pages of sketchbook turned out to be exactly that. A curly shell, a pile of cockle shells - Scott knew those at least - they were good for fishing. The third page had a plan for a reef painting. It had scribbled notes, much like the pod redesign pages, but this was based around a sketched layout. Scott frowned at it...it was vaguely familiar. He would have to ask Virgil about it when he woke.
The next two pages sported today's efforts. The same beach he was sitting on emerged from the paper, along with some sketches of a crab. The first few were realistic, but the last one had the little hermit crab with an IR symbol on its side and one of Dad's old uniform hats perched on top of its shell. It bore a sash that resembled Virgil's despite the lack of green colour and one of its claws was bigger than the other in a very exo-suit-like way.
That had Scott grinning. This was no doubt the reason why Gordon had run for the crab book. Mel, in her position of Director of the Kermadec Expedition south of them on Raoul Island, was very particular about the endemic crabs on all the islands in the area.
He wondered what she would think of them inducting crabs into IR.
He wondered what she was doing today and if she might be available later for a nice evening together.
That thought was very distracting and had nothing to do with crab identification at all.
Virgil snorted, rolled over off his backpack and face first into the sand.
Scott startled, fully expecting a woken bear of a brother to surface from that.
But Virgil just kept snoring, now snorting sand as well.
He placed the sketchbook down, scrambled around his brother and gently shoved the folded backpack under his head again.
His fingertips brushed sand off Virgil's face.
And he found himself sitting beside his brother again.
Why was he out here?
Because Gordon was evil and dangled the concept of Virgil drowning in the tide simply to aggravate him enough to do exactly what he did.
Gordon was a shit.
But a good one.
Another sigh and he lay back against the rocks and got comfortable, because, let's face it, he wasn't going back up to the villa without Virgil. His brother was safe, sure, but walking off and leaving him to the elements ran against his grain.
And Gordon knew it.
He would throttle, and possibly hug, his fish brother later.
Besides, it was nice out here, taking a moment to just be.
Virgil would approve.
Virgil would fake being asleep just to get him to do it.
Scott's eyes darted to his now softly snoring brother, a sudden suspicion at the forefront of his thoughts. He would put it past either of Virgil or Gordon's conniving ways to conspire to get him out here.
Virgil was drooling a wet patch onto his backpack.
Ugh.
Well, maybe not.
Perhaps he was just being paranoid.
Perhaps he just needed to relax.
Relax.
He closed his eyes and folded his hands in his lap. Kayo was good at meditation. So was Gordon. Virgil did some connecting with nature thing that seemed to work for him.
Exhibit A snorted as if in agreement.
He could try.
Out of all the sounds he could hear, only one really held his attention.
That same soft snoring. No waves or wind or birds squawking brought him any kind of comfort.
The sound of his brother breathing evenly beside him, safe and sound, was the most beautiful sound in the world.
What that said about him...well, he didn't care right now. He was tired and worn out. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe this is what he needed. He should care, should be annoyed, but the rhythm was lulling and, god, he was so tired.
So goddamned tired.
Virgil kept breathing and Scott followed him into sleep.
-o-o-o-
Hidden in the foliage of the grove of pokey trees behind his two brothers, Gordon just smiled.
-o-o-o-