Chapter 119.
John groaned and cracked his eyes open.
Nothing, but nothing, was worse than waking up after a deep, restful sleep with a headache from hell. It defied all science.
He'd come up the previous evening at a decent hour. He hadn't be drinking, hadn't eaten anything weird, and hadn't been particularly stressed. His sleep tracker showed that he'd been in the land of nod for almost nine hours, and within that nine he'd managed to bag four whole REM cycles. Pretty darn good, all things considered.
But nope. Instead, here he was, feeling as if he'd just stuck his head inside a vacuum. The bed hair atop his head only served to compliment that metaphor even further.
Swinging his legs off the mattress and reaching to turn his humidifier off, John dragged a hand over his face and began mentally scheduling his day. First, he'd track down some painkillers. That was a priority. Then a quick shower, followed by breakfast. He was quite content to leave the rest of the day free, as it enabled him to direct his attention and energy in whatever direction it was needed.
Stepping out into the hall, he couldn't help but savour the lack of noise bouncing off the walls. Usually, the house was polluted with the sounds of his brothers, day and night. He loved them, of course he did, but damn did they need to learn the value of silence.
They'd all made good on their promises of clearing out of the house and relocating to the beach huts. It had been a dramatic affair, with swear words being exchanged and at least three sabotage attempts from Gordon, but they'd all finally vacated at just gone midday. John had no idea how any of them hoped to make the situation work. The huts were far too small to be habitable, plus none of them had bothered to pack anything of the supply variety. Aside from Scott remembering his trusty hair gel, the only things they'd all taken were the clothes on their backs.
"Morning," John greeted as he passed Kayo, who was emerging from her own bedroom. Shadow's pilot held up a finger, a silent warning that conversation was firmly off the cards until she'd had coffee.
John shrugged and shouldered open the bathroom door. Once inside, he selected the cupboard that he'd claimed many years ago in the name of Thunderbird Five, opened it, and instinctively reaching for the top shelf where he kept his medicines.
Only to find it completely empty.
Refusing to believe what his fingers were telling him, John stood on tiptoe to get a better look, and was rewarded with the sight of a cupboard that had been completely stripped bare. Everything was gone, and by everything, he meant everything. His shampoo, his deodorant, his shaving foam, his hair gel, and even his goddamn toothbrush were all missing.
And of course, so were the packet of pills he was hedging the quality of his entire morning on.
Pain relief taking momentary priority, John opened the next cupboard over, which he knew contained Virgil's things, and frantically scanned the shelves.
Also empty.
He moved to Gordon's.
Empty.
Scott's.
Empty.
And Alan's,
Frickin' empty.
His inner voice nudged at him to check Kayo's cupboard to see if she had any painkillers. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the side of his brain that wasn't riddled with pain warned that such an act would certainly have a pain relieving effect, but in the form of decapitation rather than drug taking.
John felt his eyes narrow to slits. Brain fog aside, it hardly took a genius to figure out that someone had snuck into the bathroom during the night and blindly emptied all of the cupboards. There were four possible suspects, however he had a feeling he knew who the true criminal was.
Unable to freshen up and reluctant to do anything half-baked, he adjusted his plan so that breakfast became the first task of the day. Rehydrating himself with some tea and boosting his blood sugar with a bagel would help him on the road to feeling human again.
Kayo was already sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of porridge and a mug of coffee when he got there. Setting the kettle to boil, he stooped to open the cupboard next to the automated kitchen module and instinctively reached for his trusty packet of bagels.
Only to find his hand snatching at dead air.
Confusion had been the dominant emotion in John's head when he'd found the bathroom cupboards empty, but it was outright panic that gripped him when he stuck his head inside the cabinet and found that it too had been stripped bare.
Throwing normality to the wind, John stood up and began flinging open cupboard doors as if his life depended on it. Aside from a couple of tins of Celery's dog food, pretty much everything was gone. The fruit bowl was empty, as was the fridge, the larder, and pretty much every single container the kitchen had to offer. The criminal had been indiscriminate in their plundering and had seemingly grabbed whatever they'd been able to find.
Including his frickin' bagels.
Interestingly, the kitchen crime scene bore a striking similarity to the bathroom one. Kayo's stuff had deliberately been left untouched again, which showed that despite an obvious lack of finesse, the criminal was in possession of basic self-preservation instincts.
John felt his vision blur as he bent to inspect the bottom shelf of the larder. He was desperate for some form of pain relief, and a mental review of the island's blueprints reminded him that there were bound to be some pills down in the medical bay. There was no way his criminal would have had time to transport five cupboard's worth of toiletries back to their lair, before returning to empty the kitchen of enough food for eight people for two weeks. It was simply an impossible task for one person.
It was this thought that bounced around his head as he descended the staircase to the hangars. Looting shampoo and cereal was one thing, but it would take a special kind of cruelty for whoever he was dealing with to attack the medical bay as well. Granted, they weren't exactly getting the volume of calls they were used to, but having a fully stocked infirmary was about as essential to International Rescue as the crafts they piloted.
Mercifully, the medical bay looked to be untouched. A quick inventory on John's part showed that they still had a fully functioning emergency checklist. Supplies of medical oxygen, insulin, intravenous fluids, atropine, and morphine were checked first, followed by less urgent resources like anaesthetics, antibiotics, and propofol.
Interestingly, all of the packets of aspirin were gone.
John felt his jaw click. Whoever he was dealing with had known exactly what they were looking for, and had taken particular care to only take low priority stuff from the infirmary. Lives wouldn't be lost with aspirin missing from the checklist, but John's intention of having a pain-free day definitely would.
Taking care to note down exactly how much aspirin was missing, the redhead set a course for the hut on the northern beach.
Justice was about to be served.
-x-
Scott swore as he cracked his head on the doorframe of his hut for what felt like the hundredth time.
It was nine o'clock in the morning, twenty one hours after the Tracy tribal wars had begun and he and Alan had made the decision to abandon civilisation and live off-grid. Nature enthusiasts probably would have laughed at him, but when one made the decision to move from a luxurious villa into the surrounding undergrowth, that qualified as off-grid to him.
Scott felt frustration bubble through his veins as he shoved the last box of perishable food he'd swiped from the kitchen out of reach of the sun. The huts were primitive at best, but worse still was that he'd almost completely run out of things to do. As the busybody of the family, he hardly ever gave himself time to twiddle his thumbs. When he wasn't out saving the world, he was either sifting through paperwork, in the gym, supervising any necessary maintenance on Thunderbird One, or nipping at his brother's heels to tidy up after themselves.
Unfortunately, the world didn't currently need saving, which also meant none of the associated paperwork. He'd been for a swim in the sea a few hours ago, so exercise was taken care of. Thunderbird One was operating on a reduced maintenance schedule due to her current lack of use, and with only one brother for company (who was still asleep), there was nobody for him to chase and boss around either. The hut was as tidy and organised as was possible, and he'd managed to stash all of the food he'd stolen without tripping any suspicions. He had aspirations to return later that evening and raid the medicine cupboards, but would have to make sure he planned carefully. Stripping the kitchen bare hadn't exactly been a subtle move, and no doubt John would start smoking like a chimney when he realised his precious bagels were among the casualties.
Speaking of which…
Scott felt his mouth twitch in amusement as he spied a certain redhead teetering down the rocks towards him. The beaches on Tracy Island were pebbly and treacherous to navigate without appropriate footwear, which was precisely what John was lacking as he doddered around a rockpool.
Pebbly beaches were great equalisers in Scott's opinion. You could be the best looking person on the planet, yet on a pebbly beach you were guaranteed to look like a twat.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Scott asked, discreetly kicking a tin of tomatoes out of sight.
John gave a wheeze of pain as he staggered across the last few feet of pebbles and clambered up the hut's steps on all fours, "Don't patronise me. Hand them over."
Scott blinked and tried to feign innocence, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Hey, are your heels bleeding?"
A hand was waved vaguely in a display of frustration, "Don't treat me to any of your top-quality organic bullshit. What have you done with my bagels?"
Scott stuck to his plan of playing the innocent card, "John, I seriously have no idea what you're talking about. I know how much you love those yeast rolls. I'd never steal them from you."
"Funny you should say that," John replied, his face twisting as he fished a small trophy out of his pocket, "Because I happen to know how much you love this thing."
Scott felt his pulse quicken as John brandished a little basketball trophy in his face like a letter from the Queen. It had been one of the first prizes he'd ever been awarded for coming first in something, way back during the good old days before Gordon had entered their lives.
"Where did you get that?" Scott asked, his tone neutral as he resisted the urge to tackle his brother to the ground.
"Found it in the trash," John replied, sneering when he met Scott's lie with one of his own, "Makes a great paperweight, don't you think?"
Scott scowled, aware of Alan stirring in the background. He wasn't particularly fond of bagels and was quite happy to hand them over, however the urge to occupy himself with something other than sweeping out the hut for the third time that morning was strong. And arguing with John fit the bill nicely.
"Admit it," John clipped, "You perfectly executed the wrong plan. Now hand them over."
Scott sighed through his nose and set about adding a strategic twist to the exchange, "Fine, but on one condition. On pain of death do you mention this to the other two, understand? I'm planning on negotiating for some shampoo later with Gordon, but need the element of surprise on my side."
John felt his eyes widen, "You mean he's in on all of this too?"
"Not with me," Scott clarified, "He got into the house first. I reckon he had plans to go back for food, but I beat him to it when I saw the number he'd done on the bathrooms. How he managed to carry all of that stuff is beyond me."
John wanted to say the same about Scott and the ten tonnes of food he'd somehow managed to steal, but didn't bother. He was Scott, after all.
"Remember, pain of death," Scott warned, retreating into the hut and rummaging through a bag full of dry goods, "And don't expect me to say anything nice at your funeral if you even think about double-crossing me."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," John muttered, holding out a hand for his prize, "Not like I'd be around to hear you anyway."
"I'm afraid that's the way it works, John," Scott confirmed, tossing a packet of bagels over his shoulder, "Once you die you go deaf."
John felt irritation slide down his spine at his brother's silver tongued response. Without bothering to acknowledge the half-awake Alan, he spun on his heel and marched out of the hut, mentally steeling himself for the treacherous return journey across the razor sharp pebbles. At least he wasn't leaving empty-handed.
Cursing when a particularly pointy stone threatened to impale clean through his foot, John set a new course for the hut on the south-west waterfront.
Breakfast was taken care of, but he was still without toothpaste and shampoo.