Chapter 11.
"Into the last hundred, and it's a dead tie between Matsuda and Steffen, but Tracy is right on their heels in lane seven!"
Scott felt his heart leave his body as he watched Gordon struggle to maintain his position in third. The Brit, who John remembered was called Parry, was practically gnawing at his brother's ankles, and was surging forward as they battled their way to the finish line. This wouldn't have bothered Scott too much, since dropping back to fourth would still guarantee Gordon a place in the final, however a tenacious Cypriot who had a name none of them could pronounce was bearing down on both Parry and Gordon like he had Thunderbird One up his ass.
To make matters worse, Gordon was clearly aware of the situation, and was attempting to offset his pursuers by trying way too hard. His kicks and pulls had increased in both vigour and frequency, and the way Sam was tearing at his hair showed that this was a very bad move, especially in the homestretch.
"He's slowing down," John muttered, lowering the binoculars he'd brought, "I've no way of knowing for sure, but I'd say he's got enough juice left for another thirty metres, tops. He's expelling far too many bubbles with each breath."
Matsuda and Steffen were now a considerable distance ahead of the rest of the group, dashing Scott's original hope of Gordon gaining on them if one of them stared to tire. The remaining six swimmers were grouped together in a tight cluster. Gordon was at the front, but his shorter frame seemed to be coming back to haunt him as his lead was steadily devoured by his longer-limbed counterparts.
"Hold up," John squinted and raised his binoculars again, "Something's happening. It looks like Parry's dropping back."
Unable to pick Parry out of the pack, Scott motioned for the binoculars and scanned the pool. Indeed, the Brit did seem to be losing some of his momentum, and much to Team Tracy's delight, was losing it at a quicker rate than Gordon, meaning that their brother had a brief window where his lead was secure while the Cypriot worked overtime to move into the space Parry was vacating.
John had set his phone to silent out of respect for his fellow spectators. Scott had intended to do the same, but had ended up distracted by his rant at Sam. The cheers of the crowd and excited chatter of the commentator drowned out most noise, however John's razor-sharp hearing could still pick up the frantic ping ping ping of his brother's phone going apeshit, no doubt with messages from the rest of the family back on Tracy Island.
"He's going to make it," Scott exclaimed, his deadpan tone a stark contrast to the tsunami of elation he was experiencing inside, "John, he's going to qualify for the Olympic final. And he's the youngest competitor in his division. The Olympic Final."
John didn't answer, his gaze fixed on Gordon's lane as their brother clawed his way to the end of the pool and slapped the wall underneath his starting block. The steward who'd been assigned to him raised her hand, announcing to both the officials and the world that Gordon Tracy of the United States of America had come in third place.
"He did it!" Scott gasped, his eyes welling with tears as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of what Gordon had just achieved. As the crowd around him began to cheer and Japanese and German flags were waved, he suddenly found himself unable to speak or even think clearly. Had the people around him known about his relation to Gordon, they probably would have been mystified by his lack of a reaction. Indeed, Scott himself was mystified by his lack of a reaction, but reasoned that it was probably because of the emotional high he was riding. Pride and relief flooded his body like a drug, extinguishing the knot of anxiety that had been sitting in his stomach all day.
A hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality with a jolt. John too was silent, but the smile on his face was about as wholesome as a homegrown carrot. He seemed to have a slightly firmer grip on his emotions than Scott had, but the way his aquamarine eyes were sparkling showed that it had been a rough ride for him as well.
Like the proud brother that he was, Scott wrapped an arm around John and pulled him in for a hug. This would be a day neither of them would ever forget, and having the other one there for moral support meant more than either of them could put into words.
"I wish Mom was here," John whispered, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve, "And Dad."
Scott nodded, freeing one arm to wipe at his own eyes. Their father would no doubt be tuning in from his moonbase, but there was no silver lining as far as their mother was concerned. Had she been alive, she'd be ridiculously proud of her fourth son. Both Grandma and Jeff reminded Gordon of this on a regular basis, but the hole left by a parent could never be filled by just words.
Thankfully, Gordon was a strong soul. When he swam, he swam for his family, both present and absent.
And when he swam, he shone with the light of a thousand suns.
-x-
Jess felt herself fizz uncontrollably as the results of the men's one-hundred meter butterfly semi-final were announced.
"Yes!" she gasped, relief washing over her when she heard Gordon's name in the running. The last fifty meters had been pure carnage, and she'd had difficulty following along at points. She knew Matsuda had beaten Steffen by a hair, but the rest had been lost to a garble of excited chatter.
There was a new spring in her step as she headed back towards the veterinary tent to collect the results of the blood test she'd originally been heading to pick up. Her stomach was alive with nerves at the thought of her own competition later that evening, but the knowledge that Gordon had managed to get through two races in one piece reassured her somewhat. If he could do it, so could she.
Even though she'd only known him for a grand total of six days, Jess felt a special kind of fondness towards her new aquatic friend. She'd made plenty of friends in the competitive realm over the course of her relatively short career, and knew from experience that the emotional toll of being on the international stage could bring people together in ways that often took years under more normal circumstances. Indeed, most of her closest companions were people she'd met in the training arena, but the Olympics was a different beast entirely. This was the first time she'd rubbed shoulders with athletes from different sports. Her teammates were great, but outside of their little group of four, everyone else who knew the front end of a horse from the back was a rival.
Gordon was different. He belonged to a separate sport and wasn't a competitive threat. Her friendship with him was just that: friendship. With him, there was no undercover espionage work, no psychological warfare, and no cutthroat comments about sponsorship deals. He was just a teenager who, like her, loved food, sleeping in, and popping wisecracks at the most inappropriate times. In short, he was genuine, unlike most of the toads she dealt with on a daily basis.
"Told you he's wicked when he hits liquid," Jess smugly informed her team upon returning to the barn, clear blood report in hand. Her coach, a seasoned ex-jumper from Ireland called Greg, merely snorted and filed the test away in her horse's folder. Like Sam, he had little time for jokes, and even less time for anyone who wasn't either a teammate or a rival. He knew his protege was eagerly following the progress of a swimmer she'd befriended, but knew little beyond his name. George? Grant? Grayson?
Jess felt herself sigh. Her team was a solid one, but being the youngest sometimes made for a lonely experience.
-x-
"Gordster!
"Gordy!"
"The Gordinator!"
At the sound of his brother's voices, Gordon looked up from the talk he was having with Sam. Scott and John were both standing at the doorway of the changing room, gesturing pleadingly with a security guard who looked about as friendly as a snake with a hernia. Scott appeared to be contemplating whether he could dart under the guard's outstretched arm, while John was relying on more conventional methods and flashing a bribe under the man's nose.
"Guys!" Gordon called, breaking off from his conversation with Sam and scurrying over, "You can let them in. They're my brothers."
The guard frowned, "Only coaches, athletes, and medical personnel are permitted inside the changing areas."
"I know CPR," Scott blurted, realising a second too late that he'd just added twenty feet to the hole he was rapidly digging for himself.
Gordon waved a hand, "No bother. If you can't come in, I'll come out."
In the background, Sam looked fit to erupt.
No sooner had Gordon fished his lanyard out of his bag and flashed it at the guard than he found himself smothered and garrotted by two sets of arms, both of which seemed to be competing over who got to squeeze the biggest portion of him.
"The finals, Gordon. The finals," Scott hiccupped, his composure slipping like a camel on ice as he tried to articulate his pride without losing control over himself, "I was so worried you weren't going to hold third. Not that I doubted you for a second, but you're so much shorter than everyone else, not that that's a bad thing of course, but you're also the youngest, and this is your first time away from home on your own, and, and-"
"Chillax, bro," Gordon laughed, patting Scott on the back, "And maybe stop talking for a bit. You're not doing yourself any favours. Sam's already told me where I went wrong, so I'll be sure to not make the same mistake tomorrow. How were your seats? Did you have a good view?"
John frowned at his brother's blasé attitude towards his achievement, "Gordon, you just secured a place in the Olympic final. Where's the fanfare? You're acting like you just received your midterm school report."
Gordon shrugged, "Sam says I shouldn't let it go to my head. I've got less than twenty-four hours to prepare for tomorrow, and my focus needs to be on my technique, which wasn't great this time around. It was pure luck I managed to snag a place at all."
Scott shared an appalled look with John over Gordon's head. Sam had somehow managed to normalise the situation and had robbed their brother of every ounce of confidence in the process. Self-belief was critical, and he'd be at a huge tactical disadvantage without it during the final.
"Are you guys staying for a bit?" Gordon asked, his tone hopeful, "Or do you have to zoom back home?"
John shook his head, "We left everything open, since we didn't know what the outcome of today would be. Grandma and Kayo were going to come over and help you pack if you got knocked out, but obviously that won't be needed. I think it goes without saying that we all want to be here tomorrow, but that won't be possible with rota management."
Gordon cocked his head, "English, please."
John sighed, "In short, I'm not leaving. What kind of brother would I be if I hopped home and missed your little backside bringing Olympic glory to the family name?"
"A shit one?" Gordon replied, a smile infecting his face.
"The shittiest," John affirmed, "If the others want to fight me, let them. I know I've just watched you in person and Grandma, Kayo, and Brains have yet to, but all's fair in love and war."
"I'm staying too," Scott added, "We'll rope in the GDP for coverage if we have to. That'll give the others the option of making the journey over if they want to."
In the background, the starting buzzer chimed as the second round of semi-finalists dove into the pool. A couple of American divers and breaststrokers paused to ruffle Gordon's hair and congratulate him as they departed the changing rooms, their Team USA jackets zipped up over their swimsuits.
"Thirty-one missed calls," John announced, peering at his phone, "Grandma has already made the call to Captain Casey and Thunderbird Two has been given clearance to land by Jomo Kenyatta. They've been airborne for three and a half minutes already."
Gordon's eyes nearly burst with excitement, "They?"
"Grandma, Virgil, Alan, and Kayo," John replied, "Brains and MAX have volunteered to stay behind and man the island's security system. They wanted to come as well, but Thunderbird Two doesn't have enough seats."
"There's always the module compartment," Scott suggested, aware that he was playing devil's advocate, "I know it's only to be used in emergencies, but surely this is urgent enough? Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm only kidding."
John's scowl of disapproval downgraded itself to a frown of irritation, "I'm still waiting on an ETA from Virgil. In the meantime, lets sort out sleeping arrangements for the night."
"You can rock, paper, scissors for my bed if you like," Gordon offered, "I'm cool with sleeping on the floor-"
"Absolutely not!"
All three brothers jumped at the sound of Sam's voice slicing through the air.
"None of your sentimental nonsense, kid," Sam snapped, snatching Gordon's bag off him and shoving what looked to be a timesheet of sorts inside, "You beat Parry by only point six of a second, and Pkieris was only point two of a second behind him. Had the race been an extra ten meters, you would have been out of the running for sure. Call me the bad guy, but you're the third Olympian I've coached, and not once have I ever heard a finalist even entertain the thought of sleeping on the floor the night before a big race. I know what I'm doing. You, apparently, do not."
Scott opened his mouth to challenge Sam's accusation, but was denied the opportunity when he pushed past them and marched out the door, the phrase 'bloody brothers' travelling over his shoulder as he did so.
Gordon bit his lip nervously, unsure of what he'd done wrong, "I'd better go and talk to him. You guys know which number my room is, yeah? I'll meet you up there once I've cooled him down."
"No, let me," Scott offered, ignoring John's wide-eyed look of alarm, "I think he worries that you'll listen to us instead of him, and that's why he doesn't want us here. I'll have a chat with him and put any concerns he has about us interfering to rest."
Gordon wrung his hands, torn between being relieved and nervous, "Are you sure?"
Scott nodded, interpreting the frantic throat slitting gesture John was making as a cue to keep his dislike of Sam hidden, "Sure I'm sure. I'd probably feel the same way if I was in his position. You two go and sort out who's sleeping where. I'll catch up with you when I'm done."
"Are visitors even allowed to stay overnight?" John asked, "I remember reading something in the handbook about there being some rooms adjacent to the compound that are reserved for guests?"
Gordon flicked his wrist dismissively, "They never check. The officials sometimes carry out random blood tests during the night, but they never actually come into your room. Just hide under the duvet or in the shower if you think they might see you."
Though uncomfortable at the prospect of bending the rules, John nodded and threw a smug grin in Scott's direction, "Good thing I packed that roll up mattress."
"I never tried to stop you," Scott countered, "And I don't deny that your organisational skills come in damn handy most of the time. Right, we're burning daylight here, so let's split and get our respective jobs done. I'll go and speak to Sam, and you two can go and organise the sleeping arrangements. Anywhere in particular you fancy for dinner, Gords? My treat."
"Thanks, but I should probably stick to the meal plan that Sam's given me for tonight," Gordon confessed, "I don't want to tempt fate by celebrating early."
John nodded, "Agreed. Regardless of the outcome, let's save the celebrating for tomorrow. Is there any archery on today? I'd love to drop in on a match if we have time."
"Or tennis," Scott added, "I know we got knocked out in the first round, but Australia has a couple of promising young players that I've been following."
Gordon shrugged, "Go mad. I've already got plans, but there's a schedule of events on the website that you can both check out."
"Plans?" Scott's tone rose in tandem with his eyebrows, "What kind of plans?"
Gordon smiled and bent to secure his trusty boat shoes to his feet, "I've got a friend who's competing in the show jumping later. I promised I'd swing by and offer my support."
"Show jumping?" John repeated, his pulse quickening in excitement. He was no authority on horse flesh, but the four-legged beasts held great sentimental value to him. He couldn't speak directly for his brothers, but knew that as a family, they associated horses with their mother.
"You in?" Gordon asked, cramming a Glu-Chew into his mouth and peeping in excitement when he saw that he had a missed call from Jeff.
Thankfully, Scott's mind seemed to be wandering down the exact same path as John's.
"We're in."