Chapter 12.
"Seriously? How does he live like this?"
John sighed and closed his eyes as he pushed Gordon's bedroom door shut, "Give him a break. He's a busy kid, and he's here to compete. Save the nagging for when he's back home."
Scott looked on the verge of a disgusted panic attack as he swept his gaze around his brother's hideously disorganised bedroom. He knew from extensive personal experience that Gordon wasn't a dirty individual, but messy? Slobby? Hell yes.
The brothers' plans had undergone some rapid modifications after they'd left the Aquatics Centre. Gordon had been intercepted by a still simmering Sam and told that he had a post-race interview, effectively dashing Scott's own plan of trying to mend fences with Sam. With nothing else on the schedule until Gordon returned, John had suggested that Scott accompany him back to Thunderbird One to retrieve the cases that Virgil hadn't had time to help them with. Once they'd done that, they could move on to sorting out the sleeping arrangements for that evening.
And maybe do a bit of tidying in the process.
"You worry about him too much," John commented, wordlessly shaking Gordon's duvet out as he made the bed, "He's a lot more capable than most kids his age. Don't let a few discarded plates tarnish the magnitude of what he's just achieved."
"A few?" Scott squawked, half his torso underneath the bed, "Ha, I wish. There's a whole ecosystem down here! Plates, bowls, glasses, mugs, and every piece of cutlery known to man, woman, animal, and vegetable. I have a horrible feeling he may have been eating ice cream with a fork last night as well. Check the drawer for me, would you. Is he out of spoons?"
John did as instructed. Indeed, their brother appeared to be in spoon debt.
"None of these look to be too old at least," Scott muttered, reversing out with a plate and a bowl in hand, "At least he vacuums all of his food up, so there's no risk of anything going bad. Still, I'll make Sam aware when I speak to him. I want to know that someone's bothering to look after him when he's off-camera."
"Like I said, you worry too much," John repeated, "Not having a houseful of brothers to clean up after him is a good way of encouraging him to take more responsibility for his environment. Sure, the place isn't spotless, but I'm sure you saw worse while you were at college."
Scott grunted in agreement and piled everything he'd retrieved from underneath Gordon's bed by the door, intent on taking it to the communal dishwasher in the kitchen. He was in the process of extracting the final plate when he caught sight of several discarded towels on the bathroom floor.
"I swear to goodness," Scott muttered, flicking the light on and picking up the offending objects, "Eugh, they're still wet!"
John opted not to answer, his attention focused on mapping the available floor space and calculating how best he and Scott were going to fit. He'd only brought one roll away mattress with him, but it was a double that could twin into two singles, so they'd be off the laminate at least.
"You might want to sweep before you put anything down," Scott warned, bending to inspect one of his socks, "The floor is pretty dusty. Also, did you pack a fresh thing of hand soap? The one you gave him last week is nearly empty."
"I never gave him any hand soap," John replied, "I left him with shampoo and toothpaste. Anything else is either complimentary, or stuff he's gone and bought himself. Toiletries are all in the black case by the door, by the way."
Scott frowned and began to log the assorted containers scattered around Gordon's bathroom, making a mental note of any that were nearing empty, "Shower gel, face wash, hand soap, and mouthwash are all running low. His room may be a dump, but at least he's squeaky clean."
"Face wash?" John abandoned his task of snapping a fitted sheet onto one of the twinned mattresses and poked his head into the bathroom, "He's never used face wash before in his life. And why has he bought wildflower scented shower gel?"
Scott appeared nonplussed, "So what? It smells good."
"It's a girl's scent, Scott," John elaborated, "As is the lavender hand soap, and the rosewater face wash. You don't honestly think Gordon would pick this stuff up of his own free will, do you?"
A shrug, "Now you're the one who's worrying too much. Maybe they have a limited selection available at the Village's convenience store?"
John shook his head, "I checked what brands they carry here before I started my packing list. The soap and shower gel are by Two Face, which is the same brand Kayo uses. It's pretty pricey, and definitely isn't available to buy here."
"Your point?" Scott clipped, marvelling at how John had managed to drum up an entire conversation around a bottle of pulverised flowers.
John rolled his eyes and returned to making up their beds, "I think he's already got someone looking after him. So relax, okay?"
Scott opened his mouth to object, confused as to how the presence of female toiletries could possibly mean that their brother was being looked after, but snapped it shut when John dropped the subject in favour of more pressing matters.
"Pass me that pillowcase, would you?"
-x-
Jess groaned and buried her head in her hands, willing the knot in her stomach to go away.
She was two hours from entering the ring, and didn't think she'd ever felt so nervous in all her life. The numbers had been allocated, and it had been with a pang of regret that she'd learnt that she would be the last to go out of her team of three, meaning that all the pressure would be on her to make up for any blunders her teammates (or their horses) made. With every rider's score contributing towards their country's overall tally, all eyes would be on her when it came to deciding whether Team USA would have a place in the finals tomorrow.
Show jumping was different to swimming. While Gordon had had to fight his way through the prelims and semis and still had the finals on the horizon, Jess's team just had to get through one qualifying round before making it to the finals. They'd be up against twenty teams in the qualifier, which would be whittled down to ten by the time the last horse had jumped.
Tensing as another wave of nervous sickness engulfed her, Jess forced herself to unwrap a sweet and popped it in her mouth. She'd forgone breakfast and lunch, unable to face a full meal, and her blood sugar was taking a serious nosedive. It was far too late for her to snack on anything of substance, lest it be vomited straight back up, but she was managing to dodder along on a packet of Glu-Chew tablets that Gordon had gifted her in exchange for some toiletries he'd run out of, as well as some he wanted to try.
Speaking of Gordon, he'd promised to be in the stands that evening with two of his brothers. Jess couldn't remember their names, but didn't appreciate the additional pressure of wanting to make a good first impression on top of everything else.
Several feet away, her horse inhaled a piece of hay and sneezed. She couldn't even use brushing and tacking-up as a distraction, since both were the responsibilities of the team's grooms. She'd scouted out the course route, mapped the distance between each of the fifteen obstacles she'd have to jump, and done some preliminary research on who their toughest opponents were likely to be. All that remained was for her to mount up and do her part, but another hour remained before she could even start warming up.
Not knowing what to do really was the worst kind of suffering.
-x-
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle."
Scott rolled his eyes as Gordon cut through the crowd congregating outside the Equestrian Park like an icebreaker across a frozen lake. He'd managed to secure them three tickets for the show jumping qualifier, but at a cost of just over a hundred and fifty dollars. Apparently, athletes weren't exempt from paying the going rate when it came to watching a sport that wasn't their own.
The seats they'd been assigned were in the middle tier, and had a fairly good view of the arena. Most importantly, they were near a stairwell that led down to some food stands.
"I'm going to grab some grub," Gordon announced, claiming possession of his seat by tossing his jacket onto it, "You guys want anything?"
Scott shrugged, "I'll take a coke if you're buying. John?"
"Organic lemonade, if they have any," John replied, eyeballing a mother with a screaming toddler and silently praying for their seats to be across the other side of the stadium, "And a cheeseburger with extra pickles."
"Ever predictable," Gordon smiled, manoeuvring around the very same woman John was trying to will away with his mind, "I'll be back in ten. Five if there's no line."
Scott and John settled back into their seats as Gordon disappeared out of sight, the former taking great interest in the order of countries playing out across the screen suspended at the far end of the arena.
"Second," Scott announced when the USA's flag made an appearance, "Gordon said we were supposed to be on at seven-thirty, but that seems unlikely. I think that's the time the whole thing officially starts."
John made a sound that acknowledged that he'd heard Scott speak, but seemed too engrossed in his task of flipping through an article on his phone on equine biomechanics.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a pleasant sounding voice filtered out of the overhead speakers, "Welcome to the team show jumping qualifier of the Nairobi 2053 Olympic Games. We will be ready to commence the first round in approximately ten minutes. In the interest of equine welfare, we ask that children remain supervised at all times. Flags are also prohibited, and flashes must be disabled on all photography equipment. Visitors without valid tickets will be removed by our security forces, as will streakers."
Scott's eyes widened as he digested this new information, "Who in their right mind would run naked across an enclosed space with a seven hundred kilo animal charging around?"
John barely blinked.
"Life is made up of three things: protons, neurons, and morons."
-x-
It was another twenty minutes before Gordon reappeared, his arms laden with food.
"Honey, I'm home!" he panted, falling into his seat with about as much grace as a drunk seal, "Sorry I took so long. The line at the drinks kiosk stretched to China and back."
"No harm done," John replied, reaching for the bottle of lemonade nestled in the crook of Gordon's elbow, "You missed the first team's rounds, but they were nothing special. We're up next."
A muffled sound of excitement escaped around the hotdog Gordon had wedged in his mouth, however changed to a growl of irritation when Scott reached for the box of popcorn he had balanced on his knee, "Hey! Get your own."
Scott retracted his hand, confusion decorating his face as he gestured to the cheeseburger in John's lap, "I thought you picked up food for all of us?"
Gordon shook his head, breadcrumbs flying everywhere, "You just said you wanted a coke, and that's exactly what I got you. I need the calories ahead of tomorrow, and no way am I rejoining that line again."
John stifled a snicker of amusement into his burger bun, silently loving how literally Gordon had actioned Scott's request. In fairness, he hadn't explicitly asked for anything to eat, but in equal fairness, Gordon knew all too well how much their eldest brother loved his puffed corn.
"Hold out your hand," Gordon instructed, "And don't you ever say I'm not merciful in victory."
Scott did as ordered, only to balk when Gordon shook a grand total of four kernels into his hand, "There. You've got three hours to go, so make them last."
One graphic death threat later, and ownership of the popcorn bucket was promptly transferred.
-x-
A collective sigh of frustration left almost every American in the stadium as Team USA's second jumper clipped the final fence, causing the top rail to fall.
"He took that last turn too fast," John observed, "His time was good, but four penalties will affect the average."
"Eight," Scott corrected, motioning to the screen, "He turned a circle in-between fences five and six, which is another four point penalty."
Gordon inhaled sharply as Jess's name was called. The pressure was on for her to get a clear round, since her team's collective penalty score was now at sixteen. The temptation of coming in below the eighty four second time limit was all good and well, but there were eighteen teams left to compete after them, and a penalty tally of over twenty certainly wouldn't be setting the bar too high for the remaining riders.
"Representing the United States of America, Jessamine Lewis riding Urgon's Nebula," the commentator announced.
Respectful silence descended over the stadium as Jess urged her horse, who Gordon had nicknamed 'Nubby', out of the holding area and into the main arena. She circled a ferocious combination of fences twice before pointing at the first jump and springing over it.
"She's far too small for that thing," Scott muttered, his eyes sweeping over the combined frame of horse and rider as they exploded over jump number two, "It's like an ant riding an elephant."
Gordon shook his head knowingly, "He's sensitive around the girth area. That's why they selected Jess as his rider; her legs don't come down far enough to irritate him. I think he might be a tad too strong for her, though."
Almost on cue, Nub snatched at the reins and tried to take the fourth fence prematurely and on an angle. Gordon instinctively tensed, however relaxed when Jess worked the situation to her advantage and used the momentum to shave a few milliseconds off the timer.
"He's got a lovely scopey jump," John remarked, nodding in approval when Nub cleared jumps five and six with inches to spare, "I don't think they'll be having any fences down, though time might be an issue."
Gordon flapped his hands in a shushing motion, "Don't jinx them! And it's only one penalty per one second you go over the limit. Now zip it."
Scott and John shared a look of exaggerated compliance over Gordon's head, however remained silent up to the final three fences, which so happened to be the combination that had derailed both of Jess's teammates.
"Come on, come on," Gordon muttered, counting the strides in his head as he watched Jess line up, "Hold him in check. Hold him in check!"
The Americans in the audience held their breath as Nub eyeballed the jumps Jess was pointing him at. Like a loaded gun, he set his scope on the first, waited for Jess to pull the trigger by releasing the reins, then flew like a bullet.
Over at the entrance to the warmup ring, Greg bit his knuckles as the top pole on the final fence wobbled precariously before settling back into its cup.
"A very well ridden round from Jessamine Lewis on Urgon's Nebula," the announcer relayed, "Zero penalties in a time of eighty one point four seconds. Next into the ring and representing Argentina, Rodrigo Dybala riding Tiger Mail."
"That places us quite favourably," John exclaimed, struggling to project his voice above the cheers pouring out of Gordon, "Providing none of the remaining teams get triple clears and quick times, I'd say our chances of getting in the top ten are good."
Gordon, who was stood up and doing something akin to the macarena, paused to offer a self-assured smile, "Uruguay are having to use their alternate, and Norway failed two of their blood checks this morning. I'd say our chances are better than good."
"And you know this how?" John asked, sceptical over the reliability of his brother's claims.
Gordon tapped the side of his nose as Jess and Nub exited the arena.
"I've got an inside ear."
-x-
Two and a half hours later, John's prediction was hailed as truthful when the American flag was included on the list of countries progressing into the final.
"What a night," Scott enthused, standing up and stretching, "Excellent choice, Gordo. I'd never have come and watched an equestrian event of my own free will, but I'm glad you talked me into this one."
Gordon smiled tiredly, his eyes lidding as he thought longingly of his bed. It had been a long day.
"Very impressive that Jess is also in the running for a medal," John added, "Teenagers are finally having their athletic prowess recognised. Though I'm curious as to why there are no semi-finals in any of the equestrian events?"
Scott shrugged, "Probably something to do with animal welfare. Gords? Does your inside ear have the answer?"
But Gordon was lost in his thoughts, silently mulling over what the following day would bring. He played out a few likely scenarios in his head, and wasn't amused when an all too familiar churning sensation began to swirl around his stomach.
Despite his tiredness, he knew that he was in for another sleepless night.