Chapter 39.
There was something about hotels that Virgil always found comforting.
Whether it was the welcoming smiles of the staff, the pretty receptionists, or just the promise of not having to make his own bed, Thunderbird Two's pilot relished a weekend away more than all of his brothers combined.
It was just a pity International Rescue's budget didn't cover hotel stays during long missions. On the occasions where a search and rescue spanned several days, the brothers were often forced to sleep inside their Thunderbirds. While it allowed them to stay close to their equipment, there was something soul destroying about lying on a cold, hard floor in just a sleeping bag.
Multiday rescues that required Gordon's expertise were ten times worse for Virgil. Being stuck inside an oversized tin can with no pillow and a sleep talking aquanaut had made him question his choice of profession on more than one occasion.
Gordon's argument was that he too suffered. On the handful of overnight missions where Virgil had fallen asleep first, his eardrums had been subjected to some of the most epic chainsaw snoring the world had ever known.
Staying in a hotel on such occasions would make so much more sense.
Unfortunately, Scott was frugal.
Fortunately, their London agent was not.
"I've booked you all in for spa treatments," Penelope announced, leading the group across a magnificent lobby resplendent in gold and marble, "Why don't you all head on over while Kayo and myself check in?"
"Which spa?" John asked, his enochlophobia triggering, "My intel shows this place has two."
Penelope shrugged, "Whichever is closest. For the money they're charging, it hardly matters."
John's scowl of discomfort was a stark contrast to Virgil's smile of glee.
"C'mon, guys," Scott strode to the front of the group and motioned for his brothers to follow him, "I'm sure we'll find it if we ask nicely enough."
As the Tracy clan set off after their eldest brother, Penelope and Kayo shifted their focus to locating the check in desk, only to find it boasting a queue that took up half the lobby.
"Well, this is rather distressing," Penelope muttered, glancing uncertainly at Kayo, "I didn't anticipate them being this busy on a weekday."
Kayo's eyes narrowed in disbelief, "You mean you didn't pre-book?"
Penelope averted her eyes and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Really, Kayo. A lady doesn't concern herself with matters as frivolous as pre-booking. She walks into an establishment, regardless of its repute, and politely but firmly states her request before handsomely tipping the person who actions it. Perhaps you should come and live with me for a bit. I don't think spending all your time with the boys has done your deportment any favours."
Kayo rolled her eyes, but didn't respond.
"We'll pop back later," Penelope suggested, "The queue should have dispersed by then. In the meantime, shall we take advantage of the complimentary champagne they're serving in the lounge?"
Kayo smiled slyly, "Now that's good deportment if I ever heard it."
-x-
Virgil sighed as the calming scent of lavender engulfed his senses.
He was face-down on a massage table, savouring the feeling of a stranger's palms kneading out the innumerable knots that had formed in his back and shoulders from one too many rescues.
His masseur, whose name badge read Amira, had informed him that it wasn't only heavy lifting that had made his back tighter than a camel's ass in a sandstorm. The long periods he spent sitting down behind Thunderbird Two's controls were just as lethal, apparently.
To Virgil's left and right, Alan and Scott were having polar opposite experiences.
"Ouch!" Alan squealed, his whole frame jerking as his therapist drove her elbow into his shoulder blade, "Is it supposed to hurt this much?"
"Means it's working," Scott mumbled from two beds away. The eldest seemed to be taking a sick kind of pleasure in listening to his joints crack and pop under the expert hands of his own masseur.
"I seriously can't be this broken, can I?" Alan squawked, his eyes watering as his shoulder was bent at an angle that defied the laws of biology, "I'm still young and fresh, unlike you old geysers."
Under normal circumstances, Virgil would have cuffed his youngest brother around the ear in retaliation. As things were, he was content to remain in a boneless heap atop the sacred land that was Amira's massage table.
Three doors down, Gordon and John were having similarly different experiences.
Gordon was blissfully immersed in a mud bath, his attention occupied by his phone as he soaked and swiped his stresses away.
John meanwhile, looked as if he'd been slapped across the face with a wet fish.
"You want to what?" the redhead asked, his expression bug-eyed as he stared at the therapist in front of him. A quick scan of her badge showed her name was Leena.
"Wrap you in seaweed," Leena replied, her expression eager, "It's excellent for reducing wrinkles and improving skin elasticity."
"Are you suggesting I'm a saggy, wrinkly mess?" John countered, his shoulders subconsciously stiffening.
Leena's eyes widened in shock, "No sir, that's not what I meant at all. You are a very handsome man, but people of all ages can benefit from the contouring effects of seaweed."
John blinked in surprise, "Contouring? So now you're calling me fat?"
"N-No! Please sir, you're misconstruing my words," Leena gabbled, her tone panicked, "I can do a different treatment if you'd prefer?"
Over in the sludge tub, Gordon snorted in amusement, "Cut her some slack, bro. She's just doing her job. Why don't you come and join me? There's room for two in here."
John felt a gag threaten to break loose at the mere thought of bathing with his aquatic brother. There was no telling how many nasty germs the mud he was soaking in could be harbouring.
"No thanks, keep your bacteria broth to yourself," the redhead clipped, cringing when Gordon smirked and sank a little deeper into the tub.
"Suit yourself," Gordon sang, "But don't get upset when I emerge looking hotter than the hinges of hell."
John was about to respond with something that was an expert blend of sarcasm and wit, but was stopped by Leena shoving a container of grape pips under his nose.
"How about a vinotherapy treatment?" the young woman gushed, her enthusiasm a touch overbearing, "The Chardonnay Deep Tissue combines massage with oil from the Chardonnay grape and is excellent for improving body alignment."
John's jaw dropped so far that, had there been any trains in the Emirates Hotel, one could have easily mistaken the gaping hole for a tunnel.
"Seriously? I was tall and toned when I walked in here. Now you're insinuating that I'm a fat, wrinkly mess that's incapable of walking in a straight line?"
-x-
Penelope sighed as the queue in the lobby inched along at the speed of an asthmatic snail.
"At this rate, we'll be cashing in our pensions by the time our turn comes," Kayo grumbled, sipping on her complimentary glass of champagne with a weary expression.
Penelope pursed her lips and motioned to a passing concierge.
"Excuse me, but how long can we expect to wait before being able to check in?" Penelope queried, "I would quite like to freshen up."
The concierge glanced up at the queue, then back at the two women with an apologetic expression, "My sincerest apologies madam, but it looks like all of our receptionists are busy. Perhaps you might like another glass of champagne, or some complimentary canapes while you wait?"
Kayo huffed and shook her head. Penelope's expression softened as she reached for her purse.
"I understand how difficult it must be for you in situations like these," she began, her expression unreadable, "However I must repeat myself and say that I would very much like to freshen up at some point before midnight."
The concierge's eyes widened at the one thousand dirham note Penelope was discreetly flashing at him, "I'm truly sorry madam, but I'm afraid we have to serve people in order of arrival. Please, wait here while I go and fetch you another bottle of champagne."
Penelope frowned and tucked the note back into her purse as the concierge glided away, "Strange, that usually works."
Kayo snorted, "I thought you considered tipping in public to be vulgar? Or do you owe Virgil an apology?"
Penelope sniffed and zipped her handbag shut.
"Nobody's perfect, Kayo. Not even me."
-x-
Leena's face was devoid of all expression as she turned to face the most stubborn client she'd ever encountered.
"Could you kindly repeat all of those again for me, Mr Tracy?" she requested, a wince of confusion creasing her brow, "Are we discussing allergies or aversions?"
John snorted, "We'll be here all night if you want to dive down the allergy burrow. No, I was talking about phobias and how you inadvertently triggered one when you suggested that I try acupuncture."
Leena blinked, "You mean you have more than one?"
John's eyes nearly disappeared into his skull, "In no particular order; claustrophobia, trypanophobia, aquaphobia, podophobia, ataxophobia, baraophobia and quackophobia. Also ombrophobia, but only on weekends for some weird reason."
Over in the mud bath, Gordon peeked over his phone and quirked a brow, "What's quackophobia?"
John's face barely twitched, "Fear of ducks. I invented it myself."
Gordon threw back his head as a series of violent giggles overtook him, "I'm so getting you a duckling for Christmas."
Leena cleared her throat awkwardly, "I've never heard of any of those, Mr Tracy. Could you provide me with a bit more detail?"
John brought up his hand to count on his fingers, "In simple terms, I'm scared of crowded spaces, needles, water, other people's feet, untidy spaces, gravity, and rain. For some weird reason, I'm only afraid of rain at the weekend. Weekday rain is fine."
Leena felt her soul leave her body, "Maybe you would benefit from some exposure therapy? You mentioned that you sometimes suffer from shoulder pain as a result of working in space, so perhaps we could try bit of light acupuncture in your upper arm?"
John felt his stomach contract in horror at the thought of a stranger stabbing him with dozens of potentially unhygienic needles. He'd never been a supporter of acupuncture as a medical treatment, primarily because of its pseudoscience label. Still, he couldn't refute Leena's suggestion about confronting his fear head on. Unlike acupuncture, exposure therapy was a scientifically proven technique.
"Okay," John capitulated, his heartrate tripling, "But please don't show me the needles or rattle the box. Sound triggers me almost as much as sight."
Gordon snorted as he extended an arm and massaged some mud into it, "Deep breaths, bro. Otherwise we'll be sending you to the hospital in a matchbox."
John scowled, mentally adding Gordonophobia to his list.
-x-
"Oh man, I feel like cartwheeling!" Scott sang, emerging into the spa's lounge one hour later, "I can't remember the last time I felt so loose."
"I can," Gordon butted in, "Thanksgiving of fifty six. Grandma's jalapeno and cranberry salsa."
Scott's palm met his face with such force it was a wonder he didn't knock himself clean out, "My back, Gordon. I was talking about my back."
"You need to work on your phrasing," Gordon retorted, running his hands up and down the smooth skin of his arms in obvious delight, "I had no idea mud was such a great moisturiser. Kayo could save herself a load of money if she quit buying that expensive stuff and just rolled around in the garden for twenty minutes each morning."
Virgil, who was gliding along in a dreamlike trance, paused to stifle a snort of laughter, "Perhaps you should offer her a live demonstration."
John rolled his eyes as he gingerly examined the puncture marks on his arm. His acupuncture session hadn't been as bad as he'd originally feared, however had done nothing for the pain that still gnawed at his shoulder.
'Eh, you win some, you lose some.'
Poor Alan appeared to be the only one who'd left the spa more broken than when he'd entered. Tragically, his claim that his therapist had paralysed him had failed to rouse any sympathy from his pampered brothers. He was just debating whether the pilot's seat in Thunderbird Three would need to be reconfigured to accommodate his new deformity, when he caught sight of Kayo and Penelope sat in one of the lobby's adjoining lounges.
"What are they up to?" Scott mused, sapphire eyes narrowing in suspicion as he led his brothers over to the two women, "Evening, ladies. Can we head up to our home away from home yet?"
Penelope jolted slightly at Scott's voice, a drop of champagne trickling out of her flute and down her wrist, "Scott! We weren't expecting you back so soon! Tell me, how did your camel ride go?"
Five sets of eyebrows travelled north.
"We went for spa treatments. That you paid for," Virgil reminded, his tone hesitant, "Remember? The ones you booked yesterday?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" Penelope waved her hand as realisation hit her, "Of course! Tell me, were the spa workers displeased when you rode the camels into the pool?"
Scott felt his inner medic spring into action, "Uh, Penelope? Are you feeling okay? You're not making a whole lot of sense."
Kayo took that as her cue to intervene, "We might have slurped our way through two bottles of champagne while waiting for you. The queue was long and we got bored."
John's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of five familiar suitcases on an unattended luggage trolley, "You still haven't checked in, have you?"
Kayo snorted and languished against Penelope's shoulder, dashing any hope the boys had of her being the sober one, "I just said the queue was long and we got bored. Plus, one of the concierge team gave us an extra bottle of champagne. He also refused Penny's tip. Seriously? Who refuses a tip?"
John groaned, his desire to retreat to a quiet, isolated space (like Thunderbird Five) intensifying with every passing second.
A knot of guilt began to form in Penelope's stomach as she swept her gaze over the five disappointed faces in front of her, "Don't panic. I promised you all a night of luxury, and Creighton-Wards never break promises. Just give me one minute."
Gordon frowned, motioning with his head for his brothers to follow their London agent as she marched in a (relatively) straight line towards the reception desk.
"Good evening, Deema," Penelope beamed, pausing briefly to flick her eyes over the receptionist's name badge, "I'm Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward from International Rescue, and I'd like to check myself and my six friends in for the night please."
Impressively, Penelope's tone betrayed no hint of the alcohol she'd just consumed.
Deema inclined her head in greeting before tapping away at the computer she was sat behind. After a few seconds, she surfaced with an apologetic expression, "I'm terribly sorry, madam, but all we have available are two double suites."
"We'll take them!" Penelope replied, slapping her palm against the desk with a smile.
Deema glanced uncertainly at the Tracy quintet, "Each room can only sleep two people-"
"We'll take them!" Penelope repeated, her blue eyes slightly wider than usual.
It was with a rather disturbed expression that Deema wordlessly handed the last two keys over to the grinning aristocrat. So great was her disturbance that she made a mental note to not bother charging for the rooms. The entire spectacle seemed a bit too weird for her liking, plus management would be none the wiser if she filed the rate under the staff welfare section of the monthly budget.
The awkwardness Deema was experiencing evolved into full-blown embarrassment when the woman who'd introduced herself as Lady Penelope motioned for her group to follow her towards the elevators. There was some discreet head shaking from the five boys when their hostess planted herself in front of a vending machine, no doubt mistaking it for an elevator door in her state of tipsy confusion.
Deema could only sigh.
She sincerely hoped that Lady Penelope (if that even was her real name) had been joking when she'd said she was with International Rescue.