Chapter 45.

There had never been a rule against spanking in the Tracy household.

Scott in particular had been on the receiving end of more than a couple of smacks during his boyhood. He'd been a rebellious and headstrong child, and had given both Jeff and Lucy their fair share of premature grey hairs.

How ironic, considering Alan and Gordon were now the ones giving him grey hairs.

But there was one particular incident that stuck out in his memory.

Flashback…

Scott failed to see why he needed yet another brother.

He adored Virgil, but one was quite enough. He'd made it clear to his mommy and daddy on multiple occasions that one sidekick was adequate, and that he had no need for any spares. Tragically, his pleas fell on deaf ears, and he soon found himself saddled with a spare for his spare.

John was different. While Scott and Virgil were both sporty and as social as a pair of meerkats, John preferred solitude and the company of inanimate objects. Being slightly frailer than both his older brothers also meant that he received slightly more attention from their mother, which was a privilege Scott found hard to tolerate.

It was a blazingly hot Monday in July, and the older boys were off school for summer vacation. John, who was a couple of years off starting kindergarten, was curled up on a beanbag by the pool, his nose buried in a picture book. His skinny frame was swamped by an oversized NASA t-shirt, and his eyes were wide as he leafed through pages of brightly coloured planets.

Naturally, he was a sitting duck for Scott's bored brain.

"Hey, John!" Scott called, poking his head out of the kitchen window, "Daddy says he'll show us around the TV-21's cockpit if we clean our rooms! You want in?"

Of course, John leapt at the opportunity.

If only he'd also leapt over Scott's outstretched foot.

The loud crash that echoed around the house as the redhead ended up in a heap on the tiled kitchen floor was sufficient to summon a heavily pregnant, and frighteningly hormonal, Lucy Tracy the First.

John wasn't a particularly vocal child. Even as a baby he'd rarely cried, so it came as a shock to both Scott and Lucy when he started screaming the house down, signifying to everyone within a fifty mile radius the severity of his older brother's prank.

After thoroughly checking her son for any obvious injuries, Lucy turned and caught sight of Scott in the doorway. Unbeknownst to him, she'd witnessed his involvement, and wasn't about to let him get off scot-free (or Scott-free, as Jeff liked to joke).

The Tracy matriarch sprang to her feet and gave chase, pursuing Scott up the stairs with remarkable stamina for a women who was seven months gone. After cornering him in the bathroom, she hooked a finger through her eldest son's trousers, seized one of his flailing arms, and delivered a sharp smack to his rump.

The pain was non-existent, but Scott's eyes still welled. After escaping from his mother's grip and stammering a hasty apology, he scampered up to his room and dove under the safety of the duvet, his heart hammering in his ears.

It hadn't hurt physically, but it had emotionally. Just as Lucy had intended.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Scott sucked in a breath and held it.

"Scotty?" Virgil's voice was heavy with worry, "Why are you crying?"

Scott sniffed and dragged a hand under his nose, "Go away."

Of course, Virgil didn't go away. He'd always been stubborn, a trait that he would carry into adulthood. He'd heard the pounding footsteps and Scott's yelp when Lucy's hand had made contact with its target.

"Has mommy ever hit you?" Scott asked, his voice wobbling slightly.

"No," Virgil answered, lifting the blanket and inviting himself into his brother's den, "But daddy once shouted really loudly when I got paint on his shoes."

That didn't come as a surprise to Scott. As the eldest, it made sense that he would be the first to receive a cuff across the butt.

"Hug?" Virgil offered, opening his arms.

Scott remained silent. He wanted to be left alone to lick his wounds in peace, but didn't have the heart to tell Virgil to go away again.

After studying his brother's miserable expression for a minute longer, Virgil took the hint and padded out the door without so much as a goodbye. Scott didn't care. Being alone meant he could finally succumb to the hiccups of embarrassment he'd been suppressing. The ensuing silence gave him the peace he needed to calm down, and after getting the few tears that had escaped under control, he shuffled out of his room, intent on finding Lucy and apologising again.

Upon descending the staircase, Scott spied both his brothers out on the patio. John was snuggled on his beanbag once again, with his picture book in hand and an ice pack on his head.

Virgil, meanwhile, was creeping behind their mother's potted plants, his eyes fixed on the redhead like a pyjama-clad ninja.

It took Scott all of six seconds to work out what Virgil was planning, plus an additional three to locate Lucy's whereabouts. The Tracy matriarch was pacing around the kitchen on the phone to a medical receptionist. Words like 'possible concussion' and 'nasty bruising' echoed off the cabinets as her worried gaze travelled over her third son.

Virgil held his breath as he watched his mother, his eyes tracking the path she was taking. A soon as her back was fully turned, he snuck out from behind a hydrangea, looked left and right to make sure the coast was clear, and promptly shoved John into the pool, beanbag and all.

"Virgil Grissom Tracy!"

Dropping the phone like a hot potato, Lucy blew past Virgil and scrambled over to the pool, her hands hooking themselves underneath John's arms as she hauled her coughing son back onto the safety of dry land. After re-assessing him to make sure none of his previous bumps and bruises had worsened, she spun around and seized Virgil by his wrist.

Scott watched fearfully as their mother drew back her hand and brought it down smartly on her second son's backside. Even from a distance he could tell that she'd barely made contact, but that didn't make the situation any less scary. Virgil hadn't even bothered trying to run away. Unlike Scott, speed wasn't one of his strengths.

Pregnancy hormones aside, Lucy looked nothing short of demonic, "What is wrong with you boys? Get to your rooms this instant! I don't want to see either of you again for the rest of the afternoon!"

Never one to disobey an adult, Virgil did as instructed and fell into line behind Scott as they both trudged up the stairs. His clumsy attempt at engineering the situation to end with him getting a spank to match Scott's had been a success, and Scott himself was secretly touched by his show of solidarity.

Still, those two cuffs were enough to ensure neither brother ever messed with John, or his beanbag, ever again.

-x-

Gordon may have been pre-spank age when Lucy had died, but that didn't mean that Scott couldn't make up for lost time and wallop some sense into his adult self.

"You want to what?" Scott squawked, choking on his mouthful of pasta, "Are you nuts?"

Gordon sniffed and dumped some parmesan onto his own pasta, "You heard me."

Scott scowled and shovelled another forkful into his mouth to stifle his scathing response. The urge to spank was rising. Fast.

Gordon ploughed on, oblivious to the peril his backside was in, "I want to invite Kayo, Lady Penelope, and Parker over tomorrow evening for dinner. I'll cook."

Scott blanched, "Okay, there are two things wrong with that sentence. One: Kayo lives here, so you can't technically 'invite' her. Two: you're the only person I know that can burn water. Why on earth would you want to cook a meal for nine people? That's one of the main causes of divorce, or so I hear."

Gordon scowled and dropped his fork. Both he and Scott had flouted Grandma's rule of eating at the kitchen table and retreated to the sanctuary of the den for a tête-à-tête.

"I want to have another stab at this dating malarkey," Gordon confessed, "Not for Kayo or Lady P's benefit, but for my own. This is an opportunity for me to prove that I can take things that don't involve work seriously. Coming in last did a real number on my confidence."

Scott felt himself soften at his brother's words. He wouldn't wish low self-esteem on his worst enemy, let alone his own flesh and blood.

"Okay, fine," Scott relented, waving his fork in surrender, "Do whatever you feel you need to do. Just promise me you won't undercook anything. Overcooking is tolerable, but undercooking could land all of us in the ER."

"Yeah, about that…" Gordon hoovered up the last of his pasta and held his plate out for Celery to lick clean, "I was wondering if you'd mind giving me a hand? Grandma offered, but we all know how terrible she is in the kitchen."

Scott hummed in agreement, cringing when Celery got sauce on her nose, "Sure thing, I'd be happy to give you a quick tutorial. What are you planning to make?"

"This," Gordon motioned to what little remained of Scott's alfredo pasta and bit his lip, "Can you just give me the recipe? I want to try cooking it on my own, so will have to decline your offer of a tutorial."

Scott shrugged, "Fine by me. It's just chicken, cream, and pasta. It's super quick."

"Thanks, bro," Gordon beamed and reached for his brother's plate, "Are you finished, or can Celery polish off what you don't want?"

Scott sighed and reached for his glass of water, "Go on then. Might stop her from gazing at me with those sorrowful eyes."

Gordon snickered and lowered Scott's plate onto the floor, "Here you go, girl. Now, stay here with your Uncle while Daddy goes and makes a quick call to Auntie Penny. Oh, by the way, make sure you open a window when she's finished. She gets pretty gassy after she's had cheese."

Scott rolled his eyes.

"Like owner, like dog."