Chapter 69.

"Well, shit."

Virgil and John were standing in the makeshift waiting room of the veterinary tent, confused as a pair of goats on astrotruf. A text from Scott had shut down the rather civilised tour Penelope had previously been giving them of the Hurlingham stable block.

'Gordon at doctors, Celery at vets. Gordon been discharged. Both okay, but would appreciate some help.'

Of course, Scott's definition of help was rather vague. He was usually capable of stepping forward and catching whatever was thrown at him, and by extension, whatever was thrown at his brothers. For him to ask for help meant one of several things:

The situation was beyond dire and death or financial ruin were imminent,

Someone had been sick on his shoes,

Thunderbird One had suffered damage of epic proportions, like bird shit on the nose cone or a scratch on the VTOL hatch,

A bill exceeding five figures was involved.

Just as Virgil was stepping out of the way to allow a technician dressed in scrubs to pass, a familiar blond head poked its way into the waiting room.

"Virgil!" Alan gasped, pushing open a door that read 'Room Four' and scampering over to his big brother, "John? Lady Penelope? What are you all doing here?"

"Scott messaged us," Virgil replied, waving his phone for emphasis, "What happened? Is everyone okay?"

Alan shook his head miserably, "Gordon's got some nasty bite wounds on his arm. He's had a tetanus shot and been given a couple of stitches. Scott's booked him in for a blood test later to make sure there definitely isn't an infection. Poor Celery though."

"Oh, Alan," Penelope cooed, wrapping the youngest Tracy in a hug, "Is it really bad?"

Alan wiped his eyes and shook his head, "Not really. She lost a lot of blood and had to have a transfusion, but that went okay. It's her ear."

"What about her ear?" John asked, aware that Alan's lower lip was starting to tremble, "Has it affected her bullet wound?"

A small sob escaped as Alan's eyes suffered a dam breach, "They've had to amputate her entire ear. It was too damaged to save."

Virgil cocked his head in confusion. All in all, it sounded as if the prognosis for both Gordon and Celery was surprisingly positive, considering what could have happened. A follow-up text from Scott had told him that their family lawyers were pursuing the owner of the three offending dogs for healthcare and veterinary compensation.

"Sounds like a bit of delayed shock," Penelope diagnosed, resting her chin on the top of Alan's head, "It must have been pretty scary to see your brother and poor Celery in such a state. I imagine things probably looked much worse than they actually were."

Alan sniffed and nodded. He hated it when any of his brothers got injured. It shook his very core. He still hadn't gotten over what had happened to Gordon after his run-in with the Chaos Crew. And poor, sweet Celery. He adored dogs and considered the little mutt to be just as much his as she was Gordon's.

"C'mon," John coaxed, holding a hand out towards Alan, "Let's go and grab some hotdogs. I think a break from blood and bandages would do you a world of good right now. We'll come back in an hour and get an update from Scott. I'm sure he or Gordon will message us if anything changes between now and then."

A hiccup and a nod were the only responses Alan could muster as he shuffled out behind John. He always reverted back to a child when he was emotionally distressed and as a result, responded willingly to affection, especially if it came from one of his brothers. Being promised food was an added bonus.

Virgil sighed and pushed open the door to the room Alan had just exited. Inside, he found Scott and Gordon standing next to a small padded crate with a sleeping Celery inside. The little mutt had a neck cone on and an IV wire sticking out of her left forelimb. Her head was heavily bandaged and her entire front half had been shaved.

"Things look positive," Scott began, dragging a hand over his face, "The vet says she can be discharged tomorrow morning, so long as her temperature doesn't spike overnight."

Penelope bent to gently stroke Celery's head through the bars of the cage, "Poor little girl. Still, I'm relieved to hear that it's nothing serious. How are you feeling, Gordon?"

Two toned arms were heaved into a shrug as Gordon motioned to the bandage encasing his forearm, "Could be worse. The doctor has said no strenuous activity for the next forty-eight hours, so I'll have to come off the roster. I'm afraid I'm also out of the running for your polo team. Sorry."

Penelope's eyes widened as she frantically checked her watch, "Oh, I completely forgot! Kayo's due to arrive in the next hour and I've still not greeted any of the sponsors. My apologies, but I'm going to have to dash. Providing you're all still happy to pitch in, meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes sharp. And Gordon, don't worry. A polo team only requires four players, so one of you was going to have to sit out anyway."

As Penelope scurried off in a cloud of perfume, Virgil swivelled his attention back to Scott, "You seem to have the situation well under control. Why did you call for help?"

The complete lack of expression on Scott's face made Virgil immediately wish he hadn't asked.

"Alan puked on my shoes when he saw the size of the needle they used to give Celery her transfusion."

-x-

"And then, she pulled out this giant needle!" Alan gabbled, breadcrumbs spraying out of his mouth as he tried to talk and chew at the same time, "I swear, it was easily the biggest one I've ever seen."

John nodded and took a bite of his own hotdog, cringing when Alan smeared ketchup over half his face, "I'm sure it was big, Alan."

"Not big," Alan insisted, his eyes the size of saucers, "Massive! Seriously, it was probably half the length of your arm."

John quirked a brow, "They're not normally that big, Alan. I think you're exaggerating just a tad."

"Nuh-uh!" Alan countered, pulling out his phone and shoving it so close to John's face it nearly went up his nose, "See? I took this picture."

"Did you take that before or after you puked all over Scott's shoes?"

"About five seconds before," Alan replied unabashedly, "C'mon, you've gotta admit that's pretty big."

Nerves began to pool in John's stomach as he became aware of the stares his conversation with Alan was starting to attract. Nearby, a trio of Gucci-clad women giggled quietly.

"Uh, Alan? Maybe we should change the subject. How much homework have you got?" John queried, his cheeks heating up.

Alan however, had no desire to climb out of the hole he was in the middle of digging.

"Do you think it's as big as Virgil's?" he queried, innocently referring to the fluid administration needle their brother kept in the first-aid kit aboard Thunderbird Two.

"Alan, I said let's change the subject," John repeated, glancing self-consciously over his shoulder. His youngest brother's innocence was both a blessing and a curse.

"I mean really," Alan ploughed on, "Why do they need one that big? Do the vets here vaccinate elephants or something?"

The tell-tale ping of an incoming text from Scott provided John with a much-needed distraction from Alan's unintentional innuendo.

'Celery okay, going to be discharged in the morning. Meet us over by the stables ASAP, match starts in fifteen minutes. Birthday girl inbound.'

Almost on cue, the distinct hum of Thunderbird Shadow's engine echoed across the polo ground. Alan's eyes brightened in excitement, "I bet Kayo will agree it's the biggest one she's ever seen."

John sighed, idly wondering if it was medically possible to die from embarrassment.