Chapter 74.
At their grandmother's suggestion, Scott, John, Gordon, and Alan decided to join Virgil for a quick post-victory snooze before Kayo's shit-show of a party began.
John had been ready to knock himself out with a couple of strong sleeping pills, or a solid whack to the head, but had been forced to hold fire until Gordon finished showering. Alongside being a light sleeper, he also had an aversion to touching any form of bedding unless he was squeaky clean.
A quick round of rock, paper, scissors had resulted in Gordon being given first dibs on the bathroom. John had propped himself up on the floor with a couple of pillows and was scrolling through his phone when his brother stuck his head out the bathroom door in a cloud of steam, one hand blasting his hair with the hairdryer.
"Hey, did you pack any towels?" Gordon asked, "Because there's only one big one in here, and I've already used it."
John withered inwardly, "Firstly, gross. Secondly, yes. Unlike some people, I don't trust the hygiene of public establishments. Those towels probably don't even get hot washed between uses. Hold on a second…what is that?"
Gordon paused in tugging a clean shirt over his head to glance at the section of towel John was pointing at, "What? I don't see anything."
"That!" John hissed, stabbing his finger accusingly at a faded mark, "Is that a stain?"
Gordon felt his stomach flip in discomfort as he feigned ignorance and dragged a comb through his hair, "Of course not. That's probably just the hotel logo, or something."
John wasn't a particularly vindictive brother, but the urge to scream and yell 'I told you so!' as Gordon hooked the contaminated towel over his foot and kicked it away in disgust was oh so very strong.
By the time John emerged from his own shower, Gordon was happily snuggled underneath the duvet, "I've set my phone to go off three hours from now. Should give us enough time to get a good amount of beauty sleep."
Spare clothes were angrily tossed across the room as John fossicked through his bag in furious pursuit of his pyjama pants. Trust Gordon to pick his side of the bed.
"You wanna be the big or the little spoon?" Gordon quipped, arching a playfully suggestive eyebrow and barking a laugh when John smacked his head on the corner of the bedside table in shock.
"If you so much as breathe on me, let alone try and spoon me, I'll hack your fingers off and force-feed them to you at dinner," John seethed, pointing towards the opposing side of the mattress like an owner instructing a dog to poop on command, "Absolutely no touching or physical contact of any kind."
With a disappointed sigh that may well have been genuine, Gordon did as instructed and rolled over, scowling when John marked the boundary between them with a mountain of pillows. He'd have to sign them up for group therapy when they got home.
But until then, he was quite content to lie and watch as his brother frantically scanned the mattress for bedbugs and rubbed at the bruise forming atop his head.
-x-
Once satisfied that her grandsons were out cold, Sally grabbed her purse, room key, and Scott's credit card before stuffing them all into her trusty bum bag and heading out the door, careful to shut it softly behind her.
A shopping spree was well overdue.
She decided to chance a quick glance into John and Gordon's room to check that they too were asleep, and instantly high-fived herself for making such a smart decision.
Ninety-nine percent of John's body was obscured from view, courtesy of a certain blond brother who was draped over him like a blanket. The lower half of John's face was visible, presumably to allow him to breathe, while the upper half was almost completely covered by Gordon's arm.
Like a hostage afraid of waking his captor, John locked eyes with his grandmother and silently pleaded for her to deliver him from his unspeakable ordeal. Unfortunately for him, she'd never been a great one for pity.
"Oh, how cute!" Sally whispered, pulling her phone out and taking several candid snaps, "I haven't seen you two get along like this since you were kids."
"Kill me or free me," John wheezed, trying desperately to wriggle out from beneath Gordon's weight, "But don't mock my misery."
Sally snickered and planted a hand on her hip. John dwarfed Gordon in the height category, but his younger brother more than made up for that loss in the muscle department. His swimmer's physique afforded him a strength advantage that rendered John's attempts at escape futile.
"Please, take me with you," John begged, realising that a shopping trip was imminent by the presence of The Bum Bag, "I can hold your bags while you're trying stuff on. I can tell you which style of shoe best suits you. I can get EOS to download discount codes for all your favourite brands. Just please get me away from him!"
On cue, Gordon hooked a leg over John's torso and snuggled into the crook of his brother's neck. A fistful of pyjama shirt was seized, and it was with a wave of bone-shaking mirth that Sally realised that he was snoring directly into John's ear.
"Sorry," Sally whispered, smirking as she turned to leave, "But I daren't wake him. You know how much he enjoys being the big spoon."
A throaty noise that sounded suspiciously like a supressed sob followed the Tracy matriach as she slipped back into the safety of the hallway.
'Desperate times, John. Desperate times.'
A well-aimed kick to the shin was enough to curb the explosive snores tearing out of Gordon's nose, but it took an elbow to the face and a full-bodied bed dance from John to make his younger brother roll off him. A sigh of irritation mixed with a dollop of loathing travelled up his throat when Gordon wrapped himself into a cocoon and flipped over, taking the entire duvet with him.
John felt himself contemplate life's fairness as he thought of the peaceful snoozes all his brothers were enjoying, while he, John Tracy, space monitor and arguably the most important member of International Rescue, was pondering the feasibility of nailing his half of the duvet to the mattress.
-x-
Alan Bartlett Tracy had the enviable ability of being able to fall and remain asleep almost anywhere.
Cars, the floor, bathtubs, the kitchen table, and of course, the pilot's seat of Thunderbird Three to name a few. Naturally, a comfy hotel bed provided him with none of the difficulties he was used to navigating when trying to find a suitable spot to curl up.
Put simply, he was out like a light.
As was Virgil. He'd taken a fistful of paracetamol less than an hour ago and was as unconscious as a person could be without being clinically dead.
Scott appeared to be asleep, but appearances could be deceiving. He was a ridiculously light sleeper and had been known to snap awake if a fly so much as farted. Satiated by his earlier win and the celebratory glass of wine Penelope had treated him to however, he too was dead to the world.
It would take stupidity of an entirely different breed for someone to even contemplate kidnapping one of the Tracys. They were a ridiculously tightknit family, and five young, highly trained guys versus a kidnapper or assailant of any age or ability was never going to end well for the latter.
This particular kidnapper, however, was well-versed in the ways of the Tracy clan, and knew to keep shadows and footsteps to an absolute minimum as they skirted around the edge of the bed, their eyes fixed on the slumbering Alan.
The layout of the room was tricky. Virgil had been given his own bed, presumably because of the neck brace he was wearing. His bed was close to the door and acted as a barrier between freedom and the bed at the far end of the room that contained Scott and Alan. Careful to not upset the floorboards, the intruder weaved their way towards their target, pausing momentarily when they heard Virgil shift in his sleep. A few seconds of subsequent silence affirmed that their cover was still unblown.
Scott was, thankfully, facing away from Alan, so any sensitivity to the movement required to extract the youngest from the covers was somewhat reduced. As gently as if they were handling a porcelain doll, the stranger peeled back the duvet and looped an arm underneath Alan's knees and another underneath his neck, before lifting him clear of the mattress and skulking back towards the door.
Scott and Virgil slept on.
-x-
Alan was having a truly disgusting dream.
He appeared to be in a church of some description and was sat in a pew between Colonel Casey and Grandma. The sickly-sweet smell of roses hung in the air, and the excited murmurations of the people sitting behind him were irritating to say the least.
Two of his brothers were stood up at the alter, both wearing suits. Closer inspection revealed them to be Scott and Virgil. Gordon was, predictably, over by the buffet table. John, equally predictably, was nowhere to be seen.
The scene shifted, and next thing Alan knew, a figure in a white dress had joined Scott at the altar. Virgil was stood to one side, weeping ever so slightly, while Gordon took full advantage of the distraction and began to pile his plate with food.
Alan felt a dream scowl spread across his dream face. He'd always assumed that Virgil would be the first to get married, since he was just too darn sensitive for his own good. Unfortunately for him, it looked as if he'd been downgraded to the best man in this particular episode of Weird Tracy Dreams.
A bubble of jealously burst inside Alan's heart. Why hadn't Scott asked him to be his best man? Probably because of family politics, or something equally inane.
'Traitor.'
"Do you take this man, to be your lawfully wedded husband?" a familiar voice drawled. Alan's eyes widened when he saw that the officiant was none other than Captain Lee Taylor.
'Okay, I'd like to wake up now. Please.'
The nameless and faceless figure in white pivoted to face Scott. Alan could tell it was a woman, but he had no idea who. Grandma and Colonel Casey were sat either side of him, the former blowing her nose into a large handkerchief. Penelope was frantically trying to hush Sherbert two rows behind him. Havoc was, hopefully, a billion miles away, and Kayo was-
Oh….
"I do!" came the affirmative.
Alan felt a scream tear up his diaphragm as the anonymous figure turned around to reveal her face.
Kayo.
Alan was stumped. He'd have bet Thunderbird Three and a year's supply of fuel that Virgil would have surpassed Scott on the trail to wedded bliss. John was about as likely to get hitched as Penelope was likely to wear polyester, while Gordon seemed much more concerned with the size of the wedding cake than his new sister-in-law.
The look of delight on Kayo's face as Captain Taylor declared her union to Scott official did it for Alan. The scream that he'd been forcing down with all his might broke loose, shattering the stained-glass window directly above the alter.
Unfortunately, screams with glass-shattering potential rarely remained confined to the four walls of dreamland.
-x-
CRASH.
The bang that reverberated around the bedroom as Alan's backside came into positive contact with the floor was sufficient to rouse Virgil, who let loose a shriek of terror upon latching his gaze onto the dark figure looming over Alan's tiny form.
In one fluid motion, Scott made the transition from unconscious to conscious. Leaping out of bed like a man possessed, he launched himself at the legs of the intruder and effortlessly rugby tackled him/her/it to the ground.
Upon realising the gravity of the situation, the scream that had carried Alan out of dreamland took on a very different meaning. Fuelled by terror, he scrambled to his feet and launched himself behind the safety of Virgil's broad shoulders, his shrieks devolving into a series of terrified whimpers.
"Identify yourself!" Scott snarled, pinning the stranger with his knees and reeling a fist back.
"No Scott, please! Don't!" the would-be snatcher pleaded.
"John?" Scott squawked, realisation dawning on him like a sunrise in hell.
A frantic nod.
Scott scowled and squinted at his brother's face. His hair was a few shades darker than its usual ginger tone and his facial symmetry was off.
"Brains's photon scrambler," John gabbled, motioning to the tie looped around his neck, "I made some adjustments in case I ever needed to conceal my face rather than just obscure it from photographs."
When Scott's expression refused to soften, John yanked the tie off and threw it to one side. Almost immediately, his hair colour and facial layout reverted back to normal.
"Holy hell on a Thunderbird!" Virgil wheezed, his face ashen, "You could have just knocked, you know."
"No, he couldn't have," Scott replied, removing his knee from John's chest, "He disguised himself so that we wouldn't recognise him. And, for reasons unknow, he had designs on kidnapping Alan."
Virgil raised a hand to his face and tested his jaw, "He's all yours. He eats three times a day and requires watering at regular intervals. Be a dear and lock the door on the way out, would you?"
Scott scowled at Virgil's blasé attitude, "Okay, John. Out with it. Now."
The disapproving stares of both his older brothers was enough to make John wilt.
"Sleeping next to Gordon is a nightmare," he confessed, "All I want is just one hour of uninterrupted rest. I get tired too, you know."
A soft 'ping' sounded from underneath Virgil's pillow as his phone notified him of an incoming text.
Alan frowned and hoisted his pyjama shirt back into place, "Can't you just wake him up?"
John's expression twisted in despair, "You don't think I've already tried? Because I have. I've kicked, slapped, punched, and yelled at him. If anything, he's now in an even deeper sleep than the one he was in before."
The panicked look on Virgil's face as he stared at his phone went ignored.
"I'll switch with you," Scott offered, raking a hand through his hair, "You stay here and snatch a few minutes with Alan. I can assure you that he doesn't snore or cuddle. If Gordon's as bad as you say, I'll forgo a nap and use the next hour to catch up on transcribing some of our backlogged reports."
"Uh, Scott?" Virgil rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Has Kayo been in touch with you since we checked in?"
Scott frowned and fished his phone out of the pocket of his pyjama pants, "Nope, not a peep. Penelope's asked us to pick up some crates of wine she forgot to give to Parker though. Why? Has she been messaging you?"
"Just once," Virgil replied haltingly, "She's been to see Celery, but the nurse says it has to be Gordon who signs the discharge paperwork in the morning. She and Penelope are out dress shopping at the moment."
"And?" Scott probed, one hand on the door handle in preparation for his departure.
Virgil swallowed and idly wondered how much protection a duvet would afford him.
"She's asked me to be her date for this evening."