Chapter 84.

Gordon had never been a fan of alcohol. It was expensive, tasted weird, and was chock-full of hidden calories.

It also burned like Thunderbird One's thrusters if it got up your nose.

"Holy cow!" Kayo gasped, crunching across the newly formed minefield of broken glass, "Are you guys okay?"

The aftermath of the supermarket-shelf-domino-effect was nothing short of catastrophic. Twelve-foot shelves lay stacked on top of one another, their contents scattered far and wide. Countless broken bottles lay on the floor of what used to be the alcohol section, their combined contents merging together to form a large sickly smelling puddle.

A sloshing sound filtered out from underneath one of the shelves, closely followed by a pained groan.

"Sit tight, I'm coming," Kayo gabbled, ignoring her wet dress as she knelt to identify her victim, "Virgil? Are you hurt?"

Virgil shook his head and accepted the hand Kayo was offering, "No, just bruised. Scott? Grab John, would you? He's face down in Chardonnay and not moving."

Scott skirted around Kayo and lowered himself to the ground, squinting as he peered into the shadows cast by the felled shelves. An unmoving figure with a head of red hair was lying approximately ten feet in. Dropping onto his stomach, Scott began to army crawl towards John, cringing as the acrid smelling cocktail adorning the floor began to seep through his shirt.

Closer inspection revealed that John was neither injured nor unconscious. Instead, he appeared to be suffering from some kind of petrification that had temporarily disabled his ability to react to his surroundings. No doubt he'd never be setting foot in a supermarket again for the rest of his natural born life.

"Where's Alan?" Scott called, pulling his shirt over his nose in an effort to filter the pungent air. Being in such close proximity to a blend of undiluted gins, whiskies, wines, vodkas, brandies, rums, and tequilas couldn't be doing his lungs any good. Wrapping a hand around John's bicep, he began to crawl backwards out of the crevice he'd just entered, dragging his traumatised brother behind him like a mop.

"He's here, don't panic," Kayo assured, bending to help Scott exit the wreckage. John was drenched from head to toe in red wine and looked, in Kayo's eyes, like an oversized cranberry.

A distressed whine suddenly escaped from underneath an adjacent shelf. Scott and Virgil's eyes widened in horror.

"Gordon."

After locating their target on a heat signature scan, Scott and Virgil set about removing the shelf that was imprisoning him. Despite weighing a tonne, the combined strength of both brothers was sufficient to shift it clear of Gordon.

"Gordo?" Virgil yapped, clambering over some debris, "Gordo? Can you hear me?"

Gordon nodded faintly before spasming in pain, "Ow."

"Where does it hurt?" Virgil asked, scanning Gordon's body for any obvious injuries. His eyes lingered for a tense second on his brother's savaged arm.

"Here," Gordon replied, motioning weakly towards his lower torso, "Hurts to breathe."

Scott hastily scrambled over to Gordon's unoccupied side and dropped to his knees, "Did something land on you?"

Gordon's face paled a couple of shades, "I don't think so. Am I bleeding?"

A pair of surprisingly gentle hands began to palpate Gordon's stomach as Scott explored the proposed injury site. All was going well until he tried to roll Gordon onto his side, eliciting a pain filled whimper from him.

"Possible pelvic fracture," Scott muttered, "Are you feeling any numbness in any of your below-the-belt anatomy?"

Gordon shot Scott an evil glare before shaking his head.

"I'm concerned about internal bleeding," Scott confessed, glancing up at Virgil, "Pelvic trauma can cause the network of arteries that line the sacrum to rupture, which can lead to long-term reproductive dysfunction."

Gordon didn't think he'd ever felt more embarrassed in his life. The only saving grace was that Penelope wasn't around to hear Scott's diagnosis.

"I'm not detecting a temperature," Virgil mused, resting the back of his hand against Gordon's sweaty forehead, "And he seems able to focus. Where did you say it hurt again?"

Like a harassed celebrity conceding to an encore, Gordon pointed at his stomach again. A slightly larger pair of hands began to prod here and there. All was going well, until Virgil hit the same spot that Scott had nudged when he'd tried to roll him over. One painful shriek later, and he was folded in half like an armadillo.

"Could be appendicitis," Virgil muttered, sighing when Gordon refused to uncurl, "Either way, something's not right with him. We should get him to a hospital."

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" Alan offered.

Virgil shook his head and scooped Gordon off the floor, "I'm not that concerned. So long as his temperature remains stable he should be fine. Scott, call Parker and ask him to drive you and Gordon to the nearest medical centre with an emergency room. Take John with you as well. I'm not convinced he didn't hit his head during that shelf avalanche."

"F.A.B," Scott replied, pulling out his phone and speed dialling the Grey Ninja, "Alan, you help Virgil with the food. If the birthday girl is happy to chip in, you should be able to ferry everything back to Penny in two trips."

"No need," Virgil replied, "I planned ahead and brought the pod assembly module. I'll remotely construct a cargo pod and programme it to meet us outside in fifteen minutes."

Scott smiled and squeezed his brother's shoulder in silent gratitude.

"Mom? Grandma?" John groaned, blinking gin out of his eyes as he tried to focus on the hazy figure of Kayo leaning over him, "How did ya'll get down here?"

"Yep, definitely hit his head," Kayo diagnosed, "Who knew he was so good at accents though?"

Scott let loose a grunt of exertion as he relieved Virgil's arms of the injured Gordon, "I'm afraid he's always done that. Slipping into southern fried chicken mode is pretty normal for him."

John scowled around the light that Kayo was experimentally shining into his eyes.

"There's nuttin' wrong with me. Git ov' yersleves ya piddlee'o thangs."

-x-

Scott was fairly sure he'd spent half his life in hospital waiting rooms.

Alan having his tonsils out, Gordon having surgery after his run-in with the Chaos Crew, John having anaphylaxis after offending a wasp, and Virgil having an appendectomy were some of the more notable occasions. Scott himself had never been examined for anything more than routine blood tests. Clearly, he possessed a stronger will to survive than all of his brothers combined.

A few minutes of questioning and a quick CT scan revealed that John wasn't concussed, just slightly traumatised. Unfortunately, his frantic pining for Thunderbird Five did little to dissuade Scott from ordering him to keep an eye on Gordon while he returned to check on Virgil and Alan.

"Just stay with him for a few hours," Scott negotiated, ignoring the way John was glowering at him, "You know he doesn't have good memories of being in hospital. Keep him distracted until the doctor gives you a diagnosis, then call me and I'll come and pick you both up."

John sniffed in disapproval. The last time he'd relied on Scott for a lift had been when he'd forgotten his tickets to a university hockey match nine years ago. He didn't appreciate being told what to do, and he certainly didn't appreciate the offer of being picked up as if he were some sort of kid.

"Chin up, you've got this," Scott rhapsodised, patting him on the shoulder, "Tell the nurses we'll settle the bill on discharge."

A brief pause followed wherein Scott looked at John, clearly expecting some kind of verbal confirmation. He didn't get it. John was the only one in the family who could match Scott in the height department, which complicated the dominance process somewhat. Virgil often joked that they were like a pair of lions circling each other, neither willing to make a move, but neither willing to back down. Brown versus red. Blue versus turquoise. One versus Five. Oxford versus Harvard.

"Please?" Scott tried again, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice, "You can't leave here until the chief radiographer okays your CT scan anyway. It's not much to just go and sit in with your brother for a few minutes."

John felt annoyance crawl up his spine at the obvious guilt trip. Scott was trying to induce sympathy on Gordon's behalf, but he was smart enough to see through the ruse. Unfortunately, Scott was smart enough to know that he was smart enough to see through his ruse.

"Spend some time together," Scott suggested, "You two used to be really close, but you've drifted apart over the years. Use this as an opportunity to reconnect. Gordon really misses you when you're up in Five, you know. He talks about you all the time."

That came as a shock to John. Why on earth would Gordon miss him? He was on the line with Tracy Island twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Didn't he know that he was only a comm call away?

The little voice in his head disagreed.

'It's not the same.'

John knew when to admit that Scott was right. He and Gordon had been really close when they'd been younger, thanks primarily to the tight and very exclusive bond that Scott and Virgil had formed. Wanting something similar for himself, John had gravitated towards Gordon for company as soon as he'd reached talking age, and in no time they'd formed an equally formidable partnership that rivalled that of their older brothers. Where Gordon had been messy, John had been neat. Where Gordon had been loud, John had been quiet. Grandma in particular had found their antics adorable, and still referred to them as her 'Sea-Star' duo.

Then, a weird thing had happened. Alan had come along and Gordon had aligned his natural immaturity with that of their newest brother. As the two youngest, they'd teamed up in a mirror image of how the two eldest had teamed up. Consequently, John had found himself in the same No Man's Land that most middle children ended up occupying. Straddling two camps while belonging to neither. Destined to be neither old nor young.

Though he'd never admit it out loud, John was jealous of the bonds his earthbound brothers shared. Being up in space was great, but it also gave him time to scrutinise their every interaction. While the older and younger pairs had maintained their age-based partnerships, new relationships had begun to form off the back of their collective involvement with International Rescue. The shifts in dynamic had occurred subconsciously for them, but John had seen it all unfold in slow-motion. Gordon and Virgil bonding over the former's reliance on the latter for lifts, Scott and Alan with their gentle blend of parent and brother, Alan and Virgil over homework dilemmas, and Gordon and Scott with their shared love of swimming. What felt like natural relationship progression and evolution to them had been witnessed from afar by John over the course of several long, slightly lonely years.

"Okay, fine," John grumbled, "I'll stay."

"Atta boy," Scott beamed, clearly pleased with himself, "Call me if you need anything."

A flash of blue and a blast of cologne, and Scott was gone. John sighed and stared down at his wine drenched shirt in disgust. Once, just once, he'd like for his family to be normal.

Gordon's room was on the second floor, right next to one of the therapy rooms. John was able to find it quickly with a little guidance from EOS. Peering through the door, he wasn't at all surprised to see his brother locked in an animated discussion with the nurse tending to him.

"Hey, Johnny!" Gordon chirped, smiling warmly as his brother knocked and let himself in, "Glad to see you've still got your head screwed on. Tara, this is my brother, John. He's the one I was telling you about."

Tara let her eyes sweep up and down John's frame before inclining her head in polite approval, "Welcome to Argentina, Mr Tracy. Gordon has relayed some of your accomplishments, and I must say, it's a real honour to meet you."

John smiled in awkward gratitude, "The pleasure is all mine, Tara. How are things with my brother?"

A clipboard was consulted, "We ran a battery of tests when he was first admitted, but nothing flagged as abnormal. My colleague got him to fill out a lifestyle questionnaire and quickly worked out that he's lactose intolerant. Is this a new diagnosis, or one your family is already aware of?"

"Already aware," John replied, bracing himself for a grim diagnosis, "Carry on."

Tara nodded and adjusted her notes, "From what we can see, he appears to be suffering from a severe case of abdominal bloating."

Though he'd never admit it, John wasn't paying as much attention as was expected of him. As such, he only caught the word 'severe', and instantly assumed the worst, "Holy hell on a Thunderbird…how long has he got left?"

Two finely plucked eyebrows rose in confusion, "Wind, Mr Tracy. Your brother has wind that was brought about by an impromptu ice cream snack he enjoyed during your game of Trolley Wars."

"Wind!" John moaned, still refusing to listen properly. He dropped his head into his hands. The others would be devastated to learn of their beloved brother's fate. And then there was poor Grandma. She'd be inconsolable. Maybe they could give him a Viking funeral, or bury him at sea. Yes, that would be a fitting tribute for someone who'd devoted their life to the ocean.

Gordon, who'd been watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement, promptly shattered the mood by blowing a loud raspberry to back up Tara's diagnosis.

"Wait, wind?" John repeated, his brain finally catching up with his mouth, "Wind? As in…wind?"

Tara nodded, "Yes, Mr Tracy. Wind, flatulence, gas. Whatever you'd like to call it."

"So he's been hospitalised because of a fart?"