Chapter 123.

Scott checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time.

It was no surprise that Gordon and Alan were late. He should have known better than to leave them alone together. Over the years, they'd been late for countless things. Flights, doctor's appointments, social gatherings, and family movie nights to name a few. Thankfully never a mission, but there was a first time for everything.

Murmurs of curiosity rippled around the church as two blond figures stumbled through the door and made a beeline for the pew Scott, Virgil, and John had claimed in the name of Tracy Island. Gordon was frantically trying to do up his tie with one hand, and Alan was ambling along like a caveman as he tried to tie his shoes.

Scott felt himself die a little as both blonds crashed onto their butts next to John, their faces red and flushed. He waited the usual ten seconds before gesticulating madly for some kind of explanation.

"Sorry," Gordon gasped, fanning himself with his hand, "I…um, decided to have a quick shower before coming down."

"They were playing some Fleetwood Mac classics on the radio," Alan needlessly embellished, "You know how he loses track of time when he starts singing."

Gordon pouted defiantly, "Excuse me, I don't sing in the shower. I perform."

John shook his head and shifted his attention to the beauty of the stained-glass windows standing guard around the nave like colourful sentinels. He had no desire to be associated with any of his brothers for the duration of the day, and the best way to go about that was to refrain from conversing with any of them.

"I still don't know what we're doing here," Virgil muttered, flicking an imaginary piece of dust off his knee, "I was running through all of the family on both Dad and Mom's side last night, and I'm positive we don't have a cousin called Bluebell."

"We're here because there's free cake and bridesmaids who are potentially single," Gordon hissed, "I don't know about you losers, but I'm going to risk my life at the buffet as soon as the vows are done."

Alan rolled his eyes and leant over Gordon to speak to Virgil, "I can't see anyone here who looks even slightly similar to someone we might know. What should we do when Bluebell walks down the aisle?"

"Smile and look happy," Virgil clipped.

"How can I be happy when I don't even know these people?" Scott hissed out the corner of his mouth, his hips shifting ever so slightly.

Virgil looked on the verge of cracking, "You pretend. Just like I did when you asked me if that maroon shirt suited you."

"Shhh!" Gordon made a shushing motion with his hands as silence descended over the nave. Several dozen heads pivoted to face the doorway, and excited whispers danced around the pews as the notes of 'Here Comes the Bride' began to float out of the church organ. Scott and Virgil stood up along with the rest of the guests, motioning with their heads for John, Gordon, and Alan to do the same.

"This is ridiculous," Scott muttered, stamping a fake smile on his face when Bluebell swept her gaze briefly over their pew, "I swear this is quite literally the most ludicrous thing we've ever done."

"Free cake," Gordon repeated, nudging John with his elbow when he clocked his brother's lack of a response, "You in there, bro?"

John didn't answer, his attention absorbed by an interesting flower arrangement next to the alter. He'd have to ask EOS to trace the details of the florist when he got back to his room. From what he could see, the style was an interesting mix of ikebana and contemporary American, which was a bold move in his book.

Sweat began to bead on Alan's brow as Bluebell drew level with him and his brothers. She was peering around the room like she was looking for something, or someone, and was doing a rather poor job of walking in a straight line. Her husband-to-be looked more than a little perplexed as he watched her weave her way down the aisle, the smile on his face almost as fake as Scott's.

An impromptu sneeze from Gordon snapped Bluebell's attention to their pew. Upon seeing all of them standing and beaming at her like a quintet of morons, she let loose a quiet sob and reached for Alan's hand.

"Thank you for being here," she whispered, "I couldn't have gone ahead with today without your support. It just…means the absolute world to me."

Five smiles turned into five expressions of horror as Bluebell was coaxed away by her father towards the alter. Even the ever-unflappable Virgil looked disturbed. Next to him, Scott shifted his weight from foot to foot, a trace of discomfort mingling with the panic on his face.

"Please, be seated," the vicar instructed, smiling fondly as Bluebell's father kissed her on the cheek and departed for his own pew, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Jacob Thomas Moore, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together, to love her, to honour her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"Oh, screw this," Scott hissed, extending a leg until his entire lower body was free of the pew, "I'm leaving. This is just downright embarrassing."

Virgil extended a hand and seized Scott by the back of his trousers, "You sit, and you stay. If you dare do anything to ruin Bluebell's special day, I'll hack off your toes and stir them into your porridge tomorrow at breakfast."

Alan wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to reprimand Virgil for his savagery, but was cut off by a loud sob from Gordon.

"Sorry," Gordon stammered, raising a hand to wipe at the tears dripping off his chin, "Weddings always get the better of me."

John quirked a brow in confusion, apparently willing to call a temporary truce on his promise of disassociation, "Why?"

"I want all of this," Gordon replied, gesturing around the room, "The flowers, the cake, the big white dress."

A look of silent incredulity passed between the other four.

"Not for me!" Gordon clarified, hiccupping slightly and dabbing at his nose, "I don't have the waistline for a dress. No, for whichever lucky soul decides they can stand me for the rest of their life."

Virgil was aware that he knew Gordon better than Gordon knew himself sometimes. It was always that way in large families. Siblings congregated together based on common factors; age and personality being the most common ones. While age was the glue that bound him and Scott together, it was personality that sustained his bond with Gordon. Put simply, they both saw the world in the same shades of green and yellow.

As a result of this common ground, Virgil felt quite within his rights to respond to Gordon's statement with an answer of his choosing.

"Well, it certainly won't be Penelope."

Scott's eyes nearly fell clean out of his head. While he wasn't a staunch supporter of Gordon's infatuation with their London agent, he was a long way off saying anything about it. Apparently, Virgil wasn't.

Before Gordon could dredge up a reply that was both snot-free and logically sound, the vicar called for the exchange of rings to begin.

"D'you think EOS could run an ancestry search to see where Bluebell sits in our family tree?" Alan murmured, leaning over the hiccupping Gordon to access John's ear.

"I'll tell you where she sits," Scott replied, visibly squirming in his seat, "Nowhere. She's not in our family tree. She's not even a weed growing around the base of the tree. She shares none of her DNA with us, and out attendance here is honestly laughable."

Another disassociation truce was called as John lent over to squint at his brother, "Forgive me for asking, Scott, but what the hell is your problem? Are you part of some anti-wedding cult or something? Is that where you disappear off to every second Thursday?"

Scott scowled and squirmed again, this time more violently. It was obvious that something was causing him great discomfort, but his brothers knew better than to ask. Regardless of whether it was physical or emotional, getting him to talk about it would be next to impossible.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

-x-

Two hours passed before Scott was able to subdue his pride enough to confide in Virgil.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Scott whispered, leaning in, "Wait thirty seconds, then follow me."

Virgil frowned around a mouthful of food, "Why can't I just follow you now?"

"Because I don't want people thinking we're weird."

A snort that doubled as a laugh travelled up Virgil's throat, however was mercifully stifled by the quiche in his cheeks. Wordlessly, he glanced towards Gordon, who was carving off a piece of wedding cake that was the size of his face.

'Weird? Us? Ha! Perish the thought.'

Without waiting for an answer, Scott made a beeline for the men's room, his backside slightly more tucked in than usual. He'd been fidgeting pretty much non-stop ever since they'd first entered the church and had hotly shut Virgil down when the suggestion had been aired that he might possibly have digestive issues.

"Did you know that Colorado only has one active volcano?"

Virgil quirked a brow in interest and selected a canape from the buffet, "No, I didn't. I thought the closest one was in Utah?"

John shook his head and pulled up a seismicity map of Colorado on his phone, "All the ones in Utah are extinct. Dostero, which is two hours southeast of here, is still very much active. The last eruption was over four thousand years ago, which makes it an infant compared to some of the ones in Arizona and Hawaii."

"Hardly sounds active to me," Alan grumbled, "What's stopping it from blowing it's top?"

John zoomed in on the map, "It might have rafted away from its heat source, however EOS's theory is that the magma has solidified in the volcano's bowels and effectively blocked the exit."

"I get the same problem with coleslaw," Gordon confessed.

A canape was partially regurgitated as Virgil fought back a bark of laughter. He raised a hand for Gordon to high-five, but swiftly retracted it upon remembering that he was supposed to be following Scott to the bathroom.

"Be back in five," Virgil promised, passing his plate of food to John, "Guard that with your life."

Two young bridesmaids batted their eyelashes and giggled girlishly as Virgil politely sidestepped around them. Over on the dancefloor, Grandma and Kip were trying their hand at something that looked slightly similar to line dancing.

Virgil felt himself sigh. He loved his grandmother to death, but there'd be no chance of him being able to talk to Kip professionally while she had her claws in him. Still, it was lovely to see her happy. She'd spent the last two decades looking after him and his brothers without a single complaint. It was high time she started prioritising herself again.

"Scott?" Virgil called, shouldering the door to the men's room open, "You in here, bro?"

No answer.

"Scott?" Virgil repeated, "Everything okay?"

Still no answer.

Virgil frowned and stooped to peer under the cubicle doors. The first four were empty, however the fifth one had a pair of shoes in that most certainly belonged to Scott. It was possible his brother no longer required his assistance, but he'd been acting iffy all day. Aside from the constant fidgeting, he'd been making faces every time he sat down. When they'd first taken their seats inside the church, he'd nearly gone cross-eyed. John had done one of his famous silent diagnoses and informed Virgil that their eldest brother was either suffering from haemorrhoids, or had arthritis in his ass.

Gordon had averted his eyes and hastily changed the subject.

Deciding to respect Scott's privacy, Virgil turned to leave, however was halted by a small voice bouncing off the tiles.

"Virgil, I've done this without even feeling it."

That halted Virgil right in his tracks. Almost immediately, the questions started flooding in. What had Scott done? What exactly was this? And why did this need to be felt?

"Uh, do you need help?" Virgil asked, praying hard that the answer would be a blessed no. As much as he loved Scott, there were certain things he was only prepared to do for his brothers in medical emergencies. Since he couldn't see any blood and Scott wasn't screaming blue murder, he deduced that whatever was going on fell well short of a medical emergency.

"I don't know what I need," Scott croaked, "Grandma would probably suggest less fibre in my diet. I know I'm getting older, but I didn't realise this came as part of the package."

Virgil felt a frown infect his face, "You're going to have to be more specific. What exactly is 'this' you're referring to?"

A beat of silence passed.

"Do you promise to not say anything to the others?"

"Scout's honour," Virgil swore, knowing full well that Scott valued the integrity of the Scouts above the integrity of his family. And quite rightly, given the number of times Alan and Gordon had abused the Tracy's Honour pledge.

"I'm not sure how to say this, but…"

-x-

Gordon felt himself break into a cold sweat as he cautiously eyeballed the door to the men's bathroom.

Scott and Virgil had been absent for a suspiciously long time. Despite the ingenuity of his latest prank, he knew that brothers one and two were on his case. Either that, or they were both having a bad reaction to the bagels they'd had for breakfast.

"I want roses at my funeral," Gordon instructed, his tone solemn, "Big, fat, sickly sweet yellow roses absolutely everywhere. I want the entire venue to look like the innards of a unicorn."

John grimaced and shook the ice in his glass of lemonade, "First of all, that's disgusting. Secondly, you're overacting, as usual. Scott won't kill you. He might maim you a bit, but trust me when I say he's got better things to do with his time than frame your death certificate."

"Sunflowers," Gordon ploughed on, shovelling a blini into his cheeks, "I want sunflowers on my coffin. And a carriage pulled by six white horses. And a pretty brunette to read my eulogy. Bridesmaid number two looks like a possibility, I'm going to go and ask her. John, you're my wingman."

"If we're using flying terminology, then I'm the one who'll be charged with examining the wreckage after you crash," John snorted, "Ask her yourself. Or better yet, apologise to Scott when he returns and get on with your life."

Almost on cue, Scott and Virgil emerged and swiftly made their way over to their discarded plates of food. Gordon instinctively began scanning the room for a fire exit, while John and Alan wordlessly turned their gazes downwards.

"Let me make one thing very clear," Scott began, his tone horrifyingly normal, "If you ever do something like that again, I will become very difficult to live with. You may not know this, but Mini-MAX is capable of killing upon telepathic command. Are we clear?"

Gordon nodded, his insides unknotting.

"Good. Now, I know we don't remember her, or at least none of us liked her enough to commit her face to memory, but did anyone think to get Bluebell a wedding gift? No? Okay, any ideas?"

Alan chose that moment to live up to his status as a billionaire teenager.

"Virgil and I have a spare complimentary shower cap back in our room. Want me to gift wrap it in some toilet paper and give it to her?"