4
TinTin lifted a hand when Gordon was about waist deep, calling out, with some asperity,
"Are you wearing anything?" The piled clothing at her sandaled feet seemed to indicate otherwise.
Gordon nodded. Those sloppy-slow, draggy trunks of Alan's reminded him constantly that he was, in fact, dressed; and how anyone was expected to really swim in the things was quite past him.
"D' accord," TinTin responded. "But I brought you a towel, just in case."
Though, as a swimmer, he had a traffic-stopping figure (warped by the demands of his sport; muscular arms, broad chest and shoulders tapering to narrow waist and overdeveloped legs), Gordon's boisterous foolishness kept one from taking him quite seriously. Usually.
"Thanks, Angel. Not got any aspirin about, have you?"
"Mm-hmm," she responded seriously,"Part of the well-stocked, brand new, TinTin Kyrano emergency surgery kit; never leave home without it. Especially around here."
Gordon waded to shore, accepted towel and tablets with a murmured word of thanks and a quick kiss to her forehead. He wasn't feeling well, the sudden drag of landward gravity hitting him much harder than usual, the headache burgeoning into a three-alarm migraine.
He poured four of the powerful tablets into the palm of his left hand, tossed them back and swallowed them dry, wincing at the taste.
TinTin waited while he toweled off, then said, without preamble,
"Alan tried to kiss me today, by the pool."
Gordon paused, listened closely, but said nothing. The girl went on, looking troubled.
"He bumped my nose, and it started to bleed. It hurt, and..., well..., surprised me."
Hazel eyes locked on the ground, dark green monogrammed towel draped around his neck, Gordon said,
"Why 're you tellin' me this?"
She hugged herself suddenly, against a wind off the ocean that lifted her black hair and plastered the lavender blouse to her slim curves.
"I... laughed at him, Gordon, and he ran from me. I called tohim, but he wouldn't return. Maybe you could talk with him? Tell him for me that I'm sorry, and that I didn't really mean to laugh?"
"I could do that," he assented quietly, still looking down at the sand.
"Would you bump my nose, if you tried kissing me?" TinTin speculated. She knew, having seen first-hand, how he felt about her... and couldn't help wondering, just a little.
For a moment, Gordon considered the notion, imagining that she'd smell like suntan lotion, taste of bubble gum, and that, pressed against him, she'd fit tight and warm and close. But,
"Best not. Probably just finish the job, or somethin'." He replied, almost managing to sound normal. She mattered far too much for such casual exploration. If something started to happen, then stopped... Well, he knew women; 'we can still be friends' never worked out. He continued, gruffly, "You'd wind up with a nose like mine, or worse."
And he smiled a little, putting a hand to the poorly healed break on the bridge of his own nose. Then, resolutely, Gordon folded his arms across his chest, once again keeping matters to himself.
TinTin started to reply, but something happened that scared her literally speechless. A sense of cold power (left behind by the Hood, perhaps) rose up in her, all at once. She could take whatever... whoever... she wanted, and no one had the right, or ability, to protest. Not Papa, or Jeff Tracy... no one. For just an instant, the world looked very different to TinTin, the good-hearted young man before her nothing but a tool to be used till broken, then cast aside and replaced with another. Horrified, TinTin shoved the terrible notion aside and reasserted herself, driving darkness back into its slimy crevice. Smiling blankly, she gave him a swift, jerky nod.
"Well, then..., that's settled!" Her tone a little desperate, her words rapid and forced. She had to get away. Now. "I'll see you in a few minutes, Gordon. At dinner. See you at dinner!"
Then, doubling like a hare, TinTin fled across the strand and back up the beach stairs.
Gordon watched her go, feeling somehow extinguished. He had the dreadful impression that he'd hurt her somehow, despite all his good intentions..., and damn, that headache was fierce!
Alan emerged to join his older brother, once TinTin was well away. He'd watched from hiding, in an agony of worry lest the two of them should start laughing together. But Gordon sent her packing, then just stood there, rubbing at his temples like he had another headache. Alan scowled. If only he knew what they'd been talking about...
After a long, fretful pause, he counted to three, took a deep breath and started across the sand. If Gordon was against him now, too, he might as well find out.
"Hey, Bro. What's up?" Almost whispering, hands fisted tightly in his shorts pockets. "Why aren't you at the infirmary?"
He braced himself for the worst, but his brother's smile was the same as ever; friendly, a little wider on one side than the other.
"Not much. Damn head's about t' crack, and I feel like chumming over the seawall, but I'll do. Yourself?"
More confident now, Alan returned the smile.
"Ah," he shrugged, "the usual. You know, zits, girls, family togetherness... life in hell. But, uh... Mom changed her mind. Grandma convinced her. I can go on rescues, now, if they're not, like, suicide missions."
Gordon clapped a hand to his shoulder. They set off along the black, wave-laced sand, aimlessly following the beach.
"Finally! I knew she'd let y' go sooner or later. She loves you, but your mum's no coward, for all of that."
"Yeah... she's okay. Sometimes. Did, um..., did I see TinTin talking to you, just now?"
Gordon looked over, curious.
"You did. She said dinner was near ready, up at the house, and... she asked me to tell you she's sorry. But," he lied, to drive away his brother's hot-faced shame, "she'd not tell me why. Girls, for you."
Alan breathed again. Gordon didn't know. TinTin hadn't told him.
"Well, you're pretty good with them, aren't you? I mean, they sure keep emailing their pictures, and some of them are pretty hot."
Gordon thought, 'They do?' Must have forgotten that part, somehow. Funnily enough, he recalled mostly the awkward mistakes. No need to admit that to his brother, though.
"Magnetic personality, that's me,"Gordon responded lightly.
Alan snorted. "It's the medals, Dude," he teased, "Cause it sure isn't looks or charm...!"
Hedidn't quite evade Gordon's playful shove, wound up sprawled on his back in the hot sand. Ordinarilly, a spirited wrestling match would have ensued, but this time, Gordon simply helped his brother back up, and started walking again.
He didn't have the energy to do much but trudge mechanically along. Alan never noticed. Instead, the baby-faced blond began venting, getting things off his chest that he wouldn't have dreamed of telling anyone else. The brothers had reached the rocky north promontory by this time, had to scramble over boulders of gritty lava to continue their walk.
"Anyway, I... hey! Gordon, you okay? You don't look so good."
His ashen-pale brother had staggered a bit as they reached the narrow base of their favorite diving cliff.
"I'm fine..." Gordon replied, waving Alan off. "Jus'... just tired, is all."
"Uh-uh, Dude. That's not tired, that's sick. We need to get you to the lab, right..."
"No!" Gordon snapped, his vehemence startling the hell out of Alan. "No lab, no doctors. I'll be fine, dammit, just... give me a minute!"
Concerned, Alan helped him to sit on thedark sand, saying,
"Put your head down. Okay, listen: I'll be back in a second, man. Don't go anywhere until then, promise?"
Gordon managed to nod, then rested his throbbing forehead against up-drawn knees and concentrated on breathing through his mouth. Alan took off somewhere, though Gordon was too weak to pay much attention. Finally, even sitting became such a terrible, draining effort that he curled up on the ground, shivering cold despite the strong, westering sun. He'd have dragged himself into the water if he'd had the strength, but at least the rhythmic, booming crash, the steady hiss, was nearby.
'Stupid chocolate,' he thought blurrily, unfairly blaming the energy bars. Then, he lost consciousness entirely.
"Gordon? Sweetie?" He heard a soft, worried voice, smelled flowery perfume. Gennine, he decided, after a moment of weary confusion. That was nice. He liked Alan's mum.
"Gordon, you have to get up, now. Alan and I will help you walk to the lab. Jeff and Brains are on their way, but we ought to save time and meet them. It's getting dark out here."
Lab? Hospital room and needles? With effort akin to the 400 meter individual medley, Gordon lifted his head. Pushing a little further, he managed to open his eyes.
"No. Not going... leave me alone."
Gennine glanced up at her son, confused, but Alan just shook his head. His older brother and best friend was delirious, or something, because he was far too strong to be afraid of anything. Not Gordon. His mother didn't seem to get it, though, coming up with some stupid baby-comfort junk.
"Gordon," she said, stroking his auburn hair, "you'll be fine. I'll be right there, and so will Alan, and your father. I know you don't want to go, but you won't get better if you don't. I'll be right there, the whole time."
He didn't respond directly, but allowed Alan and his mother to haul him upright. Together, they headed back along the beach, Gordon maintaining a slow, dragging walk until Jeff came hurtling over the promontory. Brains, wheezing and coughing, was close behind, an anti-gravity stretcher in tow.
The bone-thin scientist had abandoned his lab coat; wearing a blue cardigan and ill-fitting contact lenses, instead. He couldn't be effective if Gordon wouldn't let him near. Possibly a change of appearance might help things along, Brains had thought. Virgil was still in detox with John and Scott, and quite unable to help. Keeping behind Jeff, the engineer approached, doing his best to look harmless.
Gordon was terribly cold. He didn't want to leave the beach, or lose consciousness around others, but the world slanted and spun, anyway, ringed by worried faces.
