It was something that had started with Gordon, who in typical Gordon fashion dubbed it his 'ouch-wear'.
He'd ordered it online not long after being released from hospital after the hydrofoil accident- loose-fitting drawstring trousers in butter-yellow and a matching baggy top made of bamboo fiber. Critically it was very light and very, very soft.
Neuropathic pain from his injuries was thankfully rare and usually prevented by a combination of morning swims, stretching exercises, medication and the hydrotherapy bath in their physio room. But on the days the pain reared it's ugly head he had his ouch-wear instead of his usual clothes which would rub every raw nerve.
It was a silent signal of 'help, please' to the others when he shuffled out in his ouch-wear, 'I do my own stunts' screen-printed in black on the front by Virgil. Not having to verbally tell them he was in pain and everything was a bit too much right now was a relief in it's own way, it meant one less task he had to perform when most of his executive function was absorbed by simple but critical things such as 'breathing' and 'walking'.
Without a word of discussion Scott took over his roles, Alan and Kayo collected food and helped him get in and out of the pool for a soothing session of floating and Virgil set timers and doled out the higher level pain relief that made life bearable until his nerves decided to quiet down and do their job properly again.
The silence had been stunned and deafening when Kayo appeared in the lounge one morning in her own pale grey ouch-wear, her hair hanging loose because she couldn't raise her arms to tie it up- friction burns decorating her back, legs and arms from coming off her motorcycle at speed and tumbling on a loose gravel road. All the brothers present had swung into action and she'd gratefully submitted to their care. For someone so fiercely independent asking for help was never easy, but being able to accept what was freely offered was a balm to her battered self esteem.
Once the immediate needs were dealt with Virgil had asked if she'd like him to screen print the same slogan as Gordon's on her ouch-wear and she'd smiled. It was Gordon's way of laughing at his injuries. She rather liked that.
They'd all gotten sets of ouch-wear shortly afterwards.
Virgil showed up in it next, padding into the kitchen in just the dark green pants and his right arm in a sling. A broken collar bone made putting any kind of shirt on difficult but the drawstring waistband was easy to pull on one handed. That it was his right collarbone made it even worse- a Virgil who could not work on his Thunderbird, paint, draw or properly play the piano was a miserable Virgil until Alan, under the pretence of needing help on an assignment, drew him into a conversation on Van Gough and the development of impressionism for some well needed distraction.
John and Alan, quarantined in the infirmary by a vicious strain of the 'flu caught off a freighter crew, were thankful for the light fabric in their favourite shades of orange and red when even the pressure of a sheet was too much and comforting hugs could only be delivered through protective suits. Gordon, well versed with long hospital stays, hooked up a remote terminal for EOS so the AI could keep a watchful sensor on John and assure him that Five was still safe and waiting for him, 'smuggled' in comfort food (that Virgil had cleared as suitable) and rigged a projector and headphones so Alan could watch live streams.
Scott had stumbled downstairs for breakfast in his sky blue ouch-wear when a concussion made regular clothes too difficult to coordinate putting on. He was promptly picked up and carried back upstairs by a pre-coffee Virgil who growled "bed rest means bed" and "so help me I will sedate you" at him in response to Scott's drowsy insistence he was fine.
Scott, ever the Commander and ever on duty, sometimes needed to be told in no uncertain terms that yes, he did have permission to stay in bed and rest and that it was okay to let someone else shoulder the load for a time.
Virgil knew this and normally was a bit more tactful about it.
Pre-coffee Virgil had all the tact of a flying brick. Sometimes Scott needed to be told like that.
When he'd finally returned home after eight long years away, Jeff Tracy was very pleased to find a set of charcoal grey ouch-wear in his room for when the aches and pains of re-adapting to Earth's gravity got a little too much and an accompanying note to explain it all. Though he didn't yet know all the history behind it, he understood the gift of a little comfort for when things got rough.