He couldn't sit there all night, he knew that, but the urge was there to do just that. What would happen if he just allowed the water to take him? If he just threw himself in after the ring, not to pick it up, but just to languish down there in the cool water, letting it wash over him, washing away all his troubles? It wasn't like he would drown, he knew he wouldn't, his stupid body's self-preservation would kick in and he'd kick upwards to the surface and the life-giving air that it held. But for a few minutes, a few precious minutes, he'd feel numb, disconnected from the world. At peace.

He couldn't do it. It wouldn't last, so what was the point? He would just be putting off the inevitable. At some point he'd have to go back inside and tell his family that it wasn't just a case of Penelope not coming for Christmas but that she probably wouldn't be coming back at all for the foreseeable future.

Fuck, he'd screwed up so badly. He'd been warned about this, everyone knew it was a bad idea to get involved with someone you worked with. It made things incredibly awkward whenever they were around and ultimately, often led to one of you leaving. Obviously, he wasn't going anywhere, but he doubted very much that she would continue to work for International Rescue, not when she was already flat out at the Bureau. He'd fucked up everything, Penny was an invaluable asset and he'd potentially jeopardised the entire operation.

The urge to call her back was so strong, the need to say something, anything, that would fix the mess he'd made riding him hard. His hand crept towards his phone. It would be so easy, call her back and apologise, grovel at her feet, begging her forgiveness. He'd done it before. All it would take was one call.

His thumb hovered over the screen, his heart thumping in his chest. It would be so easy, but at the same time, so very hard. If he gave in now, if he went running back, he'd be saving problems for the family but causing himself more heartache. Could he really do that?

The truth was he wanted to, he wanted to wave a magic wand and turn back the clock. He wanted to go back to a time when everything had been good. There was no such thing as an instant fix, he knew that, but why did everything have to be so hard?

His thumb trembled over her profile picture. The sight of her beautiful face staring up at him blurred with unshed tears. He wanted to call her but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd already made one impulsive decision tonight, he didn't want to make another. His life was messed up enough already.

His mother's words came back to him as they often did when his mind was at war with his heart, 'sleep on it, baby, everything is better after some rest'. Every time he'd been upset as a kid, whenever someone had said something mean to him, when a prank had backfired or he'd had an argument with one of his brothers, she'd always tucked him into bed, promising him that things would look brighter in the morning. He doubted that anything about this situation could get brighter, but it was late, he was tired, emotionally and physically, clearly he wasn't capable of thinking straight. Sleep would probably be the best idea.

He looked down at the ring box, lying still as a stone in the deepest depth of the pool. It could stay there, he thought, dismissing it, it wasn't like he would be needing it. Decision made he slipped his phone into his now empty pocket and got awkwardly to his feet, his legs stiff from both the cold of the water and sitting for so long. It wasn't until he found his footing and turned around that he realised he wasn't alone.

"How long have you been there?"

"Not long enough to know why but too long to pretend I know nothing," John answered honestly. What else could he say? He knew that he'd just witnessed something monumental for his brother, something that had obviously hurt him deeply. He hadn't meant to overhear anything, but by the time he had realised what was going on it had been too late to leave and risk disturbing them.

The man in him knew that Gordon would prefer to be left alone, he knew he was intruding and probably making him feel worse, but the brother in him wanted nothing more than to hug him tight. At a loss for what to do for the best, he simply stayed where he was, letting Gordon make the first move. He could walk right past him, he could yell at him for spying on what was clearly a private moment, hell he could even punch him. Any of those options would be valid, and he'd let him do it. Whatever Gordon needed to do to feel better.

Of all the brothers that could have wandered out at the wrong moment, it had to be John. Perfect, just perfect. "Why is it always you that's there to witness my fuck ups?"

John blinked in surprise. So they were going to talk? Unexpected but not unwelcome. "That didn't look like a fuck up to me," he answered honestly, because it hadn't looked that way to him at all.

Gordon forced out a humourless laugh, a sound that seemed alien coming from him. "Really? What would you call it then? Because it sure felt like that to me."

"I'd call it something that looked like it needed to happen," John said placidly, moving his bottle of water from hand to hand, the only indication of how uncomfortable he felt.

Gordon snorted in disbelief, his eyes flaring with a burst of anger, although it faded quickly, replaced by a weariness that John understood only too well.

"It sounded like it's been a long time coming," John said, risking life and limb to move a little closer, stopping beside one of the sun loungers arranged around the poolside.

Gordon huffed out a frustrated breath, his fingers raking through his hair, leaving it sticking up at all angles. "It shouldn't have been, it shouldn't have even happened like that. I should have had the decency to wait until we could talk about it."

"It seemed to me like that was exactly what you were trying to do," John continued in that maddeningly calm tone of his that he suspected made Gordon want to throttle him. He sat down carefully on the lounger, placing his backside right in the centre where there was no danger of the weight distribution sending the seat flying into the air and him onto the ground. The last thing Gordon needed while he was dealing with so much was his brother to faceplant the ground in front of him. Once he was settled he did the only thing he could think of, holding out his bottle of water like an offering. Water to tame the savage sea monster.

Gordon stared at the bottle like he was trying to hand him an unexploded bomb. Did he honestly think that water would make anything better? He cleared his throat, wanting to yell, to scream, to tell his perfect brother with his perfect wife to fuck off out of his face. What did he know? Where did he get off telling him shit that he wouldn't have even heard if he hadn't been skulking around in the shadows like a weirdo?

John's arm didn't drop. The bottle was beaded with sweat, looking traitorously cool and inviting. His throat ached almost as much as his heart, like a thousand unshed tears were lodged there, a thousand words that should stay unspoken. Unable to resist any longer, he reached for the bottle.

The cool liquid passed his lips, rolling over his tongue, soothing the burning of his throat as he swallowed greedily. The actions were automatic, yet they gave him enough to focus on that he was able to stop thinking, even for a moment. He pulled the bottle away from his lips, almost panting as he gulped down air as he had the water. It was refreshing, doing as much for his mind as it did for his body, helping to lift the fog that had settled over his brain.

When John patted the lounger in front of his, he sat down, the urge to run away deserting him, replaced by the need to talk, to share. The little brother in him wanted to talk, to spill his guts and have his big brother make it all better for him, just as he had when he had been a kid. John had been his hero, the one that he could talk to for hours, the one that never seemed to get bored of him. John was the one that listened and, Gordon realised, he really needed that right now, even if he knew there was no chance of him fixing it.

"You're right," he said slowly, his voice almost too soft for John to catch. "It has been a long time coming, I just didn't want to see it."

He scuffed his toe against the ground, the sharp rasp of the non-slip poolside grating against his skin. The small twinge of discomfort helped a little, giving him something else to focus on.

"Parker tried to warn me." The same humourless laugh as before escaped him. He was the joker of the family, the one that could always laugh, no matter the situation. But he'd never felt less like laughing in his life. "He always knew I wasn't good enough for her."

"Like hell you weren't," John growled, refusing to stay silent. What the hell had happened to make Gordon think such a thing? Of all of them, Gordon was probably the most worthy of love. Gordon only ever thought of others, never himself. He would go out of his way to do anything for anyone. John wanted to call Penelope himself, to yell at her for hurting his brother so badly, the brother that always saw the good in everyone.

"It was good at first, you know?" Gordon continued as if John hadn't spoken. "And all her help made me feel like she really did care for me."

"Help?" John frowned, not following his brother's thought process at all. Did he mean her help with International Rescue? Because much as he didn't want to burst his brother's already deflated bubble any further, he was pretty sure that her love for Gordon had nothing to do with her intelligence work for them.

"But lately, well, it began to feel different," Gordon ploughed on, not even attempting to clarify his meaning.

"How so?" John asked. He was still no closer to understanding what Gordon meant. It didn't matter, all he cared about was that Gordon was talking to him.

Now that he had started, the words were coming easier and he knew that, if he stopped to explain anything they would dry up again. He needed this, he needed to talk, to work it all out in his head and he did that by verbalising.

Gordon sighed, waving away the question. "Apparently it's not important."

"It is to me."

Gordon huffed, shrugging his shoulders like a bird settling its feathers, visibly pulling himself together. John looked tired and, if the bottle of water and his presence outside was any indication, he'd been about to go for a walk, a clear sign that he had things of his own on his mind.

"You don't have time to listen to all this," Gordon apologised. What was he thinking, taking up his brother's time? His wife had been in a horrific accident, John hadn't left her bedside in two weeks and now that they were both home, John looked like he was dead on his feet.

"Yes, I do," John argued, his tone firm. "I've got all the time in the world for you."

"What about Sel? Doesn't she need you?" He should argue some more, he should send John on his way and continue to figure things out on his own. He should, he knew that, but he didn't want to.

"She's asleep, she's fine, you're not." John shifted, moving so he could stretch out fully on the lounger, making it clear that he had no intention of moving any time soon. "So, start talking so I can do my job of listening."

"It's gonna be a long story," Gordon protested, but there was no real force behind it. He needed this, he needed his big brother with his endless patience and ability to listen without comment. He needed someone that loved him to be there where Penelope hadn't.

"Then you might as well make yourself comfortable too."

-x-

He remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She was impeccably dressed, something that seemed to perfectly compliment her cut-glass accent, making her the complete package of elegance, beauty and class. He was smitten, unable to stop staring at her as she was introduced to each member of his family in turn. She greeted them politely, exchanged a few words and moved on like she was at a society function rather than in her garden. He'd watched and waited for his turn, imagining what she would say to him.

It seemed to take her forever to reach him, but also no time at all. He pulled himself up to his full height as she approached and then she was speaking to him in that dreamy voice of hers.

"Are you aware that you are standing in fox mess?"

He'd blinked dumbly in her direction, unsure how he was supposed to respond to words that were nothing like he had hoped for.

She'd looked down pointedly at his black boot, which was indeed firmly planted in the middle of a fresh pile of fox shit, and her delicate nose had wrinkled in distaste.

Virgil had nudged him with his elbow trying to remind him of his manners, but Gordon's endless chatter had been effectively silenced.

Penelope had stared at him for another minute, waiting for him to say something, anything, before giving up and dismissing him as unimportant. She walked away without another word but it hadn't mattered. It had been love at first sight, or at least it had been for him. There she was, this seventeen-year-old beauty queen talking to a testosterone-soaked thirteen-year-old Gordon who had never seen anyone more spectacular in his life before.

In the weeks that followed she had barely looked twice at him, but he didn't care, he would have done anything for her. Anything. And he did. Every single thing she asked him to do, fetch her drinks, walk her dog, sit down and be quiet, he had done it all and practically begged for more.

He'd thought it would be boring, spending the summer away from home, staying in an English country manor. He'd had so many plans, so much he wanted to do, and their dad had blown that all away with his announcement that they were leaving for England two days after school had finished for the summer.

To say that he had been pissed would be an understatement. Their mother had been gone almost four years and their father had only just started to pull himself together again and he'd been hoping that they would have had a vacation where they could catch up on the much-needed family time they had missed out on. Apparently that wasn't to be.

They hadn't known it at the time, but their father had been putting together the infrastructure for his pet project, the plan that had brought him back to life, giving him something to work towards, some hope to hold on to. The project that would ultimately become International Rescue. Jeff had already known the Creighton-Wards, being old friends and business acquaintances with her father.

And, so, while Parker was teaching Scott, Virgil and John to drive English style, with stickshifts and clutch control, Gordon had been stuck entertaining Alan. He'd kept hearing about the Lord's daughter, who was due home from her french exchange trip any day now, but he'd dismissed her, she was bound to be nothing exciting. Boy, had he been wrong.

Back then he'd never thought she would like him the way he liked her, something that her actions seemed to corroborate. She was forever putting him in his place with a politely barbed comment on either his maturity, his intellect or his appearance. Truth be told, she'd acted exactly how he'd expected her to when he'd first heard about her, like she was better than him, with her good breeding, private education and perfect manners. She'd given him the impression that she couldn't stand to be around him, that he wasn't good enough for her, and honestly, he couldn't blame her.

They had all done a lot of growing up in the years after the deaths of their mother and grandfather, but none more so than Gordon. If there was one thing that losing your mother did, it forced you to mature far quicker than you should. He'd gone from a happy, bouncing nine-year-old to a sullen teenager that wore nothing but black and grey and rarely smiled. So, as grown-up as Penelope acted, she didn't feel that much older to him, she just wasn't giving him the chance to prove it.

After that first summer, he'd pulled himself together, dragged himself out of his depressed funk and allowed himself to start enjoying life again. He'd worked hard, kept his eye on the prize, worked his way to Olympic gold and then into what had promised to be a good career with WASP. And, even though he had given up on his teenage belief that they would one day end up together, he was determined to become someone that a real lady like her could be proud to call a friend.

He'd dated around, having both semi-long term relationships and quick flings, during his high school years and his time in WASP but nothing had stuck with him. That was why, after his hydrofoil accident, he'd found himself joining International Rescue earlier than planned and still very much single. All it had taken was one comm call with her to bring all his feelings rushing back, his teenage crush returning full force.

He'd changed so much since they had first met, but then so had she. She seemed to have mellowed, losing some of her stiffness and uptight attitude. It was like she had proved all she'd needed to and had finally settled into who she was supposed to be. But one thing that hadn't changed was her attitude towards him.

She was forever blowing hot and cold with him, her moods ever-changing, like the tides of the sea. He never knew if it would be a day where she would give him her full attention, listen to him, show an interest in his work and his health, or if she would dismiss him as if he were nothing more than an annoying fly that needed to be swatted out of existence immediately. One day she would accept his flirtations, even going so far as to give a little in return, and the next she would act as if he repulsed her. Another day she would show concern for him, like the time he had rescued two scientists working on the new barrier reef, and other times she would practically shove him in the path of danger like she wanted it to run him over and take him out once and for all.

He never knew where he stood or what mood he would find her in at any given moment. But, bizarrely, that only made him like her more. A glutton for punishment as his grandma would say. Penelope played hard to get but, just like with his collection of vintage items, the harder something was to obtain, the more he wanted it. He didn't know the meaning of giving up, he was Tracy through to the bone.

He remembered one of the first missions they had gone on together. When Parker had called asking for backup Virgil had asked to go because he wanted to see the architecture and potential for ancient artworks that the temple might offer, Scott had insisted he go because he was the oldest and it could be dangerous, John had been out in orbit as usual and Alan hadn't cared much either way. Gordon had to resort to the tried and tested methods of 'I saw it first' and then the old faithful of rock, paper, scissors to secure his place on the mission.

He'd had high hopes for the day, hopes that Penelope had quickly dashed. The expected gratitude for his help had not materialised, in fact, she had treated him as more of a hindrance than a help. They had sniped at each other the entire time, trading barbed comments and insults back and forth. He'd tried to be pleasant, he'd tried to be understanding and to see things from her point of view, but the simple fact had been that she had acted like an ungrateful brat for no good reason.

Still, he'd persisted, as he always did, taking heart in the moments when her tone had sounded warmer, her comments more like teasing than a serious attack. It was moments like those that had given him hope and the confidence to be just that little bit bolder. It was that hope, along with a sense of impending doom, when certain death had been knocking at their door, that had pushed him to make his move. He could still recall the way she had leaned closer, her chest pressing against his, her breath warm and minty as it whispered across his lips as he inched his head closer, closing the gap between them. So close, and yet still so far, whatever might have happened derailed by their rescue from the collapsing cavern.

He'd tried to talk to her after, but she'd brushed him off like nothing had happened. She'd been so convincing that he almost believed that he'd imagined it, that their almost kiss had been nothing more than a desperate need to feel something, anything, other than fear as they stared death in the face.

This belief had been further solidified by her rather unladylike comments on his hygiene and her instance of taking his brother on a date rather than him. He'd been the obvious choice, yet she had publicly spurned him for the one brother that hated parties almost as much as he loved them. He would have been more jealous if she had picked Scott or Virgil, but he had to admit to being more than a little relieved when John had refused any other invitations on the spot.

He'd continued to try his hardest to win her over, even going so far as to steal Thunderbird One just to help Parker search for Sherbert. And, even though it had turned out that the little pug hadn't been missing at all, he had hoped that she would have been a little more grateful. He'd risked the wrath of his big brother, had potentially left the base unmanned if a call came for a deep-sea rescue, had been sprayed by a foul creature, all to try and help her, and she hadn't appreciated any of it. She hadn't considered the trouble he had gone to, she had made him feel like an idiot for searching for a dog that hadn't even been lost, like he was repulsively smelly and had dismissed him with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand.

He'd given up then, convinced that she would never see him the way he wanted her to. She would never feel even a tenth of what he felt for her, let alone reciprocate those feelings. If he was being truthful with himself, he still didn't know what had changed for her to do just that.

He'd woken up in the hospital surrounded by his family only to be told that she had been the one to drag him out of his crumpled craft to safety. That had given him hope, as well as the courage to take the plunge, stop dancing to her tune and ask her out on a date. He'd never expected her to agree, not in a million years, yet she had. And, at first, he had thought they were doing pretty great…