A/N: For this story, Fuse begins to go by a new name, I use it sparingly to avoid confusion, but he and Gordon have both started working on getting used to the re-branding. For those that don't do the Christmas pickle tradition, it's literally a pickle ornament that is hidden somewhere in the tree, and whoever finds it first gets a gift. I hope you enjoy and that you had a wonderful holiday season

Fuse, Trust, and Pickle Dust

"I wanna giant octopus for Chriiistmas. Only a giant octopus will dooo," Gordon's loud voice rang out overtop the classic, accenting the change to the words to make sure no one could mistake that it was the creature from the deep ocean he wanted for Christmas, and definitely not a hippo like the song suggested in its original form.

Virgil wouldn't dare. Gordon was all fish. And he'd clearly been up for hours, bouncing light on his feet as he dug through the bin of Christmas ornaments and placed them one-by-one on the branches of their Christmas tree (made from recycled plastics because a pine just did not do well in the tropics). The song continued, and so did Gordon, "No crocodiles, or rhinoceroseses. I only like cephalopod-amuses. And cephalopod-amuses like mee toooo."

It was too early for Virgil's brain to follow Gordon's made-up mesh of gibberish and scientific Latin, especially since he kept changing the words. The next stanza, he'd changed it again to: squidopotamus.

"Ugh, you're in a good mood this morning," Virgil mumbled as he stepped fully into the lounge, his morning coffee mug tucked close to his chest, grasping it with two hands as he let the warmth seep into his tired muscles. The steam tickled his nose, and he deeply breathed in the heat so that the nutty flavor and its hints of gingerbread permeated his sinuses.

"Morning, Virg!" Gordon greeted.

Alan, Virgil realized, was on the other side of the tree waving cheerfully at him.

Early birds. He grunted in response, slipping past his two youngest brothers (and their half-decorated tree), and slid himself next to Scott on one of the couches. His older brother was deep in conversation with John but paused as Virgil joined them.

"They've been at it all morning," he laughed.

"Go back to sleep, Virg," John agreed from Five. "Save yourself while you still can."

He hummed. As early as it was, he couldn't blame Gordon for his excitement.

When they were younger Christmas was time reserved, a weekend saved for putting up the tree, watching the weather for the warmest day to put up the outside lights, competing to be the first to find the elf their parents had hidden around the house. Christmas in villa Tracy was time stolen, ornaments left out for a month in advance for the occasional opportunity to decorate, and garland strewn about the lounge until someone, usually Virgil or Grandma, came through to fix what had been carelessly twirled around banisters. The Christmas tree was no better. They never really got used to Christmas in summer, nor Christmas vacation with the demands of International Rescue. People didn't stop getting into scrapes just because of a day. So, they set the scene when they could and to the best of their abilities.

This year was different, and Virgil felt waking up to the cheer was a welcome change. Dad was home.

Dad. Was home.

It deserved being said twice to really believe it. But sure enough, the elder man sat casually typing at his work desk, business suit donned and Santa hat slightly askew atop his greying head as if the two weren't completing clashing. Virgil smiled into his cup; that was their Dad: Scott's work ethic, John's wit, with just a sliver of Gordon's sense of humor. But a sliver was enough.

The laughter was worth everything.

They all felt the Christmas season a bit differently this year, and the lounge showed it. Even half decorated, the tree was further along than it had ever been in the days before the holiday. Usually they never finished. The lounge was lit with sounds Virgil was grateful for – not just the music, but Scott and John's best laid plans, Dad's click clacking on the computer, Alan laughing at Gordon's next Christmas parody.

He sipped at his drink, let the caffeine do its work to lift the fog from his brain.

"Where are the others?" Virgil asked. There was a distinct lack of their grandmother's burned gingersnaps in the air. She'd been trying to perfect the batch for three days straight, and she was close to getting them near edible. Virgil had started to get used to the scent.

"He speaks!"

"Don't test me, Al."

Alan squeaked in response.

"Brains is down in his lab," Scott supplied helpfully. "Kayo and Grandma are retrieving our guest." The tone in his voice, audible now that the coffee had given Virgil the brain function for brother analysis, told him Scott was not happy about the turn of events.

Actually, there was more he hadn't noticed upon his entrance into the lounge. Dad's typing was stronger than usual. Scott was clenching his jaw, John's lips were stretched thin, Alan was hanging on to Gordon's antics more than usual, moving quickly from ornament to ornament without pause, like he needed to keep moving in his current task and not stop lest…? Lest what?

Oh. They were all worried.

All but Gordon, his blond head bobbing along to the song in his head. He reached deep into the tree, his arm and part of his chest absorbed by the branches. The plastic scratched against his cheek as he strained inside its artificial needles.

"Careful, there, Gords," Virgil warned. "The tree's starting to swallow you again."

Gordon huffed, exasperated. "Stop looking! Now I have to start over."

He pulled himself out of the tree and the pickle he'd been trying to hide with him. Alan helped him wiggle his way out, and together they tucked their heads in close and whispered about their next plan for hiding the ornament so that it would be camouflaged among the green.

"They will be home soon," Scott was saying. "And I want him watched by two of us at all times."

"What?!" Gordon moved quickly into Scott's face, the pickle still clasped tightly in his hand, and he didn't even realize that the glitter was spreading all over his fingers and palm. "Scott, no! That's not right."

Scott shook his head. "I won't risk it."

Virgil shifted uncomfortably on the couch, feeling much too close to his two arguing brothers. His brain calculated through what day it was, and suddenly he knew exactly why Gordon was in a good mood this morning, and he understood now how Scott's order would have gotten under the aquanaut's skin.

"What gives you the right?" Gordon fumed. "He was asked to come here. He's a guest. My guest."

"A guest who's tried to kill all of us."

"He saved you!"

"And he crushed you," Scott roared, standing up to his full height over Gordon. He ran his hand through his hair and shifted on his feet. "Did you forget that? It's his fault you were hurt."

"It's the Hood's fault." Gordon crossed his arms, glaring daggers. "Not Lance's."

"Boys!" Their father's command was sharp, final. "Scott, I did tell you boys to invite your friends."

"Penny, that means," Scott argued. "Not Fuse." The named was acid in his mouth.

Jeff frowned. "Gordon, if your brother is concerned there will be trouble—"

"There won't be," Gordon interrupted, the words seething.

And the pickle shattered in his grasp.

Silence overtook the villa with the echo of glass shards hitting hardwood. Virgil had watched the rest of the exchange with curiosity, then understanding. The tense rage of his older brother poured off him in waves - rather worry disguised as rage. And Gordon, their Fish, who so easily could command a room to laughter, held an inferno in those fists.

One of which needed tending.

"Dammit," the blond growled.

"Here Gordon," Virgil patted the seat beside him that Scott had left open. "Let me see. Alan, can you run and get a medical kit?" He gave a small nod to his youngest sibling, who nervously ran off to acquire the tools Virgil needed to care for the injured hand.

Gordon protested of course. "It's nothing."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Fine." He sat. "But I am not done with you, Scott," he said, offering his hand to Virgil but ignoring his ministrations while his attention was still on the eldest. "Lance is my friend. Don't you dare treat him like our enemy anymore."

The remains of the ornament were still scattered at Scott's feet, glimmering red in some places. He stepped towards the couch, the tone in his voice softening with the concern over a brother injured. "Gords—"

"Don't start," Gordon hissed, and Scott jumped back at the ire in the demand.

Marching between their two hot-headed brothers was dangerous. Virgil gazed past Scott towards John's hologram, worried eyes meeting his. He looked to his father, the older man's expression wide with confusion. It had been eight years since Jeff had to settle any arguments between his children. And his kids weren't kids anymore; this wasn't a spat over a shared toy.

Their father's bewilderment was apparent.

Oh, boy. Scott wasn't going to love this.

Virgil waited for Alan to return with the med kit, and even Alan looked expectantly at him amidst the tense silence as he handed the kit over. The younger boy had also picked up a broom and dustpan along the way but kept them in his hold.

"You know," Virgil started calmly once he'd cleaned Gordon's wound and could start wrapping the hand, "Fire Chief McCready speaks very highly of Fuse." He would know; he was the one that had gotten him the community service posting after Gordon begged him to help get Fuse some leniency from the GDF's sentencing. "And we've set a precedent for second chances here at International Rescue. The Mechanic," he said looking to their father. "Eos," he added, peeking over towards John.

He tied off the wrapping.

"Marion." The addition came from John, an olive branch between emerald eyes and amber.

"Scott, Dad," Gordon glanced between them. "He wants to do better. Please trust me."

Jeff wavered between the concerns of his eldest and the intensity of their resident squid. "Alan? What do you think?"

All eyes turned to Alan, and the younger boy swallowed heavily, leaning on the broom handle.

"Oh… Me? Umm. Honestly, Dad, Fuse makes me nervous still." He fidgeted. "I don't want to be alone with him. But, uh, I trust Gordon's judgement if he feels comfortable."

"Then it's settled."

Scott breathed fire and left the room.

Virgil knew he would need to speak to him later. It was in Scott's nature to be a defender, a guardian, challenging the ones he loves when, from his perspective, they were being a danger to themselves. It wasn't an easy job. Against someone like Gordon, it could be explosive. But Scott's caution came from a place of caring, and truthfully – someone had to do it. Most of the time Scott was right. Other times, he was so solely driven by his desire to protect, that he was blind to others and their intents. Virgil trusted Gordon and Gordon trusted Fuse, so therefore Virgil trusted Fuse.

A few moments after he left, Gordon released a long breath and beamed widely at them. "You won't regret this. Thank you!"

"I can't make him change his mind, Gordon," Jeff said. "So, just ensure your friend proves him wrong."

Gordon nodded.

"I have just one question," Virgil asked. "Whose grand idea was it to leave Fuse alone with both Kayo and Grandma?"

Fuse towered in stature over the two pilots escorting him to their home, but Mrs. Tracy's kind patience with him as he fumbled through the doors and seats of the small plane and Kayo's soul-piercing stare made him feel so small in comparison.

It was strange, after all this time, to be in one of their ships and on their side of the cockpit – even if it wasn't a Thunderbird, but one of their smaller transport planes. Tracy Two, he thought he remembered seeing on the side.

Though Kayo had her focus on the controls, Fuse could feel her watching him like there was a second set of eyes in the back of her head. She'd placed him where he was still in her periphery, and he felt every moment her eyes flicked toward him. Grandma – Mrs. Tracy, he corrected, was watching him intently, but not unkindly, from the opposite seat across.

She smiled at him, and that made him feel all the more uneasy.

The things he'd done to this family.

Fuse no longer wore his thick armor. His sister and their employer were still imprisoned, their vehicles impounded, their operations disbanded. By all rights, he should've been locked up with them. He was just as guilty as Havoc. But then Gordon had to go do this for him.

He regretted the circumstances that left his sister there in the high security prison, but it was him the Squid vouched for, not the Chaos Crew. What had started with a simple email to make sure Gordon had survived the destruction of Thunderbird Four became a cautious correspondence that had then turned into a friendship. So, when the Chaos Crew was caught by the GDF, it was Gordon (and Virgil) that had gotten him a second chance.

What International Rescue had done for him was a gift, and he planned not to let them down.

He'd been a pawn for so long, he didn't really know how to be his own person. At first it had been difficult to figure out who Fuse was. And he had never really been given the chance to be Clarence; the name didn't feel quite his. Both were names he'd been given, but that didn't feel like his own anymore. No longer would he let someone else define his identity.

So, he had to reinvent himself. He kept the purple, exchanging the armor for cardigans, waistcoats, and jumpers that matched the dreary cold of London. Cass (and it had taken him months to get used to calling her by her name and not just Fire Chief McCready) had helped him find a reasonable flat and appropriate casual apparel. It was because of her help that he was able to rebuild an actual life here in London.

He received a meager income between his probation at the fire station and his second job part-time at the garden center, the latter of which was not lucrative work, but fulfilling. Fuse found it refreshing to grow things instead of destroying them, and he'd never been particularly driven by money in the first place. He was thankful for the day he randomly found the nursery on one of his walks around the district.

Gordon had helped. He checked in every few days like clockwork. A few times, if he missed a call, Fuse would admit to having quickly scanned through global headlines for news of International Rescue. To make sure everyone had gotten home safely.

Early on in his freedom, Gordon was the first person he mentioned finding a new name to. In the first week, Gordon called every day, each day greeting him with a different name to try on. They started with different F-names before switching to nicknames for Clarence. In the second week they'd found Lars and he tried that for about three days, before that too fell to the discard pile. Three weeks in, Gordon called him up with a "Hey, Lance!"

"Hey, yourself," Lance had grinned back. It meant 'land' Gordon told him, and then one day when he was mixing potassium high fertilizer into his water for the orchids at the nursery, he realized just how firmly the name had become his own. The land is where he felt most himself, whether planting seasonal greens into soil, or offloading a shipment of houseplants, or soaking orchids roots until silvery wrinkles turned back into healthy thick green hands that clasped themselves into place through the holes in their pots.

Orchids were grounding like that.

Both employers had agreed to give him the few days before Christmas off, his first time in months. He'd always intended to thank Gordon in some way for Christmas, but he hadn't expected to be given time off. Nor had he considered the fact Gordon might want him to visit their home. He felt he needed to find something truly special for Gordon for his Christmas gift as a thank you. Gordon was Gordon though, and he waved it off that him accepting the invite was gift enough. But to Fuse it would never be enough. The weightless gift tucked into his vest was nothing in comparison to all the support Gordon had given him.

He didn't have a large selection of different clothing, so he remembered that Virgil seemed to get by with his flannel, and he hoped that what he'd packed wouldn't be too hot in the tropics. The Squid had mentioned the Island could get cool in the evenings.

And maybe, he'd finally get to thank the organization that had given him a second chance. In the meantime, there was no time like the present to start mending bridges.

Deep breaths, Lance.

He coughed into his hand. "Thanks for trusting me."

"I don't trust you." The pilot never turned around, her hands never strayed from the controls. "Just remember – you prove me right even just once, you hurt any one of them in any way… and they'll never find you."

Kayo could be terrifying.

"Gordon's my friend, you know? I don't want anythin' bad to happen to 'im. Or any of you."

"Clarence, dear, no need to look so scared," Mrs. Tracy encouraged. "As long as you mean well, you'll be fine."

"No, Mrs. Tracy. Kayo's right." He couldn't blame the Tracy's for their wariness.

"You didn't let me finish, dear. If you don't mean well, I'll be first in line." Mrs. Tracy's grin never wavered.

He swallowed, tried again. "I understan' and I promise nothin' bad will happen. I'd be in line me self."

Kayo turned her head slightly to look back at him. He took her nod as a win, despite the peridot scrutiny that cut like knives.

"See that it doesn't."

Gordon had a song in his heart. They weren't the right lyrics for the song, but that only further proved, despite the apprehension of the morning and the loss of the Christmas pickle, he was in good spirits. With Virgil's extra set of hands – and he had an eye for the best places to decorate – they'd finished the tree in the lounge by the time Kayo was due to start landing procedures.

He left their father to comms and walked down to the landing pad to meet them.

In truth, Scott's reaction that morning had been brewing ever since he first found out Gordon had extended the invitation to the ex-Chaos Crew member. The last time Fuse was on the island, it was for a planned attack on their family and systems, while the other half of the family was deep in the Oort Cloud unable to help.

Gordon blamed mostly the Hood, and Havoc in part. As for Fuse… well, in their emails he saw someone who desperately needed guidance. There was enough compassion there, curiosity even. Fuse had done horrible things, terrible things. But he was also a victim to the Hood's manipulations. And he had no doubt Havoc had cared, in her own way, but selflessness was not in her character.

Fuse had always just needed distance from his sister, compassion to the confused soul that found himself a working hostage of the Hood of all people, and direction from those that would take a chance on him becoming a better version of himself.

Gordon couldn't imagine Fuse ever had a chance to experience a holiday with his previous associates, so he was determined to show him what Christmas could be like with a family that cared for each other. He'd been worried he wouldn't receive time off from both businesses or that he'd be unable to leave the country considering his pardon, but apparently the name International Rescue talked, according to Penny who done the negotiating on his behalf.

The plane landed as flawlessly as expected. Grandma exited first, and Gordon gave her a kiss on her cheek. Fuse exited next, his expression awed as he looked around the small hangar, and then Kayo followed behind him.

"Your delivery," she nodded to him, before sauntering off after the Tracy matriarch.

"Lance! Good to see you, buddy." Gordon's grin reached to his ears. His friend looked good, arriving in an ensemble of jeans and a purple sweater vest overtop a grey button up. Fuse had rolled the sleeves to his elbow, and he held in one hand a small duffle bag for his few days visit. As natural as he appeared in his new style, Gordon noticed that he was rubbing at his opposite arm as he gazed around the hanger. "Rough trip?" He asked.

"What? Oh. No, it was fine."

"I doubt that," Gordon said. "But I appreciate your good humor." He laughed, clapping a hand on Fuse's broad shoulders. "Bring it in, buddy. Merry Christmas."

Fuse's gaze wandered back to Gordon, the expression of awe transitioned quickly to a toothy smile. "Happy Christmas, Squid."

Gordon beamed at his friend, bouncing on his toes with excitement. With the anticipation that had been building to show him the island like he'd never seen, to reveal the hard work he'd put into the lounge that morning, and to throw him only the best of tropical Tracy Christmases. "So you remembered your swim wear, right?"

Befriending their enemies was one thing but inviting them to their island was something else entirely in Scott's opinion. He was not ashamed of the stance he took in the lounge, nor of his choice to leave before he said something he was going to regret to his family. But the numbers 4-against-1 meant something, and maybe he was being too intense with his distrust of this whole scenario. Even still, he held no regrets for the four silent alarms he'd sent Kayo through their watches to check in during the flight.

The first response back was a full FAB in morse code. By the last response, her patience had wavered to a simple tap back to him.

So the flight had gone successfully. Great. He still didn't trust Fuse as far as he could throw him. Which wasn't far because Fuse was a big dude. He'd be able to crush Gordon in an instant if he chose to.

And that, of course, is what Scott was still worried about.

It hadn't been his plan that morning. He might have even listened to his family, but as he saw the two figures headed towards the beach from out of the villa, Scott's feet followed them down the trail before he really had a chance to think about it.

"My version of a white Christmas." Gordon cheerfully gestured down to their feet as they trudged over the warm sands towards his favorite spot on the beach. "It's no snow, but we might be able to make a sandman."

He dropped the beach bag draped over his shoulder onto the sand, spreading out a large blanket over the area while Fuse, carrying the rest of the gear, gazed out to sea. He recognized himself in that look, that weighty expression of realization that the world was so much bigger than yourself. Expansive and dramatic and interconnected. It was what drew Gordon to the water. All that life out there, the ocean reminded him, and he existed. It was both purpose and irrelevance at the same time.

"You know, we should make something cooler than a snowman," Gordon said, placing his hands on his hips as he followed Fuse's gaze where the water made a trick of the sun's light.

"Then it wouldn't be a man or made of snow," Fuse replied. He turned back to Gordon's beach set up, ready to place the umbrella where it's shadows would keep the blanket covered. "At that point it's a sandcastle."

"Have some imagination, my dude. We'd make something more epic than a sandcastle. Maybe a sandy fortress of Helm's Deep. Or Hogwarts since it snows there."

"You're such a closet nerd."

"Honestly, I've always considered myself a forthright one." After all, he often drove his brothers to the point of insanity due to his unapologetic, long-winded exuberance over the things he loved. He recognized it as a Gordon Tracy trait, and he wouldn't have himself any other way. What was the point of being only half-passionate about something that mattered to you?

As the sun rose higher in the sky, they took their conversation to the water where they could cool off from the heat, sea spraying against their backs as they competed over who could catch the waves better to get further into shore. Though Fuse was the larger of the two with more space for the force of the wave to act on, Gordon knew the sea, and could more accurately anticipate the exact moment to catch the wave breaking. Fuse almost beat him once, but the surprise of the sudden speed and his lack of control sent him rolling and sprawled in the sand.

Their fingers were prunes by the time they stepped back out of the water to dry off, and Gordon let the sun do most of the work while he rested on the part of the blanket that was exposed to the light and no longer cast in the umbrella's shadow.

He felt Scott's eyes on them. Gordon's awareness of his surroundings was a well-honed skill, one that he'd learned early in life from his days of pranking his siblings. He carried that into more formal training once he joined the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, and then sharpened them further with the rescue business. Picking up on a danger before it happened meant seconds. Precious seconds that could be the difference between life and death.

It wasn't a skill he turned off.

Scott, also military, had been trained to hide, to stealth. But so had Gordon. To Scott's credit, he was doing everything right. It was because Gordon knew his tricks, he had been able to tell. He hadn't said anything at first because he'd hoped, after seeing Fuse relaxing with him like any other normal guy, that Scott would realize he had no ill intentions toward him, and Scott would back off. He also didn't want Fuse to feel unwelcome either if he knew they were being watched.

"Let's go to the docks," Gordon offered. "I'd love to show you my boats."

"Boats? How many do you have?"

"Right now? Five, but two are over at Mateo. And the big one is technically all of ours. She dwarfs our docks. You can see her from here." He pointed further down the beach. The docks were further down, too distant for Scott's vantage point, but not a far walk from their beach trail.

They re-dressed, packed their belongings, and dropped them off at the start of the trail for pick up on their way back. Gordon flicked a rude finger in the direction where Scott was hiding behind tropical foliage for good measure as they walked by.

His boats, all favorites in their own way, bobbed in the water. He gave Fuse the grand tour as they walked along the length of the docks, explaining the differences between the motorboat, the sailboat, and the large yacht. Once they traversed the length, Gordon directed him to the end where he often liked to sit and watch the far away buoys. They removed their shoes and dangled their feet over the side. At high tide, their feet met the water.

"Gordon? I have to ask." A beat of silence as Fuse gathered his thoughts. "Did I do that?"

"Huh?" Gordon glanced up from the fishes flitting by his feet, but Fuse seemed determined not to look at him. "Lance?" Fuse looked over, an expression full of guilt, but he was looking not at Gordon's eyes, but at his back, where beneath his shirt medical scars criss-crossed over shrapnel impacts of a Pollock on Gordon's skin. "Oh." A gentle breath. "No, those weren't you." He twirled a foot in the water, and the fish scattered. The ripples he made over the surface of the water circled out into the expanse.

Fuse sighed audibly and rubbed at the tension that had been building in his neck, replaced instead with curious worry.

"Hey." Gordon clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I'm ok."

He was used to the curiosity, but because Fuse was his friend, he explained all of it – the parts he remembered, the parts he'd been told. Some of the darker details were only for him and a few others. Not even all of his brothers knew. But by the end of Gordon's story, Fuse had mirrored his expression back in the hangar – awe mixed with both horror and admiration.

"Jesus, Squid…. Did I make it any worse?"

"Temporarily," he admitted truthfully. "I don't do well with feeling stuck. And the neck brace, well—" He coughed and trailed off. "I also couldn't stretch properly with the cast, so there's that."

"I'm s—"

"If you say sorry, I will push you in the drink."

"—uh, thankful. That you still did what you did after all that. I-uh…" Fuse fiddled with his hands a moment. "So, I have somethin' for you." Fuse was still muttering on about how it wasn't much, but it was something he'd wanted to do for a while because what do you really get for someone who can get themselves anything? And Gordon was listening, but in those moments when Fuse reached towards his vest, Gordon turned. And he reacted.

Gordon had to give Scott credit. Though he'd been watching and listening, he hadn't found Scott after changing locations. It was only the creak of the wood that had given him away as he came charging toward them from behind one of the boats.

"Dammit, Scott!"

Fuse froze, his hand halfway in his vest. "Wha-?"

Gordon moved like lightning, stepping between Scott and Fuse, and when Scott met them at the end of the docks, his momentum sent all three of them backward into the water.

This was his element though, and Gordon somersaulted underwater, kicked himself upward toward the sun, and looked around for the others.

Fuse, spluttering and soaked, effortlessly pulled himself up on the dock, rubbing at the saltwater irritating his eyes from the surprise of being pushed back into the sea. Gordon approached from the other side.

"Okay, there, Lance?"

"Yeah," he coughed. "Your brother?"

"Here."

Gordon spun around, about ready to launch himself right back at Scott and drown him in the ocean. But from the pier, Fuse pulled Scott up by the back of his shirt with ease and helped him sit on the docks. Gordon pulled himself up, his arms trembling with rage.

"It was a gift!" he shouted. "You Moron!"

Scott winced, looking up at him dazed. "I thought—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought!" Scott's was the reaction of someone who'd been expecting a knife, or worse.

"Squid, stop. He hit his head."

"Shit." Gordon deflated, dropping to a sitting position in front of him. Blood trickled into his eyebrow, but Scott looked up at him as Gordon inspected the cut. Softly, "I am still mad at you."

"I know. I'm ok, I think." Scott ignored Gordon's commands to stop moving, turning to look at their guest.

Before anyone could answer, a thunderous shout echoed from down the trail, angry enough to shake the boats. "YOU THREE!" Virgil's voice shook the trees and scattered the birds. "Infirmary. NOW!"

"You have an injured hand," Virgil fumed. "What possessed you to go swimming in the ocean today?"

Gordon raised an eyebrow at him.

Virgil tugged the bandages off. "Bacteria, Gordo? You know those things that can cause open wounds to become infected?"

"It's me." He grinned. Virgil groaned, realizing he was getting nowhere. Just for good measure, he didn't warn Gordon when he started dousing his hand with the cleaning solution, satisfied when Gordon hissed.

"And you!" He rounded on Scott. "We agreed to leave them alone."

"You agreed," Scott shrugged. "I didn't." He started to run his hand through his hair, remembering better at the feeling of his head pounding beneath the gauze. "You were right though."

The medical center went quiet.

"What about you, Fu—Lance?" Virgil asked quietly. "Are you ok? Take in any water?"

"I'm ok, Virgil," Fuse answered truthfully. "Just the taste of salt. And my eyes have stopped stingin' already."

Virgil seemed satisfied with that as he re-wrapped Gordon's hand.

"Sorry about your gift, Fuse."

"It's ok. It was just paper." Fuse glanced over at Scott. Paper these days was made out of bio-friendly dissolvable materials to eliminate trash. The physical gift was gone forever. But… "It's not really the point of the gift," he assured. "I can email you the details, Squid."

"You didn't need to do anything."

"Yes, I did." He grinned. "It was just confirmation of my donation to sea turtle conservation in your name. I wanted to make it somethin' special, and Virgil mentioned you were researching some sea creatures."

"Whoa! That's awesome, buddy!" He raised for a fist bump. Gordon knew just how much it meant that Fuse, who didn't have money to spare most months, had taken finances out of his expenses to do something nice for him.

Fuse returned it. "It's still nothin' in compar—"

"No," Gordon stopped him. "No comparisons." He jumped up once Virgil tied off his hand and stepped over to their older brother. "No more guilty until proven innocent. We start over. That's what I want for Christmas. Can you do that for him? For me?"

Gordon held out his hand, and Scott took it.

The End