"If you touch me, you're going over that balcony."
Gordon whipped his hand back. Virgil glared up at him from where he lay on the wooden floor of his bedroom. His eyes had been closed long enough that Gordon had thought him sleeping. That he had not been was not exactly a nasty surprise, but it definitely put a damper on things. Those things being checking Virgil over for injuries from their recent rescue without being verbally – or physically – attacked.
Damn.
"How'd you know I was here?"
"I can smell you."
Gordon wrinkled his nose.
"Ew."
He had not had time for cleaning up before Alan had pestered him into literally drawing straws – where he had gotten them from Gordon had no idea, especially considering Alan's recent foray into metal straws, which were far better for conducting sudden electrical shocks on unsuspecting targets – and then he had been shoved up the stairs and told to face The Beast without backup because Alan had to go cool down, thanks very much.
The Beast was currently scowling at him. Gordon contemplated nudging him with a toe.
"You still smell like burning plastic, Gordon." Virgil closed his eyes again, head rolling to face the other wall. "Go away."
Gordon stuck his tongue out and scooted backwards on his backside when Virgil's hand smacked his legs. He had not even turned his head.
"How'd you know–"
"Because you always do," snapped Virgil. "Now get lost."
But Gordon had not missed the whole-body wince that such a sharp move had caused. His own muscles ached in sympathy. It had only been three of them at what was a relatively straight-forward rescue – him, Alan, and Virgil. They had all ended up a little banged up, but Virgil had ventured too close to some of the vats and Gordon had watched his brother disappear into a shower of sparks and hot oil. He had emerged only seconds later, but the tiny smoking holes in his suit had drawn all their eyes. Virgil tried to play it off like it was nothing, and it probably was nothing, but that was not a call the person with a history of hiding injuries got to make. Their father had said so. Specifically.
"Come on dude, we both know the protocol. Alan and I drew straws and now I'm here to make sure you're still alive. You know, you got real close to those sparks–"
"I am alive and so help me I will be kicking if you don't leave me alone."
"Is it the heat making you this grouchy or just your personality?" huffed Gordon. It was hot. Really fucking hot. And tempers, if they had not been frayed before landing, were definitely growing thinner in the heat. "I can't tell any more."
Virgil wrestled himself off the floor and got to a standing position.
"I am going for a walk," he said, biting out each word, "and when I get back, you'd better be gone."
And he left.
-000-
Too hot, hot damn.
Gordon felt kind of somewhat bad. He was annoying. He freely admitted it and fully accepted it, even relished in it in the opportune moments. But this morning? This may not have been the best time. It was hot. They had just completed a rescue. Virgil had been somewhat possibly maybe a bit injured during the rescue. And Gordon was just frustrated enough at both getting called out to the rescue in the early hours of the morning, and in drawing the short straw and having to check on Virgil, and in having to come back and last through his brother's temper and this godawful heat, that his sparkling personality had dialled up to at least eleven. And it had effectively just chased his older brother out of the house.
It turned out Gordon felt just bad enough to try and help out.
Who has a heart now, he thought to himself with a grin. Character growth. Hot damn. As long as he was not getting two responsible, that is.
Note one: ask Brains about putting those industrial-sized fans along the corridors of the house.
Note two: ask Alan if he still has all the cardboard from his flat-pack school furniture.
Note three: organise outing for elder Tracys.
Gordon traipsed up the stairs, a glass of smoothie in each hand. Perhaps an apology, perhaps a bribe, who knew. If Virgil did not want one then hey, two for him and all the better – even walking up the stairs had started a line of sweat down the middle of his back. And if Virgil did want one, maybe he could be convinced to be the one to tell Scott about those burns. And that would spare Gordon an encounter he would rather avoid, some three hours after the end of the rescue and the point he was meant to tell their Field Commander exactly what had gone down at the site.
Gordon eyed the door with a somewhat suspicious look. Virgil should be back from his cooling-off walk and less inclined to throw Gordon bodily from the balcony when Gordon inevitably had to ask about the very, very minor burns. Virgil's watch indicated he was in his bedroom and there was no sound from inside. He could be back asleep finally after the sudden start to the day.
Gordon weighed his choices.
A drop of condensation from his own smoothie glass dripped onto his foot, rolled down the side, and puddled on the floor.
"Evidence," muttered Gordon to himself. It was too late now. He slowly nudged at the door and it swung open.
"Virgil," he said in a sing-song voice, "I have a smoothie for you."
The door opened to an empty room.
"Virgil?"
Gordon scanned the room.
There was nothing but the open sliding door to the balcony, curtains limp in the lack of wind, and a charging watch sitting on the bedside table.
"Uh oh."
-000-
"Scotty," said Gordon in a loud falsetto, entering the hangar where his eldest brother was currently finishing a maintenance check on his 'Bird. It was the last place he could think of and last place he wanted to be right now. But hey, Scott may not know everything – contrary to his own opinion as they had to keep telling him – but he did seem to have a peculiar gift for finding his siblings. Or perhaps he had them all chipped.
Note four: ask Brains to do a full-body scan for tracking chip.
Note five: ask Brains if tracking chips caused one to develop magnetic powers.
Note six: consider testing hypothesis on Alan.
"What do you want, Gordon?" asked Scott. He had his back to Gordon as he moved boxes from the 'Bird to the corner of the hangar but his body language indicated irritation at the interruption. Gordon was fairly sure Virgil had been joking about the smell, but he gave his underarm a discrete sniff anyway, just in case his smell was making matters worse. Clean as cotton.
When Gordon had not answered, Scott put down the last box and turned to face him, eyebrow raised. Gordon gave his most innocent smile.
"I'm just swinging by to ask my bestest biggest brother a most important question."
Scott rolled his eyes.
"That looks like a bribe." He came closer but Gordon pulled the glass away. He had drunk his glass but this one? This one he had made specifically for Virgil and he would be damned if anyone drank it in the meantime. Though if this search for Virgil went on any longer, he might be inclined to drink it in front of his MIA sibling in revenge for making him traipse through the house searching for him.
"It's not a bribe – much. And it's not for you."
"Who's it for then?"
"Uh, Virgil."
"That sounded like a hesitation." Scott's gaze moved from the smoothie to Gordon. Who shrugged.
"What can I say, I'm a reluctant sharer." He looked around the hangar. "So, where is Virgil?"
"I thought I was your 'bestest big brother'." Scott reached out only to have his hand dodged.
"You're the biggest, certainly. And the bestest of the biggest. But my small ice-cold heart only has enough love for two things, and right now that's taken up by Virgil and Alan's wardrobe spider."
"I thought he got rid of that thing."
"Nah, he hid it under his bed in my mini fish aquarium so Dad wouldn't see it when he came in to get his old school books. We've named it Stephen – with a 'ph' – and Alan's teaching it tricks."
Scott shuddered.
"But," said Gordon, dragging out the word, "back to my question about our erstwhile brother?"
Scott frowned.
"Why do you want to know?"
"So I can hold this drink to his lips as he rests below a palm leaf – no, Scott, because it's getting warm and I'm sick of it dripping on my shorts."
"You don't give other people smoothies." Scott glanced from the glass to Gordon's face. "You've pranked him, haven't you." He threw his arms in the air and turned around, grabbing a tarpaulin from one of the boxes and flicking it so it covered all of them. "For goodness sake, Gordon, you've just finished a rescue. Couldn't you have waited a bit longer?"
"I didn't–"
"What'd you even do anyway? What could possibly be bad enough to merit a smoothie as an apology?" He paused and the tension in his shoulders indicated he was remembering something unpleasant. "It's not in the smoothie, is it? What are you planning?"
Gordon threw back his head and groaned to the ceiling.
"I haven't done anything nor am I intending to do anything to my beloved brother." Scott glanced at him over his shoulder, raising a sceptical eyebrow. Gordon tried to look his most earnest. "Scout's honour. I just really, really want to know where he is."
Scott waited a moment, testing to see if Gordon or Gordon's face would give him away, before he shrugged and turned away again. It seemed whatever he had seen in Gordon's face indicated he was not being pranked as well, and that was good enough for Scott.
"I'm not getting in the middle of you two, thanks. But fair warning, if either of you get heatstroke in this weather from chasing each other, you can broil where you fall."
Gordon sighed, straightened himself up, and tried one last time.
"Scott," he said as seriously as he could, trying to measure his voice between his Rescue voice and his Home voice, "I know I sound like I'm joking around, but I'm being serious right now. Have you seen Virgil recently? This isn't just about the smoothie."
It was enough to turn Scott around, and he did so, putting his hands on his hips. Gordon knew his brothers had a healthy wariness of him, especially when he had food he intended to give to other people. But they also knew his complete surety that they, his brothers, would not brutally murder him. And they knew his personal pride in that red mischief streak meant he was always ready and willing to take credit for any and all pranks in the Tracy household, whether he orchestrated them or not. John used to say he had been rolled in hubris and dunked in self-satisfaction.
"No," said Scott slowly, watching Gordon carefully. "I haven't seen him since you all got back from the rescue."
"Ah," said Gordon.
"Right," said Gordon.
"We might have a problem," said Gordon.
-000-
"Why didn't you just tell me he was missing?" hissed Scott as he led the way through the corridors and up the stairs.
Gordon trotted behind him, taking occasional gulps of the smoothie. No use it going to waste.
"Have you tracked his watch?"
"No, Scott, I thought I'd just pick up on his vibe and follow that until I found him."
"And you've checked everywhere inside?"
"Everywhere I could get with a dripping smoothie." They passed a side table and Gordon put the empty glass down; it instantly formed a small puddle of condensation.
"John! Alan!" Scott manoeuvred himself behind the drinks bar and put his hands on the hard surface, frowning.
"What?" came a yelled reply from behind the closed door of the TV room.
"Get out here now." It was his Field Commander voice and Gordon felt something in his stomach relax a little. They were all competent rescuers on their own, but it felt far more comfortable to have Scott lead the way, even in their own home. And perhaps take part of the responsibility for whatever had happened or was going to happen, because Gordon was fairly damn far along the path of knowing something had gone wrong and trying desperately to pretend otherwise. Tracy luck or Murphy's Law, either worked.
The door to the TV room cracked open.
"What?" snapped Alan.
"Is Virgil in there with you?"
"Just like I told Gordon the last time he tried to get in here," said Alan scowling, "it's just me." He went to close the door again.
"Alan, wait, when was the last time you saw Virgil?"
The door opened further until Scott and Gordon saw the youngest Tracy standing in boxers with his hair sticking up at the side. A burst of cool air came from the TV room.
"I dunno," said Alan. "Breakfast maybe? Or when we got back from the rescue? Gordon was meant to go check on him after he showered." He frowned. "Why?"
"He's missing."
"Missing?" The Tracy men turned to see John come up the stairs from the sickbay. "What do you mean 'missing'? We live on an island, where can he go?"
"A lot of places, apparently. He's not in the house, his watch is in his room, and no one has seen him since before breakfast. He must be somewhere outside."
"Couldn't he be hiding somewhere in the house trying to get away from people for a bit?"
Gordon did not miss John's brief glance his way.
"We've checked. Gordon was meant to check up on him after the rescue but couldn't find him."
"That's not exactly–" said Gordon but he was interrupted by John.
"Scott, it's at least ninety-five degrees out there, surely–"
"Exactly," said Scott shortly. "We need to find him. Fast."
"And he's injured."
All the Tracy boys turned to face Alan.
"I'm sorry," said Scott slowly, "can you repeat that?"
Alan frowned.
"Why do you think I sent Gordon up to check on him? It's a risk to anyone's health and safety to bother Virgil while he's asleep, you know that."
"Hey now," said Gordon, "no one sent me anywhere–"
"What sort of injuries?"
Alan glanced back inside the room behind him and then back to Scott. It looked as though he were contemplating disappearing back into the TV room where the pilfered fan could still be heard on its last wheezes. But Gordon knew he was biding time to think of something to say that would get him out of trouble. Because Alan knew – no, they all knew – that injuries should have been reported and definitely should have been checked over professionally once they returned. And each of them had a duty to make those reports. Gordon included.
What the elder Tracy boys did not know, however, was that Virgil whined like a baby when it was him having to obey the rules he had created, and the only two people who could bully him into following them were Scott and their father. Gordon and Alan had no chance. Even John would have been pushing it.
Gordon watched as Alan started shifting from foot to foot and chewing the inside of his cheek.
"Uh, he had some, uh, minor burns from the rescue," mumbled Alan. "That's why he took off his watch afterwards. It's just some small spotting up his arms. As far as I could tell. Nothing major." He paused. "I would've told you if it was anything more than that, Scott."
Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. Alan winced.
"Everyone grab at least two litres of water and meet me by the pool in five. Alan," he said when Alan ran for the stairs, "get the drones from hangar two, they'll be able to cover ground a lot faster and give us a bird's eye view of the search. And later, we're going to be having a very serious chat about the reporting requirements. Gordon, you too."
Alan swung himself around the corner at the top of the stairs and they heard him sprinting down the corridor.
"And put on a shirt," yelled Scott after him.
-000-
Hot damn. Or just hot. Or at this point, just damn. Damn, damn, damn–
"Anything?"
The refrain cut off and Gordon barely stopped himself from flinching as John came up behind him. They had split into teams of two, but when that proved too difficult to cover enough ground at a sufficient speed, they had split again and taken their own trails. Scott had ordered them to have enough water, a hat, enough sunscreen, and then he had entrusted them into the care of themselves and the Island.
Gordon had not done anything about Virgil leaving in the first place, how was he supposed to help find him now? If only he had said something earlier – if only he had gone to Scott straight away when he could not find his brother – or if he had stopped Virgil from walking about outside altogether – they all knew the brunette did not tolerate the heat well – and he should have just forced Virgil to listen to sense, grouchy temperament be damned – and even though –
"Gordon?"
Gordon blinked. The world before him had developed a haze. Probably the heat. Definitely not stress-tears.
"Nope. Nothing so far."
They both eyed the drop only a couple of metres from their feet.
"You don't think he went off the rocks … do you?"
They both knew the things heat did to a person's mind. It was not outside the realm of possibilities that Virgil may have stumbled a little too far from the house, and a little too far from safety. But it was not something either of them wanted to voice.
John put a hand on Gordon's shoulder.
"I think Alan can search this part with the drone," he said gently, tugging Gordon away.
-000-
They continued as a pair and stumbled over Scott less than twenty minutes later, sitting on a rock outcrop in the shade. He held a portable screen and was talking to Alan over his watch.
"No, a little to the left and down a bit. Yes – just there, that's it, hold it there."
"Did he find him?" asked Gordon, moving forward. He stumbled a little, his body lurching forward with the momentum, and John grabbed his shoulder.
"You okay?"
"Just excitable." Gordon stepped out of John's grip and moved to Scott's side. "Has Alan found something?"
Scott glanced up and did a double-take. His gaze darted to John and back, but he shuffled over to give Gordon part of the rock to sit on. They turned their attentions to the screen, John moving so he could look over their shoulders.
"Alan, repeat what you just told me."
They heard Alan clear his throat through the watch.
"Well, it looks like someone took this route for a bit, but then they just … disappear."
"Where are you?" Gordon leaned forward and grabbed Scott's wrist, tugging the watch up. Scott gave him a funny look but Gordon ignored it. "Alan, where are you? Is that the cliffs on the south side of the island? Is Virgil down there? Alan, is he there?"
"Uh," Alan could be heard hesitating through the watch and the drone video paused, "Scott? What's going on?"
"I'm about to find out," replied Scott grimly. He fully turned to face Gordon and raised an eyebrow. He did not, however, move his wrist from Gordon's grip, which Gordon was eternally grateful for as it was currently holding him somewhat steady amidst the wavering world.
Gordon ran his free hand down his face. His fingers were starting to shake a little and he quickly hid them in his hair, removing his hat to wave it in front of his face.
"God, Scott," he said quietly. "If I hadn't chased him out of the house…"
"Chased him – Gordon, did you see him before he left?" Gordon heard John move closer behind him and he got to his feet, fingers tightening on his hat and the wrist in his grasp.
"I should've known. I should've–"
He pulled in a breath but it felt light and airy, insubstantial. The air was still around him, holding in the heat. He felt cold suddenly and shivered. He always walks away, always …
"Gordon?" Scott was getting to his feet, still holding his wrist still so Gordon could stay attached. Gordon saw his eyes dart to John and back. "You're looking very pale there, fish."
"I'm … a little dizzy."
"How about you sit down for a second?"
Gordon felt a jolt deep within him. He let go of Scott's wrist. He took a deep breath. He took a step back. The back of his legs hit the rock. The jolt rose.
And Gordon vomited on the ground at his feet.
Immediately there were hands on his shoulders, on his back, guiding him and grabbing at him as he felt his knees go weak.
"Okay, okay, here we go, just sit down here, that's it."
Gordon went from bent over to sitting to lying back against a rock. He blinked. The world seemed to swirl, green and blue and black weaving together, like the ocean in the midst of a storm. But as the seas before his eyes calmed, so did his body and he took what felt like his first proper breath in minutes. The darkness faded from his vision and the shapes coalesced into Scott, above him, crouched beside him, motioning to someone out of sight, all fast hand gestures and quick words that Gordon did not understand.
Gordon closed his eyes.
"Here." Something was put to his lips. Cold water trickled into his mouth. "Slowly, slowly."
Gordon swallowed. The water washed some of the taste from his mouth but it sat high inside him and seemed to roll around like waves.
"You're okay," said Scott, and Gordon felt a hand on his forehead. "Just breathe. Breathe and drink."
"Scott," said Gordon pushing the bottle away, "if I'd suspected anything … I thought it was minor … I thought he was just hiding … I swear … I swear I would've let you … let you know …" His breath seemed to shudder in his chest, like it was being tugged out of him with every movement. No, not his breath. His entire body. He was shaking as he lay on the rock in the shade as if he were frozen.
"I know, Gordon," said Scott softly, "I know. I'm a little mad at you for not telling us straight away about the injuries, but we can deal with that later. You came and got me and now we're all looking for him. And we're going to take it from here, okay?"
"You've gotta calm down there, fish," came another voice from his right. Scott glanced over and shuffled a little to let another face dance into Gordon's vision. John put a hand on Gordon's chest gently. "Slow breaths."
- the breaths seemed to be coming faster and faster, matching his racing heart – he could feel it racing inside – going and going like a train – like it would not stop –
"He's hyperventilating," muttered someone above him. Gordon felt himself hauled upwards into a sitting position. "Get him back to the house."
Gordon felt the earth tip upside down and then he was flying. Flying away from Virgil, walking away like Virgil had, moving away from family and from his brother. Moving away from help – to give or to accept.
He closed his eyes.
-000-
'Use those spidey senses of yours,' John had said. Scott had rolled his eyes at the time but now, with only one brother on-hand to help save another, and that brother being in suspected dire straits in an unknown location, he felt himself gearing up to use instincts over logic. He and Virgil were close, just as Gordon and Alan were close, and John and his stars, but it was second nature in situations like this to rely on his Field Commander experience and logically divide the island into sections, send out his troops – his brothers, damnit – and search through pure reason. But that was all good and well when he did not know the people involved, where he was searching for strangers in the midst of tragedy. Here, his brothers knew the island and he knew his brothers. And he had not factored that into the equation.
But he did not know where to go from here.
They had searched the jungle area near the house all the way out to the cliffs, and John had done a brief sweep of the beach before he had come back with a haunted look. It was not like there were many other places to go, and Scott was trying very hard not to think of Virgil falling off a cliff into the ocean and his body being swept away.
He took another sip from his drink bottle.
"SCOTT!"
Scott turned.
Alan, drone in hand, pack on back, sprinted towards him. Scott felt something in his heart leap and his stomach drop at the same time. Did Alan look upset? Was that sweat or tears running down his face?
Alan skidded to a halt in front of him with such a sudden stop that Scott grabbed his shoulders to prevent him falling face forwards. Scott let Alan pant for a minute, putting a stop to any starts at conversation until the younger Tracy could breathe. He did not want to ask, but the question needed to be released.
"Alan, is he–"
"Scott, we've searched the whole island, right?"
Scott blinked. This was not going in the direction he thought.
"Yes, why?"
Alan glanced around, distracted, and frowned.
"Where's Gordon?"
"He had a panic attack and also probably has mild heatstroke. John carried him back to the house."
"Carried – you know what? It doesn't matter right now." Alan took a breath. "I think I know where Virgil is."
Scott's thoughts immediately went to the cliffs again, and something of the direction of his fears must have shown in his face because Alan immediately reached for him shaking his head.
"No, I think he's alive. If he's where I think he is, which at this point is pretty likely, he'll be safe. Just … stuck."
Sweat. It was sweat running down Alan's cheeks.
"Well, what are we doing here?" Scott got to his feet, ignoring the crack of his knees as he crouched to grab his bag.
"Scott, it's gonna be trickier than you think. How much rope do you have?"
"What?"
"Rope, how much rope? And the belay set?" Alan tugged Scott's bag from him and started pulling things out. Scott watched his muesli bars, sunscreen, and water bottle hit the dirt. "Good thing we're so close to the house." He turned back to Scott and pointed towards the other side of the island. "Start heading that way, I'll grab the stuff and come find you."
"Alan, if you run back to the house–"
"It's fine, I've had, like, heaps of water." Alan started off at a quick walk but when Scott turned back as he walked in the direction Alan had described, he saw Alan was sprinting.
