Alan has been up all night, as per his reputation as the family party boy, but he hasn't even looked at a beer bottle.
His Monaco apartment overlooks the harbour, filled with multi million dollar yachts, including one belonging to his favourite wingman. An ex-conman turned chauffeur for the fabulously wealthy Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. He knows technically the boat belongs to lady Penelope but that's not what they tell people they meet on a night out!
But last night he didn't manage to get any sleep. News of his brothers accident has spread quickly, all across the globe. After that initial call from Scott to let him know that Gordon is now in a desperate struggle to survive he's not answered a single message or answered a single call.
Climbing up on to the windowsill in the darkness, the late winter breeze rustling through his hair as he tries to process the earlier conversation.
Even now, twelve hours into the future, Alan can't cope with what he is being told. Scott stopped him from jumping on the next plane, telling him instead that he is organising the jet to come and collect him, keeping him away from the public eye.
Knowing it is almost time for him to head for the airport, he is surprised when the door buzzes, letting him know he has a visitor. Hoping if he ignores them they will get the message and leave him alone, but these hopes are dashed quickly when the buzzing doesn't cease.
"Damn damn damn!" Alan exclaims to his empty room. "Alright, I'm coming" he calls impatiently to the door.
He is surprised to find Parker at the door when he grabs the receiver. "Alan, I am here to give you a lift to the airport. The rolls is far more comfier than any taxi"
Alan has no idea how to say thank you, even the most basic of manners have slipped his mind. But he is grateful, more grateful than anyone will ever know, as he climbs into the back seat with his luggage.
The short drive to the small private airport Scott has commandeered for the journey takes place in silence. Which is only broken by Parker swearing at an old blue Renault for getting in his way at a junction.
Driving directly into the private hanger, Parker helps Alan with his luggage before offering him a hand shake. "Gordon will be okay Alan, I just know it" Parker tells him, it's an empty gesture and they both know it, there is no way he can come back from the injuries Scott was describing, but Alan appreciates it nonetheless.
"Call me if you need anything" are the last words Parker speaks to him. Less than fifty words have been exchanged between the two, and none have come from Alan himself. He nods in Parker's direction before walking up the steps and onto the plane.
He knows Scott only had his best interests at heart but it's so lonely on this plane. Only himself and the crew who flash him brief looks of sympathy before going about their own business.
The weather upon his arrival is a direct contrast to his mood. Bright happy sunshine greets him, as he gathers together his luggage and hops into the waiting taxi.
His brothers are already at the hospital. Scott standing slightly aloof, his arms folded as he glares blankly at the wall opposite where Virgil is standing. John has only just begun his stint on the international space station, and if he knows his brother like he believes he does, John will never forgive himself for not being here.
"Any news?" Alan asks nervously, sidling up to Virgil's side and reaching out for his beg brother. Desperate for human contact.
"Still in surgery" Scott answers him. "This is all my fault. I should never have let him do this?"
"How is it your fault?!" Virgil asks. "Gordon knew the dangers involved, and he is an adult Scott, there is no way you could have stopped him"
"You have no idea Virgil. He promised me he would be safe. I was stupid enough to believe that promise and now he's dying. I should have fought harder to stop him." Scott breaks down into tears and allows himself to be folded into Virgil's arms, Alan joining in for the cuddle he so desperately needs.
"None of this is your fault Scotty" Virgil reassures him quietly.
"Sure doesn't feel that way right now" Scott replies, he hasn't pulled out of Virgil's embrace yet, and the three brothers stand huddled together for several more minutes before Gordon's surgeon breaks the spell and they pull away.
"Well?" Alan asks, not a hundred percent politely but the doctor lets it go, the boy looks like he has not slept for days.
"We have done all we can for now, we will need to make sure he is a lot more stable before we can complete anything further. His left tibia, fibula and ankle are broken, and both the hip and knee were dislocated. His pelvis is also fractured and he has suffered extensive trauma to his lower back. And internal organs" the doctor advises the trio. Not going into extensive details, they don't need to know that he's had to have his spleen removed as it was ruptured upon impact, and that he almost died on the table from blood loss. For now it's enough that he is alive.
"What are his chances?" Virgil asks, taking over the roll vacated by Scott.
"Depends. If he makes it through the next forty-eight hours we will know more. But he is in for a rough ride, and he's going to need as much support as you can give him"
"Thank you, can we see him?" Virgil asks.
"One at a time and for two or three minutes only, Gordon needs to rest"
Virgil bravely goes first. Gordon's room is dimly lit. Virgil didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.
His brother is lying on his back on top of a pale blue blanket. His leg leg is encased in a metal cage, which pins inserted deeply into the bone in order to keep his leg together. The pins travel all the way down to his ankle and the leg itself is suspended in the centre of the cage.
His right leg is in a cast, which is also covering his hips and stops just short of his rib cage.
The heavy sedation is keeping him from waking up, and Virgil is glad for it as the pain would be too much for any one person to handle
He doesn't speak to his brother. He doesn't get close enough to touch him before becoming overwhelmed and fleeing the room in tears.
Scott does little better on his turn. Seeing him lying so helpless breaks his heart, and he too can't stay for the whole two minutes he was allocated. Neither Scott or Virgil notice Atlanta, calmly sitting by her husbands bed gazing at his unconscious face, silently praying to anyone listening to save the love of her life, to not let their twins grow up without their father.
Leaving Alan alone, Scott finds himself hurrying out after Virgil, finding him in the bathroom throwing up.
"Virg? You okay in here bro?" Scott asks, pushing the door open.
Virgil wants to lie. He wants to tell Scott that he's fine, that he can cope. That by now he is so used to the crap his life has thrown at him that it isn't even a problem anymore.
But he can't, Scott is going through the same thing he is. Gordon is their little brother. If they're going to get through this then they need to stick together. To be honest with each other.
Virgil leans back against the toilet door, his head resting against the solid wood, his cheeks are streaked with tear stains. Sucking in a deep breath, Virgil tells Scott the truth.
"I can't keep this up Scott. I have been living a lie for the last three years. It was just a diet at first. Cutting out refined carbs. I thought that maybe, just maybe I could keep my weight from spiralling out control. Now it's the only thing I know how to do and I can't. Two days I passed out in the office while going over the plans, when I came round I told everyone it was from exhaustion and heat. Scott it was freezing in that office, I can tell no one believed me. I don't even believe me. Help me. Scott please" Virgil pleads with his eldest brother. He doesn't want to die.
Scott is horrified. He knows that Virgil is underweight, and that he barely eats in his company, but he never thought it had gone this far. Unable to offer any help other than to just hold him and let him cry on his shoulder, Scott vows to do just as he's asked. He's going to get help for Virgil.
*TB*
Jefferson Tracy is distraught by the news bought to him on the small television set in the hut he has recently finished building.
Gordon. His fourth son, the trouble making prankster who gave him so many grey hairs he lost count. Being described as an orphan, realising that it is accurate. Jefferson Tracy does not deserve to call himself this boys father.
Images from Gordon's childhood flash before his eyes. The week after he was born, still so fragile and able to fit into the palm of his hand.
Eighteen months old being smacked across his diapered bottom for throwing a tantrum in the supermarket because he wouldn't allow him to climb the freshly stacked pyramid tins.
Seven years old, and being awarded a certificate for his diving. Up on the stage with children twice his age smiling out at his audience, with no front teeth.
Ten years old and lying in the hospital having undergone emergency lung surgery.
Twelve years old and being whipped across his bare shoulders with the belt for breaking into the neighbours chicken coop and releasing their chickens while their cranky old neighbour stood watching and jeering.
Sixteen years old and standing on a podium about to receive a gold medal at the olympics.
Seventeen years old and telling him that he wasn't going to college. He was going to do some good in the world.
Why hadn't Jeff listened to him then? Why did he think it was such a disgrace to have a child determined to help save the world?
Realising that he was never there for Gordon, or Scott, or Virgil, or John and especially not Alan, Jeff finds himself throwing his clothes into a battered old canvas bag. He doesn't own much anymore, having chosen this simple life in the village. But he can't stay here anymore. Not while Gordon is going through this.
Packed and ready to leave, Jeff goes to find Kyrano. The man responsible for turning him into a kinder and more compassionate man. He is over at the village school house with his daughter going over lesson plans for the children.
"Kyrano I have to go home. Now" Jeff tells him. The cold hearted abrupt businessman persona he perfected over the years firmly back in place.
"Is everything okay Mr Tracy?" Tintin asks. She is able to perceive the changes in him, this is a man on edge, a desperate man who will do anything to get home.
"Gordon. My son." It is all that Jeff can manage before he chokes on his tears. He didn't cry when Lucile died, he didn't cry when his own father died. But right here. Right now. He is a man in great pain, one who knows that the only person responsible for what's happened in his life is himself.
Tintin realises that Jeff has never mentioned Gordon's name out-loud once In the many months that she has known him. "What's happened Mr Tracy? Sit down, I will fetch us some coffee"
Jeff, unused, even now, to following orders doesn't sit. Instead he stares around at the work on the walls. Students art and science projects. Colourful multiplication tables and poems they have written. He could have enjoyed all of this with his own boys. Instead he banned Virgil from painting and the piano. Telling his second born that he would slam the lid closed on his fingers if he caught him. Jeff knows he's been the worlds worst father. Picturing their individual "punishment books" Jeff flinches at the memory. These boys aren't going to forgive him. In their position he wouldn't be forgiving.
Tintin arrives back in the room, holding out a mug of strong black coffee, steam rising up out of the top.
Standing next to him, she waits for him to open up. Knowing that pushing him isn't going to work, he needs to do this in his own time.
Jeff slowly starts to sip the coffee, blowing on it, trying to cool it down. "My son has been in an accident. I need to get to Hawaii" Jeff tells her.
Tintin doesn't ask questions. Silently she leads him out to the truck. The same battered old truck with no air conditioning that is one of the few vehicles available.
Jeff knows he should be thanking both her and Kyrano for saving his life, and one day he hopes to do just that. But as he is driven away from the village, words escape him once more, and he finds himself unable to speak.
The driver is a man he doesn't know by name, and there is an unspoken agreement between the pair to keep quiet. Jeff doesn't need the conversation right now. He doesn't need to hear anything but his own disgruntled and terrified thoughts.
He doesn't know it until he arrives at the airport but Kyrano has packed his passport into the bag and organised the flight home for him. There is barely enough time for him to appreciate the efficiency of the man who managed to accomplish so much with so little before he is whisked onto the plane and he's finally going home.
Jefferson Grant Tracy is going home.