Disclaimer: see chapter one
AN: Sorry about the wait. Real life caught up with me, and sorta swallowed me whole. And the spider bite I got a few days ago didn't really help matters either. Anyway, on with the tale.
Chapter Two- Payback's a …
Alan stared at Gordon, before a slow, malicious smile crept onto his face. "What are we going to do?"
Gordon flipped the wallet open and pulled out Virgil's bank cards, ID cards, loose change, driver's licence and registration papers and threw them at Alan. "Hide the cards somewhere Virg won't look."
Alan scampered out of the room, while Gordon picked up a pen and scrawled two messages on Post-It Notes. With a sight chuckle, he peeled off the first Post-It Note and stuck it to the inside of the wallet.
As he was waiting for Alan to come back, Gordon rummaged around in the bottom of his drawer, looking for some duck-tape and ropes.
"Gordy, what now?" Alan stood in the doorway, eagerly awaiting instructions.
"Tell Virgil that he's left his wallet behind on the kitchen table."
"But, he hasn't," Alan pointed out, catching the wallet with one hand.
"He has now. Once you've done that, meet me at the trunk of his car. You have to be quick; it's the only way the plan will work."
"What will you be doing?"
"I will be calling the cops, and sticking this Post-It in a strategic place. Now move!"
Virgil glanced at the road, before training his eyes on his hot babe of a date. "So," he smiled, unsure of what to say. "Are you excited?"
Lame; that's what Virgil's head screamed. Lame, lame, lame. He had the most gorgeous girl of his grade in his car, and all he could say was 'are you excited'.
"I can't believe you have tickets to the coolest concert of the year," Sonja fawned, her heavily mascara-ed eyelids fluttering like butterflies. "This'll be so awesome!"
"No kidding," Virgil agreed, while turning a corner.
Momentarily blinded by the headlights of an oncoming car, Virgil lowered the sunshield. The yellow Post-It note gleamed in the darkness of the car, and Virgil's eyes scanned it quickly.
We will get you.
"Tchah," Virgil scoffed. "Amateurs."
"What did you say?" Sonja asked.
"Oh, it's nothing," Virgil dismissed, while peering into his rear-view mirror. "Just my soon to be dead little brother trying to play a prank on me."
"Gordon? The red head?"
"That's the one." Virgil glanced up into his mirror again. "Why is that car following us?"
As if to answer Virgil's question, fireworks in red, white and blue lit up the night sky. Sirens.
"Aw, hell," Virgil cursed, pulling up by the side of the road. "I wasn't speeding, was I?"
Sonja shook her head, her blond hair rippling like a waterfall. "No, I don't think so."
A slight tap on the window startled Virgil, and he wound the window down.
"Licence and registration, please."
"Officer, what exactly is the problem?" Virgil asked shifting to reach his wallet he'd picked up from the kitchen table hours ago.
"A car matching this description has been reported as missing, and is suspected as stolen. Licence and registration, please."
Virgil opened his cleaned-out wallet. "Officer," Virgil babbled, staring in shock. "I can assure you that this isn't what it looks like."
"Really! Is that so? I've heard that line several times before."
Virgil frantically opened and rifled through all the pockets of his wallet, before pulling out another Post-It note.
It gets worse.
"Oh yeah? How, exactly, could it get worse?" Virgil muttered sarcastically.
A loud thunking noise emitted from the trunk, causing Virgil and Sonja to jump.
"Get out of the vehicle!" The police officer had pulled his gun out and trained it on Virgil.
"Excuse me?"
"GET OUT! OPEN THE TRUNK!"
Frightened beyond belief, not that he would admit to that, Virgil popped the trunk open, and stepped out of the vehicle. With trepidation, Virgil lifted the covering and stared into the deep dark bowels of the trunk.
Bound and gagged and contorted in the most uncomfortable manner, Gordon and Alan lay in Virgil's trunk.
"As you are aware," Colonel Royton addressed his cadets, "there is a precariously volatile situation between the military and rebel troops in Bereznik. In response to their request for aid, we have sent in military advisors."
Scott sunk down noticeably into his chair, certain of what was about to come.
"According to the military advisors, the Bereznik government needs help in keeping the peace, and distributing food care packages as well as medicine packages and rebuilding villages."
'And we are the lucky people selected for this mission,' Scott thought to himself. 'It could be worse, I guess.'
"The military advisors have requested members of all the defence forces. Consequently, we will be sending members of the Air Force, Army and Navy over in three weeks for a tour of duty that lasts nine months. There will be members from each branch of our defence system staying in one designated area.
"In accordance to the 1951 ANZUS treaty, you will be joined by members of the Australian Defence Force and New Zealand Defence Force. Canada and United Kingdom are also sending troops in. They will aid you in restoring order to the areas you have been designated and are looking after."
'Now that's interesting. Different branches of the defence force working together, as well as working with other nations.'
"Over in the far corner," Colonel Royton continued, "are detailed maps of your designated areas."
Just over two hundred heads swivelled round to look at the corner. Several tables had been set up, and each table had a number and a list of names taped to the edge of the white cloth.
"You will find your name on a list, taped to the table which holds the map to your designated area. Are there any questions?"
The room was so silent; you could hear a pin drop.
"Good. Dismissed."
Scott and his Air Force buddies scrambled to their respective tables, their minds churning and gearing up to deal with some intense military discussions.
As Scott leaned down over the map, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he turned around, only to see a secretary standing in front of him.
"Lieutenant Tracy, there's a phone call for you."
"Tell them I'll call them back." Scott's eyes were focused on the map.
"They insist on talking to you."
"Can you take a message?"
"No."
"Well, I'm just a little busy right now," Scott pointed out, irritation tinging his tone.
"It's about your brothers."
That caught Scott's attention. "What," he asked warily, "about them? Who is it, anyway?"
"It's the police."
Virgil glanced timidly at his brother. "Scott-"
"Not now," came the terse, snarled reply.
"But-"
"I said, not now." Scott gripped the steering wheel the same way he gripped his patience.
"It's just-"
"No! I don't want to hear it!"
Alan and Gordon looked at each other, cowering in their eldest brother's oppressive rage. Hell, if Scott were a dragon, he'd be seeing, living and breathing fire right now.
"We will deal with this at home. Not earlier. Not later. Is that understood?"
Three abashed heads nodded. "Yes Scott."
Virgil moved forward slightly, and tried to push the volume button to turn the radio on, but Scott slapped his hand away.
"Virgil, you don't EVER touch an Air Force pilot's radio without their permission."
The rest of the ride home happened in agonizing silence.
"Get in. Now." Scott's tone left no room for arguments as he threw open the front door.
"What's going on?" Unexpectedly, John Tracy sauntered to the door, carrying a tub of ice-cream and chocolate sauce.
"John!" Alan's face had a grin as wide as a jack o' lantern. "What are you doing here? You aren't meant to come til tomorrow!"
"I was bumped up a flight. No big deal."
Scott grabbed Alan by the scruff of his neck and shoved him roughly to the sofa. "Sit," he eyed his prankster of a brother and his artist of a brother. "All of you."
Like men waiting to be executed by firing squad, all four brothers squashed together on the sofa.
"What were you thinking, Virgil?!" Scott yelled, causing the window panes to rattle. "Wait, I take that back. You WEREN'T thinking! Did you ever consider checking your wallet before you left? Did you? No!"
"But-" Virgil began again, ready to defend himself until he was blue in the face.
"But nothing! You see this thing? It's called a head. Encased in it, there's just a tiny, wobbly bit of mass called the brain. For God's sake, start using it! You're eighteen; start acting like one!"
"They stole my ID," Virgil blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer. "They hid in my trunk so that I would get arrested! You don't think I've been affected by this?! Do you know how scary it is to find your two little brothers, who you thought you had left at home, hiding where you keep your groceries?! It was like a game of hide-and-shriek!"
"No excuses!" Scott roared. "Life is not a game, Virgil! None of this is a game. I won't always be around with ten thousand dollars to spare to bail you out of holding cells!" He paused, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. "I need to know you can look after yourself and your brothers and behave responsibly. Can you do that for me?"
Crystal blue eyes met honey burnt ones.
"Yes. I can."
"Good. And Gordon, what the hell were you doing?! Hiding in someone's trunk? That kind of thing is illegal! Not to mention, dangerous, stupid and life threatening! What if Virgil became involved in a rear end collision? You two would have been trapped in there, and no-one would look for you because no-one knew you were there! By the time someone figured out where you had gone, it would be too late! What about carbon monoxide poisoning? Did you think about that?"
"What about carbon monoxide?" Gordon shrugged. "We were in the trunk. It wouldn't affect us."
"But Gordy," Alan interjected. "A car's not a sealed object. There are gaps everywhere."
"The gas could seep in from any of the gaps," John added. "And since the trunk is close to the exhaust pipe, the chances of carbon monoxide entering the trunk increases."
"I see," Gordon replied. And he did.
"I hope you do. And Alan, I know you're Gordon's partner in crime and everything, but you do not have to do everything he tells you to do. Next time, think about whether what Gordon is doing is right and safe. Will you promise to do that?"
Alan nodded. "I promise."
"Do any of you have something to say?"
Virgil raised his hand. "Where have you little punks hidden my ID?"
Alan appealed to Scott with his eyes.
"Answer the question, Alan."
"In my shoe," Alan mumbled. "Red Converse, stripy laces, shoved to the toe."
"In your shoe?!" Virgil repeated incredulously, moving towards the door to retrieve his valuable items. "Now my cards are going to smell of cheesy eleven year old feet! You're such a moron, Alan."
"Get back here, Virgil! We are not finished yet," Scott ordered.
"I'd like to add something," Gordon piped up. "This is directed at Virgil. Payback's a," Gordon raised his eyebrows suggestively, not wanting to risk another punishment for saying the word. "But ain't it beautiful. Don't you agree?"
With a roar of fury, Virgil charged at Gordon, ready to tackle him to the ground.
"ENOUGH!" Scott's eyes were as cold and hard as obsidian, and John had pressed himself to the back of the sofa, trying to stay out of the fray. "Alan, I want your car magazines, your car models and your Gameboy. Gordon, I want your scuba gear, your swimmers and your goggles. Virgil, I want your piano books, your paints, canvases and sketchpad. I do not know how long I will keep them, but you will not be getting them back for the next two weeks."
Three faces stared at Scott, looking as though he had just cancelled Christmas.
"Today," Scott emphasised with a sharp edge to his voice. "Go! You have five minutes."
Virgil, Gordon and Alan all darted to their respective rooms. Once they were out of sight, Scott flopped down on the nearly empty sofa with a weary sigh.
"So," John ventured. "What was that all about? What did they do?"
"From my understanding and from what the cops told me, Virgil asked Gordon and Alan to go with him to the concert with him. Virgil changed his mind at the last minute, and decided not to take them. Gordon and Alan became angry, and in a mad act of revenge, hid in his trunk so that Virg would be arrested by the cops."
John whistled. "That's low. Even by Gordon's standards. Wouldn't want to cross him when he's angry anymore."
"John, to be perfectly honest, I don't give a flying fu-" Scott broke off as he saw Alan standing in the doorway, arms laden with motor car magazines and models and games. "I don't give a rat's rear end as to why he did what he did." Scott outstretched his arms and gathered the confiscated goods.
"Scotty," Alan squirmed on the spot, unsure of his brother's reaction. "I'm really sorry about calling you away from the meeting."
"You and me both, kiddo. Get up there and tell the others they have two minutes."
John turned back to Scott, looking him straight in the eye. "Scott, I'm going to ask you something, and I'd really like an honest answer. Can you do that?"
"Depends on what you're asking. I'll answer it honestly, or I won't answer it at all, OK?"
John cut straight to the chase. "Where are you being posted?"
Scott blinked rapidly, waiting for his ears to catch up to his brain. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me; where are you being posted? And before you ask how I knew, you yourself gave it away."
"I did?" Scott echoed, puzzled.
"You've always told us you wouldn't be around, but you've never been as blunt as you were when you were yelling at Virgil. Where are you being posted?"
"Bereznik."
John's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "You're kidding me, right?"
Scott shook his head glumly. Every time the war-torn nation came on news bulletins, bad news was guaranteed. Many newscasts reported of injuries to members of neutral parties, sent in to aid the country, or worse.
"But," John began, a tremble of fear for his big brother evident in his voice.
"John, no. Don't think like that. It's only for nine months. I'll be fine. I'll be back soon; you know I will."
"When do you go?"
"28th."
"Wow. Well, can't say they don't give you plenty of notice," John muttered dryly. "Dad's going to flip out, you know."
"No, he won't," Scott countered. "He's been involved in the Air Force; he would have known this would be coming."
"Grams will flip out, then," John parried back.
"Yep, she will," Scott agreed. "Which is why you can't mention any of this to her until I tell her, OK?"
"Sure, I understand." Sensing Scott wanted to change the subject, John held up two shiny silvery holographic tickets. "Since Virgil won't be using these, I thought we could. Seems like a shame to waste them."
"But, you hate FusionGate."
"I know I do. But I love spending time with my favourite big brother."
"You mean only big brother," Scott corrected.
"That's why you're my favourite. So, you wanna go?"
A slow smile stretched across Scott's face and he looked down at his Air Force Uniform. "I'll meet you in the car in five minutes. You're driving."
AN: Are those two sneaky or what! Anyway, that was part two of a two part story. Hope you enjoyed, and as always, please review.