Soon enough, December 2069 slid into January 2070. Then came February, a month with two significant events on the same day: Valentine's Day and, most important of all, Gordon's birthday. Last year we didn't celebrate, he thought. This year? Big party! And so, plans were made.
It wasn't to be any ordinary celebration. No streamers or depressing store-bought balloons would be in sight. Instead, Gordon decreed that it would be a grand masquerade ball - or as close to a ball as you could get in the villa's lounge.
"Really, Gords?" Alan had complained over the comm. "I get to come home for the day and I'll have to wear a mask all night?"
He walked into that one. Gordon's shark-like teeth were bared.
"It'll save the rest of us from having to look at that delightful face of yours," he joked. When his brother's expression crumpled like singed paper, Gordon relented. "Ah, relax," he said. "I'm just kidding. It'll be fun, you'll see."
A few days before the party, though, Gordon was on the brink of cancelling the whole thing. It didn't seem fair to celebrate, somehow, given the news.
On the 12th, just before breakfast, John received another early morning call from England. It was Mackenzie from the Victim Support Unit again. The look on his brother's eyes when he reappeared at the breakfast table told Gordon everything.
All of the Tracy men, bar Alan on Five, were there. All eyes were on John. The blond seemed to be shrinking in his chair, closing in on himself. Oh, no. Not happening! Gordon thought. You've worked too hard! He shuffled his chair a little closer, hoping that proximity would buoy John up again.
"Has the trial date been set?" Scott asked.
John nodded and swallowed.
"Yes," he said, his voice small. "March tenth."
"They will convict her," Virgil said. "They have to."
John nodded, though it was clear he was disappearing inside his own head. Before Gordon could do anything to intervene, however, a force of nature stepped in.
"John Eugene Tracy, stand up please."
Gordon turned to see their grandmother standing with her hands on her hips, apron impeccable and a large mixing spoon still in one hand.
John blinked heavily, his face screwed with confusion.
"What?"
"I said, stand up, please."
Without further question, John did as he was told. In spite of the circumstances, Gordon allowed himself a small grin. Obeying the matriarch of the family was hardwired into them, even as the adults they were.
"Now, young man," Grandma Tracy said. "Repeat after me."
"Mother, I don't think -"
Jeff's protests were cut off by a curt 'hush.' Even he obeyed.
"As I said, repeat after me."
John cracked the smallest of smiles, even though his face was coloured with embarrassment. He cast Gordon a look that was half-apologetic and half-pleading. Help!
"Okay, Grandma," he said.
John did as he was told; by the end, Gordon was almost on the verge of tears.
"I, John Eugene Tracy, am a survivor. I have come through the hard times and I am better for it. Whatever the outcome of the trial, that will not change."
When his brothers and father burst into a round of applause and cheers, John's face burned bright red. However, he stepped out from behind the table to pull his grandmother into a tight squeeze.
"I love you, Grandma," he said. "Thank you."
"No problem, child," she said, pounding him on the back with more strength than one would expect from an eighty-something year old woman and smacking his behind with the spoon. "We're all here for you. We'll all be by your side for the trial - whether in person or in spirit. And I'll be there in person, no doubt about that!" She released him from the embrace and surreptitiously wiped her eyes. "Now, who wants pancakes?"
~oOo~
On the morning of the fourteenth of February, Gordon was awoken by a sound that made him want to shove an entire pillow into each of his ears. His brothers were singing.
"Happy Birthday to you!"
He buried his face in his hands.
"Oh god."
"Happy Birthday to you!"
He peeked out from between his fingers.
"How did you even get in here?"
By this stage, his three older siblings had piled onto the bed and all attempts to drown them out were in vain.
"Happy Birthday, dear Squid-Boy."
"Now that's just rude."
"Happy Birthday to you!"
Gordon tried to bury himself under the covers but they were swiftly ripped away.
"It's a good thing I don't sleep naked!" he said as he sat up. "You guys really are something."
Scott pulled him in for a noogie and he squirmed. John and Virgil were of no help and simply sat back, laughing.
"Gah! I hate that!"
"I know," Scott replied.
Extricating himself from his brother's grasp, Gordon stood and stretched.
"I hope you're all set for tonight," he said. "All masks present and correct?"
"They are," Virgil said, "though I still can't understand why you'd choose a masquerade party. I thought you were more of a superhero fancy dress kind of guy."
Gordon shrugged and headed for his en suite.
"At the grand old age of twenty-four, I thought it was time for something more," he paused to strike pose, draping himself against the doorjamb, "sophisticated." He straightened and jerked his thumb towards the door. "Now get outta here. I'll see you at breakfast."
~oOo~
Furious preparations had been taking place all day to set up for the soirée. Tin-Tin had spirited Gordon away for some scuba diving - choosing not to go for the water mamba story this time, though - while Scott took off in Three to collect Alan.
John found himself dragooned into helping with the decorating - under the dictatorship of a very pernickety Virgil. The artistic Tracy had chosen a 1920s Art Deco theme, all geometric patterns and contrasts of colour.
"No, no, no," he said as John tried to attach a transfer of an angular starburst to the wall. "That's the wrong way around."
"What do I know about decorating?" John protested. "Why don't these things come with instructions?"
Virgil stepped down from the ladder he had been using to help attach elaborate garlands to the wall.
"Because," he said, snatching up the transfer and righting it, "it's assumed that the person applying it has more than two brain cells."
John stepped back, hands held up in defeat. Virgil's meticulous attention to detail was not something he wanted to argue against. He allowed himself a moment to examine their work so far, nodding in approval.
The lounge looked truly spectacular.
"I feel like I've just stepped into The Great Gatsby," he said.
Virgil, who had mounted the transfer on the wall correctly, planted his hands on his hips and nodded.
"Good. That's the idea. Once we're all dressed, it'll look perfect."
"It'll be weird to break out the tuxedo again," John said. "Does Gords know about this theme?"
"I don't think he'll be expecting it to be so elaborate," Virgil said. "But he deserves it. Last year, we didn't celebrate because... Well, you know why."
John nodded and huffed out a short breath.
"Yeah."
"We were all worried about you," Virgil said, "but I think Gordon found it hardest to cope."
John nodded. That sounded about right. Despite the veneer of the joker, underneath Gordon was a very sensitive and empathetic soul.
"Well, I hope he enjoys tonight," he said, then shook off the bad memories that were threatening to ruin his mood like a heavy rain. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a shirt to iron."
~oOo~
After a day of scuba diving, Gordon was ready for a night of revelry. He scrubbed himself pink in the shower before sliding into his tux. I wonder why we're wearing tuxedos, he thought as he adjusted his bow tie. He shrugged on his dinner jacket and surveyed himself in the mirror. Awesome.
Then he turned to his dresser and lifted his mask.
It was an elaborate thing, a black and gold splash over his eyes, edged with intricate swirling. What made it most unique, though, was the allusion to a jester's hat. Three points rose from the top of the mask, complete with jingling bells. Fun yet elegant - just like me!
Mask on, he sighed. Even though he was ready, he was not permitted leave just yet. He was under strict instructions not to step one toe over the threshold of his door until he was called upon. It's all very exciting...yet frustrating!
He didn't have to wait long, though. Soon enough, there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, he was blown away by what he saw.
Tin-Tin was standing there, resplendent in a long dress that sparkled in the light. It was blue and green, like a peacock, which was the inspiration for her mask - a shimmering turquoise base with a plume of peacock feathers erupting from the right hand side.
"Wow," Gordon breathed. "You look amazing!"
Tin-Tin gave a little curtsey and grinned.
"Not bad for the mother of an eight month old baby," she said. Then she held out her hand. "I've come to escort you to your party."
Gordon took her hand but instead of simply holding it, he swept down in a bow and then kissed the backs of her fingers.
"I'm honoured," he said.
Tin-Tin looped her arm through his and smiled.
"Let's go."
It didn't take long to reach the lounge. Before they entered, Tin-Tin stopped him.
"Close your eyes," she said.
Gordon did as he was told, feeling a little unsteady - what was going to happen next? He allowed himself to be guided forward. He could hear the ironic rustling and shushing of people trying not to make noise. Then Tin-Tin squeezed his arm.
"Open," she said.
He did. Once again, he was blown away.
"Surprise!"
"Oh my god!"
The lounge had been decked out in such elaborate detail that Gordon could barely believe it was the same room. He felt as though he had stepped back in time by more than a century. Everything was covered in geometric patterns, contrasting colours, or edged in gold or silver. He looked at the crowd that had gathered - all his brothers, his father, his grandmother, and his friends, bedecked in masks of all colours and sizes - and felt a lump in his throat.
Virgil stepped forward in a mask that was inspired by the helmet of a Roman centurion. He pressed a glass of champagne into Gordon's hand.
"Happy Birthday, little brother," he said.
For the first time in a long time, Gordon wasn't sure what to say.
"Thanks everyone," he managed. "This is...amazing." He took a swig of his champagne and grinned. "Let's get this party started!"
And so they did.
~oOo~
The festivities went in late into the night, though not everyone stayed. Feeling brave, John had decided to take Lyra overnight - which made sense, since he had not indulged in any alcohol. Within a few hours, it was time for bath and bed.
"Now, my little miss," John said as he wrapped her in a thick towel, "it's time for sleep."
He hummed as he dried the child off and slipped her into a sleep suit and a baby sleeping bag. Not wanting to set her down right away, he sat on the armchair by the French windows, simply enjoying the feeling of his daughter in his arms. Without realising what he was doing, he started to sing.
Lullaby, little one, sleepily gazing
Out where a star glitters, bright and amazing!
Little one, sleepy one, come now and wander
Far in the star-country, glimmering yonder!
Here comes a star for you! Here is another!
Watch while I point to them! Count them with mother!
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of them showing
How many stars are there, sparkling and glowing?
Here is a white one, a red one, a blue one,
This one is golden, and there is a new one!
Now they are everywhere, stars beyond number;
Lullaby, little one, quietly slumber.
It was a song his mother had sung a thousand, a hundred thousand times, in order to lull her babies to sleep. And it seemed to do the trick, for when he had finished Lyra was out cold.
With the greatest of care, John extricated himself from the chair and walked to the bassinet. He placed her into it and she wriggled a little, but soon settled. Feeling prouder than he ever had before, even when his first book was published, John dusted off his hands – quietly, of course.
Then there was a knock at the door.
Freezing in place, eyes on the baby, he waited for her to wake. But she didn't. Heaving a sigh of relief, he tip-toed to the door and opened it slowly.
"Ssh. Sleeping baby," he whispered before he could even see who was there.
"Oh, okay," a voice whispered back. "Do you want me to go?"
When he saw who it was, John shook his head. No, I really don't.
"Hey, Eli," he said. "You're welcome to come in as long as you're quiet."
Elijah pretended to snap his fingers.
"Darn, and there I was wanting to bring in a giant sheet of bubble wrap and a few whoopee cushions."
John waved him inside and shut the door. He felt phenomenally underdressed in comparison to the other man. Elijah was still in his suit, though his tie and top button were undone. He hadn't been drinking either; like a few of the others, he was on stand-by for any emergency calls.
John motioned for him to follow and the two men slid out onto the balcony. He kept the door ajar so he could hear any signs of distress.
"Did you have fun tonight?" he asked.
Elijah slipped his tie off his neck and wrung it between his fingers.
"Yeah," he said. "I hadn't been to a party like that in years – literally years, you understand. There wasn't much cause for elaborate celebration in the C.A.R." He shrugged. "Did you have fun?"
John folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the balcony rail.
"Yeah, I did," he said. "It was good to see Gordon enjoying himself so much. Though I think he'll pay for it tomorrow!"
"I think you're right there," Elijah said with a lopsided smile. "When I left, Matthew was drawing smiles on Gordon's kneecaps, using Tin-Tin's lipstick."
John laughed – a little too loudly – and shook his head.
"Those two are dynamite together," he said.
"Aye," Elijah said. "As we say back home, they're mustard." He joined John in leaning and mirrored his actions by folding his arms as well. "As long as they're having fun."
Their proximity to one another sent shivers down their backs and they looked at one another, shaking their heads in unison. John turned to face the other man and unfolded his arms.
"There was something I wanted to ask you earlier," he said, bowing his head slightly, "but I was too shy to ask." He gave a quiet chuckle. "It seems silly, what with me being a grown man."
Elijah turned in.
"What did you want to ask?"
John's heart started to flutter and he reached to take Elijah's hands in his own.
"Will you… Will you be my valentine?"
Elijah's face broke into a grin wider than any John had ever seen grace his face.
"I thought you'd never ask," he said.
They leaned in to one another, eyes closing, and when their lips met, it was as though the stars had aligned and a thousand hurts were healed.