Anxiety? Excessive. Sleep schedule? Royally screwed. Hotel? Trivago. But at least I got to see Heathers and Cinderella this week, so my lil theatre nerd heart is happy.
Onto the chapter!
Time was inconsequential. Once Scott would have chastised his brother for so thoroughly messing up his sleep schedule to the point that wandering the house seemed normal in the early hours of the morning when the night skulked around the villa and tried to seep through the cracks in the walls to haunt them.
Gordon had never been the night owl that Virgil and Alan were, always one to rise with the dawn sun and greet the new day with a swim. In the space of just a couple of weeks that had changed. There was a new sharpness to him, a dangerous edge that was polished and poised, a similar danger that could be found in Kayo or Penelope. Scott wasn't sure what to make of it. He'd only been out of the picture for just under a week and yet his younger brother seemed a stranger to him.
If Gordon were aware that he'd changed, he didn't seem prepared to address it. He appeared to be coping the best out of everyone. He kept his voice light and breezy, slipping back into his easy-go-lucky jokes from before the world had fallen apart, turfing Scott out of bed.
"Take a shower," he instructed, pushing his brother towards the en-suite before Scott could protest and turning to the drawers to grab some clean clothes. "Oh my god, Scott, just do it. Let someone take care of you for a change."
The shower helped. Scott didn't bother waiting for it to warm up. The cold was refreshing. All of a sudden he was plunged back into focus, as though he'd been drifting outside of his body for days without realising. Everything was itchy. He scrubbed at the grime and sweat and upended the entire bottle of shampoo on his hair until the water finally ran clear. He waited for a while, pressing his forehead to the cool tiles and simply breathing, feeling the steam in his lungs and letting the water pound the tension out of his shoulders.
His towel seemed almost too soft. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, but it was one that he hadn't experienced in years. The mirror was foggy with condensation so that he couldn't pick out the details of his reflection. Instead, he examined the bruises decorating his ribs and shoulder, the healing scrapes across his palms, the scar where his wounded forearm would never fully heal, the raw skin over his knuckles, a network of marks from hits he couldn't remember taking. It was all proof that he was alive, he reminded himself.
The soul-deep exhaustion was still present. He towel-dried his hair roughly and didn't bother with his usual gel. Preening in the mirror was for someone who cared, and he was finding it extremely difficult to even remain standing.
Gordon was gone, but a note left on the desk instructed Scott to head down to the kitchen as soon as he was done. He crawled into sweatpants and a loose tee and forwent socks, because every sensation helped to ground him just a little bit more, even something as simple as the brush of the carpet and smooth sheen of floorboards underfoot.
John's door was shut and the keypad glowed red, showing it was locked. Virgil's room was empty. Gordon's door was half-propped open and Alan was asleep there, sprawled across his brother's bed with that ridiculous holographic fish lamp turning the room a comforting blue. Scott took his time getting to the kitchen. There was something reassuring about noting all the familiar landmarks of his own home.
Penelope was on the sofa when he emerged into the open plan living space. The shutters had been retracted along the patio edge, revealing the swimming pool and an expanse of stars watching over a dark ocean. Scott wandered to windows and observed the palm fronds tossing their heads.
The kitchen was bathed in light and Gordon was humming to himself, prancing around the stove, singing into a spatula like it was a microphone. MAX darted about his heels, chirping in time to the beat of soft music from the speakers. The clock on the wall announced that it was roughly two-thirty in the morning. The oven grumbled as Gordon coaxed it into life. Sauce bubbled merrily on the hob. Pasta sheets soaked in olive oil, garlic and sauce, while mincemeat sizzled away, accompanied by onions and spices. It was almost certainly well over their rationed portions, but then again Scott hadn't eaten his own rations for the past five days so this would make up for it, and besides, Gordon's lasagne was legendary, stolen and adjusted from one of their mother's old recipes.
Penelope stirred. She was dozing, feet tucked under a cushion, a fluffy blanket patterned with clownfish wrapped around her lithe form. Sherbet was in her lap, ears pricked and eyes bright, tongue lolling in a doggy smile as the pug recognised Scott's presence as friend rather than foe. Scott retreated to the opposite couch so as not to startle Penelope, forced to sit down as his legs grew too shaky for comfort, just another reminder that he hadn't eaten in days. No wonder his vision kept swimming.
"Hey." Penelope's voice was small, layered with sleep. She yawned, brushing stray hair out of her eyes, face void of makeup. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that had definitely once been John's. Sherbet snuffled as he was dislodged, jumping down in irritation and trotting into the kitchen to join Gordon and MAX. Penelope slid off the sofa and joined Scott, bringing the blanket with her.
"Hey," Scott greeted her in turn, wincing as his voice wavered.
Penelope tucked herself into his side and wrapped the blanket around both of them. She put her head on his shoulder and reached for his hand, intwining their fingers and running her thumb across his wounded knuckles with her other hand.
"I've missed you," she murmured. "Don't hide yourself away next time."
"No promises," Scott told her, trying to sound joking but falling short of humour. "I didn't mean to scare anyone," he continued more seriously, sensing that Penelope wasn't in the right frame of mind for anything less than the truth. "I'm sorry."
Penelope lifted their joined hands above the blanket and rested them in her lap. Her eyes were wide and worried and glistening as she examined his knuckles. "I don't like it when any of you are in pain, least of all when you're hurting yourself unnecessarily."
Scott rested his chin on top of her head. "How's John?" he asked quietly because Penelope was probably the only person who genuinely knew the answer, but also because deflection was urgently needed.
Penelope watched Gordon cradle Sherbet to his chest whilst attempting to stir the sauce at the same time, MAX chirping with amusement at the sight. There was something gentle and hopelessly soft in her eyes.
"You know," she said eventually, "Gordon's changing. He's had to, because otherwise all of this would have broken him. But somehow he's still so kind. It's a genuine kindness too, utterly selfless. He doesn't expect anything in return, he just gives freely because he cares." She smiled. "Your brother is a very special person, Scott."
Scott was very, very aware of that. He could talk for hours about any one of his siblings and how proud he was of them and how brilliant they all were in their individual ways. For now, he simply marvelled at his little brother and the fact that Gordon was making a lasagne in the middle of the night just because it was good comfort food and he knew that it was one of Scott's favourite dishes.
Penelope reached for the mug of tea that had long since gone cold. MAX set about making her a fresh cup without needing to be asked. She patted the robot's back fondly. "I see Brains has taught you well." She took a sip, tucking her feet under Scott's thighs to warm her toes with a cheeky smile that she could only have picked up from a certain aquanaut. "So," she said, cupping her mug between her hands. "About John."
"About John," Scott agreed, pulling the blanket a little tighter around Penelope's shoulders.
Penelope sighed. "He's… well." She bit her lip. "I don't know, Scott. He won't talk to me. He comes to me and we spend time together and I think we both find comfort in that, but he won't talk about anything real. He gets lost in his own head. I know he's struggled with that in the past, but this time is different, because this time…"
"This time there's no world for him to come back to."
"This time he doesn't see any point in trying to pull himself out of the slump." Penelope tapped her little finger against the rim of her mug. Her gaze was caught by the darkness of the night as it snapped at the heels of the patio lights, wondering what monsters lurked beyond. "As worried as I am about John," she said at last, "I'd rather talk about you."
"I'm fine," Scott said automatically.
Penelope's smile was sad. "Oh darling," she whispered, gently placing a hand on his wrist. "We both know that's just not true."
The kitchen lights dimmed as Gordon left the lasagne in the oven and set his watch to ping when it was done, coming to join them with a glass of water complete with ice and lemon which he shoved into Scott's hands.
"Drink all of that," he ordered, leaving no room for argument. "You're dehydrated."
Scott obediently drank the water. Penelope rose to her feet, stretching leisurely, gesturing for Sherbet to follow her.
"I'm going to call it a night," she said, meeting Gordon's grateful glance with a knowing smile. She bundled the blanket into his lap as he took her vacated spot on the sofa. "Don't stay up too late, boys."
"Thanks Penny," Gordon called after her. "You're awesome."
Penelope's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I know," she agreed with a hint of mischief to her voice, reaching across to give Scott a quick hug before she was padding away, Sherbet at her heels, his tiny bark echoing around the empty hallway as though he were the size of a husky.
Gordon sank deeper onto the sofa with a groan. "Remember when the most stressful part of our day was a difficult rescue?" He huffed a laugh. "Alright..." He drew his feet on the sofa and sat cross-legged, watching Scott expectantly. "How ya doing, Scooter?"
It was a loaded question.
Scott briefly considered lying but decided there was very little point.
"Better," he said at last. "Not great, but not…"
Not like I'm dying anymore.
The fact he had to set the bar that low was mildly depressing.
"Well," Gordon announced cheerily, "I'll take that. It's better than nothing." He stretched his legs out to rest his feet on the coffee table. Scott couldn't find the energy to chastise him. "Dinner should be ready soon."
"It's nearly three-AM," Scott pointed out. "Does it really count as dinner?"
"Huh." Gordon contemplated this. "I could hardly call it breakfast though, could I? I mean, who has lasagne for breakfast?"
"College kids who forgot to shop and only have leftovers in the fridge from the night before."
Gordon grinned. "Speaking from experience?"
"Possibly," Scott admitted, and felt something warm in his chest at the sound of his brother's laugh, more genuine than it had been in days. Finally they were approaching territory that felt more familiar, so long as he could ignore the way Gordon was surreptitiously watching him like a hawk. "So." He nodded to the retracted shutters. "When did that happen?"
Gordon took a moment to reply, apparently assessing whether to accept the obvious topic change that Scott had introduced in a feeble attempt to avoid any emotional conversations.
"We were all going stir-crazy, locked away in here, so Kayo ran a risk assessment and Brains built some super fancy sounding tech that's basically a forcefield, and then we voted on it while you were still off in dreamland on the good stuff in the infirmary, so now we have access to the patio and the lookout." Gordon traced the outline of a clownfish on his corner of the blanket. "Not that anyone's been up there," he continued, almost wistfully. "Not even Johnny."
Scott searched for a suitable response. He had too many questions but not enough words.
"We're kinda falling apart, Scott," Gordon murmured. "I don't know how we fix this." He drew a knee up to his chest, drumming his fingers on top, his other heel tip-tapping against the carpet, a bundle of restless energy. "Forget the world for a second, because I don't even know… We're losing each other and it's happening slowly. I always figured there'd be one rescue we didn't all come back from, but this… it's worse in a way, because I can see it happening and it doesn't matter how hard I try because certain people just don't want to hear it."
Scott put an arm around his brother's shoulders. Gordon tipped sideways until he could rest his head against Scott's bicep. The blanket tangled across their knees.
"This was supposed to be me comforting you," Gordon muttered. "Not the other way around."
Scott shrugged. "Let's call it even. It goes both ways, remember?"
"I've got you and you've got me?"
"Sure, something like that."
Gordon fell silent. In the quiet, the island seemed very still and lifeless in a way that Scott had never experienced before. The cricket song and tree frog chirps were absent and as the breeze dropped there was no noise from rustling palm fronds. Even the extractor fan above the stove had switched off.
"I never got to ask, how was Jerusalem?" Gordon's words were more mumbled into Scott's shoulder than spoken aloud but at least they broke that godawful silence.
Scott fought a smile. "You know… dead." Gordon swatted his knee and he laughed. Little Brother went suspiciously still, as though someone had hit pause on a universal remote. "What?"
Gordon hesitated. "It's just been a while since I heard you laugh, that's all."
"Not much to laugh about right now."
"Even before the world went to shit… You used to laugh a lot more when we were kids."
"Guess I grew up."
"We all did, but the universe dealt you a spectacularly crappy hand. You didn't deserve that. Hell, of all people, you especially didn't deserve that." Gordon twisted to look up at him. "I have no idea where all those self-worth issues of yours came from."
"I don't have self-worth issues."
Gordon snorted. "Scotty, I'm not the brother with the psychology degree, but even I can see that you've got some problems."
"Thanks," Scott deadpanned.
Gordon reached up and flicked him square in the centre of the forehead. "You've been throwing yourself into the firing line for anyone for years. It's not just an International Rescue thing, so don't use that as an excuse. I don't get it."
"With everyone else, yeah, it actually is an International Rescue thing. With you guys…" Scott studied the crumpled clownfish pattern in his hands. "Look, Mom made me promise to look after you and then when Dad brought me into IR he also made me promise to watch out for all of you."
"Too bad he never clarified that you were supposed to watch out for yourself too." Gordon sounded oddly bitter. "I get you hero-worshipped the guy, Scott, but at times… he was kind of a prick."
"Gordon."
"What? Sorry if my loyalties are with the guy who actually stuck around to raise me after Mom died while my real father buried himself in work and drink for months on end until Grandma made him pull his head outta his ass. I mean, shit Scott, you lost Mom too, but he expected you to just raise the four of us for him."
"This isn't the conversation I expected to have…"
"You were fifteen." Gordon glared at their father's old desk, shrouded in moonlight. "Did he ever apologise? I mean a proper apology, not just returning and being like, oh yeah, thanks for that."
"He's our dad, Gords, he didn't need to apologise. He was grieving."
"So were we."
"He came back," Scott pointed out, hushed, suddenly unnerved by the idea of breaking the silence. This was a topic that they hadn't addressed in years, if ever. The only person he'd ever spoken with about this was John. Honestly, he hadn't even realised Gordon could recall this many of the gory details.
Gordon relinquished his tight grip on the blanket. "If Grandma hadn't spoken to him, would he have done? You know what, scratch that, if he hadn't overheard Alan accidentally call you Dad, would he have done? Cos I don't know. I just don't know. I do know that I'm sick of watching my big brother run himself into the ground because he thinks everyone else's wellbeing is more important than his own, and I know I'm angry that part of that is Dad's fault, no matter what you say."
"Dad did love us, you know," Scott said after a moment. It was the only thing he could bring himself to say. His eyes were stinging, and he pushed the heels of his hands against them until he saw spots.
"I know," Gordon agreed quietly, "but that doesn't make his actions acceptable." He slumped heavily against the sofa cushions. "This isn't the right time for this conversation, not to mention that I definitely need John here to back me up, so… Anyway, you still haven't told me about Jerusalem."
Scott studied MAX's camera, glinting in the light from the oven. "I tackled Parker off a roof," he offered conversationally.
Gordon tried not to laugh and failed. "Yeah, I heard about that. Next time remember to wear a jetpack, okay? Or better yet, just don't tackle people off roofs. Definitely don't take the entire impact yourself. You got off lucky this time and trust me, a broken back is no joke. I would know." He slid off the sofa, shaking each leg out, hissing as pins-and-needles sensations hit his feet. "Fancy a drink? I want hot chocolate."
"I was hoping you were going to suggest something alcoholic," Scott said, dragging himself off the sofa to follow his brother into the kitchen.
Gordon shot him a wry glance. "Not on your pain meds, dumbass."
"Hey. Respect your elders."
"I'm so sorry, old man." Gordon rose onto his toes to open the ridiculously high cupboard where the chocolate powder had been placed out of Alan's reach years ago. "You still haven't answered my question though." He waved the carton under Scott's nose. "Chocolate? Yes? No?"
"Yes."
"A wise choice."
Scott sank onto one of the bar stools and slumped over the counter, resting his chin in his hands as he watched Gordon wrestle with the lid of the chocolate powder, which somehow had fused to the container since the last time it had been used. Metal chimed as MAX struggled to retrieve a spoon from the cutlery drawer. Gordon took it from the robot in exchange for the powder and hopped onto the counter to wait while MAX made short work of removing the lid. There was no milk left in the fridge, so they had to make do with water instead, and the kettle filled the room with a comforting thunder as it boiled.
"So… Israel was kind of a bust then?" Gordon asked as he spooned chocolate powder into two mugs.
Scott hmm-ed. "It really just confirmed what we already knew – that the GDF and World Council had an idea of what was going on weeks before anything actually happened." He slid a little further against the counter. "I learnt that Patient Zero was probably in India though. Not that it helps, because India was one of the first countries to go dark. Even EOS hasn't been able to make contact." A slight movement caught his eye and he sat up, frowning. "Gords, what are you doing?"
Gordon paused halfway through ladling additional spoonfuls of sugar into the mugs. "What?"
"That's far too much sugar." Scott stole the spoon from his brother's grasp.
Gordon wrinkled his nose. "Spoilsport," he scoffed, with a glint in his eyes that promised he was just teasing. "Maybe we should go to India anyway, just to check in person."
"India's a massive country, it's not as simple as dropping by and asking to see the zombie specialist."
Gordon sniggered. "That's gonna be an official job title by the end of the year. Can you imagine? Past me is freaking out, man. I'm practising moves in the gym that I used to make my avatar do on Al's video games."
Scott nudged MAX's claw away from the kettle before the robot could attempt to be helpful but just end up spilling boiling water everywhere.
"Alan mentioned you'd quit swimming."
Gordon stilled. "Not completely," he amended. "Just… I don't think I can front crawl away from a horde of the undead, y'know? It makes more sense to practise other skills." He grinned. "We all know I'm the best shot in the family anyway, but even so."
"Really? Are you really the best shot?"
Gordon slid a mug across to him. "Relax Scotty, you're still a close second." He tilted his head in question as Scott took a sip. "So? Thoughts?"
"Not as good as John's."
Gordon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no shit. John's like a hot chocolate master. He has a secret recipe – that's just not fair. If he let me have a glance at it I'd probably be able to recreate it just as well."
"Give it up Gords – John's the superior chef."
"For now," Gordon conceded, still grumbling as he rounded the counter to sit next to Scott. "But one day I'm gonna beat him and grab that crown. I'll go on MasterChef and everything."
Scott eyed him dubiously. "What happened to Celebrity Alligator Wrestling?"
Gordon smirked. "I'll win that too. My glory's gonna be never-ending." He quietened, staring into the depths of his drink with a heavy sigh. "There's probably never going to be anything like that again though, is there? Even if we fix this, stop the infection… the cities are wrecked. It's going to take years to rebuild. It might not even be in our lifetime."
"I wouldn't say that."
"Why not?"
"Because we have you on our side, and you have a habit of defeating the odds."
Gordon offered a tired smile. "Yeah. I guess I do." He traced the edges of the empty hologram projector. "When was the last time you went down to the hangars?"
Scott simultaneously craved seeing One like a missing part of his soul and dreaded it at the same time. He focussed on the heat bleeding into his palms from the mug. "Not since I got back."
"I have an idea… but it's kind of crazy."
"Like the normal kind, or…?"
Gordon chuckled nervously. "Uh… almost on the Alan level of crazy…"
"Oh, Christ." Scott twisted in his seat to face his brother. "Alright, hit me."
"Right. Okay. So." Gordon clapped his hands together. "EOS first alerted us to the zombies in the sea nearly three weeks ago, right? And according to John's theory, they should be properly dead by now. I think I should take Four and check. Because if they are, you know, dead, then that means we were right about the rate of decomposition."
Scott exhaled slowly. "Provided you don't go EVA… I don't see a problem. It's a good idea, but if you even think about leaving Four I will get EOS to remote pilot you back here."
Gordon grinned. "FAB, bro." He tipped back on his bar stool, balancing precariously. Scott flung out an arm instinctively to steady him. "I haven't mentioned it to John or Virg yet though. Only Kayo. She agrees with you, just FYI."
The oven pinged. Gordon rocketed out of his seat.
"My lasagne!"
Scott found himself hard-pressed not to laugh. He remained in his seat after Gordon pinned him with a warning stare when he went to get up and help. It was an achievement that they didn't wake up half the household when Gordon clattered about with plates and cutlery and dished up giant servings of lasagne, steaming and delicious and accompanied by slices of garlic bread that he'd apparently been hiding at the back of the freezer. They sat and ate by the glow of the sleeping hologram projector and watched moonlight play across the swimming pool.
Gordon stared at the water with a melancholy sense of longing. He twirled his fork around his plate, picking at his garlic bread absently.
"You miss swimming," Scott diagnosed.
Gordon didn't bother denying it.
"I miss everything." He stabbed a pasta sheet a tad more aggressively than necessary and his fork skittered across ceramic. "Look, I know what you're going to say. I get it. There's nothing stopping me from just diving in and swimming as many laps as I want. But I just… Until we go on a supply run, I need to pick where I'm spending calories, and the training sims in the gym are a better use. Also…" He ducked his head. "I dunno, man. It's like… Virgil doesn't paint anymore. Alan doesn't play games. John hasn't gone up to the lookout since we secured it. You can't fly because of the fuel rations. It just feels kinda selfish to be the only one still doing something I love, y'know?"
"To quote you," Scott told him with a wry smile, "that's bullshit."
Gordon chuckled. "Yeah," he agreed sadly. "I know. But when have any of us ever been logical? John comes the closest and even he has his moments. The whole world's gone insane. I kinda want to leave swimming as a good memory of how things used to be. I can't have it tainted, it's too important to me. You get that, right?"
Scott chased the final forkful of lasagne around his plate. Yeah, of course he got what Gordon was saying. Part of him wished he'd never taken Thunderbird One to Jerusalem because now when he thought of his baby all he could remember were the smoking remains of fallen cities, fear beating a war drum in his chest, and the constant stench of blood. Thunderbird One had always represented hope. Now he didn't know if he'd ever be able to step foot in her cockpit without that guilt pressing at the back of his mind.
"Yeah," he said at last. "I get that."
Gordon collected their empty plates and dunked them into a sink of soapy water. "We'll talk strategies in the morning. For now, you need to drink another glass of water and get some sleep. If you're not in this kitchen for breakfast I won't hesitate to drag you out of your room kicking and screaming." He grinned. "That's right, bro-ski, I'm gonna smother-hen you. How the tables have turned."
"I don't like it," Scott complained.
Gordon cackled. "I know, that's what makes it so brilliant." He shoved the plates onto the draining board to dry. "Get some sleep," he said, more softly, squeezing Scott's shoulder on his way by. "I need to check on Alan, but I'll join you in like ten."
"I don't need a babysitter."
Gordon just raised a brow. "Yeah, sure you don't, Scotty." He flipped a salute. "Ten minutes mi hermano. You'd better be in bed, or I'll sic Grandma on you. I had to fight her to be the first to break your door down."
"You do realise you didn't actually break my door down? You just bypassed the lock. And I sincerely hope you didn't fight our grandmother."
Gordon snorted. "Nice attempt at deflection, bro. Now get your ass into bed or so help me…"
Scott lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm going, I'm going."
It seemed insane that he was still exhausted after he'd done nothing for almost a week, but somehow simply taking a shower and talking had made him feel as though he'd run a marathon. He collapsed onto his bed, nearly smothering himself in the pillows. Someone had opened his window a slither and there was a cool breeze wrapping its way around the room.
He rolled onto his side and listened. His door was still open so he could hear Gordon's voice in the distance, hushed and evidently attempting to reassure someone. At first Scott assumed it was Alan, but then the answering reply was clearly Virgil. He was about to get up and join them when another door closed and then Gordon's footsteps pattered along the corridor.
Scott propped himself up on an elbow. "Is Virgil alright?"
"He's fine." Gordon's reply was too quick to actually sound convincing. He nudged at Scott's legs with one foot. "Shove over then."
Scott shuffled a little closer to the wall. Gordon flopped onto his back and stuck a foot over the edge of the mattress like a weirdo. Waves crashed along the beach, the sound carried up to the villa. Stars were just visible through the gaps in the blinds. Scott fixed his sights on them and didn't blink until his vision blurred.
"Hey." Gordon reached out and snagged Scott's wrist. "Quit that."
"Quit what?"
"You're tapping."
Scott frowned. "Am I?"
"Yuh-uh. Talk to me. I thought you were about to crash sitting upright and now you're like a frickin' lightning bolt. What's going on?"
"Just… thinking."
"About?"
"I don't know." The words hung heavily in the night air. "Sorry," Scott tacked onto the end of his sentence, in the hopes that would knock Gordon out of whatever train of thought he'd fallen into, because it was just unnatural for his brother to be this still, as though he'd been turned to stone.
Gordon tutted. "Why are you apologising? Not got an answer, have you?"
"Sorry for worrying you?" Scott suggested.
"Holy hell, Scotty, why are you like this?"
Scott tried not to laugh as he added, very quietly, "sorry."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Please stop. I am literally begging you to stop. You're killing me here, Scooter." There was a slight pause. "And now you're tapping again!"
"…Sorry."
"Oh, that's it. Come here. No running away."
Gordon hugged like an octopus. Once he had hold of you, there was no escaping. He hugged with his whole body as though he were scared of letting go, clinging on tightly until the victim finally gave in and relaxed, at which point Gordon would happily snuggle closer until he was satisfied that the hug had done its job. Touch was very much one of his love languages and it had never been so obvious.
"You're making it difficult to breathe," Scott pointed out, not really complaining at all.
Gordon huffed and tightened his hold. "Tough luck," he muttered against Scott's shoulder. "Suck it up, buttercup. You're stuck with me."
Scott didn't recall falling asleep, but he suddenly jolted awake to bright sunlight washing across the room and what felt like a furnace plastered to his back because Gordon naturally ran hotter (unlike John who was permanently cold and had to wear a hoodie even in the height of summer in the tropics). The haze of emotional exhaustion was still there, sinking its claws into his heart and refusing to let go, but it had receded enough to allow him to think straight and actually get out of bed.
Gordon had an arm flung over his brother's waist and was unwilling to move. Scott glanced at the clock and recalled that they'd both been up at such a crazy hour that staying in bed a little longer wouldn't hurt. He drifted in and out of a light doze until Gordon finally stirred, running his fingers through glorious bed hair to no avail and blinking blearily as he attempted to remember where he was and why.
"Breakfast?" Scott offered.
Gordon elbowed him teasingly. "Not if you're cooking. I could do without putting out a kitchen fire, thank you very much." He slid out of bed and hopped from foot to foot until his muscles decided to wake up, nearly walking into the wall as he yawned. "Virgil might be around though. We've got flour and water and we could melt some of Alan's chocolate collection to make some really terrible pancakes."
"Sounds like a plan."
Gordon nodded. "Well," he stated matter-of-factly. "I am a genius."
Scott shoved him out the door.
Gordon had been right about one thing: Virgil was present. Admittedly, he was asleep under a blanket on the sofa with an old movie from the last century still rolling credits on the hologram projector, but he wasn't tucked away in his room like the rest of the family. The blanket was a soft, navy-blue thing that usually lived on the couch in Brains' lab. Scott tucked it closer around his brother's shoulders and carded a hand through Virgil's hair until that pained frown finally eased.
Plates crashed in the kitchen.
"Oops."
"Gordon," Scott sighed as Virgil jolted awake, panicked and on edge, some subconscious instinct recognising his brother and keeping him from taking a swing at Scott before the rest of his brain could catch up. He lowered his fist and slumped back against the couch with a groan.
"What time is it?"
Scott shrugged. "Not sure. Gords?"
Gordon was halfway through climbing entirely into the fridge. "Do we have zero lemons left?"
"We have pretty much zero anything left," Virgil muttered, struggling to sit upright. He peered over the back of the couch at the open-plan kitchen. "What are you even trying to make?"
"Pancakes."
"We don't have milk or eggs."
Gordon stuck his head over the kitchen island. "Yeah, but we have water and flour." He tossed his hands up in exasperation. "Hey, I never said they were gonna be good pancakes. Besides," he turned back to his hunt in the fridge, voice muffled by the door, "I didn't say I was making any for you."
"Gordon," Scott warned.
"Fine," came the answering groan. "But know that I'm making you pancakes reluctantly, Vee."
"Duly noted, don't worry."
There was an undercurrent of tension in Virgil's voice. Scott was torn between wanting to confront him and giving him space. He hovered on the floorboards above the conversation pit, weighing the pros and cons, brain still sluggish from sleep, when Virgil made the decision for him.
"Come on."
Scott followed him out to the patio. The sun loungers had long since been banished indoors and even the swimming pool seemed darker, despite the fact this was impossible due to the cleaning bots that ran automatically, charging via solar power. There were charcoal clouds on the horizon and the air tasted of rain. A breeze had picked up. Scott was glad that he'd picked up a hoodie on his way out. Ever since New York the world had felt colder. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or simply the amount of smoke in the atmosphere.
"Virgil," he prompted, sinking his hands into his pockets, the constant threat of exhaustion rearing its head once again. "Are you-"
He was cut off by Virgil turning and closing the distance between them, barrelling into him without stopping so that Scott was forced to take a couple of steps back to keep from losing his balance. Virgil held him like a drowning man clung to a lifeboat, strong and desperate, hands fisting in the back of Scott's shirt.
"Hey." Scott wrapped his arms around his brother. "Virgil?"
There was no reply other than the minute shaking of shoulders. Scott held him closer, sensing that words weren't on the table right now. He could do with one of those sun loungers though, because with the way Virgil had slumped against him it felt as if he was the only thing holding them both upright. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, but then again normally Scott wouldn't have spent nearly a week unmoving and skipping all but one meal. His legs were not up to the task.
"Virg? Can we move this back inside?" Virgil's grip tightened. "I'm not going anywhere, I swear, but there's a serious risk of us both falling in the pool if we stay here."
Virgil reluctantly unwound his arms but yanked his hood up before Scott could see his face. It was a fairly redundant move as all it did was confirm Scott's suspicions that his brother was crying, but he let Virgil try to keep his sense of pride anyway.
Gordon was busy whisking a sad substitute for pancake batter. He looked up when they traipsed inside and caught Scott's eye, understanding dawning across his face.
"I'm gonna drag Alan out of bed. Maybe I can get Penny to help me find the space-case. No one touch that mix." He swept past before Scott could say anything, closing the door to the corridor behind him to provide some semblance of privacy. Scott didn't think he'd ever stop being surprised by his younger brother – Gordon somehow managed to be a complete disaster and yet incredibly perceptive at the same time.
Virgil slid over the back of the sofa, gathering the blanket into his lap to occupy his hands. The second Scott sat down next to him he launched across the tiny gap. The blanket tangled between them. Scott found himself practically pinned to the cushions with an armful of trembling younger brother. His mind provided a helpful flashback to a similar moment many years ago, of Virgil creeping into his room after a nightmare, only able to fall back asleep once he was safely tucked up against Scott's side with the lamp left on for good measure.
People who cried silently tended to have taught themselves that skill. Scott knew that from personal experience. John was the same way. Virgil could go either way but right now he was trying to muffle his tears and there was no need for it. His face was buried in Scott's shoulder, grip on the blanket tight enough to hurt.
Scott hated a lot of things right now. He hated the entire situation, he hated that he'd spent a week unable to get out of bed, unable to do anything other than breathe and even that had been a struggle, and he hated that he'd left his family alone in that time. He hated that he couldn't fix any of this. Whatever the price was to cure the world, he'd pay it without hesitation. The issue was that he didn't know where to start.
Actually, he didn't know much about anything right now. He didn't even know himself. He couldn't look at his reflection still. The mirror in his en-suite had a large crack in it spreading from an impact zone in the shape of a fist, which he'd been careful not to let Gordon spy. Overall, there was a distinct possibility that he was losing his mind, which meant he had to go back to basics, back to the very foundations of his sense of self: being a big brother.
So.
He tapped breathing rhythms against Virgil's back until his brother caught on and the threat of hyperventilation subsided, at which point comfort became the new priority. At some point Virgil had essentially melted against his side, so Scott wrapped the blanket around them both and just held his brother. No speaking. No demands. Just them versus the world. That, at least, was mildly familiar.
Virgil was shivering, despite the blanket. Scott stripped off his hoodie and tried to keep the concern off his face as Virgil hugged the warm fabric close.
"Do you feel up to talking yet?" he asked tentatively.
Virgil stared at the hoodie in his hands without truly seeing it. "Maybe. I don't know. I can't…" He exhaled. "You're going to have to ask me questions, because I can't organise my thoughts right now."
"Okay. I can do that."
Virgil traced the seams along the fabric. "I wanted to see you. This week, I mean. But I didn't want to make anything worse, and I keep…" He gestured vaguely. "Losing my shit," he finished. "I'm sorry I left you alone though."
"Well." Scott leant back and draped an arm across the back of the sofa. "I left you alone too."
"We're a mess."
"Yeah." Scott wasn't about to deny it. "Yeah, we are."
"Where do we go from here?"
"We just… I'll figure that out. Right now, we get through this moment."
"Honestly? That seems impossible."
"Give it a try?"
Virgil gave a damp laugh. "I don't have much of a choice."
"Sorry. I will fix this though. It's gonna get better."
"Will it?"
Scott met the eyes of his reflection in the windows. "Yeah," he muttered. "It will. I'll fix it, Virg, I swear." Out of sight, he flexed his hand and examined the tortured skin across his knuckles. "No matter what it takes, I'll fix it."
Fun fact: the bit about Gordon's legendary lasagne was inspired by The Harvard Hypocrite by PreludeinZ and carryonstarkid which is an incredible fic that I highly recommend. I won't mention how many times I've re-read it...
Is it bad if I tell you that this is probably one of the fluffiest chapters for a while? Even more angst is coming, y'all...
Review?
Kat x
