I'm on time! Actually, I'm sorta early! It's a miracle!
Evening slipped into night. Time tipped into that strange, blurred state where hours felt like minutes, but minutes felt like hours. John and Alan didn't reappear, although a door slammed at the far end of the corridor and heavy footsteps trailed into the distance. Scott cleared up the biggest pieces of the broken projector while Virgil took care of the finer shards and the cleaning bot disposed of anything they'd missed.
The zombies were howling again – not their usual groans and grunts but that distraught, almost mournful cry. It echoed across the landscape. The creatures sounded louder now that the storm had died down and the night air was calm enough to funnel it through the rock formations. It was a clear sky and the moon shone full and bright. The signal to Thunderbird Five was still patchy but was holding steady, so EOS projected her avatar into the living room on the pretext of offering updates but secretly simply craving human company.
Scott had been expecting John to join them, but there were no footsteps in the hallway and by the time Virgil had finished with the clean-up in the kitchen, there were still no signs of him. More worryingly, there were no signs of Alan either.
"Do you think he's killed him?" Scott asked as Virgil kicked the door shut behind him, taking care not to spill the contents of his mug.
"What?" Virgil took a moment to process the words. "Oh, what – John's killed Alan?" He dropped into an armchair with an amused huff. "Nah. Alan's probably hiding somewhere. I don't blame him – I don't remember the last time I saw John that angry."
Scott winced. "He's not going to be too tough on the kid, right?"
Virgil eyed him over the mug. "I wouldn't exactly blame him if he was." He set the mug aside and leant forwards, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Look, I'll level with you – I'm fairly angry with Alan too right now. I get he's dealing with a lot – and I probably understand that better than you or John because I'm not immune either – but that doesn't give him a free pass to treat anyone like crap."
"It doesn't," Scott agreed carefully, "but he has gone through so much in the past week alone. I haven't had the chance to catch you up on half of it. He needs support more than he needs anger. He's feeling guilty. He knows what he did was wrong. He'll come to me when he's ready and we'll talk it through and if I still have concerns then I'll direct him to you. But I don't want John going overboard and making things worse."
"He won't."
"You know how John is when he's angry."
Another howl sliced the night in two. Scott was beginning to consider it part of the background noise. It didn't send shivers down his spine now like it had done before.
"I know Alan was wrong," he said quietly. "I understand he needs to be spoken with. But… I don't really get why John's so angry. I mean, you're not."
"Yes I am."
"Nowhere near on the same level."
"Well yes, but John's always been protective over you in secret."
Scott stared at him. "What?"
"You really hadn't figured that out? After all these years?"
"Don't say all these years, you make me feel old."
Virgil hid his smile behind another sip of whatever drink he was hiding in that mug. "I thought you knew and it was just another one of those things you pretend not to notice." His gaze flickered to EOS, her icon fading into an impatient yellow. "I'm guessing John's not joining us then. Want to fill me in on everything I've missed?"
Scott tipped his head back to examine the ceiling. "That's a long story."
"We've got a long night. Don't think I missed that coffee you snuck earlier."
"Bold of you to assume that has any effect on me anymore."
Virgil reached for a blanket and slid further down against the cushions, clearly settling in for the long haul. He cradled his mug between his palms and let the rising air warm his chin. "Start talking," he growled, without a single hint of real threat.
Scott shuffled down to lift his feet onto the sofa. Hey, if John decided to show up and find there was nowhere left to sit, that was his fault for not appearing sooner.
"What did Penelope tell you?"
"I know everything up until the escape pod deployed."
Well. Thank fuck he didn't have to recount those details. The memories would forever haunt his nightmares even if Alan's voice had recovered and the bruises had faded. A week spent as survival buddies did not mean Scott no longer hated the Hood with every fibre of his being. Learning that he'd been eaten on the way to his bunker would still be a welcome discovery.
"The Hood's alive," he blurted out, because it was the most relevant piece of information and if he didn't get it out in the open the words would probably evade him again. "He…" Saved us got stuck in his throat. He coughed. "He was the one who found Alan and me after the pharmacy incident. Took us to some rooftop he'd found where we holed up and plotted a new strategy."
"You were stuck on a rooftop with that maniac?" Virgil looked horrified. "I'm surprised you didn't end up throwing him over the side."
"Believe me, I was very tempted. After that… hotwired a car. Drove here, steering clear of the main highways so it took a while, but we made it. I dropped the Hood off near a supposed bunker."
Virgil was silent for a moment. "You took him with you?"
"He can control the infected."
"He can what?"
"That cybernetic eye of his? It emits a frequency that allows him to do his freaky mind control trick with anyone wearing tech. Apparently that same frequency scares away zombies."
It didn't take long for Virgil to hit on the real question. "Does it scare them, or does it scare the parasite?"
"That's the million-dollar question. And along the same lines, the parasite is affected by radiation." Scott paused. "Well. I think. It's a working theory."
Virgil frowned. "I'm scared to ask how you came across that theory in the first place."
"How are radiation levels at home?"
"Steady." Virgil gestured to EOS. "Any help from Five?"
"Too much interference," EOS replied, a trace sulkily. "It's taking all my focus to keep boosting this radio signal."
"Well, that scraps that idea then." Virgil set the mug aside. "Radiation levels are slightly above average at home but they're holding steady and they're not high enough for concern. I'm guessing that's different out here?"
"Just a bit." Scott sat upright again because reclining like a roman emperor didn't fit the mood when you were discussing extinction-level threats to humanity. "There's radioactive ash falling across Utah."
"Across the entire state?"
"I didn't drive that far north so I don't know. Have you still got decontamination packs on Two?"
"Um…" Virgil considered this. "Probably. We were due a restock before everything, but I think there's about three left?"
"Alan and I should probably use them."
"Were you exposed? Med-scanner didn't pick up on anything."
"I don't feel sick," Scott admitted. "But I'd rather be safe than sorry."
Virgil draped the blanket over the back of the chair and stood up. "Come on then."
"What, right now?"
"No time like the present." Virgil beckoned him to his feet. "C'mon. I can fill you in on the Gordon situation on the way downstairs."
Having the Thunderbirds back in this hangar was surreal. It had been so long since their last visit to the ranch and so much had changed since then that it felt like another lifetime. Sometimes it seemed like their previous way of life had been the real lie and that this had always been their destiny – that the undead wandering around was normality and a history of high-rise headquarters, nights in packed bars, a world of voices rather than howls had all been a dream.
Virgil swiped a hand over Two's access panel and disappeared inside. Scott hung back in the hangar, drawn towards One like a magnet. What was the saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It certainly seemed to be true in this case. He didn't necessarily have the urge to zoom around the globe several times the speed of sound, but it was possible that he would be making a night-time trip down here, just to sit in One's cockpit and feel that rush again. As it was, he trailed a hand over sleek paintwork and imagined the faint thrum of engines long-since powered down.
"Hey." Virgil ducked his head out of Two's hatch. "You coming?"
Scott tore himself away from his Thunderbird. "Just checking that John didn't ding a wing or anything."
Virgil shot him an amused look, as if to say uh huh, sure, but I've got you all figured out. He shook a decontamination packet at him. Orange liquid sloshed around. Scott prodded it and tried not to grimace.
"Nice."
Virgil openly laughed. "No comment."
Scott took the pouch and peered at it dubiously. "Have I mentioned that I hate this stuff?"
"Well, it's either this or taking a full decontamination shower, so pick your poison."
"This looks like I literally am picking poison."
"This was your idea," Virgil pointed out. "You mentioned it first."
"Yes," Scott agreed, with a healthy dose of pure regret. "I was trying to be responsible. That was my mistake. I should go back to being a reckless adrenaline junkie."
Virgil directed a pointed look at the packet without another word. Scott tore it open with a heavy sigh.
"Holy hell, why does this smell so bad?"
"It's the goodness."
"Would you voluntarily drink this?"
"I don't have to," Virgil shot back. "I'm not radioactive."
"Hopefully I'm not either."
Scott examined the liquid and tried to convince himself that if he downed it like a shot he wouldn't even have to taste it. He tilted the pouch and the contents sort of squelched, a sound that was uncomfortably similar to that of the more heavily decomposed infected, which did very little to make the liquid any more appetising. However. He was no stranger to radiation sickness and it was, to put it mildly, a grade-A bitch. So. He pinched his nose and drained the packet in one foul swoop before he could accidentally taste it.
"Oh, fuck me."
Virgil offered him a bottle of water. "Yeah… never gets any better, does it?"
"How would you know?" Scott gasped out, trying not to retch because wow, that aftertaste was somehow worse than a hangover. "You've only ever had one, what – once?"
"Stop walking into radioactive areas then." Virgil put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Better?"
"I hate life."
"That's the spirit."
So. The Gordon Story – which definitely deserved capitalisation and was a title which the man himself would probably be delighted by – was a lengthy tale which was accompanied by the bottle of scotch stashed away within the ranch's shadowy corners out of reach of any untrustworthy clutches. Virgil was drowning feelings like Scott was drowning memories and they would undoubtedly pay for it in the morning. If John materialised, they'd have to hide the bottle, but for now – it wasn't necessary as such, but it certainly made things a helluva lot easier. Their past selves would have criticised them for choosing such a terrible coping method but when there were infected threatening to tear down the gates and Gordon had turned himself into a myth, what were they supposed to do? It had been a long day and Scott was still running from his own mind, so he poured them both another glass and listened because it was Virgil's turn to tell a story.
So.
The Gordon Story.
Which, funnily enough, began before any of the curveballs thrown their way by a certain egocentric maniac and a satellite filled with elitists without any morals. It began with immunity and it began with Gordon mentioning an incredibly shitty idea to Virgil during an hour just late enough for Virgil to consider going to bed but just early enough for Gordon to consider getting out of bed so they met in the middle – in the kitchen to be precise. Virgil tried not to mention Gordon's bloodied knuckles while Gordon chose not to point out the fact that it was nearly five-AM and Virgil hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours.
"Do you remember that headline about genetic therapy?" Gordon had announced.
Virgil – on the verge of crashing whilst still standing – sort of wavered. "What?"
"Genetic therapy. It was… they were trialling it. It was a whole thing. Hit the news. Remember? About two years back."
"I don't even remember-" -when I last slept, Virgil had been about to say, but wisely cut himself off because Gordon was just as much of a so-called smother-hen when he wanted to be even if he refused to admit it. "No," he finished lamely. "I don't remember that."
Gordon side-stepped him to retrieve the icebox from the freezer. "Genetic coding," he announced, voice muffled by the blast of cold air. "They were essentially recoding DNA."
Virgil sank onto a chair. "Okay?"
"So… ah, shit, for Chrissake, one sec…" Gordon fumbled to wrap ice cubes in a towel without them escaping and gave up, instead planting the ice box on the sideboard and plunging his entire hand into the contents with a pained hiss. "Okay. So. Immunity. Is a thing."
"Yes," Virgil confirmed, blinking back exhausted tears. "It's a thing."
"It's a thing caused by a very specific mutation."
"Yes."
"What if someone somewhere can code that mutation into the DNA of people who aren't immune? Give everyone immunity?" Gordon popped an ice cube into his mouth and started crunching on it, as if ice had any nutritional value at all beyond providing him with a nasty brain freeze. "It's an idea," he continued, hopping up to perch on the counter. "I'm not… I don't know. I'm just… you know?"
"No."
"Oh, for-" Gordon took a deliberately deep breath. "Never-mind. It was an idea. It's… it's nothing. It's probably… well. Sounds risky as hell, anyway, and that's if it's even possible in the first place. Don't think about it. I won't. Or… well, I will, but… fuck it. That's all I have to say." His gaze softened. "Virg, go to bed. Sleep. You look as bad as the things we're trying to cure."
"Bite me."
"No thanks."
And that was the end of that conversation. It had been all around confusing, hadn't led anywhere, and had ended with Gordon attempting to manhandle Virgil into bed with a stern warning to get some sleep unless he wanted to be drugged into doing so.
("Karma's a bitch," Scott murmured, and chuckled when Virgil swatted him.)
That was the last Virgil heard of the topic until a week ago, shortly before EOS admitted she'd lost contact with Scott, Alan, Penelope and Parker. The mission had, up until that point, been going smoothly, perfectly according to plan without a hitch – which was a shame on Kayo's behalf because she'd placed a bet with John that Scott would lose his shit and punch an aristocrat in the face – so there had been little point in everyone standing around monitoring the comms link. Virgil retreated to the gym and Gordon tailed him, talking a mile a minute, but it wasn't until Virgil heard that phrase again – genetic alteration – that he stopped and listened.
"You're still on that?"
"No," Gordon protested, just a little too quickly for it to be convincing. "Not exactly. I've been doing research. We actually – and you're not going to believe this one – we don't have the tech. It's not possible here. Or on Mars, even if Uncle Lee pulls through and Penny can smooth-talk 'em into letting us land. Which isn't really what I- Look, Scott's going back to Earth, right?"
"Right."
There was no point in denying it.
"Well, where Scott goes, I go."
Virgil caught the door before it could close again because Gordon had taken to lounging against the doorframe for some obscure reason.
"Since when were you such a follower?"
It came out harsher than he'd intended, but – Scott was immune. Gordon wasn't. There were completely stakes for each of them returning to Earth and Virgil wasn't about to stand around and let Gordon make a purely emotional decision without trying to offer up some rational reasoning as to why this was a terrible idea.
"I'm not," Gordon shot back, with surprisingly little venom. He shrugged. "I'm really not. But Scott's got the self-preservation of a freaking- he just hasn't got any, and even if John goes with him… We've seen how well that works out."
"Don't."
"I'm just saying."
"Then don't say."
"I can handle myself, Virg. I'm not a little kid." Gordon waved a hand. "Anyway, I'm not asking for permission."
"Then what are you asking for?"
Gordon studied him for a long moment. It was unnervingly quiet. Gordon didn't do still, let alone silent, and yet right now it was as if someone had hit pause on time. Virgil was struck by the distinct feeling that this was some sort of checkpoint – like the future was a rough draft and each page wasn't fully written until they reached that moment but that there were certain plot points which had to be resolved and that this was one such instance.
"Gordon," he prompted quietly.
Gordon faltered.
Virgil took a step back, suddenly deeply exhausted. Scott was off doubtlessly getting himself into trouble on that satellite, Alan couldn't be trusted to stay away from the action, Penelope and Parker would be swept up in the aftermath and then there was John, whose tests kept coming back clear and yet was getting worse by the day. Being brutally honest, there was a little pinch of irritation prickling under his skin, because he didn't need this right now. He really, really, didn't need this.
"What do you need from me?" he asked instead, exhaustion dripping into his voice despite his best efforts otherwise, because he just didn't know. He would have done, once upon a time, back when they'd been a team, when he spent more time with Gordon than anyone else, forming plans in Two's cockpit without always needing words. But now – he was at a loss. They'd drifted apart and he didn't know if that was his fault or if it was Gordon's or if it was simply one of those things but now, now, it hit him in a rush, a strange sort of grief as instinct told him that he was about to lose his brother and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it because this was Gordon's choice.
Gordon finally dropped his gaze. "I need your forgiveness," he said quietly. "Nothing else. Just that."
Virgil caught him by the shoulder. "You don't get to say that and walk away." He inhaled sharply and the slight chemical sting of recycled air caught in his throat. "No, seriously, what the fuck, Gordon?"
Gordon offered a grin. "Since when do you cuss?"
"Are you laughing right now?"
"No."
"Are you fucking serious?"
"No, I'm-" Gordon let the jokester mask drop. He buried his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched like a timid stray. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?"
The door sensors whined in protest. Virgil caught his brother's wrist and dragged him into the empty room so that the door could finally close.
"You're going to have to tell me what's going on."
Gordon winced. "Yeah, that's not… Sorry Vee, no can do."
"You tell me, or I tell Scott."
"You won't."
"Won't I?"
"What are you gonna tell him? Gordon's acting weird. Yeah, no shit, it's the goddam apocalypse."
Okay. Valid point.
Virgil tried not to glower at him because anger never got you anywhere with Gordon. "You have to know what that sounded like though. Forgiveness. You get how that can be interpreted?"
"It's my just in case."
Virgil tossed his hands up. "What does that even mean?"
"It means just in case. Did you never…?" Gordon dropped onto the end of the treadmill and leant back on his hands, genuinely baffled. "Did you never have those, during IR? Messages, saved and set to send just in case."
"No! Wait, you had those?"
"We literally risked our lives every time we launched, no shit I had those. I didn't want my final words to people to be like hey, Alan, you left a red sock in the washer and it got mixed up with my white shirt you little shit. I had it all pre-recorded. So now, this is my just in case, because I'm not looking for a bad ending, but that's always a possibility and I wanna cover all my bases, y'know? If my plan goes to hell and I don't… I need to know you'll forgive me for trying, for not taking the safe path and heading to Mars."
Silence carried a weight that noise never had to bear.
"I need you to promise me."
Gordon sat up. "Promise you what?" he asked warily.
"Promise me that I won't wake up one morning and you're just gone."
"Virg."
"I'm not saying don't go. I know you too well for that. You'd hate it on Mars. It's your worst nightmare, being stuck there, and we both know it. Nothing I say is going to stop you from trying whatever crazy scheme you've cooked up. But I have to know that you won't just walk out on me. Don't leave without saying goodbye. Especially if there's a chance you won't come back."
"Isn't that easier?" Gordon whispered. "Goodbyes suck. You know they do."
"I'm not asking you for easy."
Gordon exhaled slowly. "Alright." He rose to his feet and forced a smile. "I promise."
("He promised," Virgil muttered, knocking back the remnants of whatever-number-glass this was, trying to pretend the tears in his eyes were from the strong drink and not memories. "No, no, he didn't promise – what he did was lie.")
Everything went to shit after that. More so than it had already, anyway. Penelope and Parker's return with EOS autopiloting Three was a chaotic mess. John nearly knocked himself unconscious, pushing so far past his limits that it was insanity. EOS tried to push past the mess of interference blocking her from Earth and failed time and time again. Anything that could have gone wrong did. The only thing that went right was the New Martian Colony although even that wasn't great because now their family was officially split across Space. Not just a single planet. But Space.
Kayo and Penelope were supposed to take the Space Elevator back up to Five each day to check in. Then they stopped. Virgil had a breakdown in the shower for approximately twenty minutes before forcing himself back to work because he was playing game of balance with John's meds, and it was a tightrope act between a near fucking overdose and not enough potency to knock down the traces of parasite in his system.
He crashed into Gordon in the Gravity Ring.
"Oh, hey. I was just looking for you."
"Not now, Gordon."
"I'm leaving."
Virgil ground to a halt. "Is this a joke?"
"No. We're not getting any answers up here and there are now four people I love on that planet down there-" He pointed at the swirling mass of broken blue beneath their feet. "-so I refuse to sit on my ass any longer while they're in danger. I'm gonna go look for them."
"Are you even hearing yourself?"
"Yes."
"Gordon, you can't search the entire planet."
Gordon bristled. "Watch me."
"Watch you get yourself killed? No thanks."
"I'm not going to get myself killed."
"You're not immune! God, why can't you get that? You'll be a risk to yourself and everyone around you. They're safer without you."
Gordon didn't flinch but it was a near thing. He took a step back but didn't look away, didn't shrink in on himself like he would have done in civilian clothes – there was a certain degree of additional bravery offered by International Rescue blues.
The argument probably would have spiralled a lot further if EOS hadn't put a premature end to it by announcing John needed help – her words, not his – and so Virgil shifted his focus into medical mode while Gordon followed in case he needed a spare pair of hands.
("Where is John?" Scott wondered aloud, reaching for the bottle to discover it was empty.)
Twenty-four hours saw the three of them back dirtside. For the first time in known history, John seemed better on Earth than he had done in Space. Virgil kept track of the dosages and correlating symptoms and tried to keep everything from falling apart. He'd hoped against fate that returning home would offer answers, that perhaps, despite the impossibility, Scott and Alan would be waiting. But all he found was an empty house, not even a home.
John buried himself in holograms. There was a serious sense of misplaced guilt hidden behind his contacts which was somewhat ironic given he'd always been the first to criticise everyone else for taking on blame unnecessarily. Gordon seemed to vanish, only appearing briefly in the kitchen to collect his share of rations before slipping back into the shadows like a ghost. Virgil could practically see him distancing himself.
("I knew I was going to lose him before I actually lost him." Virgil hugged a cushion to his chest, voice suddenly very small. "Didn't make it hurt any less.")
At two in the morning, after Virgil had spent the past three hours coaxing John through feverish hallucinations and had finally managed to get his brother into bed and asleep, Gordon tracked him down. The house was soulless and offered no sympathy so he'd found solace in the one place which would always feel like home. Thunderbird Two welcomed him as if he had never left.
Gordon flopped over the back of his usual seat wearing a blanket as a cape, and draped his legs over the armrest, all faux relaxed as if Virgil couldn't read the tension from his shoulders alone.
"Basic trajectory suggests the escape pod landed somewhere off the Californian coast."
Virgil closed his eyes. "That's not exactly a small coastline."
"Narrows it down from the entire planet though."
"Gordon…"
"Yes?"
"Your just in case thing… I realised I never gave you answer."
Gordon stilled. "You uh… no, you didn't."
"Just in case… I forgive you."
Gordon was silent for a moment. Then he reached across and gripped Virgil's shoulder.
"I love you so fucking much, you know that, right?"
"Uh huh," Virgil mumbled, halfway to falling asleep and only vaguely aware of a blanket being tucked around his shoulders and a brief kiss to his brow. When he woke up the co-pilot's chair was empty and he didn't need to check the rest of island to confirm what he already knew, but his heart still sank when he discovered Four's empty tank.
Gordon was gone.
So. At the end of it all, the conclusion could be summarised into a few neat points. Gordon had gone searching, but not for Penelope and Kayo because he believed they could handle themselves and would find their way home eventually. No, he went looking for two things:
1. Some variation of genetic coding to give himself immunity so that he would no longer pose a risk to the very people he was trying to protect
2. Find Scott and Alan
He'd come so close to achieving that second point that it was almost tragic to think about. Scott wished he had a second bottle so he could get drunk enough to block out not just memories but the absolute grief that came with that knowledge. Unfortunately, he was already too drunk to refrain from spilling secrets.
"It's not even like Alan hasn't apologised, so why am I still upset?"
Virgil groaned into the sofa cushion. "Scott. Are you dumb?"
"Yes. Well. No. Not according to my GPA."
"Fuck you, stop bringing that up. You were point one ahead of me. That's nothing."
"We both look like idiots compared to Johnny."
Virgil rolled onto his front and propped his chin on the arm of the sofa. "Are you still sad?"
"Perpetually," Scott announced grandly, which for some reason suddenly seemed hilarious. The laughter didn't last long. He wanted to cry again. Which no, no, no. More drink. There wasn't any. Fuck. "I want to throw myself into the sun."
"That sounds dangerous."
"Danger is my middle name."
"Your middle name is Carpenter."
"Do you know that for sure? Have you seen my birth certificate?"
Virgil sent him a deadpan stare. "I've seen your passport, dumbass."
"Oh, god." Scott yanked a cushion over his head. "I hate this."
"You don't hate drinking."
"Obviously not. I hate…" He gestured vaguely. The resounding silence suggested that perhaps Virgil hadn't quite managed to translate that one. "Feelings."
"Feelings," Virgil echoed.
"Yep. Too much and too little. Or… shit, I dunno. Have you ever been in the middle of the desert and looked up and thought, wow, I don't matter at all really, do I? The universe is infinite. Time is… time. It's not endless but it may as well be. Nothing matters. Everything dies."
"Apart from the infected."
"Do you believe in an afterlife?"
"Scott, I'm not drunk enough for this. You drank nearly double what I had."
"And yet I'm still too sober."
Virgil tugged the pillow away. Scott squinted at him.
"Trust me," Virgil told him fondly. "You're nowhere near sober right now. In fact, I think it's time you went to bed." He offered a hand. "On your feet, Scooter. You can't sleep here."
"Shh."
"Scott."
"No."
"Scotty, you're killing me here. Am I gonna have to carry you?"
"I'm up. I'm walking. I'm in bed now."
"Hate to break it to you, but you're still on the sofa."
"You call it a sofa, I call it a bed."
"You are so…" Virgil repressed a sigh. "Alright. Enough. Go to bed."
Scott scrambled upright with a jolt. "Christ, Virg. That's…"
Virgil frowned. "That's… what, exactly?"
"You sounded like Dad."
Virgil froze. Scott chose this precise moment to lose his balance and nearly toppled to the floor, only Virgil was there to catch him, which was probably one of the only constants left in the universe. The corridor seemed infinitely long. Scott slid along it in socks which was great fun, and it didn't even hurt that badly when he missed the doorway and crashed into the wall instead.
"Bed," Virgil announced, pointing to the mattress.
Scott gave an indignant sniff. "I'm not a dog."
"Please go to bed?"
"No. Because then it'll be another day and I don't want it to be another day. I just want to sleep. For ages. Not forever because I need to find Gordon. But a long time. Like a coma. A coma sounds fun."
"Gordon himself would tell you that a coma is not fun."
"I wanna go flying."
"Not right now."
"No shit."
"Oh for…" Virgil tackled him onto the bed. "Stay. Sleep."
Scott attempted to wriggle free, but Virgil was a big guy and he was practically pinning Scott to the mattress. Oh well. There were worse fates in the world.
