I love foreshadowing. It's my favourite literary technique. I'm not saying this for any particular reason...


Gordon seemed uncharacteristically serious when Scott caught up with him, skulking in the kitchen on the hunt for food to find only a hardened loaf in a breadbin and a jar of pickles in a long-dead fridge. He had his back turned to Scott, but the tensing of his shoulders beneath that dark uniform was proof he knew he was no longer alone.

"For the record, John was outta line."

Scott wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. Alan's furious at you." Gordon kicked out a chair and sank into it, propping his boots on the kitchen table. "Something about you being an idiot and running off by yourself without a weapon as if you have some kinda death wish."

Scott didn't wince but it was a near thing. "I don't."

Gordon raised a brow but didn't say anything. It was uncannily similar to John's judging expression.

"I don't," Scott repeated, a protesting note creeping into his voice. "Don't give me that look."

"Uh huh," Gordon deadpanned, tipping back in his chair so that the front legs left the ground, teetering precariously on the line between falling and balancing. "So." He slammed his boots back onto the tiles. A fine cloud of dust billowed from the impact zone. "Did you clean your knuckles?"

"If it helps, I'm not intentionally doing that. It's a subconscious thing."

"Somehow that makes me more concerned, but hey, not the issue right now. Did you clean the grazes?"

"Yes."

"Let me see."

"What, you don't trust me?"

"Not with yourself, no."

Scott stole the chair beside him and flattened his palms to the tabletop. Gordon examined the grazes intently as if he were back on Tracy Island taking notes on a rockpool. Scott was hard-pressed not to laugh. Sometimes he missed the days when Gordon played the joker all the time, but he couldn't deny that distinct sense of pride too, because Gordon was damn good at this – easy-going but more than capable of pulling that tough love card when necessary.

"Next time," Gordon said at long last, "talk to me. You can borrow these-" He hooked a thumb through his dog tags. "-or Alan's probably got some sort of fidget cube in a pocket somewhere."

"Not consciously aware I'm doing it, just putting that point out there again."

"I'll keep an eye on you."

"Stalker."

"You're an idiot, old man."

"Whatever, kid."

Gordon thumped his head against the table with an audible groan. Scott cautiously patted him on the back.

"You good there, Gords?"

"You scare the shit outta me on a daily basis."

"Thanks. I do try."

Gordon flipped him off.

Scott smacked his brother's hand down with a loud laugh. "Respect your elders, dipshit."

"Bite me."

"I'll leave that to the zombies."

"Dark."

"I know, right?"

Gordon lifted his head from the table. "I've got your back, you know that. But you've got to talk to me. Or at least talk to Virg. Maybe not John, because I'm still mad at him. Oh, and Alan is actually going to murder you in the next five minutes."

"So… are we good?"

Gordon offered him a fist bump which melted into a hug.

"We're good," he mumbled against Scott's shoulder, holding on tightly - not like his usual octopus tendencies but as if he were scared to let go. There were several painful implications there which Scott was unwilling consider in too much detail, particularly not when Gordon was burying his face in the crook of his shoulder as if that could possibly hide the fact that he was trembling.

"I'm sorry," Scott whispered, an apology for so many things, for everything and more.

"Don't," Gordon choked out. He tightened his grasp, curling his fists in Scott's suit. "Don't," he repeated damply, with a dull chuckle. "Just… don't say anything for a minute. Please."


Alan lounged on the porch steps, plucking great fistfuls of dead grass from the crevices between paving stones and tearing the remains to shreds, letting it filter between splayed fingers like weary rain. He had his knees drawn close to his chest, hunched over them as if trying to make himself small. Finch sat at his side, eyes mournful and ears drooping, tail not even thumping in greeting when she spotted Scott hovering in the doorway, uncertain of how to proceed. Alan didn't look up, but tensed, pausing in his foliage-destroying tendencies.

"Alan," Scott said cautiously, trying to gauge his brother's reaction. He made it to the foot of the steps without a reply and moved to stand in front of the kid. "Alan? Are you okay?"

"That," Alan began slowly, practically spitting the words as if they were venomous, "is the stupidest question you have ever asked me."

"Be fair," Scott joked, attempting for humour and immediately sensing this had been the wrong choice, "I've definitely asked dumber questions in the past."

So. Alan was, uh… definitely angry. But it was the upset, worried version of angry rather than the rageful fury which Scott was more used to dealing with, which made it so much worse. He repressed the urge to scuff his boots in the dust like a little kid, trying to think of possible conversations starters and coming up empty handed because the truth was that he had been a complete idiot.

In his defence, everything was a lot, so he felt he could be cut some slack. On the other hand, Alan had some not-so-fun abandonment issues going on which predated the apocalypse by a long stretch, so… Yeah. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation. That being said, Scott still wasn't anticipating being bodily tackled to the ground.

Ow.

Yeah-

Just ow.

His mind helpfully decided to cast every thought he had ever had into the sky where they floated beyond his reach. Head empty. No thoughts. Just an over awareness of the bruises throbbing around his tailbone from landing on his ass yesterday. Also, he was wrestling with the instinct to hug Alan, which would not go down well given the kid looked about five seconds away from landing a punch. This was not how Scott had planned this conversation – not that he'd had a plan to begin with, but if he had done then this definitely wouldn't have been it. For a moment he remained sprawled on his back in the dead grass and silently considered which of his numerous questionable life choices had led to this moment.

Alan loomed over him, trying to choke down tears.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He had one hand fisted in Scott's suit, the other braced so that he could continue to pin Scott to the ground as if fearing his brother would bolt for freedom again. "Seriously, what the hell? What were you thinking?"

"Not a lot apparently," Scott attempted to quip, vaguely aware all of a sudden as to the reason why it was sometimes obvious that he and Gordon were related, because using humour to deflect was a Gordon classic.

Alan made a small, pained sound and suddenly there was absolutely nothing funny about the situation whatsoever.

Scott fumbled to catch Alan's wrist. "I'm sorry."

Alan yanked his hand away and slammed his palm into Scott's shoulder, surprisingly strong, certainly violent enough to leave a bruise.

"You're sorry?" His voice rose in disbelief, laced with acid. "Are you fucking serious? You're sorry. Great. Everything's better now."

Scott found himself faced with the sinking realisation that he was a little bit out of his depth here. He was certainly far too sleep deprived to be able to read Alan properly, which stung a little because he could normally take one glance at the kid and understand him like an open book.

"Alan," he said softly, earning another furious sound halfway between a sob and a growl.

"No, you don't get to talk. Not now. Not when you-" Alan took a ragged breath, voice splintering over a thousand threads of different emotions. He swiped away angry tears, tightening his fist in Scott's suit so that his nails came dangerously close to digging through the material. "You don't get to run off, putting yourself at risk, practically asking a zombie to find you, and then turn around and just say sorry, like that fixes anything. All you ever do is throw yourself into the firing line."

"To protect you!"

"I don't want protecting! I just want you to stay alive!"

And for some reason – some godforsaken, painful reason which tore his heart open so that he could finally feel everything in paralysing, crystal clarity – it finally clicked with something in his brain, as if pieces shifted into place so that at last, after years of useless words from everyone else – loved ones to therapists to his own reflection – Scott got it. God knew it had been a long time coming – years of not grasping just how much he meant to others – but now, with Alan, it hit him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, but it sounded different this time even to his own ears.

Alan relinquished his grip on the suit but planted his hand on Scott's chest instead, directly above his heart, trying to breathe evenly and failing miserably.

"I lose everyone." He bit his lip, vicious enough to draw blood but still unable to fight back panicked tears. "And I don't get why- You know that, so why- Why are you trying to leave me too?" He ducked his head, voice dropping to a broken whisper. "I know it's not about me. I'm a very small part of a really big picture. But why can't I be enough? Just once, why can't I be enough for someone to stay?"

"Alan." Scott reached up, clasped a hand to the nape of the kid's neck, tugging him close until Alan gave up and collapsed against him, still trying to stifle sobs and oh no, Scott had fucked this up so, so badly, but he could and would fix it. "Of course you're enough. That was never- Christ, Al, you're the reason I'm still fighting. I'm not trying to leave you. I just- sometimes my head is a goddamn minefield and I put myself in harm's way but that's not a reflection on you. It's something I've got to work on and I know that, but you… I love you so much. You mean more to me than anything, you hear me? I am so sorry that I scared you."

Alan was quiet for a moment.

"I have a bad track record of losing parents," he whispered eventually, the words tumbling over one another, torn apart by tears and patched hastily together again so that they were a damp mess. He inhaled sharply, breath catching on a condemned sob. "I don't remember Mom. I don't really remember Dad. But I can't… I lost them both and that's kinda… You're not Dad, but you're my dad and I know, I know that sounds dumb and doesn't make sense but still, it means maybe I have a higher possibility of losing you than anyone else, so it really, really scares me when you seem to go looking for danger. And I don't mean the adrenaline junkie thing, I mean-"

"I know what you mean."

"O-okay. I just- I'm sorry, by the way, 'cos, like, I know the entire me-calling-you-dad-thing freaks you out. So. Sorry. It's not intentional. I just have a terrible verbal filter sometimes."

"It doesn't freak me out."

Alan sent him a doubtful look. "Doesn't it?"

"No. Well, yes. But not- I feel bad that Dad isn't here to see you grow up, but that's not- You deserve to have a great father, but I mess it up most of the time - that's the reason why I might seem uncomfortable with you giving me that title."

"So… me calling you Dad triggers your self-esteem issues?"

Scott flung out an arm dramatically. "Why does everyone keep saying I have self-esteem issues?" His brain caught up with the tail-end of Alan's little speech. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait, what verbal filter? Are you thinking before you speak?"

Alan let out a damp chuckle. "Uh, isn't that a good thing?"

"No. Yes." Scott struggled to sort his thoughts into a comprehensive order. "Yes, it's a good thing, but you shouldn't have to overthink things around us."

"I normally don't, I just-"

"No. Nope. No just anything." He took a deep breath. "Look, if you want to call me Dad, if that's easier and you're comfortable with it, then, I, uh- I'm okay with that."

"Really?" Alan blinked owlishly. "You're not gonna freak out secretly to Virgil?"

"Oh no, I will definitely freak out in secret to Virg, but he's used to that by now. It's okay, Al. Really."

"Okay."

"Okay… Allie, if you don't let me hug you now, I will actually lose my mind."

Alan swatted him. "Don't joke about that."

"I will file a complaint with Grandma when we next see her."

Alan flopped down like a beached whale, tucking his head beneath Scott's chin. "Love you," he murmured faintly. "I don't tell you that enough."

In the next hour they'd have to hit the road, but for now Scott was content to lie in the sun and hold his kid until they both remembered how to breathe without feeling like the world was falling apart.

"I don't tell you it enough either," he murmured.

Alan hmm-ed. "That's okay. I already know."


They gathered in the kitchen of the third house a short while later. The fridges had been dead too long for any organic produce to have lasted and even opening the door a tiny crack released a stench strong enough to rival that of the infected. The universe took pity on them in the form of several well-stocked cupboards with orderly rows of canned goods and sachets of dehydrated rations. As predicted, there was no power and no water, but further scouting led to the discovery of a generator.

"It's in pretty good shape," Virgil diagnosed, half-buried in coils and wires, enlisting Gordon's help while Scott tried to lend a hand but mostly just got in the way. The generator kicked into action with a stuttering growl, bleeding into a steady whirr.

Gordon tipped onto his back with a loud whoop, startling several crows from the rafters. "And that's how it's done, folks."

Alan sent him an unimpressed stare. "You did nothing. Virgil gets all the credit here." He hauled himself upright, brushing stray strands of hay from his suit. "Breakfast?"

Gordon slung an arm around his shoulders. "Are you offering to cook? Aw, I'm honoured."

"You're an idiot," Alan grumbled, but didn't push him away, which was progress from the strange tension which seemed to plague most of their interactions nowadays.

Breakfast was a mismatched collection of whatever they couldn't fit in their rucksacks for future use. Long-life foods were typically heavily salted or lacked much flavour at all – although usually everyone was too hungry to complain – but today their luck kept shining, as Alan located an untouched packet of rolled oats at the back of a cupboard. One of the rare perks of the destruction of almost all life on Earth was the lack of rodents to gnaw holes in food. He planted the packet triumphantly on the kitchen table.

"Plain oats," Gordon remarked with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Yay. We're eating like kings."

Virgil whirled on his heels and practically dove into the adjoining storage room. "Just wait 'til you see what I've found!"

There was a note of genuine excitement in his voice. Scott exchanged a look with Gordon and tipped sideways in his chair in an attempt to peer around the doorway. Alan hopped onto the countertop, knocking his heels against the cupboards below, curiosity bright in eyes which were still mildly bloodshot from earlier's tears, although Scott was trying not to think about that.

"Check this out." Virgil placed a carton on the table with such reverence that Scott half-expected him to actually start praising the thing. "UHT milk – within the date stamp. We can cook actual food for once, can you believe it?"

"We're celebrating over the prospect of oatmeal," Alan mused, tipping back on the heels of his hands with a faint smile. "What are our lives? I miss waffles."

"I miss so much," Gordon agreed, still elated over the prospect of a proper meal. He slid off his chair to retrieve a saucepan from a shelf while Virgil attempted to coax the cooker into life, praying that the generator would persevere. "Mostly pizza. And pasta. Ooh, and pineapple." He tilted his head, contemplating this. "Anything beginning with P, I guess."

"Like Penelope," Alan teased, before second-guessing his own words with a wince. "Sorry. Bad joke."

Gordon shrugged it off with a non-committal gesture. "Eh, it's whatever. I'll find her eventually. Or she'll find me. Probably the latter, actually, 'cos Penny is a lot smarter than I am." He rose onto his toes to peer over Virgil's shoulder. "How's it lookin'?"

Virgil probed the mixture with a wooden spoon, eyes narrowed in concentration. "It's cooking."

"Do you reckon there's sugar around here somewhere?" Gordon motioned for Alan to shuffle along the counter, allowing him access to the lower cupboards. "This is your fault, Al. You got me thinking about waffles and now I'm craving sugar."

"Stop talking about food," Scott warned, trying not to daydream of past meals. He would literally sell his soul for a burger. He pillowed his head in his arms on the tabletop and closed his eyes to the sounds of Alan and Gordon slowly driving one another up the wall while Virgil hummed to himself over the saucepan, probably not even aware he was doing it.

He hadn't planned to fall asleep, but he must have drifted into a daze because the sudden sharpness to Gordon's voice had him jolting back into the present like a zap of electricity.

"If you want me to go, I'll go." John leant against the doorway, hovering on the backstep which led to a garden of overgrown weeds. He didn't just look exhausted, but sounded it too, sinking his hands into his pockets with a sigh. "It's fairly obvious that I'm not welcome."

Gordon folded his arms. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," John pointed out quietly, scuffing the ground with the toe of his sneaker. He looked past Gordon to catch Scott's eye, a silent apology passing between them without a need to actually vocalise it because God knew they were both terrible at backing down. "If you need space, just tell me. I'll respect that. I crossed a line."

Gordon took a small step back to place him at Scott's side. In other words, your move, Scotty.

Virgil purposefully didn't look up from the oatmeal. Alan fiddled with the sleeve of his suit, uncertain as to whether he should speak or not and so settling for looking incredibly awkward instead. Gordon waited for his cue, one way or the other.

Scott kicked out a spare seat. "Don't be an idiot, Johnny. It's a family breakfast. Sit your ass down."

John couldn't quite hold back a smile. "Thanks." He slid into the chair, hesitating until Gordon finally spun on his heels and moved to join Virgil, clearly not over earlier's argument yet. "Hey, uh…"

Scott clapped a hand to John's bicep. "Relax. I know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We're good, Jay. Or at least we will be in the not-so-distant future. Quit beating yourself up."

"Right, that's more your thing."

Scott tried not to laugh and failed spectacularly. John looked so relieved that it was almost painful to witness.

"We'll figure it out," Scott assured him. "All of it."

"Together," John added quietly.

"Exactly." Scott knocked their shoulders together. "Together."


While the majority of possessions had been packed up during the evacuations, there were still a few useful items left behind. Alan raised a very good point over breakfast, voicing his idea to distract Virgil from the fact that he was upending the sugar over his oatmeal again in hopes of avoiding another rant on healthy eating.

"Why don't we find some bikes?"

Gordon seized upon the idea as if it were gold dust. "Alan. You are a genius."

"I know," Alan replied dryly, pouting as Virgil stole the sugar back from him. "Just think about it. We need more speed than we can get on foot, but cars guzzle fuel and the roads are impassable. So… bikes. They're quiet enough to avoid attracting the infected too."

Virgil set the sugar out of reach. "There were two bikes I saw when fixing the generator. There's bound to be at least three between the other houses."

Scott expected John to chime in, but his brother seemed to be keeping deliberately quiet as if fearing upsetting the family dynamic again. At least he was here, rather than hiding away by himself on the water tower.

"Okay," Scott agreed when it became clear that John wasn't going to speak. "We'll find some bikes, pack up, and head out before it gets too hot. Any changes I should know about?"

"Horizon still looks clear," John mentioned cautiously, while Gordon proceeded to glower at him from the opposite side of the table. "There's a pack of infected heading our way from a south-eastern direction, but we're still several miles ahead of them. The biggest risk is the city but there's no way around it without running out of time, even with the bikes, so we'll just have to keep our wits about us."

"Focus on staying alive rather than pushing each other's triggers," Gordon translated, tone sharp and icy enough to drop the temperature in the room by several degrees. He stacked their bowls into a pile and slammed them into the sink with an overly loud clatter. "Got it."

John didn't flinch but took a deliberately deep breath.

"Working together," he corrected. "That's more along the lines of what I was thinking. Looking out for each other."

"Right, because you're so great at that last one."

"Gordon," Scott interjected, not exactly a warning nor a criticism but blurring the lines between the two. He bit back a sigh, because taking sides and firing shots at one another was distinctly not helping their survival strategy. "C'mon. Let it go already."

"Fine." Gordon snatched his rucksack from the back of a chair and stormed into the sunlight outside without another word.

John dropped his head against the table with an audible thud.

"He'll come around," Virgil tried to sound encouraging. "He's just mad on Scott's behalf."

"I don't want him to be angry," Scott protested. "It's not even- He needs to stop because this isn't helping anyone. Earlier was… I'm over it. It's hardly the first time we've fought."

"Gordon's not just angry about earlier," John explained, muffled by the tabletop. "He's still pissed about the freezing up comment. Which, to be fair, I'm also mad at myself about, so he has a point, but… Fuck, I don't know anymore. He normally wants everyone to get along, but now he's the one holding grudges."

"He's stressed," Virgil said quietly, reaching down to pat Finch. "Sometimes emotions get the better of us. He'll come around, just give him a couple of hours to think it over." He caught John's disbelieving look. "I'm serious. You're right – he wants everyone to get along, so he's hardly going to instigate another fight. But right now he's sleep deprived and overly emotional as a result, so give him some space and let him come to you."

Alan summoned Finch to heel with a click. "Anyone want to go searching for bikes with me?" He prodded John's shoulder. "Johnny? You coming?"

"Yeah." John dragged a hand down his face and forced a smile. "I'll come."

Scott remained at the table until their voices had faded behind the house. Virgil hovered by the sink, strangling a dish cloth between his hands while he turned a thought over. Scott didn't need to ask – he already knew what his brother was about to suggest.

"I'll go after Gordon."

Virgil gave him an approving nod. "Good plan."


Everything was so overgrown that unkept foliage had overrun the flowerbeds, swamping fenceposts so that the dividing lines between gardens were no more, forming a single sprawling mass of wild grass and dying plants. It was difficult to navigate, but Scott picked out the occasional flagstone and followed the mostly hidden path down to the shadowy depths amongst the trees at the foot of the garden.

The weeds were denser here, but previous footsteps had flattened thistles and brambles, leaving a clear trail for him to navigate. The ground grew damper, almost swampy, glistening with mildew and the steady thrum of mosquitos. He pushed through tall reeds to discover a pond, thick with gunk and the silver bellies of upturned fish. The stench of rot was so familiar now that he barely noticed it, but there was something unbearably sad about the sight.

"Trust you to find water," he joked in lieu of greeting, nudging Gordon's knee with the edge of his boot in a silent request to sit down. He took the lack of a rebuttal as confirmation, so slowly sank onto a nearby rock and waited for Gordon to break the silence.

"I don't fancy swimming in it," Gordon replied eventually. He braced his elbows on his knees, chin balanced in one palm, staring intently at the dark waters. "They're all dead."

Scott examined the fish, tempted to grab a nearby stick to poke one before realising that Gordon would probably take offence to that sort of ill-treatment. "Radiation?"

"Pollution, probably." Gordon leant back to examine the sky, seemingly uncaring about the way soil crumbled down the back of his suit. "All that fallout… those fires we saw from Five… I'm surprised we haven't come across more dead animals." He traced uneven patterns across the bank absently. "It's gonna be hell on ecosystems. The planet might be totally fucked this time."

Scott winced. "Optimistic."

"Yeah, well maybe I'm not feeling particularly…" Gordon twirled a hand, searching for the correct phrasing and finding himself at a loss. "Happy," he finished in a tiny whisper, rolling onto his stomach so he could meet Scott's searching look. "I know why you're here."

"Uh huh?"

"If someone trusts you with information that can hurt them, then you have a responsibility to never use that against them." Gordon dropped his gaze to the dust. "But also," he continued faintly, "I'm just really, really tired of people keeping secrets."

"John keeping secrets isn't exactly a new thing."

"It's still shitty."

Scott could hardly deny that. "It's not ideal," he agreed. "But it's never bothered you before."

Which was true, because John had been known to deliberately keep secrets just to annoy Gordon, holding it over him like some kind of spy-novel mystery, knowing it drove his younger brother up the wall. Most of the time it wasn't even an interesting secret - John just enjoyed the drama and, if he were brutally honest, Gordon found the game fun too, trying to figure out the clues, occasionally hiring Alan to be his Watson. So, why was this time so different?

"This time it could put all of our lives on the line," Gordon muttered.

Ah, right. That would do it.

"You were right," Gordon continued.

Scott tried not to sound too smug. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that?"

"Oh, shut up." Gordon sat up, folding his arms around his knees like a little kid. "Seriously though. You said it yourself – he's acting weird. He can sense these things. What the hell is up with that? Also, he totally knows more than he's letting on. Whatever he found in the bunker-"

"When did he find something in the bunker?"

"When we were looking for Alan. Remember when we broke into the research sector – that room with all the files? John picked something up and I have no idea what it was, but it must have been important. He's been acting hella sketchy ever since."

Scott hesitated. "You know," he began slowly, "you could always try talking to him. He's deliberately isolating himself – you know how he is – and we have to be the ones to make the first move because God knows he won't."

Gordon didn't say anything, but his shoulders tensed, proof that he was at least listening.

"I need to work on asking for help when I need it," Scott continued, ignoring the instinctive urge to take back the words, repress all confessions that he wasn't on his A-game. "But John needs to work on admitting to himself that he even needs help in the first place. You're good at getting people to confide in you. If you're hurt that he's keeping secrets, then talk to him, don't get angry, because we both know that won't work."

Gordon flopped onto his back with a stifled groan. "It is so frustrating when all you want to do is help someone, but they refuse to trust you."

"Maybe it's not a matter of trust. Maybe he just doesn't want to put his issues on you when you've already got so much to deal with."

Gordon eyed him suspiciously. "Speaking from experience, huh?"

"Possibly." Scott pushed himself upright and offered Gordon a hand. "Just think about it, that's all I ask. C'mon, let's see if Alan's found those bikes."


"Oh my god."

Alan clamped a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

"Oh my god," Gordon repeated, stalking around the bicycle as if it had personally offended him. He kicked at the front tyre, planting his hands on his hips as he shot his younger brother an outraged glower. "I cannot believe you're giving me a pink bike. No, not even pink, neon pink. This is like a flamingo on drugs. What the hell is this monstrosity?"

"I could only find five with wheels," Alan gasped out between chuckles. "It suits you. You like bright stuff. Your dumb Hawaiian shirt is brighter than this."

Gordon flung up his arms with an offended squawk. "Alan, this is a Barbie bike."

Virgil was doing a terrible job of concealing his own laughter. "I think it's cute."

"Traitor!" Gordon whirled on him. "I can't believe this. Betrayed by my own co-pilot."

In the entrance to the garage, John sidled closer to Scott's side to whisper, "I have so many comments right now but it's still too soon for me to make any of them."

"Do you want me to say them for you?" Scott joked, instantly regretting it as John's face lit up with an evil smile. "Oh, hell no, Johnny, I don't like that look."

John let out an ominous chuckle.

"This is a joke," Gordon continued to complain. "This has got to be a joke. How come everyone else gets cool, mountain bikes?"

Alan sniggered. Virgil guarded his own forest-green bike as if Gordon were about to steal it at any second. Scott resisted the urge to face-palm.

"A Barbie bike," Gordon protested.

John raised a brow. "Is your masculinity truly so fragile that a pink bike is all it takes to upset you?"

Gordon whirled on him. "It has tassels, John! Pink, sparkly tassels! I have a reputation to uphold."

"Your reputation has been in tatters since you were fourteen. Now…" John patted a glittery handlebar. "Get on the bike."

"I hate all of you," Gordon grumbled. "Oh, you think I can't see you laughing, Scott, but I can, you traitor. Alan, this is your fault. Goddamn gremlin."

Alan frowned. "Didn't you once wear a pink minidress into a club?"

"Kayo dared me, so it doesn't count."

"Okay." Alan clapped his hands gleefully. "Then I dare you to ride the Barbie bike."

Gordon seized the handlebars and stalked outside, still grumbling.

There was a short silence.

"Should I tell him there are actually two more mountain bikes?" Virgil queried.

John gave another evil laugh. "Absolutely not."