Scott lay in the following morning.

He got to 06:02.

Then grew bored, and got out of bed.

He shivered as he glanced at the fresh covering of snow. He was already used to the tropical temperatures of their new home. Pulling on a sweater and socks, he moved on silent feet to the kitchen. His first stop was the coffee machine.

"Morning."

The voice was calm, and unlike Gordon's usual tone. But Scott was used to it: this was early morning Gordon, the focused and centred man no one else saw but him.

"Coffee?" Scott asked as a greeting.

Gordon moved closer. Without a word, the two of them worked together, passing mugs and milk between them. A few moments later, and they were curled up on the sofa, drinks in hand. Scott tucked his long legs beneath him, watching as it started snowing again. He wasn't used to this sense of peace.

"Missing your run?" Gordon asked.

Scott shook his head. "I'll still get a workout today. Missing your swim?"

Gordon nodded. "Long journey," he said. There was a bite of tension in his tone, but Scott didn't react. It would only irritate Gordon.

"You hitting the slopes today?" he said instead. Gordon grinned.

"Heck yes," he said. He also looked out the window. "Never done it before, though. Have you?"

"No," Scott said, uneasy. He didn't think one session on a dry slope years ago counted. While the vacation was a welcome break, Jeff's choice of destination was less so.

"Oh, you'll be fine," Gordon drawled. "Mr I'm-good-at-everything."

Maybe he could keep this secret for a little longer, after all?

"Natural talent," Scott smirked. Better to let Gordon believe he was right. "Someone's got to make you guys push yourself."

"So, winning Olympic gold was because of you?" Gordon's tone was dry, and Scott laughed.

"Of course. Someone had to keep pushing you in."

Although with Gordon, Scott had always had a bigger problem pulling him out. It worked, though; Gordon rolled his eyes and no doubt would've thrown the cushion he was leaning on if it wasn't for the drinks in their hands.

An hour passed as their conversation flowed. Alan and John appeared – the former grinning excitedly as he looked out of the window; the latter with a long-suffering look on his face. Scott recognised it too well.

"Al wake you up?" he asked John.

"No," Alan pouted, but John nodded.

"Thin walls," he said. "So not deliberately, but you'd think he's never seen snow before giving that squeal."

Alan blushed, distracted from making a comeback by Gordon laughing at him.

"You were just as excited last night," Scott pointed out before Gordon could say anything. Despite the hardships they'd had growing up, he liked his two youngest brothers still had an innocent way of seeing the world. Especially Gordon with what he'd gone through over the last two years.

While Alan sat next to Gordon, Scott headed to the kitchen.

"Coffee's on," he said over his shoulder. A grateful John fell into step with him.

As Scott refilled his mug, John yawned.

"How late were you up last night?" Scott asked.

After an evening spent discussing plans and their future with Brains, there was no way John had come home and gone to bed. When his brother avoided his gaze, Scott knew he was right.

He opened his mouth to ask what they'd been discussing, but Alan's voice drowned out anything he might've said.

"There's a light on!"

Scott glanced back into the living room to see his youngest brother peering through the snow at their dad's accommodation. He was reaching for his coat before Scott uttered a word.

"C'mon," Alan wheedled. "The sooner we've eaten, the sooner we can get on the slopes."

Gordon had already jumped up, although Scott heard his stomach grumbling from where he stood. Gordon's motivation might've been different to Alan's, but he moved just as fast. It still took them almost ten minutes to find a matching pair of boots each, despite Scott doubting they'd unpacked.

John drained his mug and reached for his own coat. But he paused when he saw Scott leaning against the counter, not moving.

"Don't tell me you're not hungry?" He asked, sounding worried.

Scott chuckled. "Always," he reassured his brother. "But someone has to wake Virg before Grandma decides he's missed breakfast."

John pulled a knowing expression even as the door slammed behind the others as they dashed out. Scott knew it wouldn't have done his job for him, though; Virgil could sleep through nearly anything.

"Has Alan even been on skis before?" John pulled on his hat as he spoke.

"Not that I know of."

"Virgil has," John mused. "Didn't he have a school vacation?"

Scott nodded. "You ever done it?"

John shrugged as he wrapped a scarf around his neck – and mouth, no doubt avoiding answering. There weren't many things their younger brothers had done that John hadn't tried. Scott let it go though, not wanting the attention to come back to him.

John vanished after the others, although he didn't shake the entire building when he shut the door. Scott drank the rest of his coffee for courage before moving down the hallway to wake his brother. The Air Force had drills easier than getting Virgil out of bed.

It took half an hour before Scott was convinced his brother wouldn't go back to sleep. Finally prising the duvet from Virgil's grip and dumping it on the floor was to thank for that – it was too cold for Virgil to snuggle down without it. Scott wasted no more time now his job was done, hurrying across to the other lodge.

Even that quick dash made him feel the cold, and he was grateful his grandmother had saved him breakfast. He ate quickly, stealing the last sausage a second ahead of Alan. As soon as he finished eating, his father spoke.

"Brains will talk us through the eq-,"

"Jeff." Their grandmother might've been a small lady, but even her billionaire ex-astronaut, ex-military son quailed when she used that tone. "Let the boys have some fun first."

"But-,"

"No buts. Unless you want Alan testing a jet-pack when he's never been on skis?"

Her remark had the intended effect as Alan's eyes lit up.

"A jet-pack? Cool!"

Scott hid his grin behind his mug. No one needed to know it was his third. Alan's reaction did what an argument couldn't: Jeff realised an overexcited son who didn't know what he was doing wasn't the best person to test equipment.

"Your grandmother is right," he said.

Scott and John traded grins. How many times had they heard those words?

"Explore the slopes," the man continued. "Get the feel of the place, try out the skis – without upgrades."

"But-," Alan began, but their dad shook his head.

"No buts."

John had a sudden coughing fit to hide his laugh and Scott couldn't meet Gordon's eye. Their father's tone was the same as his own mother had just used on him.

"Off you go." Grandma shooed them from the table. "I'll send Virgil up after he's eaten."

The rest of the family all looked at Scott.

"He's awake," he protested. "I wanted breakfast."

Or, more to the point, he didn't want to risk there not being any food left.

"The rest of you: out."

As the rest of the family obediently hurried for the door, not risking her displeasure, Scott held back. He started collecting the plates as the others grabbed coats, hats, gloves, and boots.

"What're you doing, dear?"

"Thought I'd give you a hand," Scott said. He kissed her on the cheek as he passed. "Gets me off duty later."

Her narrowed eyes gave away she wasn't fooled, but she didn't stop him from taking the dishes to the kitchen. Scott made a show of tidying up, as even his dad and Brains left together.

He'd just finished when Virgil stumbled in.

"Who turned the heating off?" he grumbled as he pulled off his coat. His face fell as he looked at the empty table.

"You didn't leave me any?"

"Should've got up," Scott said, unsympathetically.

"Here," Grandma said. She pulled a laden plate out from where it had been keeping warm in the oven.

"You're the best," he sighed, taking it.

"Maybe you could join the rest of the family tomorrow?" she pointed out.

"It's not even 8am," Virgil grumbled. But his voice was too quiet for her to hear as he sat down. "This time shouldn't exist."

As she bustled away to do who-knew-what, Scott poured his brother a drink and joined him. Virgil looked at him suspiciously.

"Why aren't you with the others?"

"Waiting for you," he said, loyal as always. "Figured you wouldn't want to head up on your own."

"He's been helping me," Grandma said, making them both jump. "Which is more than I can say for your brothers."

Virgil busied himself with eating. Scott glanced at the old lady. Her look was more knowing than he was comfortable with, and he had a feeling she knew the reason for his sudden desire to be helpful.

Whatever his pretence, he enjoyed the chance to chat to Virgil on their own. Even when his brother finished eating, he only moved to make himself more comfortable.

Kyrano's arrival prompted them to move. He told them Tin-Tin had joined the others, but he had no desire to 'fly down a mountain on a piece of wood'. He'd stay with their grandmother.

"Let's go then." Scott's tone was reluctant, but Virgil didn't notice as he jumped up.

After collecting their skis from the side of the house, they headed for the ski lifts. It was quite a trek because of being on the outskirts of the place, but the rest of the family had already cut a path through the fresh snow.

Virgil didn't speak until they boarded the lift.

"Okay?" His tone was too casual for Scott to be fooled.

"Why?" he asked, suspicious.

Virgil shrugged. "You're quiet this morning."

Scott avoided Virgil's eye. "I'm fine," he said, before changing the topic. "Looking forward to getting back on skis?"

"Hell, yeah!" As Virgil started reminiscing about his experience before, Scott eyed the mountain with trepidation. He was starting to think Kyrano had the right attitude.

Virgil was still talking when they reached the top. They followed a jumble of footsteps that both instinctively knew belonged to the rest of their party. Scott eyed up the small café at the top of the slopes, but Virgil was heading in the opposite direction.

They didn't trek for long before Alan came into ear-shot, and the rest of the family into view a moment later.

Tin-Tin balanced perfectly, poised, and elegant, as she reached for Alan. The youngest Tracy was her complete opposite, wobbling as he tried to lock his knees. He was already covered in snow. Scott traded grins with Virgil, knowing they were both wondering how many times he'd already fallen over before getting his skis on.

As Alan straightened up, Virgil muttered, "ten bucks," out of the corner of his mouth.

Scott shook his head, grinning. He wasn't taking that bet. He was right: they hadn't taken more than two steps before Alan fell over again, arms cartwheeling, trying to save himself.

Gordon was upright, but his furrowed brow was normally only seen before a race. He was focused, unlike Alan, and Scott could almost see his brother thinking through all the advice.

Virgil left Scott behind as he crossed to Gordon. He put a hand on their brother's shoulder, murmuring in his ear. Gordon gave him a grateful smile and shifted his posture, his stance relaxing.

Unlike Alan – ignoring Tin-Tin's helping hand as he struggled upright again – Gordon wasn't above asking for, and accepting, help.

Scott frowned, looking around.

"Where's John?"

His father slid to a neat stop in front of him. Despite himself, Scott was impressed.

"Said he had something to do."

It was just the sort of evasive answer John would give. If he'd managed to sequester himself in the café, Scott intended to find out how he'd done it.

"Brains and I are going to look around," his dad continued. "We need somewhere private to test the equipment."

"Yes, I'll look out for them," Scott said with a grin. His father flushed.

"That wasn't… you don't… They're adults, after all."

"You were thinking it," Scott laughed. "Or you would've told Gordon, not waited for me."

His dad shook his head, unable to think of a comeback, before skiing away, collecting Brains as he went. Scott watched, wondering where he'd learnt to ski. Then he looked at the rest of the family.

Gordon was moving. He was heading towards the crest of the slope, his expression revealing he wasn't sure he wanted to be doing this. Scott saw his eyes widen as he reached the top, and he glanced over his shoulder, but Virgil shook his head.

"Too late now," he laughed.

Gordon's momentum took him over. Scott lent over, impressed.

"Still standing," he reported. But he wasn't surprised. Gordon was always good at listening to his body, and that had been heightened over the last few years. He'd figure out how to find his balance.

Virgil grinned, dropping his skis, and stamping his feet into them.

Alan had made it back to standing. He was following Tin-Tin as she led him to the top. But Alan wasn't paying attention: he didn't notice it was a gentler slope than the one Gordon had done. They peaked it, disappeared, and there was promptly a thud and a yelp.

Scott winced and looked at Virgil. He couldn't bring himself to peer over to see what'd happened. Virgil chuckled. To Scott's astonishment, he dropped to a crouch to adjust a ski, then straightened up, all with perfect balance.

Virgil raised his eyebrows. "Just gonna stand there all day?" he asked, nodding to the skis over Scott's shoulder. "Or are you going to race me down this slope?"

Scott swallowed. He had a feeling his secret was about to be revealed. Or maybe Lady Luck would take a fancy to him and help him out.

He dropped his skis, glaring when they landed the wrong way up.

"C'mon," Virgil laughed. "You never fail at anything."

"First time for everything," Scott said under his breath as he kicked them the right way up.

He slotted his feet in and tensed as the skis moved on their own accord.

"Same as Gords," Virgil said, "don't tense."

There was no judgement in Virgil's voice – or expression – just mild curiosity as he came closer. Scott couldn't help but note he moved with ease.

Scott tried to follow his advice, bending his knees and trying to relax. But the skis slipped in opposite directions and Scott dug his poles in, his white-knuckle grip keeping him still.

Virgil slid past, nudging one of Scott's legs into a more natural position as he did. Scott made to thank him, only for Virgil to unclip his own ski, and slam his foot into Scott's ankle, stopping him from falling by grabbing his jacket.

"What was that for?" Scott demanded.

Virgil shrugged as he slipped his ski on. "They're not on properly."

Scott glanced precariously over his shoulder. There was a catch on the back of his ski he hadn't noticed before. On the foot Virgil had kicked, it was upright. On the other foot, it wasn't. As he shuffled, he realised Virgil was right: he could now move that leg without the ski falling off.

He looked hopefully at Virgil, but his brother shook his head.

"Use your pole," he instructed.

It took a couple of tries before Scott hooked the catch and pull hard enough for it to lock in place. But the realisation Virgil was heading for the slope ruined his moment of success.

Scott tried to copy his brother's movements without him noticing. His siblings were right: he achieved anything when he set his mind to it. He was a decorated Air Force pilot; surely, he could do this?

He moved an inch…

… and the cold snow did nothing to hide his flush as he figured out how to get up again.

Moving made matters worse. His skis somehow crossed, his legs akimbo as he struggled against the powdery ground. Finally, he got them off, staggered upright, and stomped his feet back into them. The force of his actions helped, though; both skis locked into place on his first try this time.

Virgil was watching him.

"You really haven't done this before, have you?"

"You thought I was lying about it?" He snapped.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Knees bent," he instructed. "Back straight. Don't dig in with your poles, just use them to guide you. Push the back of the skis out to stop."

"Got it," Scott said. As he shuffled forward, he wondered if anyone – aka Virgil – had told Gordon how to brake before sending him over the top.

Thinking about something else was a bad idea. He slipped over the crest, panicked, forgot his brother's instructions, dug the poles in, and fell over again three paces from where he started. The only saving grace was that he hadn't yelped like Alan.

Virgil stopped next to him, offering a hand without a word. Scott took it. Once he was back up, he took a deep breath.

"Don't tell Go-," One ski went sideways before he finished his threat. This time, he did yelp.

Virgil slipped in front of him, blocking Scott's movement with his own body.

"Thanks." Threats, promises of retribution, and vows of secrecy could wait until they were at the bottom.

"Let's do this," Scott said.

He shook out his arms, took a deep breath and eyed the mountain as if it had offended him. It had! Then he shuffled so he was facing the right way.

"Ready?" Virgil asked.

"I've got it," Scott bluffed.

Virgil moved out of the way, and Scott was heading down the slope. On skis. Still standing.

"Easy," he called over his shoulder. Then spat out a mouthful of snow as Virgil again came to a stop next to him, releasing his own skis to help him stand back up.

Neither spoke as Scott glared at the slope. Now it was war.

Five falls later, not even halfway down the slope, and Scott was thinking it was a battle he wouldn't win. He rubbed his elbow as he sat back up, Virgil again offering a hand. His brother didn't say anything, but Scott was sure it was because Virgil was trying not to laugh.

"You don't have to wait for me," he muttered, again putting his skis back on. That was one trick he was now getting the hang of. Humiliation made him more forceful.

"I'm not."

"You've always been a rubbish liar."

Virgil shrugged. "Fine. But you'll never make it down without me."

Scott wanted – needed – to argue that point. But as Virgil did a perfect circle and scooped up Scott's discarded pole, he had a horrible feeling his brother was right. Peering down the mountain, Scott saw a flash of colour and realised Gordon was heading for the lifts to come back up.

That did it.

"I'm not being lapped. We're doing this."

Virgil handed him the pole with a grin. "F.A.B."

Scott wished he shared his brother's optimism.