Randomness

He gave it up as a bad job, ripped it off and shoved it down the laundry chute, then rifled through his brother’s closet to pull out another of Scott’s oversized hoodies. Everyone knew he deliberately bought them too big so his stockier little brothers would be comfortable in any borrowed items. They hung off the eldest brother like a sack but he still insisted on wearing them occasionally so that when one was inevitably stolen, it was still undeniably his… so the magic worked.

Virgil allowed himself an affectionate smile at the sight of one of his own trademark plaid shirts hanging alongside. A shock of red amongst blue, grey, black. Scott would insist it was there in case Virgil ever happened to need it. Virgil knew better. The magic worked both ways, it seemed.

He selected an XXL mid-grey TopGun-logo’d number that was so huge it was sagged around his own shoulders like a tired hug. Finally physically warm again, there was now no excuse for the arhythmic trembling of his hands… Virgil clamped them under his armpits as he began to pace the floor in the restless manner he’d usually roll his eyes at his elder brother for.

How could he have been so blind?

Scott’s tiny frown lines had been barely visible over the last days but more than evident to one who could read him like a book despite his valiant attempts to disguise them with a calm voice and encouraging smiles. Indeed Virgil had noticed them, but hadn’t let himself stop to consider why they were there. To care why they were there. Instead, he’d wrapped himself up in his own fog of bitterness to the extent he’d viewed his brother’s uncharacteristically quiet, unbusy but constant presence as an annoyance - that precious availability the two of them so often missed out on had been an ironic frustration at a time Virgil had for once in his life been trying to avoid his eldest brother.

Scott knew. Of course he’d known that Virgil had upset himself and he’d been doing his best to give him chance to talk when he was ready. To be there for him without pushing. Quiet and patient. Everything Virgil had requested in the past when Scott’s anxious tendency to smother with love and concern became overwhelming.

He’d done everything right.

His reward: Virgil had made it clear he’d rather talk to anyone else.

Even the most confident, rational person might have wondered if the problem was with them after all. Scott, always managing to accept blame faster than anyone else even realised it was up for allocation, must have thought he’d done something truly awful.

It would have been torture.

The whistle in his ears hardened into the screech of horsehair ground furiously across discordant strings. The fragile songbird that had so soothed him earlier was torn and broken in the claws of a predator and it was Virgil who’d let it near.

“I’ve upset you.”

The note had been discarded in the rush to find his brother but Virgil was never going to forget the words.

“I miss you.”

With a rush of clarity Virgil realised that at least half of the Wrong feeling this last week wasn’t even the same Wrong feeling he’d started it with: He’d been missing Scott, even as he’d tried to avoid him.

Obviously he should have been honest from the start. He knew this. And yet… And yet he still didn’t know how he could possibly bring up that particular issue without Scott thinking it was his fault - ironically trying not to worry his brother had been the supposed motivation behind the hurried and entirely unconvincing lie that caused this mess in the first place. But it was clear he was going to feel hurt either way and Virgil couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t allow it to continue. Not when right now his big brother was punishing himself for the far worse crimes he believed he must have committed.

Virgil ended his circuit at the bathroom door and rested his head against it, listening to the irregular splatter of water falling around an object that kept shifting position.

He released the breath he was holding and screwed up his face as he drew a fresh gulp of air into this lungs. This was Scott. His best friend. They’d dealt with worse. As little kids they’d promised to always stick together, no matter what. To assume the best of each other. It was a rare occasion since that either of them had ever broken that vow…

The guitar drew his eye. More to distract himself from the screeching in his ears and his spiralling panic over finding the right words than a real desire to play, he crossed to the bed and perched on the edge, pulling the instrument across his lap and picking out a few quiet chords. The G and the Em sparked a sudden memory and he began strumming in earnest the simple accompaniment to a song they’d sang together in the simpler days -

And when you call

And need me near

Sayin' where'd you go?

Brother, I'm right here

And on those days

When the sky begins to fall

You're the blood of my blood

We can get through it all

Absorbed in humming to himself Virgil didn’t notice the sound of running water cease nor the bathroom door opening. The guitar spluttered a discordant twang as from behind him came a soft and still painfully uncertain:

“Hey.”

Virgil's big brother stood awkwardly in the bathroom doorway, swathed in his signature super-soft blue bathrobe, wet hair standing up in spikes, with the slightest hint of a curl at the edges where it was beginning to dry. As Virgil looked up at him, Scott looked as though he was about to say something more but suddenly dropped his eyes to pick intently at a loose thread on his cuff.

Moments passed. Each of them held the weight of the whole week. The months of quiet wrongness before it. The years of refusing to allow the feeling to become real by shaping it in words. Scott had always been better at words.

Virgil still had no idea where to begin.

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The song Virgil is playing is called Brother by NEEDTOBREATHE which has always struck me as a very Tracy song, especially Earth&Sky. Here’s my favourite version (the part quoted is the middle 8 and starts about 1:35).

Not that he wasn’t eaten up with guilt about it anyway. There was a good reason he was never deliberately untruthful with Scott - it felt like a betrayal even if he knew it was for the best. He was a horrible liar at the best of times, and now he could feel his face burning whenever his brother caught his eye. Every time Scott spoke to him, Virgil’s treacherous heart jumped into his mouth and he was almost overcome by the need to confess everything.

Not that there was much to tell.

Except that he was a fool who needed to get a grip and be grateful.

With stealth borne out of years of practice he crept on silent feet past the rooms of his younger brothers and paused at his own, glancing over at Scott’s. A prickle of… something ran through him and he was seized by the sudden urge to burst in and demand a big bro hug. It had been a few days, in fact, since his last. But Scott slept little enough as it was. Tomorrow, then.

Gosh he was tired. He opened the door and made a beeline for the bathroom, beginning to pull his shirt over his head as he walked. He became vaguely aware of a rustling noise from the vicinity of his right foot and shook it irritably, failing to shed whatever had got stuck to his sock. Flannel tangled over his face he reached down and removed the sock, random scrap of paper and all and abandoned it behind him. 

Once the grease was washed from his hands and teeth thoroughly brushed he drifted back into the bedroom and went to stand at the window. He squinted into the grey, his eyes finding nothing to focus on as the low lying cloud reflected the light from his bedside table straight back at him. He shivered, despite the villa’s consistent, comfortable temperature.

Tracy Island’s sub-tropical winters were very mild compared to those he’d experienced growing up, but the cooler temperatures combined with the frequent sea mists still made him long to hibernate. He pulled the blinds down and shut it out.

Flicking through the playlist on his tablet, he sought a track guaranteed to send him extra quickly into the land of nod for who knew how long he had before a rescue dragged him back into unwelcome consciousness. He smiled with satisfaction as he hit play on the snooze-jackpot - a soaring violin solo by a British composer - and collapsed face first on to his pillow to enjoy the fine arcs of spring green sound swoop and flutter around him like the songbird it celebrated.

And relax.

He was just on the edge of sleep and beginning to drool slightly when the change in texture brought by the woodwind entry nudged him awake again and he realised something was niggling at his sense of peace. With a huff he turned on to his side and opened his eyes. What had he forgotten?

The sock stared back at him.

Virgil considered himself a fairly tidy person, nothing on the military precision of his father or eldest brother but preferring a significant level of order higher than the younger two. An abandoned sock wouldn’t usually bother him however but, well, turned out a lot of irrelevant things were apparently bothering him lately.

He slid out of bed and commando crawled over to the sock in order to banish it to the laundry basket. It made a unexpected crinkly sort of noise and he pulled out the paper, realising with surprise it was a sheet of the fancy monogrammed stuff his dad had stockpiled long ago but nobody ever used in this digital age. Curious.

Humming to himself, he unfolded the note and the bottom fell out of the world.

A week’s worth of dropped eye-contact and excuses slammed into him like a runaway freight train. The background music was drowned out by a sudden high pitched ringing in his ears and a nausea that threatened to overwhelm his senses as he suddenly saw his attempts to hide the truth from his brother’s perspective. He looked at his watch and swore profusely - 3am.

How could he have been so short-sighted? So selfish? Of course Scott would interpret Virgil’s avoidance of him as a failing of his own. 

And he knew… he KNEW his big brother experienced rejection as physical pain. He may as well have kicked Scott in the stomach. In fact, that would have undoubtedly been less cruel.

He struggled back into his discarded clothes, panic making him clumsy and his mind flooded with memories of seeking out his trembling brother in the hayloft. Of finding his hero curled up in agony, borderline incoherent and paralysed by the conviction he’d let their overworked and well-meaning but infuriatingly oblivious father down *again*. That he’d never be good enough. 

It had always been Virgil’s job to look him in the eye and promise him that he was.

Not as much had altered in their adulthood as Scott seemed to believe, except that his over-achieving brother hid that pain better from the world. From everyone except Virgil. Because that certainly hadn’t changed - Virgil would always be there for Scott, would always hear that hitch in his breath, the subtle change in the melody of his voice. He would always catch him as he fell, would always seek him out and would never leave him alone.

Until now.

It must have cost his brother so much to write that note and Virgil had just… not showed up.

Stealth abandoned he raced to Scott’s door, only just restraining himself from barging straight through it - he might be peacefully asleep… maybe.

He cracked open the door and recoiled as a blade of cold damp air rushed into his face. 

The room was empty. Bedclothes neat and smoothed down, fluffy scatter cushions at 45 degree angle to the bottom edge of the pillow and… an ancient guitar propped up against the headboard. That gave Virgil pause, Scott hadn’t got that out in… a long time. He reached out and brushed his index finger across the strings. It was in tune. He’d been playing then? 

His attention was caught by the curtains billowing from the open balcony door, the luxurious material making a low whomp whomp whomp as it flapped back and forth.

His brother had returned from duty with an Air Force zero tolerance approach to clutter but a very definite inclination towards soft furnishings. He shuddered to imagine why.

Surely he wasn’t still out there at this time? In this weather?

Thrusting the drapes aside he all but threw himself on to the balcony, the exasperated reprimand almost on its way out of his lips before his brain caught up with the fact that both easy chairs were distinctly empty. Two glasses and a bottle of Virgil’s favourite whisky waited on the table between them. Unopened.

His hands white-knuckled on the balcony rail, as he peered out into the mist, racking his mind for where Scott could be - maybe he would have taken a hazardous, self-punishing run up the volcano? Would he have gone to hide on the beach? There were caves down there and some of them were tidal, would his brother be thinking straight enough to choose a safe place to tuck himself away? His heart hammered against his rib cage as he tried to work out where to start. Should he call John?

He half raised his arm to activate his comm and froze as the faintest of sounds interrupted his train of thought - a shuddering breath and a whisper of a sigh.

Virgil spun around and his already compromised ventricles were strangled even further as the shadow tucked into the tiny space between the far lounger, the wall and an outsized plant pot resolved itself into a tight ball of limbs and a pale chin just visible beneath an oversized hoodie. 

How like his commanding tower of a brother to try to make himself small.

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Little music vibe note: the piece Virgil chooses is The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams

All the love to @sofasurf @astranite @womble1 @hebuiltfive for incitement their encouragement, sense checking and specifically detailed discussion of soft furnishings.

Virgil was definitely avoiding him.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen each other - they’d worked together perfectly normally on several rescues. They’d both joined in the usual banter over mealtimes. There had even been a family film night - albeit, instead of joining Scott on their usual couch, Virgil had squeezed in with the Tinies and spent the evening competing with Gordon as to who could wind up Alan the most about his movie choice.

But they’d not been alone in the same room. At least, not for more than the few seconds it took for Virgil to make some excuse and leave it.

He’d even apparently conscripted Gordon into constantly keeping him company whilst he did maintenance on Two. Despite all Scott’s loitering around the hangar, the Fish never seemed to get the hint to make himself scarce. Except that one time when Scott had hinted at the availability of leftover pizza in the kitchen but then Virgil had raced off hot on Gordon’s heels. Which would not have been of any note whatsoever if it hadn’t been for that momentary flash of panic Scott was sure had crossed Virgil’s face as Gordon jumped to his feet.

It wasn’t just the lost chance to really TALK to his brother either. There was a physical distance too which was almost more painful. It turned out that Virgil’s elbow nudges at dinner, his arm across Scott’s shoulders as they walked across the lounge, his habit of stretching out and throwing his feet over big brother’s legs when they had a moment to chill together on the couch… these felt as natural and as essential to Scott as eating or drinking and he missed it more than he could have explained. It made his jaw hurt.

He had figured he just had to give Virgil time and be available when he was ready. So he’d made a conscious effort to *not* be working whenever they had downtime, hovering in the communal areas and looking un-busy. He rushed through the paperwork later, once everyone was in bed and then stayed up for hours each night studying the last couple of month’s worth of mission logs and recordings, desperately trying to work out what had triggered… whatever it was… the other day.

He’d been lying, Scott was certain of that. Ironically that certainty had made him very uncertain of everything else - Virgil never lied to him. He was awful at it. Honesty usually shone out of his big puppy-like brown eyes. When he was withholding something they were clouded with guilt.

But to invoke their mother’s memory as a cover-up?

It must have been serious.

His research efforts turned up nothing at all out of the ordinary other than it had actually been a pretty successful run of rescues, a bit of a reprieve from the average. He couldn’t find any aspect of the scenarios they’d faced that seemed like it might have particularly upset his brother.

It had to have something to do with him. Virgil was acting perfectly normally with everyone else. He re-listened to every interaction they’d had over the comm. Had he been too brusque in directing the rescues recently? Was his tone wrong? He didn’t think he sounded any different although after a while his own voice really began to grate on him. Virgil’s responses seemed normal and he didn’t appear to react to anything in a negative way. Perhaps his brother was maybe a little quieter on the comm than usual… should he have noticed that sooner?

Or had he embarrassed him by making it clear he’d noticed him getting carried away that afternoon? But Virgil had never seemed to be worried about Scott witnessing his piano binges before - most of the worst more-recovery-than-rescue missions had been thrashed out on the piano over the years… No. The only way to find out was to ask him directly.

He hovered at the door of the hangar, took a couple of breaths to slow his galloping heart rate and pushed it ajar. He could hear Gordon talking at a mile a minute about something to do with aquaculture and Virgil was leaning up against a pod module with a politely interested look on his face. His eyes flicked briefly over to his eldest brother but didn’t linger, instead focussing firmly back on little brother with renewed focus.

Scott felt rather like he’d taken a grapple to the chest and backed out, closing the door softly behind him. He ignored the elevator and elected for the long slow trudge up the stairwell. By the time he made it to the lounge his vision was blurry and he had reached the limit of what he could bear. He found a sheet of notepaper from the desk drawer and scribbled a note. He folded it precisely in half, opened it again and checked it, then refolded it, running a shaking thumb along the edge. He tucked it underneath the door to his brother’s bedroom on the way to his own.

Virgil, I’ve upset you and I can’t for the life of me work out when or how it was in order to apologise properly - but please know I am so sorry.

I’ll be on my balcony the rest of the evening if you want to talk.

I miss you. S x

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The journey home had been filled with the excited chatter of his younger brothers. The pilot tuned them out, fixing a benevolent smile on his face while focusing intently on Two’s background E hum in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to ignore the hollow sensation in his gut.

He didn’t understand where the glow had gone.

Sure, he’d started feeling a little wistful recently. Maybe there were only so many emotional reunions a person could witness before they started playing on a slow motion loop in your head like some cheesy 20th century movie montage and lost their novelty.

Anyway, he’d had plenty of run, catch, throw, spin routines with Alan when he was smaller and knew full well that the inevitable tiny-but-solid knee to the stomach or flailing elbow to the jaw made the whole thing less idyllic than it looked.

God forbid he try that now. Alan’s glare as Virgil had reached out to steady his little brother’s slight stumble off Two’s passenger platform earlier that afternoon could have set his eyebrows on fire.

The throbbing pressure in the back of his throat had been subject to a gradual crescendo since they took off and it was beginning to make it difficult to breathe without concentrating. So he concentrated on breathing. He concentrated on flying. And then on landing. And he sorted post flights. And he cleaned up Gordon’s forehead graze. And he rolled his eyes when Gordon told him to “STOP BEING SUCH A MOM, VIRGARONI”.

That was only niggling at him now because it was Gordon’s most stupid nickname yet. For goodness sake, sounds like a type of pasta. He tramped into the locker room and attempted to drown his increasingly foul mood in the shower - full power-hose mode. Extra hot. He lost track of time just a little, tracing the path of grout around the tiles with his eyes, letting the water drill into his skull and wondering whether this was… everything.

Whether his role in life was to preserve and observe and… just that?

That was a pretty awesome role all told. He was preventing families being torn apart, enabling Happiness and Normality for hundreds. It was a PRIVILEGE. Only an awfully selfish person would have any kind of problem with playing his part. And anyway, look at what he had - his incredible siblings who he adored were always close by, a they had a beautiful home and they wanted for nothing. He was objectively the luckiest man alive.

And yet.

He growled in frustration and shut off the water, leaning heavily on the wall for a moment as a wave of wooziness rushed over him. Maybe the shower had been TOO hot. According to his wrinkly fingertips he’d been here wasting time for far too long. The others would start wondering where he’d got to.

Clothes. Style hair. Happy face on. Up to the lounge.

The lounge was empty. But there was the piano.

Music would make it better, it always did.

Picking something generically soothing - Beethoven’s Moonlight - Virgil focussed intently on the subtlety of the rhythm, recalling his Mom perched next to him on this very stool, explaining it wasn’t as simple as the length of the notes but the different stress on each. She’d had him reciting “pineapple pineapple pineapple” as he played.

He remembered his dad standing behind them, placing an arm around both their shoulders and giving a squeeze as he made some kind of fruit-based pun Virgil could no longer bring to mind. Mom had poked her husband in the ribs, mocked him for his dad jokes and pulled him in for a kiss. Pre-teen Virgil had squirmed with embarrassment but the sweet moment had stuck with him and he’d hoped maybe one day…

With a discordant crunch his hands came to a halt. He clearly needed to play something that required more brainpower to shut down this ridiculous self-pitying Nonsense.

He half stood and reached into the piano stool to extract the book of advanced technical exercises John had bought him a couple of years back. They were fiendish, defied any sense of predictable pattern and the modal shifts set his teeth on edge. That should do it.

Time passed. It did not pass quickly. Half an hour or possibly decades went by and all he had achieved was a twitchy tingle in his left ring finger and the start of a tension headache. The cold, empty feeling had intensified. He shook his hands violently to shift the cramp and turned the page.

There was a soft cough behind him.

“That was… different?”

“It’s called training, Scott. Agility exercises. If I don’t do these I can’t expect to play the fancy stuff.” Virgil’s eyes widened slightly as he heard his own snappish tone.

“Sure, it’s just I could do with sorting some paperwork and so would you mind playing something a little less… uh… like… that?”

The part of Virgil that lived to keep his big brother sane slapped himself upside the head for being so self-absorbed. He looked up and arranged his face into an obliging smile.

“Of course, sorry. You want jazz or some kind of chilled filmic stuff or…?”

Scott’s wink and finger guns indicated relaxing film scores were the order of the day and so Virgil delivered. It was all going very well, he was definitely calming down and everything was fine. And not a Scott Tracy fake ‘Fine’ either, he cast a sidelong glance at his brother who appeared to be typing away peacefully. He transitioned into a lilting F# minor theme and went heavy on the sustain pedal to allow the higher notes to resonate through the room. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he shut all the silliness firmly away and began to enjoy himself.

Until a particular chord progression seemed to flick a switch in his soul and every hair on the back of his arms shivered to attention as a shard of ice slid down his spine.

His fingers sprang off the keys lifting the tune out through the high chords as it took on a life of its own - an insistent, yearning melody. A gasp escaped him as he found he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs - the villa faded out and he was grounded only by his fingertips returning again and again to the familiar rise and fall of black on white.

The ball of tension that had formed behind his eyes flooded down through his veins and out through his hands like poison sucked from a wound. The ache of loneliness - the longing… the surge of grief for what could never be - he forced it all down his arms and out into the wild, transformed into melody, pulse, rhythm to whirl past his bowed head and soar into the rafters and… away.

Virgil let his fingers rest on the keys as the last notes faded, gradually becoming aware of the tremor in his hands. Exhaustion swept over him and he shivered, realising his shirt was soaked with perspiration.

Silence but for the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Then, a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing away tears he had no recollection of forming. He released the breath he was holding and leaned into the touch with a sigh, eventually dragging his eyelids ajar.

Scott’s other hand settled on his shoulder as he crouched next to the piano stool, blue eyes full of questions and concern.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Virgil cleared his throat and began reaching for some appropriately reassuring words.

A earth-shatteringly loud screech startled them both as Gordon sprinted across the room trailing shaving foam with a furious Abominable-Snowman-Alan hot on his heels.

Virgil scraped his scattered emotions back into submission and watched Scott’s expression as his big brother decided to put a pin in the Tinies-wrangling for later and turned back to him. Some kind of explanation was clearly required here but Virgil found himself unable to add any more weight to the burden his brother already carried.

And so for the first time in a decade Virgil told his best friend a deliberate lie.

“I was just thinking about Mom”

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Maybe TBC? I should really fix them…

Note: Feel free to pick your own hauntingly heartbreaking film theme to knock Virgil over with (there are many that would fit!). The one that gave me the ice treatment the other day and I haven’t been able to get out of my head since is here.

(It’s all going well until about 40 seconds in then it whallops him)

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Part 2, Part 3