Randomness

They were slightly concerned when they discovered the house was all locked up and still no paternal figure in sight. Scott was all for breaking in to make sure their dad hadn't collapsed. Only EOS’s quickly relayed medical read out from Jeff's smart watch had stopped Scott from kicking in the glass in the back door. A quick check on the GPS data from the same smart watch advised them to look in the nearby town. EOS would have told them this sooner, but she hadn’t wanted to interrupt Gordon, who was pointing out why smashing the glass of the back door was the most stupid option, since there were at least three more easily accessible entry points in the old building which would make much more sense. They were all more than a little worried that the squid seemed to have cased the joint. Virgil asked EOS to add those ingress points to the maintenance list, he would rather the old place was a bit more secure than a revolving door. 

The walk into town used to take them about 50 minutes, and even with adult strides, it was deemed both too much effort and too slow, from different parties in the group. Virgil disappeared into a storage shed, and much as Alan might have been hoping for hover bikes, the triumphant cry from Virgil only unearthed a pile of their old bicycles. 

Alan groaned, and John quickly bagsied the one with the least punishing looking saddle. A quick brush down and the application of some grease to the chains soon had them road worthy enough. They set off quickly before Alan could lose patience at Gordon, who kept suggesting the youngest ought to ride the little kiddie trike, and inflict some lasting damage in retaliation. 

Scott had nabbed his own old bike, nobody was stupid enough to try and part him from what had been the pride and joy of his early teens. Holographic stickers and a metallic paint job. Thank god Jeff had believed in buying things with growing room, as they had to shove the seat up as far as it would go. John had taken possession of their mothers old bike, complete with wicker basket, he could appreciate the importance of a sprung seat and a relaxed upright ride. His old bike had been passed down to Alan, who thought the racing bike with his dropped handlebar and million and one gears was the best thing since sliced bagels. Virgil had been left with Jeff's old bike, and he glared at anyone who looked like they were about to laugh at the inelegant hop he had to do in order to get his leg over the high central bar. Even with the intervening years, Virgil hadn’t quite caught up, and a few hasty adjustments were required with a wrench. 

Gordon had been so preoccupied chasing Alan around with the kiddie trike, that he was left with the choice of either said kiddie trike, or an off road mountain bike with squeaky suspension and a cool neon paint job. Scott claimed it had been their grandmothers, but the rest couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just pulling their legs. There was no contest really, the neon colour scheme called to him, and despite all the short jokes, the kiddie trike would have left him a cramping mess before they got even half way to town. 

They managed the journey in good time, right up until they hit traffic. Traffic! In this quiet backwater? 

“What’s going on?” Scott asked, no demanded, with the confidence of someone who was used to having answers provided when he asked. 

“How the hell should I know?” John called back from his position in the third row of bicycles. Which was unexpected enough to make Scott screech to a stop. It was just as well that they had slowed right down in the stream of traffic, because Virgil nearly swerved into the back of him. 

“Aggh!” Virgil braked hard, “it’s obviously for the car show!”

“Car show? What car show?” Scott failed to see what was obvious. 

“The one Dads been organsing!” Virgil's legionary patience was getting tested, Scott looked blank. “Bet you’d have listened if John said it,”Virgil grumbled as he pushed a little more forcefully on the pedals.  

“Maybe it's for the car show!” John shouted up from where he had slipped to the fourth row of bikes while he had been conversing with EOS from where her portable drive was cradled in the wicker bike basket. 

When Scott had asked if he wanted to go on their morning run, Gordon had been half-convinced to decline the offer. After all, Thunderbird 4 required constant maintenance, and he had to update his oceanography blog. Also… More importantly, Gordon needed to continue his search for the fighters who had attacked his brother. John had rooted through all known aircraft insignia and found nothing like the oval markings Scott had described – yelled – through his malfunctioning comms system as he plummeted out of the sky. Kayo was leaving to meet up with one of her colourful spec-ops friends, but even they weren’t optimistic about their chances. All they could tell was that the region was almost all sand dunes, an oasis that had been dry since the 2040 Global Conflict, and the rumour of an ancient pyramid most academics write off as historical fiction. Essentially, after a week of work, they had nothing. All Gordon had accomplished was writing an incredibly inventive and comprehensive list of ways to make whoever hurt Scott pay.

So, no – he didn’t particularly want to go on a morning run with Big Brother when he had no progress to update him on. It would waste time he could spend chasing down leads, and Gordon knew he would only feel guiltier about not doing anything to help. Scott was always there to help him, whether it be cooling his head during a stressful rescue or throwing him headfirst back into the pool after mum’s avalanche. He’d even taught five-year-old Gordon how to tie his shoelaces, all so he had something to teach Alan. All of that, and Gordon hadn’t been there for Scott in return. Not the first time. And not this time either.

But then he had seen the silent plea on Virgil’s face from across the table, and he’d caved. And now here he was lacing up still-muddy trainers as Scott stretched out his still-bruised muscles. A small adhesive dressing covered the almost-healed gash above his eye, which Gordon could hardly look at.

“Ready?” Scott asked cheerfully.

“As I’ll ever be.” He forced out in reply as they took off down one of the paths into the jungle.

They ran all the way to the highest peak on Tracy Island, and Gordon had to wonder whether Scott was trying to prove something. Surely he’d never thought he needed to show his capability to Gordon of all people! Or was this part of Scott’s bigger ruse?

“Are you really going to keep pretending you’re fine?” He couldn’t help asking.

Scott turned away from the view he’d been watching with astonished confusion, eyebrows raised in shock. Gordon wasn’t even sure what he’d expected in response to his question. Scott would never admit his struggles without a fight, but he’d not anticipated… This.

“Have you considered that I might actually be fine?”

“No,” he answered easily. “Because you’re not. You just got shot out of the sky; no-one would be ‘fine’ after that.”

“Maybe I just want a bit of normalcy, Gordon!” The bite in Scott’s voice was a refreshing change from the subdued tones of the rest of the family.

“There is nothing normal about this situation!” Gordon found himself yelling back. “You were—”

“Shot down!? I know! I was there!” Scott finished angrily. “But that doesn’t mean I need any special treatment. Everyone on this island is looking at me like I might break down at any moment. You think I want that! You think I need that!”

Gordon’s consciousness laughed nervously at the back of his mind. Facing down the infamous Scott-Tracy-Temper was no joke. The few trees that ringed the peak provided his brother with the perfect place to back Gordon into. “And do you think I don’t know what you, Kayo and John are up to?! I don’t need my siblings to fight my battles for me! I certainly don’t need them to go on some revenge mission against people we know nothing about!”

“You nearly died, Scott!” Gordon had to argue back, physically pushing against his brother before his back hit a tree trunk. “You can’t really expect us to just move on as if nothing happened! Do you know that your comms didn’t fully cut out until after impact? We heard everything! The sound of ‘One being blown apart by those jets, the sound of her hitting the ground with you inside. It’s all I hear! Just echoing in my head over and over! So excuse us for giving a damn about you. Excuse me if I’m thankful that you’re actually alive and well enough to shout at me this time!”

That last part had not been meant to slip out, and Gordon’s brief hope that Scott wouldn’t have caught it disappeared when his brother laughed darkly.

“O-oh, so that is what this is about?! You have no reason to wo—”

“Yes, we do!” He exclaimed, incredulous that Scott was about to brush off his trauma yet again. “We care about you! We want to make sure your PTSD—”

“Fuck my PTSD!” Scott screamed.

Truthfully, Gordon startled slightly at the outburst, and by the look of Scott’s own widened eyes and quick steps backwards, he’d shocked himself too. He watched warily as his brother took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. After a moment, he stepped back into Gordon’s space. “If you don’t stop treating me like an unexploded bomb, I might just become one.”

Gordon registered his mouth opening to make whatever reply his brain could come up with, but Scott beat him to it with a low tone. “We done here? Good.”