A QUIET YEAR by PURUPUSS RATED FRT

Chapter 20: A Quiet Respite

“Good morning, Virgil,” Mr Millington, the neurologist in charge of Gordon’s care, smiled at the young man on the videophone’s screen. “What can I do for you?”

“I... ah…” Virgil hesitated. “Have you had a chance to talk to Gordon’s counsellor yet?”

Mr Millington’s smile slipped slightly. “No. Not yet. I've only been back at work twenty minutes. Why?”

Virgil hesitated again. Over the past few hours since Gordon had assured him that he would drop all thoughts of committing suicide, doubts had been surfacing again. “I thought you should be aware of something…”

“Yes?”

“The Sunday after you left for your conference, Gordon and I were talking. Father had gone for a walk, Grandma was taking the Baileys home and Scott and John had gone to make some recordings for Gordon. So it was just the two of us…” Virgil paused a third time. He hated saying this. He felt like he was betraying a confidence, while at the same time aware that it wasn’t something to be ignored. “Gordon told me he wanted to commit suicide.”

There was no change in Mr Millington’s demeanour. “And you tried to dissuade him?”

“Yes. He asked me for my help and I told him I couldn’t.”

“Have you spoken of this to anyone else?”

“Only Gordon’s counsellor.” Virgil said, deciding that it wasn’t necessary to mention the Crumps.

“No-one in your family?”

“No. They’re stressed enough as it is, I didn’t want to burden them any more.”

“Good,” Mr Millington acknowledged. He picked up a thick folder and started going through it.

“I thought you should know,” Virgil said, feeling a bit lame about his admission.

“It is mentioned in here,” Mr Millington indicated the folder, “but I’m glad you told me.” He read briefly and then looked back at his caller. “And how are you, Virgil? Now that you know of Gordon’s wishes.”

Virgil shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I mean I was stunned at first. Heck, I was more than stunned. It was a real bombshell. Gordon’s never given up before! If things ever got tough he just tried harder… But after that it seemed to me that he’d keep on finding some way of reminding me of what he wanted, even when the others were there. I felt I couldn’t stay in the room with him… And I’ll admit that it’s been playing on my mind. Yesterday Gordon told me that he was giving up on… the idea, but now I’m not sure if he meant it or if he was just trying to humour me to make me feel better.”

“I’ll talk to the relevant people and get their opinion.” Mr Millington made a note in the folder. “Is that why you and Scott fought?”

Virgil stared at the medical man. “Huh? How did you know about that?”

“It’s in here,” Mr Millington informed him, indicating the folder again.

“Oh…” Virgil gave a shameful nod. “Yes. I didn’t spend much time with Gordon this weekend, and when he dropped another hint yesterday I couldn’t stand it any longer so I decided to go for a walk. Scott asked me why I was ignoring Gordon and got upset when I refused to tell him. We ended up having something of a heated discussion.”

“It sounds like more than a ‘heated discussion’.” Mr Millington read from the folder. “Scott Tracy accused his brother of ‘ignoring Gordon’ and ‘not caring’, as well as demanding to know what he was ‘running away from’. Virgil Tracy took exception to the first two comments and replied to the latter query that he was ‘running away from his worst nightmare.’” He looked up again. “Is that correct?”

Virgil’s jaw had dropped at the revelation. “Does this place record everything?!”

“Everything that concerns our patients, yes.”

“But how does a private argument between me and Scott concern Gordon enough to warrant it going on record…? Apart from the fact that he probably overheard it,” Virgil added, remembering his father’s arrival on the scene.

“The Willis Institute’s concern is always first and foremost the wellbeing of our patients and that includes their being in a calm and supportive environment. We note the patient’s relationship with their family, and other visitors, and the family’s relationship with the patient and each other, especially when a family is obviously as close as yours. We also take note of any changes in those relationships. If the strain becomes too much, say for the patient’s father, then we do what we can to relieve that strain, because if something happens to the father, then that will impact on the patient. Do you understand?”

Virgil nodded. “Yes. I guess I didn’t realise how thorough you people are.”

“We don’t have the buildings bugged electronically in any way and we don’t record private information,” Mr Millington assured him, “We only note enough to give an indication of people’s emotional states… How are things between you and Scott?”

“We haven’t spoken since,” Virgil admitted. “I think his feelings are hurt because when I went back to the room, Gordon demanded that I sit next to the bed and then kicked Scott out when he refused to move.”

“If at all possible, I would recommend that you and Scott try to settle your differences before you next visit Gordon. He’s sure to pick up if there is any dissent between the pair of you.”

“I’ll do my best…” Virgil thought. “Can I ask you a question, Mr Millington?”

“If you wish.”

“Did you use the ‘patient’s father’ as an example for a reason?”

Mr Millington nodded. “Yes. I have my concerns about your father’s wellbeing and the impact it’s having on Gordon.”

“I’m sure Gordon’s worried about him,” Virgil stated. “I know we are. That’s why we made sure Father had a week’s break away from the Willis last week.”

Mr Millington’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You encouraged your father to leave knowing your brother’s mental state?”

“I wasn’t happy about it at first and I made Scott and John promise that they wouldn’t go ahead with the plan if Gordon wasn’t one hundred percent behind it, but he could see that Father needed to get away, so he co-operated willingly. He enjoyed the idea that he was able to take part in the hoax. ”

One eyebrow had descended, but the other remained elevated in a quizzical look. “A hoax? What kind of hoax.”

“The General Manger of the company I work for’s an old family friend. We got him to say that there was something wrong with the books and he needed Father’s help to straighten it out. Gordon was glad to help. He’s a prankster from way back and the idea that he could still trick someone thrilled him… Even if Father wasn’t impressed when he found out he’d been conned. He went ballistic.”

“Is that the reaction you would have expected from your father?”

“Not really. He would have been annoyed, especially at being dragged away from Gordon, but I wouldn’t have expected him to react quite as fiercely as he did. And then, later on, when he discovered something else that had happened at the company months ago, something that involved me, he tore strips off the three most senior staff members, on the factory floor, in front of the rest of his employees. That’s something he’d never normally do. Even as kids, when one of us would do something naughty he’d never yell at us or punish us in front of our brothers…” Virgil gave a wry grin. “That was what the study was for.”

“Do you think his time away from here helped him?”

Virgil gave a helpless shrug. “I honestly don’t know. I thought he’d calmed down a lot by the time we flew back here on Friday, but then, just before we entered the Institute, he said how he hated the place. I don’t think he was saying it to me; more like it was for his own benefit. Then he marched inside and it was like it was a totally different person walking into Gordon’s room.”

“I see.” Mr Millington made a notation. “Thank you for your honesty, Virgil, and thank you for caring enough about Gordon to let me know about his mental state.” He gave the young man an earnest stare. “How are you? Would you like me to arrange for you to talk with someone? You can visit with a member of staff here at the Willis Institute or I can arrange for you to see someone closer to home.”

“No, thanks,” Virgil replied. “I’ll be okay now that I know that someone’s keeping an eye on Gordon.”

“If it’s any help,” Mr Millington said, “I discussed Gordon’s case, not mentioning any names of course, with my colleagues at last week’s conference. This has helped me decide on the next stages of Gordon’s treatment.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I do not want to get anyone’s hopes up, so I trust this will remain between you and me, Virgil, but I have hopes that by the end of this week I will have a clearer idea of Gordon’s long term prognosis… When are you planning to return to the Willis?”

“Friday afternoon. But I can make it earlier if you want.”

“No, I should have the results by Friday. Will Alan be there?”

Virgil thought briefly. “Yes, I think he said he had the weekend free.”

“Good.” Mr Millington smiled. “I’ll want the entire family present when I report on my findings.”

Virgil finished the phone call feeling better about some things but still unsure about others.

And feeling that he couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Virgil’s next videophone call of the day was received after he’d finished work. He smiled at his youngest brother. “How are you, Kiddo?”

“Me?” Alan managed to avoid grimacing at the use of his nickname. “I’m okay. But how are you? The only topic of conversation we’ve had today was about how strangely you’ve been acting. Deserting Gordon, arguing with Scott, running away from Grandma… That’s not like you.”

“No...” Virgil admitted. “But we’re all acting a bit out of character. It’s because of all the stresses and strains we’ve been under.”

“Can I help? I thought that maybe, since you and I are more or less in the same boat, not being at the Willis full time, I might have a better understanding of what’s wrong than the others.”

Alan was not always the most thoughtful of the Tracy boys, and Virgil appreciated this unexpected display of concern. “Thanks, but the only thing that will set things right,” he said, treading cautiously as he remembered Mr Millington’s earlier phone conversation, “will be some certainty about Gordon’s future.”

“Do you think he has a future outside that room?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life stuck in bed,” Alan admitted. “I think I’d be inclined to do something drastic.”

Virgil quickly changed the subject. “Is that the only reason why you’ve called?”

“Huh? Oh… No. I've bought myself a new plane!”

“What? Another?”

“I got rid of the Culiseta. She had too many faults.”

“Such as a tendency to cripple you?”

Alan ignored the remark. “And I thought Scott might need to cool down a bit after his ‘discussion’ with you, so I took him shopping on-line. He helped me choose a TA-5800 Cynomya. We test flew her today and she handles like a dream… once I managed to shoehorn Scott out of the cockpit.” He chuckled and Virgil smiled at the mental image conjured up. “She’s just as fast as the Culiseta, but looks better… And she’s a little bit bigger too.” He gave a cheeky grin. “You’ll appreciate that.

“All reviews say the Cynomya a great plane,” Virgil approved. “You’ve made a good choice there.”

“Thanks… I was wondering; do you want me to pick you up on Friday in the Cynomya and we could fly out to the Institute together?”

“Sounds good,” Virgil agreed. “I haven’t had the chance to see Tracy Aviation’s latest creation in its entirety yet, so you can show me what she can do and I can show you the bits I helped to make.”

Alan beamed, glad to be finally taken seriously over his choice of plane. “Okay, then. Pick you up at the usual time?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Virgil awoke at his normal hour. His first inclination was to get up and get ready for work, but then he remembered that this was the day he’d been hanging out for.

Today was Tuesday.

It seemed strange to be so excited about a day when he had nothing planned: but he was. This was his day. His chance to get everything back into perspective. His time to relax and unwind.

He rejected the idea of a long lie-in in bed. Instead he got up, didn’t bother with having a shave, and enjoyed a leisurely wash and breakfast. He then decided that he would not check his emails, he’d direct his videophone straight to his voicemail, and he would leave his cell phone turned off. If his family needed to contact him urgently, they could use his wristwatch telecom.

Everything to do with International Rescue could stay in the safe: unseen and untouched.

After doing a few minor chores about the apartment, Virgil settled down to a pleasant morning tinkering with the Red-Arrow. By the time he enjoyed a late lunch, it was purring sweeter than a kitten getting its belly rubbed. After lunch he washed again, shaved, changed into clean clothes, and took the sportster for a drive.

It was heaven, as if all his cares were blown away in his slipstream. He had no plans of where he was going and what he was going to do when he got there. He just drove. Not at speed; but so that he could feel the bite of the autumnal wind on his face, making him feel alive.

It was a much more relaxed Virgil Tracy who pulled up outside the Crumps house just before 5.00pm. He hopped out of the car and jogged up to the door, rapping a tune on it. “Is the doctor in?” he beamed when Butch greeted him. “I’ve come to report that the prescription worked a treat.”

Confused, Butch frowned for a moment. Then he smiled. “That’s great. Com’n.”

“Actually I was wondering if you and Lisa wanted to come out. I’ve been working on the Red-Arrow and I’d like to know what you think. Do you want to go for a drive?”

Butch’s face lit up. “Yeah! Hang on an’ I’ll get Lisa.” He left Virgil on the doorstep and ambled away, calling to his wife. “Lisa… Liesl…! Virgil’s here. Do you wanna go for a ride in th’ Red-Arrow?”

Lisa appeared, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and towelling her hair after a shower. “What was that, Darling?”

“Virgil’s here. ‘E says ‘e feels great an’ ‘e wants t’ know if we wanna go for a ride in the Red-Arrow.”

Lisa looked around the lounge. “Where is he?”

Virgil waved through the front door. “Here.”

“Oh, Butch, where are your manners…? Virgil, come inside. You don’t have to stay out there. You’re practically part of the family. You can just walk in.”

Virgil grinned and stepped over the threshold. “I don’t know that that’s a good idea. You know what happened last time I interrupted your shower... And Grandma’s not here to back me up this time... Do you want to go for a drive?”

“Love to,” she responded. “Just let me get my coat.”

Together they walked out to the sparkling red car. “Here...” Virgil tossed his keys to Butch. “You can drive.” He climbed into the back seat.

“Man...” Butch slid behind the driver’s wheel and ran his hands over the steering wheel. “This feels like comin’ home.” He stared the ignition and smiled appreciatively when he heard the engine purr. “Sweet...” He set the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. “Where’re we goin’?

“Anywhere,” Virgil suggested. “Just drive.”

Butch drove.

About an hour later Lisa suggested that they find a place to eat. “Only let us pay for you this time, Virgil.” She held up her hand when he started to protest. “Please, we’d like to. Only don’t expect anywhere quite as expensive as La Gemme Cachée.”

Virgil laughed.

When he eventually got home that evening he was still in a buoyant frame of mind. Without really considering the consequences, he switched his videophone back from the answer-phone.

Almost immediately it rang.

Virgil reached out to answer the call, but hesitated when he saw the caller’s ID.

Scott.

Uncertain at what his reception was going to be, Virgil answered the phone. “Hello?”

Scott’s response was oddly formal. “Hello, Virgil. You must have been busy at work. I’ve been trying to get you all day.”

“Uh...” Virgil wasn’t prepared to lie. Nor did he want to reveal the truth. “Yeah... I’ve been busy today.”

There was silence.

“How’s Gordon?”

“He’s okay,” Scott replied. “Mr Millington’s been putting him through a lot of tests.”

“Tests?”

“Yes. Brain scans and things like that.”

“Ah...”

More silence.

“Did he say why?”

“Did who say why?”

“Did Mr Millington say why he’s putting Gordon through a lot of tests?”

“Oh...! No...”

“Ah...”

This time the silence lasted a full minute.

“Scott...?”

“Yes?”

“Why have you rung?”

“I... Because...” Scott lapsed into frustrated thought. He took a deep breath. “Because I think that I should be apologising to you, but I don’t know why.”

“You mean last Sunday?”

“Yeah, I mean last Sunday... Look, I know you, Virgil. And you were behaving totally out of character, running away from Gordon like that. But I know that you wouldn’t do it without a good reason.” He took another breath. “If I were to apologise for saying that you didn’t care about Gordon, would that start us on the road to mending a few bridges?”

“That would get us to the end of the road, Scott. I’m sorry that I can’t explain my actions, but I had my reasons for behaving the way I did, and Gordon knows what they are...”

“He said something to you, didn’t he? Asked you to do something for him?”

“Yes.”

“Something that you can’t tell the rest of us?”

Virgil nodded. “I wish I could tell you. It would all make perfect sense if I did.”

“Can’t you at least tell me?”

“No.” Virgil shook his head. “It wouldn’t do you or Gordon any good. We’re all already stressed enough as it is. I can’t compound things.”

“Wouldn’t you find it easier to talk about it?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got my outlets.”

“Yes,” Scott said, not really understanding. “You have. I wish I had something like painting or playing the piano... Are you coming back to the Willis this weekend?”

Virgil remembered his promise to Mr Millington. “I’ll be back Friday afternoon. Alan’s picking me up in the Cynomya. He tells me you helped him choose it.”

Scott gave a wry grin. “He didn’t want to make another mistake like the Culiseta. But, to be fair, that particular plane was a lemon. He showed me the mechanic’s report and it has so many faults in it that he was lucky that it didn’t fall apart mid-flight. I checked over his new plane and she’s in good shape. He’ll get plenty of miles out of her.”

“I hear she’s a dream to fly.”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott looked love struck. “She’s a real honey. If I ever decide to get rid of my old girl, I’m getting a TA-5800 Cynomya.”

Virgil chuckled. “Two-timer.”

Scott grinned. “I’d better get back over the road. Can I tell everyone that you’re okay?”

“Yep. And you can tell them that you and I are okay, Scott. I’ll see you, and Gordon, on Friday.”

“Copy that.”

Friday rolled around quickly and Virgil found himself in the passenger seat of Alan’s TA-5800 Cynomya. Even from this vantage point he could tell that the aeroplane was a masterpiece of aeronautical engineering and a joy to operate. Alan hadn’t stopped raving about his new acquisition since they’d left the airport.

They touched down on the Willis Institute’s airfield and taxied into the hangar that had become the home away from home for the Tracys’ aeroplanes.

“Hello,” Virgil commented, looking through the cockpit window. “We’ve got company.”

“Who’s there?” Alan asked. “Scott... John... Dad?”

“And Grandma.”

The two brothers looked at each other. “Something’s up,” Alan said. “C’mon.”

They climbed out of the aeroplane and turned control of the Cynomya over to the airfield’s ground crew before heading over to the waiting quartet.

“What’s up?” Alan greeted his family, trying to sound cheerful. “Don’t tell me Gordon’s kicked you all out?”

“No,” John responded. “Mr Millington has.”

“Mr Millington?” Wide-eyed, Alan stared at him. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, as far we know.” Jeff Tracy had his arm about his mother, but Virgil wasn’t sure who was reassuring who. “He wanted to talk to Gordon alone and he’s asked us to all wait in his office once you two had arrived.”

His family was looking worried and Virgil sought to reassure them. “He told me that he was hoping to have a better idea of Gordon’s future by today.”

Everyone stared at him. “Who said this?” Grandma asked.

“Mr Millington.”

“When were you talking to him?” Scott demanded.

“Uh...” Virgil couldn’t tell them he’d rung the doctor in case they wanted to know why, so he omitted a few facts. “He heard about our argument and wanted to find out what it was all about.”

“What did that have to do with him?” Scott demanded. “How’d he find out about it anyway?”

“Someone put it into a report. He told me that they report on all sorts of things.”

“Such as?” Jeff asked sharply.

“They note the relationships friends and family of the patient have with each other and if there are any changes in those relationships. They want to keep life as normal as possible for the patient, and that includes making sure family interactions don’t change. He was worried that if Scott and I weren’t getting along then Gordon would notice and it would upset him.”

“Too late,” Scott said. “He heard us shouting.”

“I know...” Virgil admitted. “Mr Millington also told me that counselling is available to anyone who needs it.”

Grandma nodded. “We know.”

No one said if they’d availed themselves of this service.

Not another word was said as the family traversed the travelator into the main hospital and walked along its corridors to the neurologist’s office. Seven seats were arranged in a semicircle and they each took one, facing the empty chair behind the desk.

Still no one spoke.

They’d been sitting there for about half-an-hour, multitudes of dire scenarios chasing through their heads, before the door finally opened and Mr Millington entered. He greeted them all with a smile, indicated that the men should sit down, and then claimed his own seat himself. “I know you are all wondering why I’ve chosen to speak to you in here and what I’ve had to say to Gordon,” he began, “so I won’t keep you waiting. I have decided on the next phase of Gordon’s treatment... One that I am hopeful will bring positive results.”

“Positive?” Jeff sat forward. “How positive?”

“There is a possibility of one hundred percent recovery. But...!” he added before anyone had the chance to get their hopes up too high, “there is also the very real possibility that things could go wrong... Disastrously wrong. That is why I wanted to talk to Gordon alone. I wanted to make sure that he understood the procedure, knew the risks, and that he had the opportunity to ask me questions. You are a close family and I didn’t want Gordon to be influenced by your opinions, no matter how well meaning they may be and how much you believe you are acting in his best interests.”

“What is this procedure?” Scott asked. “How dangerous is it?”

“It entails an operation... Do you know what nanotechnology is?”

“The manipulation of matter at a molecular and atomic level,” John replied.

“Correct. I discussed Gordon’s case at the conference I attended the other week and consensus was that we should use nanotechnology in his treatment.” Mr Millington leant forward on his desk. “What I propose is that we drill a series of holes into Gordon’s skull. Through these holes, or stoma, we will introduce microscopic robots, known as nanobots. Each of these nanobots will be programmed to search out one particular sector of Gordon’s brain. Once it is in position it will operate on the specific neuron, capillary, axon, or whatever molecular structure it is programmed to repair. When the nanobots’ sole task is complete, then it will retrace its steps back through the stoma, job complete.”

“How many nanobots?” Grandma asked.

“Thousands. Obviously they will have to be introduced into Gordon’s brain in a specific order so that later robots don’t undo the work done by the earlier ones.”

“How will they navigate?” John asked.

“Gordon’s head will be held in a frame of transceivers emitting specific signals to and from the robots. Each nanobot will navigate by its relationship to the various signals given out by these transceivers.”

Jeff nodded his understanding. “Triangulation.”

“Yes... My principal job will be leading up to the operation, when I must ensure that we have an accurate map of Gordon’s brain so that we can programme the transceivers and nanobots correctly... There will be no margin for error.”

Scott repeated his earlier question. “How dangerous is this?”

“I am not going to sugar coat this, Scott. There are many opportunities for error. An incorrectly programmed nanobot losing its way and operating on the wrong segment of the brain, a malfunction in one of the transceivers, nanobots losing power and being unable to be retrieved... Naturally we will do all we can to minimise the risk of errors... but there is a risk.”

“What’re the numbers?” Alan asked. “90 percent chance of a full recovery? 80 percent? Fifty?”

“Even that is inexact,” Mr Millington said. “There is only a chance of full recovery. After the operation Gordon may experience improvement in some fields of mobility, but not in others. He may find that he has full facial control, but only limited movement in his limbs. Or he might be able to walk, talk, but only have limited mobility in his right arm. Or...” he paused, “he might lose some of the faculties he has now. He might lose his sight, his hearing, cognitive abilities...” another pause. “There is a possibility that this procedure could kill him.”

Everyone took a moment to digest this piece of information.

When he decided that they’d had long enough to think, the neurologist continued. “If we go ahead and Gordon survives this procedure, he will be in a drug-induced grade three coma for at least four days afterwards, to give his brain an opportunity to recover and reduce the chances of swelling and bleeding. We will have no indication of the success or otherwise until after we allow him to wake up again. Once he does awake, assuming that there were no complications, we shouldn’t have to wait for long to discover how successful the operation has been. Both Catherine and Rose agree that, assuming that the operation is one hundred percent successful then his recovery should be rapid, though he won’t be able to immediately run a marathon or recite entire chapters from his WASP manual.”

“Mr Millington,” Virgil began. “Initially you were talking as if the operation is going ahead, now you’re saying if it goes ahead. Hasn’t Gordon made a decision yet?”

The neurologist looked at him. “He has, Virgil.”

“And that is?” Jeff asked, his white knuckled hands gripping the armrests of his chair.

Mr Millington’s gaze was redirected to the Tracy patriarch. “He has given his consent for the operation to proceed.”

It was early Saturday morning and Virgil was the only visitor in Gordon’s room. Everyone else was off exercising, shopping, or just giving themselves a chance to think.

“How are you?” Virgil asked.

“K.”

“Glad that it looks like we’re finally going to be getting somewhere?”

“Ya.”

“I’ll be glad when Wednesday’s over.”

“Nod mi.”

Virgil frowned. “No?”

“Nod da comber. Hayded bein’ in da comber.” Gordon grabbed Virgil’s hand. “Don’d leab me ‘lon.”

“No, Gordon. We won’t leave you alone while you’re in the coma. Not if we can help it.”

“Ceyp talgin’.”

“We’ll keep talking to you.”

“Ned zoun’. Ned t’ no ‘m ‘live.”

“You...?” Virgil tried to understand the sentence. “You need to be able to hear sounds to know you’re alive?”

“Ya.” Gordon looked at his brother with his lopsided face, then his thumb moved and he typed into the texter. “You’ll be interested to know that I can sign my signature.” Before Virgil was able to comment he started typing again. “Your drawing exercises worked.”

“At least I was of some help,” Virgil responded, not sure if this was a good thing or not.

Gordon was typing again. “Signed ‘do not resuscitate’ order.”

“Oh...” Virgil tried desperately to think of something intelligent to say. “I guess that’s fair.”

“I asked Mr M that if it’s obvious I’m not going to be 100 pc okay that he slip me something to end it all.”

“What did he say to that?”

“Against the Hippocratic oath.”

Virgil felt a measure of guilty relief. “Gordon... I can understand why you’d sign a DNR, but you do want to recover, don’t you? You are trying to be positive about all this?”

“I want to get well. But it’s got to be 100 pc.”

“But what if it’s 95 percent?”

“Got to be normal.”

“But what’s normal? Remember Allie Keall at school? She was in a wheelchair, but she attempted things most able-bodied kids would never attempt. The only thing wrong with her was her legs. There was nothing wrong with her attitude to life.”

“Don’t want to spend life as a cripple.”

“But what if the only thing wrong with you is that you don’t have full mobility in one of your hands? I could live with that. Couldn’t you?”

“All right for you. You’re ambidextrous.”

Virgil stared at Gordon, unable to work out if this was a sarcastic insult or a simple fact. “I never asked to be ambidextrous.” He sighed. “Forget that as an example... what if you’re paralysed only in one leg? You’ll still be able to use your hands and get around. You’d still be able to swim. Look at those Paralympians. They don’t let their ‘disabilities’ hold them back from competing in the pool.”

“Olympic champion to lame duck.”

“I’d guarantee that none of them regard themselves as lame ducks.”

“Let it go, V. This is me, not you. You’ve got no idea what this is like. I’m fed up and I want it to finish... one way or another.” The door opened and Gordon wiped his words from the texter screen.

Jeff Tracy entered the room, closely followed by Mr Millington. It was the latter who spoke first. “Everything’s almost ready, Gordon. We’ll do two more scans; one on Monday and one on Tuesday to confirm that there are no changes from earlier tests and then, all being well with you and the nanobots’ programming, we’ll operate on Wednesday. Is that all right?”

Gordon looked at the doctor. Then he looked at his father, at Virgil, and then back at Mr Millington again. “Ya.”

But Virgil noticed that his brother’s thumb had started twitching...

Late Sunday evening Virgil threw his bag on his bed and proceeded to make himself a cup of coffee. All through his flight home he’d been aware of a certain disquiet. This operation that Gordon was going to undertake sounded dangerous. Nanobots crawling through your brain? Virgil gave an involuntary shudder. Questions that he’d thought of on the trip home looped, unanswered, over and over in his mind. He could ask Mr Millington, but Virgil didn’t want to disturb the neurologist, not when Gordon’s life was in his hands. But who could he ask? Who did he trust? Who could explain the procedure in a way that he could understand...?

Virgil flicked on the videophone and speed-dialled a number. He had to wait ten rings before he was greeted by a short-sighted, slightly nervous smile. “V-V-Virgil?”

“Brains, I was wondering if you...”

There was a dry chuckle. “I was p-preparing a written explanation of the procedure when you rang. I’ll, er, email it through to you all when I’ve finished. Then, if you s-still have questions, you can call me and ask me.”

Virgil stared at the little scientist. “How did you know that’s what I needed?”

“I have already, er, spoken to your father, your grandmother, and S-Scott. I am confident that I will be hearing...” Brains attention was diverted by a sound. “Ah... There’s John now.” He turned his attention back to the videophone. “Gordon is in good hands, Virgil. The W-Willis Institute is the finest of its type in the world. Mr Millington is one of the, er, leaders in his field. If anyone can make this operation a success, it’s him... And remember that if you have any other q-questions, I’m only a phone call away.”

Virgil smiled. “Thanks, Brains. I’m glad you’re a part of the team.”

Chapter 21: A Quiet Operation

For those who are interested, when I was researching possible cures for Gordon on the Internet, I found that nanotechnology has been mooted as a potential future treatment for neurological injuries. I have no idea if it would work the way that I’ve depicted, but if it works for Gordon, who cares?

“Hiya, Virgil,” Bruce Sanders greeted his friend. “How was your weekend?”

“Okay…” Virgil responded. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you know?”

“Did you boys have a good weekend?” Lisa asked as she and her husband joined the two men.

“Virgil doesn’t know,” Bruce replied. “He’s still trying to work it out.”

“Work what out?” Butch asked.

“I don’t know.”

Concerned, Lisa put a hand on their subject of their discussion’s arm. “Virgil?”

“I was at the Willis all weekend,” Virgil admitted. “Mr Millington’s decided that Gordon’s best chance of a full recovery is to have an operation…”

“Well…? That’s good… isn’t it?” Bruce queried.

Virgil shrugged. “It might mean a full recovery. It might mean a partial recovery. It might make things worse… It might kill him.”

Bruce’s response to this news was a quiet, “Oh.”

“When’re they doin’ it? Butch asked.

“Wednesday.”

“Wed’s’day?”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll fly out there Tuesday evening.”

“What does Gordon think about the operation?” Lisa asked.

“He’s given the go-ahead for it to happen, but he’s also signed a D.N.R…”

Butch scratched his head. “What’s tha’?”

“Do not resuscitate. It means that if something goes wrong and Gordon’s heart stops during the operation, he doesn’t want them to try to start it again,” Virgil explained. “He says he either wants to be fully fit or dead... No half measures. I don’t know what he’ll do if the operation isn’t a complete success.”

Lisa gave his arm a reassuring rub. “Are you okay?”

Virgil gave another shrug. “I’ve got to be. I’ve got to keep positive. I’ve got to make myself believe that he’s going to get through this okay.” He sighed. “It’s strange… Sometimes, over the years, I’ve wished that he was part of someone else’s family; not mine. There’ve been times when I haven’t liked him, many times when he’s embarrassed me, and a lot of the time he’s simply been the stereotypical annoying, irritating, aggravating younger brother. But… despite that… I still want him to live, no matter how disabled he is…” He shoved his hands into his pockets and hung his head. “Is that selfish of me?”

“Not as selfish as Gordon asking you to help him commit suicide,” Lisa stated.

“Gordon did wha-ow!” In pain, Bruce rubbed at the Butch boot sized bruise on his ankle.

“He’s ya brother, Virgil,’ the big man said. “Of course ya want him t’ live. That don’ make you a bad person.”

The morning siren sounded. “Don’t worry about me.” Virgil pulled himself together. “This is my problem, not yours. But I don’t think I’m going to be a lot of fun to be around this week, and besides, I’d rather be alone… I know you understand...” He headed inside, leaving his friends still in their huddle.

Greg Harrison had assigned Virgil to work with Freddy, ACE’s latest employee. The newcomer was an animated young man, fresh out of engineering school with an engaging personality and a motor mouth. “Fantastic!” he enthused. “A short week! It’s great working here, but nothing’s as good as having time off on full pay. Right, Virgil?”

Virgil hadn’t even considered the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. “Right,” he agreed, not really listening as he loaded a die into the computerised 100-ton press.

“I’m a local so I’ll be hanging around town catching the local sales, although I think there’s never anything worthwhile getting. I usually end up as the family donkey; fetching and carrying whatever they buy. What are you going to do? Off home to be with the family?”

“Yeah…” Virgil adjusted the die.

“Are you a local or are they out of town?”

“Out of town.”

“When will you be leaving?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow? Tuesday! Boy, you’re going to have a really long weekend. Guess it pays to have spent some time with the company. How long have you worked here?”

“Under a year.”

“Under a year? And you’re already having time off? Guess that means you won’t be getting paid for Wednesday. Still I suppose that’s a small price to pay to get away. Is your family keen on the sales too?”

“No.”

“Lucky. I remember one year my sister bought herself a new bed, under half price it was. It was king-size too, so I don’t know why she bought it. Her room’s only big enough for a single. I think she’d got such a buzz at being the first one into the store, ran in she did, that she got carried away. Anyway, guess who she conned into bringing this humungous bed home for her? I had to strap it to the roof of my car. I only drive a compact and I had half a mile of mattress hanging over each side. I dunno how I managed to get home, or how the cop managed to see my number plate, cos I got a ticket in the mail. I made my sister pay it and it was nearly as much as she’d saved on the bed in the first place, so she wasted her money. It didn’t fit into her room anyway. Then there was the time that my…”

“Freddy!” Virgil exploded. “Will you shut up!? I’m trying to concentrate!”

“Sorry…”

“We’re supposed to be working; not discussing your family’s shopping habits!”

“I know…”

“Just be grateful that your family is happy and healthy…”

“Uh…” Freddy looked about for assistance.

“…And that your sister can walk and talk and go shopping!”

“Um…”

“Think how lucky you are that she’s not confined to a hospital bed hoping to die!”

“Virgil…” It was Bruce to the rescue. “Calm down.”

Virgil turned on his friend. “What!?”

“He’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that!”

“No, I don’t. Just like you don’t know that he won’t be.”

“He wishes he was dead, Bruce.”

“You told me that. But he’s made it this far. You said yourself he’s not a quitter.”

“That was before…”

“Virgil…” Greg Harrison had heard the raised voice, and Bruce, relieved at their supervisor’s appearance, took a step back. “Now take a deep breath and calm down… Freddy…” He turned to the bewildered young man who was standing there slack jawed at the unexpected exchange, “if you’re going to work here you’re going to have to learn that there is a time for chat and a time to work. And now is the time to work.”

“Uh... Yes, Sir.”

“Bruce…”

“Yes, Greg?”

“Finish setting up the press. Virgil, you’re coming with me.”

Virgil nodded, ashamed of his outburst. “Sorry, Freddy,” he mumbled. “I…”

Greg put his arm about Virgil’s shoulders. “Come on, Son. You and I need to talk.”

Reluctantly, and expecting to be led into the production office, Virgil allowed himself to be guided through the factory. He was surprised when Greg turned not left, but right; towards the main administration block.

“Is the boss in?” Greg asked Olivia, Hamish Mickelson’s P.A.

She smiled up at him. “Yes, he is. Do you want a word?”

“If we could.”

She pushed a button on the inter-office intercom. “Mr Mickelson. Greg Harrison and Virgil Tancy would like a word with you.”

His reply sounded slightly metallic. “Send them in, Olivia.”

Virgil followed Greg into the General Manager’s office and stood just inside the door. He rubbed his palms, suddenly sweaty, on his overalls and swallowed.

“What can I do for you both?” Hamish asked, smiling.

“Virgil’s come to ask if he can take the rest of the week off, Hamish,” Greg responded.

Virgil stared at his supervisor. Asking for time off, apart from on Wednesday, hadn’t even occurred to him. He knew that with the upcoming holiday, schedules were tight and he wasn’t expecting special treatment, even if he was the boss’s son. “But, Greg, I…”

But Hamish was nodding his agreement. “That’s understandable. I’m surprised that we’re seeing you at all this week, Virgil. I thought you would have wanted to spend time with Gordon before his operation.”

“I do… But… But…” Virgil stammered. “I can’t take time off.”

The General Manager stared at him. “Why not?”

“I’m not due any holidays. The factory’s busy. I had a day off last week. We agreed that you wouldn’t treat me any differently from anyone else just because I’m Jeff Tracy’s son.”

“Which is precisely why we are letting you have time off,” Hamish told him. “If we were to insist that you stay here we would be treating you differently from your father’s other employees.”

“But I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“You will be causing me a good many headaches, but I can live with that.” Greg chuckled.

“You’re more like your father than I think you realise, Virgil,” Hamish explained. “He’s excessively loyal too. And he always gives over one hundred percent; often at his own expense...”

“Hamish is right,” Greg agreed. “Go. We’ll survive without you.”

Virgil hesitated; part of him reluctant to accept their offer, part of him relieved. “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” Hamish confirmed. “Even if you hadn’t been his son, Jeff wouldn’t have hesitated in letting you have compassionate leave; and neither will I. Go home, Virgil. Go home and pack your bags and then fly out to the Willis Institute. Your family needs you and you need them.” He stood. “And don’t forget to tell them that we’re thinking about you all and hoping for the best.” He held out his hand. “Tell that younger brother of yours that he’s causing even more mischief than usual and that he’s got to stop it and get better.”

Virgil shook the proffered hand. “Thank you, Uncle Hamish. Thank you, Greg. I won’t forget this.”

He left the office and retreated to the locker room, where he removed his overalls and dumped them in the laundry. It seemed silly to put them into the wash when he’d barely worn them, but he knew that he’d only upset the system if he didn’t. He retrieved his bag from his locker, shut and locked the locker door, hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, and left the room.

As he passed through the factory he spied Bruce and gave him a farewell wave. His friend surreptitiously looked around, couldn’t see any supervisors, deserted his machine, and ducked over to say goodbye. “Did Greg kick you out?”

“Greg and Uncle Hamish. They said I should never have come here this week.”

“They said right.” when Virgil heard Lisa Crump’s voice, he turned and received a big hug. “Tell Gordon we’re thinking about him.”

“Yeah,” Butch agreed. “‘N text us when he’s outta surgery.”

“And when he wakes up,” Bruce added. “Let us know how everything’s turned out.”

“John’s setting up a texting slash emailing list,” Virgil admitted, “so that we can send out a bulk message. I’ll make sure your numbers are on it.”

“Make sure mine’s on it too,” Greg Harrison stepped up to the group. He looked at Virgil’s colleagues. “I wasn’t aware that the tea break bell had gone.”

A bell rang.

“It has now, Greg,” Bruce grinned. He nudged Virgil. “You deserve a medal. You’re the only person I know who’s actually managed to shut Freddy up. When he found his voice again he said to me that he’d always thought you were a nice, quiet guy and that people had always said that Mr Tracy was a nice person too. But that you’d both exploded for no apparent reason. Then he asked me if you were related. I told him that if you go far enough back in the family tree everyone’s related. He seemed happy with that explanation.”

“Thanks...” Virgil spied someone he wanted to talk to. “Hold this for me, would you...?” He pushed his bag into Bruce’s hands. “Freddy! Wait!”

Freddy stopped and looked at him warily. “What?”

“I wanted to apologise for yelling at you,” Virgil admitted. “I can’t use this as an excuse, but...” he waited until some of his colleagues had meandered past. “This isn’t general knowledge here, but my brother was in an accident three months ago.”

Freddy’s face fell. “Oh... I’m sorry.”

“He’s been in hospital ever since. He’s having an operation on Wednesday that... that may well either kill or cure. If it doesn’t it’s possible that he’ll be even more disabled than he already is. I’m worried about him and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Freddy groaned. “And there I was waffling on about my sister. I’m sorry, Virgil, if I’d known I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“That’s not your fault. Only a handful of people here do know. I’ve been given compassionate leave to spend the rest of the week with him,” Virgil gave a wry grin. “So you won’t have to worry about me blowing my top again.”

“You’re leaving now?

Virgil nodded. “I’ll go home, pack, and fly out.”

“Will you be back here on Monday?”

“I’d planned on being at work, now I’m not sure,” Virgil responded. “You’d better go. I’m stopping you from getting your coffee.”

“I hope the operation goes well,” Freddy said.

“Thanks. I’ll be letting Bruce know whatever happens and I’ll tell him to pass on the news to you.”

“Thanks.” Freddy repeated and he smiled. “Catch you later.”

Virgil retrieved his bag. “I’ll see you all next week.” He found himself wrapped up in another of Lisa’s hugs. “Steady on! Your husband will think there’s something going on between us!” Butch laughed. “Bruce... Chances are I won’t be here on Monday, will you tell Freddy the news... whatever it is?”

“Sure,” Bruce agreed. “No worries. Now, get moving and give Gordon our best.”

“Right.” With one final wave Virgil left Aeronautical Component Engineering’s building and got into his car...

No one looked surprised when he walked into Gordon’s room two days early.

“Good to see you, Virgil,” his father greeted him.

Gordon’s bed was missing and Virgil indicated the gap in the furnishings. “Where is he?”

“Having the last of today’s scans,” Grandma informed him. “Then he’s going to have one more tomorrow...”

The door opened and Gordon was wheeled into the room. “‘Iya, Brchil.”

“Hiya, Gordon. Is everything on track for Wednesday?”

“Ya.”

“We’ll take the final scan tomorrow,” Mr Millington explained. “So we’ve got a comparison for afterwards. That way we’ll know what’s normal and what’s not.”

Gordon’s texting thumb went into action. “How will you know the difference?”

Virgil laughed, glad that his brother still had his sense of humour. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Fo mi? Whad?”

Virgil was patting his pockets. “Now... Where did I put it...? He reached into his bag and pulled out a leather pouch. “That’s part of it...” He continued searching, pulling various bits and pieces out and placing them on the bed. “Don’t worry. I know put it somewhere safe...”

Scott was watching the growing collection that was accumulating on the bed. “So safe that you can’t find whatever it is?”

“Yes...” A pocket knife was added to the top of the pile.

“And for his next trick,” Alan teased, “the ‘Great Virgilo’ will pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

“Not a rabbit; more like a rabbit’s foot.”

“Huh?”

“Ah! Of course!” Virgil discovered an inside pocket. “This is a new jacket and I keep forgetting that’s there...” He pulled out a plastic bag, which he opened and tipped its contents onto his palm. “I found this before I left home.” He held up the small, green piece of plastic so that Gordon could see it.

“Mi luggi gharm? Ya fund mi luggi gharm?”

“Yes.” Virgil pressed the lucky charm into his brother’s hand and closed his fingers around it. “It was hiding under my bedside table.”

“It must have been lying there for the last three months?” John commented. “When was the last time you cleaned your place?”

“About three months ago.”

Grandma tutted. “Virgil!” she scolded. “I thought I brought you up better than that?”

“I’m never home, so what’s the point?” Virgil responded. “On the list of things I’ve got to worry about, a bit of vacuuming’s way down the list.”

Gordon, his face alive with happiness, was endeavouring to bend his arm enough so he could see his treasure and his father helped support his hand. “I won’t have to do this for much longer, Son.”

“Nao.”

“Can I have it back for a moment?” Virgil took Gordon’s lucky charm and slipped it into the pouch. “I bought this in gift shop downstairs.” He pulled the mouth of the bag tight with its leather thong and tied it to the end of the bed, draping the pouch over Gordon’s left foot. “How’s that?”

“Gwead!” Gordon beamed.

“What is the point of that?” Jeff asked.

“Sportman’s superstition. Right, Gordon?”

“Rigd.”

Alan sat back. “Ah. I get it.”

“I don’t,” Grandma said. “What was that bit of plastic?”

“The lucky charm that helped Gordon win his swimming races,” John explained. “Now it’s going to help him get better. Right, Gordon?”

“Rigd.” Gordon grabbed the texter’s keypad. “Thanks, V. Now I know everything’s going to be OK.”

Wednesday.

Gordon was waiting to go into surgery, and the rest of his family had gathered around to be with him. Virgil reflected that his little brother appeared to be as calm as if he were waiting for a hair cut... A strange metaphor as Gordon had already had his head shaved in preparation for the procedure.

“You look like a bowling ball,” Alan snickered.

“I wouldn’t go sticking your fingers into the holes,” Scott warned.

“We let some people know that you were having the operation today,” Alan continued. “You’ve got cards from WASP, U.S.A. Swimming, our old school...” He smiled when he saw a signature. “Tin-Tin, Kyrano, Brains, Lady Penelope...”

Gordon looked at each card as they were held in front of him. “Wisz I ‘ad m’ degsda.”

“You’re right, Gordon,” John admitted. “We should have brought the texter down here with us.”

“Gid envenshun.” Gordon managed a thumbs-up. “Yi’ll mayg lotta mony odda id. Ged az widg az Dad.”

John laughed. “I don’t think the profits from that one invention will have me swimming in money, certainly not as much as he’s got.”

“Alin... Win yar larz raz?”

Alan moved closer to the gurney. “My last race? It’s early next year.”

“Win id far mi. ‘K.”

Alan grasped Gordon’s hand. “You bet. I’ll be listening out to hear you shouting as I cross that finish line.”

Gordon looked for Scott. “Yi ceyp r bwod’rs ‘n ln. ‘K?”

Scott raised an amused eyebrow. “Don’t I always keep our brothers in line? I thought that was my job.”

“An yar da bezd ad id...” Gordon smiled a twisted smile. “Loogin forard ta zom abble by, Gwanma.”

His Grandmother gently stroked his cheek. “You can tell me when you’ll ready and I’ll have an apple pie made for you before you can say lickety split.”

“Lig-it-e Zzzsssplid... ‘Memba nao zinamin.”

Grandma laughed. “I remember. No cinnamon.” She kissed her grandson on the forehead.

“Brr-chill...” here Gordon held out his hand and Virgil grasped it. “Dan q,” he said; his eyes more eloquent than speech in his present condition. “Zsowi.”

Virgil, like everyone else in the family, was doing his best to appear calm and relaxed. “No worries. You just get better and we’ll forget about it. Okay?”

“’K... ” Virgil felt a squeeze to his hand before he stood back to allow his father in close. “Dad... Diz iz da zsdard, wide? Da zsdard uf yar dweam?”

“The start of my dream?” Jeff asked, not sure that he understood.

Gordon’s eyes tracked over his brothers and then back to his father. “Ya. Yar dweam. Yi codda mage id worg.”

“I will, Gordon.” Jeff held his son’s hand to his chest. “I’ll make it work with everyone’s help... Including yours. Right?”

A nurse and an orderly entered the room.

Jeff leant close to the young man lying on the gurney. “I don't know how many of these grey hairs you’ve given me over the years, Gordon...” he growled, “...but nothing could induce me to give them back.” His voice softened. “I love you, Son.”

Gordon held his father’s hand as tightly as his crippled hand could. He said something incomprehensible, but Virgil had no doubt that it was a heartfelt echo of Jeff’s final statement.

“Are you ready, Gordon?”

Gordon started at the nurse’s voice. He took a deep breath, smiled at his family and nodded. “Weady.” But, as he was wheeled away, he didn’t let go of his father’s hand until the last possible moment.

Virgil’s final image of his brother, seared into his brain as the doors closed between them, was of a tiny wave and a look that shook him to the core.

He realised that he probably wasn’t the only one to see that expression when Grandma, who’d been staunch in her role as the calm foundation-of-the-family, burst into tears.

“Come here, Ma,” Jeff pulled her close. “He’ll be all right. Remember Gordon’s not a quitter. He’s not going to give up.”

Virgil hoped he was right.

“Now what do we do?” Alan asked. “How many hours do we have to wait?”

Scott set the timer on his watch. “Mr Millington said at least 15...” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s going to be a long day.”

John checked his own timepiece. “Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote: How much of human life is lost in waiting? I think we’re about to find out.”

Alan was still staring at those silent, blank doors. “What if he doesn’t make it?”

“Don’t talk like that, Alan.” But there was no anger in Scott’s admonishment as he put his arm about his kid brother’s shoulders. “He’ll make it.”

“And I think we can guarantee that Mr Millington would do everything in his power to save him,” John added.

“All he can do legally anyway...” Later Virgil was to decide that all his fears, all his worries, and the shock of seeing his grandmother break down, must have disconnected his brain from his mouth. There was no other explanation for his making such a statement.

But now his family was looking at him. “What do you mean by that, Virg?” Scott asked.

Puzzled Virgil stared at him. “Well, the D.N.R. limits how far he can go.”

“D.N.R.? What D.N.R.!?” John demanded.

“The one Gordon...” Virgil became aware of all the blank, confused and horrified looks. “He must have told you that he signed one... Didn’t he??”

“Are you telling us that Gordon asked not to be resuscitated?!” Scott demanded. “No way!!”

“Ah... M-Maybe I got it wrong,” Virgil suggested, backpedalling furiously. “He’s hard to understand sometimes. Maybe I only thought he said D.N.R. Maybe he said something else and I thought he said D.N.R. Maybe he said,” he chose three letters at random, “F.A.B?”

“No!” Jeff exploded. “He can’t do that. Not after all the time and effort we’ve put into getting him better! Not after all the time and effort that he’s put in!” He released his mother; heading for the doors that had closed on his son. “I won’t let him!”

He was stopped by his two eldest boys. “Dad!”

“You can’t go in there,” Scott said. “Not now. It’s too late.”

“They’ll have started,” John added. “You’ll only make things worse.”

Jeff raised his eyes heavenward and swallowed. Then he turned back to his miserable middle son. “You didn’t misunderstand him, did you, Virgil.”

Virgil knew that he hadn’t. Those three terrible letters had been written, clear as day, on the texter’s screen. “I...”

Alan came to his rescue. “Gordon had to be joking,” he stated. “You know what he’s like. And you know that Virgil’s generally his number one target. When he didn’t get the chance to admit that it was a joke he most likely assumed that Virgil would realise that it was. Right, Virgil?”

Virgil had never been so grateful for his little brother’s assistance. “Yes! You must be right. I remember that we were interrupted when we were talking and we never finished the conversation. Gordon had to have been pulling my leg!”

He doubted that anyone believed him, but it was a lifeline that they could all cling to, so nothing more was said on the subject as the family walked to the waiting room that had been prepared for them.

Virgil dropped back behind everyone else so he was walking alongside Alan. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Alan’s response was equally quiet. “You didn’t misunderstand, did you. And it wasn’t a joke.”

“No,” Virgil admitted. “I’m one hundred percent sure that it wasn’t.”

“Why’d he tell you and no one else?”

“I wish I knew, like I wish he hadn’t. I don’t know how his brain’s been working these last few months. I just know that he’s had a lot of time to think and that it was a carefully considered decision.”

In the waiting room each Tracy had stored items to help them while away the hours that were about to drag past. Virgil chose a seat next to Alan, feeling he was less likely to be interrogated there, put his headphones on, cranked up the volume to the maximum safe level, sat back and shut his eyes, hoping to cocoon himself from the outside world.

It didn’t work. All he could see was that split-second image of Gordon. In that briefest moment Gordon’s face had changed; changed from the relaxed persona that he’d displayed for the benefit of his family; changed so his real feelings were shown as clearly as if he’d texted them to the world.

Gordon was terrified.

Virgil didn’t blame him. The idea of things crawling through your brain, even if they were microscopic nanobots trying to help you, was like a nightmare or an especially bad science fiction movie. He tried to push the image of the terrified face down into his subconscious, imagining the notes of the music as colours, and when that didn’t work, picturing the score as if it was written on a sheet of paper.

That didn’t work either.

Deciding that he needed something to keep the visual part of his brain occupied, he pulled a sketchpad out of his bag. But his pencil hovered over the page without making contact.

He slammed the sketchpad on the table beside him, pulled off his headphones, and stood. “I’m going for a walk.”

No one tried to stop him.

Walking around the perimeter grounds of the Willis Institute, not willing to stray too far in case he was needed inside, he was joined by Scott after his first lap of the property. Not a word was said between them as they continued on their trek around, and around, and around...

At midday their watches beeped into life. “Boys.” It was their father. “Grandma’s got lunch ready over at the house.”

No one felt like eating so no one did. They sat at the table and toyed with their food until it was no longer edible.

After lunch the men folk sat and watched a game on TV, though at the end of it no one could remember the score. Grandma bustled about in the kitchen, cooking to keep herself busy.

She supplied them all with a meal at 5 o’clock. Normally the family rule was that all meals were to be eaten at the table and that the TV had to be turned off. But today was to be an exception. The Tracys sat in front of the TV, plates balanced on their knees.

Despite not having eaten since a light breakfast early this morning, Virgil decided that he still wasn’t hungry. His food lay on the coffee table untouched as he stared, unseeing, at the TV screen.

Scott was eating, but it wasn’t the actions of a hungry man; rather that of an automaton going through the motions. Alan, also not hungry, tipped the contents of his plate onto his big brother’s dish and Scott didn’t even notice... He just continued working his way through a seemly never-ending plate of food.

John wasn’t eating either. He had his watch in pieces on the table in front of him, as he sought to improve its range and efficiency. But all he was doing was taking it apart before reassembling it exactly the same way again.

Eventually Jeff looked at his own watch. “It’s been 14 hours,” he grunted. “I’m heading back over.”

They still had another four hour wait after they’d returned to the waiting room. This time Virgil was able to occupy his mind with his music and his sketchpad, and the time, while it didn’t race by, at least didn’t seem to crawl quite as slowly.

He was almost surprised when the door to the waiting room opened and Mr Millington, the neurosurgeon who’d been holding Gordon’s life in his hands for the last 18 hours, stood there. Despite his obvious tiredness, the surgeon smiled. “He did well. He came through with no complications.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Jeff asked, his voice rusty from hours of little use.

“We won’t know for sure until we bring him out of the coma in four days time,” the neurologist reminded him. “But there was nothing in the procedure to make me think that it wasn’t a complete success.”

Virgil felt as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Can we see him?” Jeff asked.

Mr Millington smiled. “Of course. I don’t need to remind you of the need to keep communicating with Gordon... or where his room is.” He stepped aside and allowed the Tracys to pass through the door.

It was with a déjà vu kind of feeling that Virgil walked back through the door into Gordon’s room. There was the nurse at the desk in the corner, keeping an unobtrusive watch over her patient. There were the pale coloured walls and the machines and gauges...

...And there was Gordon lying still on his bed. Head bandaged, tubes feeding into his arms, and an oxygen mask on his face.

Jeff walked over to the bed, pulled up a chair, and picked up Gordon’s right hand. “You made it, Son. You’re over the first obstacle. Mr Millington says it went well and that you didn’t pull any pranks on him. It’s all up to you now. You’ve got to lie there and relax and heal. We’re here and we’ll look after you.” He reached out and stroked a rough hand against a pale cheek. “It’s only for four more days. We’ll protect you.”

“I’ve got your lucky charm.” Virgil dropped the leather pouch over an unresponsive left foot. “There. Can you feel that?”

Thursday.

Thanksgiving.

Despite it being a public holiday, the hospital wing of the Willis Institute didn’t shut down. Twice that day, once in the morning and again in the afternoon, Gordon was wheeled on his bed down to have a brain scan to check that he wasn’t experiencing any complications.

There were none.

Mr Millington made his rounds during the day to check all was well, but, as he said, all he could do was what the Tracys were doing… Wait.

Catherine came in and, not willing to risk jarring his head in any way, restricted herself to working on exercising the muscles in Gordon’s feet, forearms, and hands. Rose, even though there was nothing she could do to aid her patient’s speech therapy, popped in to see how he was getting on and to give his family support.

Once the initial 24 hours had passed, it was decided that Gordon no longer needed a round-the-clock nursing watch, so the medical staff vacated the desk in the corner of the room; happy to continue watching over their patient via monitors in the nurses’ station down the hall and leaving the Tracys to maintain their watch alone.

The family spent the long hours talking. Talking between themselves and talking to Gordon. They held one-sided conversations; two-sided conversations and six-sided conversations. They read the news from the paper and jokes from the thick joke books that Scott had purchased earlier in the week. Most of the gags were bad enough to elicit a groan from the group, but everyone knew that ‘bad’ was what Gordon enjoyed, and this was enough to make them persevere.

When they’d listened to one joke too many and had got tired of the doom and gloom in the newspapers, Virgil unpacked his portable keyboard and Scott got his guitar from the house. Together they played Gordon’s favourite tunes and when they’d exhausted that source of material, accepted requests from the rest of the family. As time passed, and everyone began to relax, the day almost developed a party atmosphere, with laughter, singing, and more (but funnier) jokes.

During a lull in the conversation, when Grandma was off preparing a meal, Alan examined the device that had enabled Gordon to virtually swim through the waters of the world. “Don’t you think he’d eventually get sick of seeing nothing but all these underwater shots? Why don’t we video something else for him?”

“Like what?” Virgil asked.

“Umm…” Alan thought for a moment. “I could film what it’s like to do a lap of the race track.”

“That’s what you’d want to watch,” Scott reminded him. “It’s not exactly one of Gordon’s interests.”

“Okay…” Alan bit his lip and screwed up his forehead as he thought. “He likes a laugh. How filming some comedian…? Or!” He snapped his fingers. “Some dancing girls. He’d love to find himself in the middle of a group of dancing girls.”

“Dancing girls?”

Jeff was looking at his youngest in astonishment, his eyebrows raised. “What type of dancing girls are you thinking of, Alan?”

Virgil was intrigued by the suggestion. “I take it you’re not thinking of ballet.”

“No! Quality stuff. Kinda like the Folies Bergere.”

Now John’s eyebrow had shot skyward. “Folies Bergere?”

Alan gave a wicked grin. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, Gordon?”

Gordon made no comment.

“You know,” Scott mused. “Alan might not have a bad idea. We should find a suitable establishment and take our video cameras... strictly for medical purposes, of course,” he added.

“Of course,” Alan snickered.

Grandma bustled into the room, followed by one of the nurses, and pretended to not notice her grandsons’ guilty expressions. “Everything’s ready.”

“Mother,” Jeff protested.

“Mother nothing!” she responded. “Gordon will understand.” She took up her grandson’s unresisting right hand. “Gordon,” she began. “It’s Grandma, but you know that, don’t you? I’m going to take everyone away from you for a little while, but you won’t miss us too much because while we’re gone you’ll be having your scan, and we’ll be here when you return. Plus you won’t be alone because Amy will be staying with you.” She smiled at the nurse before transferring Gordon’s hand from her right to her left. Then she reached out so she was able to caress her grandson’s cheek. “It’s Thanksgiving, Honey, and we’ve got a lot to be thankful for. We’re thankful that you enjoyed your time in the bathyscaphe and we’re thankful that you came home before the hurricane hit. We’re thankful that Virgil wasn’t badly hurt when the gang attacked him and we’re thankful that he and Alan were able to land that plane safely. We’re thankful that Alan’s doing so well with his racing, and that John returned safely from the space station, and I know that we’re all still thankful that Scott survived his crash in Bereznick. And we’re thankful that, unlike last year, we’re all together today, even if you won’t be sharing dinner with us… We’re thankful that you survived the crash. We’re thankful that, even if your body wasn’t working properly, you were still you and that you could communicate with us. And we’re thankful that you’ve been given this opportunity to get better again and that, so far, everything is looking positive. So you see, Gordon, we’ve got a lot to be thankful for and we’re going to celebrate. But we won’t forget you, Darling. I’ve set your place and we’ve all got party hats to wear. Now, don’t you worry; I’ll make sure your brothers wear them! … And then, when you’re better and are able to join us for a meal, we’ll have another, bigger, thanksgiving celebration, just because we’re thankful to have you with us.” She kissed Gordon’s hand before placing it back on the bed. “We won’t be long, Honey.” After one final caress of his cheek she stood and turned to face her family. “Come along, everyone. Your dinner’s getting cold.” She started shooing her reluctant boys out the door. “We’ll bring you something when we come back, Amy,” she said as she passed the desk.

“Thank you, Mrs Tracy.”

“Hold on!” Virgil reached out and switched on the music player. “He needs to be able to listen to something.” Sounds of the sea washed out of the speakers.

“What did you do that for?” John asked.

“Gordon told me that last time he was in a coma he could hear everything that we said,” Virgil looked at his father, “and did.”

Jeff stared at him with a slight frown. “Everything?”

Virgil nodded. “He heard all the secrets we told him and the conversations we had about him.” He looked down at his comatose brother. “He told me that he needed to be able to continue to hear things so that he’d know that he was still alive.”

Scott folded his arms and glared at his brother. “What else has he told you, Virgil?” he demanded.

“That doesn’t matter now,” Jeff interrupted. “If you can hear me, Gordon, then don’t worry. That’s all in the past. It’s time for you, and us all, to look forward to a brighter future...”

Over at the house, the table was set for seven, and, as Virgil took his seat between his grandmother and John, he couldn’t help but notice the vacancy at one end where a party hat had been placed on the unblemished plate.

“I know he wasn’t here last Thanksgiving either,” Alan commented as he put his party hat on, “but it seems strange without Gordon here. Different from last time. At least last year we were able to talk to him on the videophone.”

“I know what you mean, Alan.” Jeff took his place at the head of the table. “But it won’t be long before he’ll be back with us.”

Scott was examining his hat. “I’m glad to see you haven’t got anything too silly, Grandma.” He put the elastic under his chin and settled the brightly coloured cone onto his head.

“I wonder what, if anything, Gordon’s aware of at the moment,” John mused. “Thanks, Dad.” He accepted a plate of meat. “You said he could hear us last time, Virg?”

“That’s what he told me, but I don’t know if it was only when he was in the ‘natural’ coma or the barbiturate-induced one.”

“So you think he might be floating in some kind of blackness?” Alan asked. He gave a shiver. “Creepy.”

“Maybe that’s why his thumb was twitching last time?” Scott’s face was creased in a thoughtful frown. “He was trying to reach out to us, to let us know that he was still with us, but that was the only part he could move?” He helped himself to a big helping of vegetables.

Alan gave another shiver. “Creepy,” he repeated.

“Now, Boys, stop that,” Grandma scolded gently. “This is a time to be grateful for what we have, and I for one am grateful that Gordon’s still alive and will be released from the coma on Sunday. Peas, Honey?” She handed the bowl to Virgil.

After the meal was finished, the Tracys continued to sit around the table, talking quietly. It hadn’t been the most festive Thanksgiving they’d ever had, but nevertheless they were glad to simply be together.

Jeff looked at his watch. “Half an hour before Gordon’s due back from his scan. We’d better think about heading back.”

“You and Grandma go,” Scott suggested. “We’ll tidy up.”

Virgil waited for Alan to start complaining, but the young blonde seemed more intent on finishing his second helping of dessert. Then he noticed that John didn’t appear to be listening to the conversation and nudged his brother. “You’re looking like you’re miles away. Eaten too much?”

“No,” John admitted, removing his serviette from his lap and placing it on the table. “Unlike Alan...”

“Hey!”

“I was just thinking about what day today is and what it means to us.”

“I thought that Grandma covered that pretty well at the hospital.” Alan scooped his last mouthful of dessert and dropped his spoon into the bowl.

“No. I don’t mean us as a family. I was thinking about what today means for International Rescue. Today’s D-day... Decision Day. Today’s Dad’s deadline for us to decide whether or not we’re going to throw our hats into the ring.” He removed his party hat and tossed into the middle of the table. “I’m in. How about you, Virgil?”

Virgil pulled his hat off and put it next to John’s. “Never any doubts... What about you, Scott? Are you joining us?”

Scott had already removed his hat. “And miss out on the chance of actually getting paid to boss you fellas about?” With a grin he tossed it so it landed on Virgil’s and rolled off, coming to rest beside John’s. “Alan?”

“Me? Sit back and miss all the fun you guys will be having?” Alan chucked his hat beside his brothers. “No chance.” He shot his father a guilty look. “That’s if I’m allowed to belong?”

“No question about it.” Jeff favoured him with a benevolent smile. “Well, I suppose that if you all are willing to join International Rescue, then you’d better have International Rescue to join.” He placed his hat on top of the four belonging to his sons. “Thank you, Boys. I appreciate the fact that all my sons are going to be part of my dream... At least I hope you all are...”

Everyone turned to look at the solitary hat sitting on the plate at the other end of the table.

And everyone wondered...

Without the festivities of Thanksgiving to break the tedium, Friday seemed to drag slower than Thursday. Saturday was even worse.

Finally it was Sunday.

Virgil awoke early that morning, aware of a sense of nervous anticipation. He got out of the sofa-bed and wandered into the bathroom, bumping into Scott who was on his way out. “Mornin’.”

Scott, freshly showered after his early morning run, appeared obnoxiously bright and cheerful. “Morning, Virg. Sleep well?”

Virgil cuffed sleep from his eyes. “I’ll sleep better when I know he’s going to be all right. When did Mr Millington say they’d start bringing him out of the coma?”

“It depends on how this morning’s scan looks. If all goes well they’ll stop the drugs as soon as he gets back to his room. Then we wait some more for Gordon to wake up in his own sweet time.”

“I hope he doesn’t take as long as he did last time,” Virgil admitted. “I don’t think any of us could stand the strain.”

Scott gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. “Go do what you’ve got to do, then I’ll give you a hand with your bed so it’s out of the way when Grandma surfaces.”

“Thanks.”

When everyone assembled in Gordon’s room, they realised that they were missing one member of the family group. John looked at his watch. “They’ve taken him early.”

“I suppose Mr Millington’s as keen as we are to know if they can start releasing him from the coma,” Jeff hypothesised, before, like his son, he looked at his watch. “I wonder how long he’s been gone.”

There was a sound at the door. “Long enough,” Alan said and got up to clear some room for the bed.

Gordon was wheeled inside and repositioned with his head to the wall. As he was reconnected to all the sensors, IVs, and other paraphernalia, Mr Millington hurried into the room. “He’s done well,” he beamed. “I’m very pleased. We’re going to start reducing the barbiturate and, should you decide to cooperate,” he said to the patient before looking back at the rest of the family, “Gordon should be awake by early tomorrow.”

“That long!” Grandma exclaimed.

Mr Millington treated her to a sympathetic smile. “I know it seems a long time, but, based on past experience, it’s for the best. Think of it this way, this time tomorrow your grandson should be awake to give you cheek again.”

Jeff sat back with a sigh of some relief. “So we’re heading for ‘atmospheric re-entry and we’ll be touching down soon’?”

The neurologist beamed with delight. “I love these astronautical references. Yes, Mr Tracy. Gordon is close to touching down and I’m quietly confident that it will be a soft landing.”

John chuckled. “Knowing Gordon, he’ll have fed us the wrong co-ordinates.”

“Yeah,” Alan added. “He’ll deploy a bogus parachute to confuse us.”

Mr Millington entered a few codes into a computer console. “The computer is now programmed to slowly reduce the rate of barbiturate infusion. You’re approaching ‘atmospheric re-entry’, Gordon.”

“He’d rather be decompressing as he ascends,” Scott corrected.

Mr Millington laughed. “I should have known... I have other patients that I have to see, but I will return shortly...” He was as good as his word, returning to check up on his patient at least once every hour.

As for the Tracys, none of them were willing to leave Gordon’s side, even to retire that evening. Instead they sat by his bedside, continuously searching out for the first sign that he was reawakening, or in John’s words, “resurfacing.”

It was midway through the following morning when the neurologist announced that the young man was showing signs of regaining consciousness. “There are definite changes to his brain activity. Talk to him. Let him know that you are waiting for him.”

“How soon before we’ll know if he’s got feeling back in his arms and legs?” Virgil asked. “Can we encourage him to move?”

“As I’ve said before, don’t expect him to display a full range of movement, but you should see some reaction in his extremities. Thanks to Catherine’s efforts, he won’t have lost too much muscle tone to his hands and feet over these last four days.”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Catherine smiled at her colleague. “I asked the nursing staff to let me know when he was coming around.” She took a seat against the wall so that she could observe her patient’s condition without intruding on the family.

It was another hour before that patient showed some signs of awakening. “Gordon...” Jeff said softly. “It’s Dad, Gordon... Come on, Son,” he picked up Gordon’s right hand. “It’s time to wake up.”

Still unsure as to whether her grandson would be aware of her touch, Grandma held his left hand. “Your father’s right, Young Man. It’s time you were out of that bed.”

Alan laughed. “That brings back memories.”

Gordon’s head twitched.

“That’s it, Gordon,” Jeff cajoled. “Come back to us.”

Gordon’s eyes flickered.

Scott leant on the footboard at the end of the bed. “Hey, Gordy. We’ve got all sorts of fun things planned for you when you get out of here, but you’ve got to be awake to enjoy them.”

“Yeah,” John added. “If you don’t wake up, we’ll just have to do them without you.”

“And Alan’s got his final race coming up,” Virgil said. “You’ll want to be awake to see that.”

“Yes!” Alan piped up. “You’ve got to get strong enough so that you can come to the track to watch me race. I’ll make sure that you get the best seats on the circuit.”

Gordon’s eyes flickered again and then half opened. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out... He closed his eyes again.

“Come on, Gordon,” Jeff prompted. “Open your eyes, Son.”

Gordon succeeded, looking around his family. He opened his mouth to speak and uttered a dry, raspy croak.

“What was that, Son?”

Gordon tried again, fixing his eyes on his brothers... This time he was able to vocalise and, although his words were slow and his speech slurred, they were still recognisable. “Therez da com-e-de-enz. Wherz da danzin’ girlz?” he mumbled before closing his eyes again.

Everyone laughed, relieved that, if nothing else, Gordon didn’t appear to have lost his sense of humour. He half-opened his eyes again and a small, but still lopsided, smile crept onto his face.

“You can sleep soon, Gordon,” Jeff told him. “But first, can you squeeze my hand?”

Gordon turned his head a little so his heavily-lidded eyes were looking at his father. “Lyg thfiz?”

From Virgil’s vantage point at his grandmother’s shoulder, he could see four fingers and a thumb tighten their grip on his father’s hand. Jeff’s face broke out into a smile of pure joy. “Yes, Gordon. Just like that.”

“How about me, Gordon?” Grandma asked, as Virgil put his arm about her shoulders. “Can you squeeze my hand?”

Gordon rotated his head the other way, further than he’d been able to manage five days ago. “Hi, Gwanma,” he said, before his forehead creased in a frown of concentration. As he focused his attention on his left hand, nothing appeared to happen.

“Don’t concentrate so hard, Gordon,” Catherine advised, and Virgil realised that he’d forgotten that she was there. “It’s been a while since your brain’s used that bit of circuitry and it’s got to relearn how everything works. Here... Excuse me, Mrs Tracy,” she took Gordon’s hand from Grandma and massaged its muscles. “Are you feeling that?”

Now Gordon’s frown appeared confused. “Dunno.”

“Don’t worry. Like I said, your brain’s still relearning the mechanisms related to touch and movement... Would you like to take his hand again, Mrs Tracy?” Catherine stood back. “Now, Gordon... Relax and try again, Try squeezing both hands at once. Imagine you’re riding a motorbike and holding the handlebars.”

“Or better still,” John sat forward, “imagine you’re windsurfing and holding the control bar.”

“Yes,” Virgil added. “Imagine it’s a perfect day... The sky’s blue... You can feel the wind pulling at the sail... Grip tight and go for the ride.”

Gordon looked at him and gave a small nod of understanding. Then he fixed his attention back on his grandmother’s face.

Still nothing happened.

Despite her obvious disappointment, Grandma remained strong. “Don’t worry, Honey.” She gave her grandson’s hand a reassuring rub. “It’s still early days yet. You’ll get there.”

“She’s right, Gordon,” Mr Millington agreed. “This doesn’t mean that your condition hasn’t improve...”

He stopped speaking when Grandma uttered a small exclamation. “Oh! Gordon! Did you move your fingers?” She looked at the bony hand. “Do it again!” There was the tiniest of movements and a delighted smile transformed his grandmother’s face. “I felt you move! Gordon...! You did it! I knew you could!” Elated, she kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t wait to tell everyone!” She beamed at him and, as Gordon smiled back, Virgil fancied that those previously frozen muscles on the left side of his face had re-mobilised a little.

Excited by this new discovery Scott pulled the sheets out from the bottom of the bed and threw them back so his younger brother’s feet lay exposed. “Can you move them too?!”

“Come on, Gordon!” John exclaimed. “Move those feet! Pretend you’re doing the backstroke!”

Gordon gave a sigh. “Tir’d.”

“Doggie paddle then,” Virgil suggested. “Just try once!”

Scott tickled the sole of Gordon’s right foot. “Can you feel that?”

“No...” Gordon’s tired eyes were closed.

“How about that?” Scott repeated the gesture on the other foot.

“...No...”

Alan grabbed a tissue from the box beside the bed. He twisted the paper so that it was a stiff rod with a feathery tip, and ran the soft end up his brother’s right sole.

Gordon’s foot twitched and his toes curled.

“Yes!” John cheered. “Try the other, Alan.”

Alan repeated the experiment with no success.

“Here,” John handed over the lucky charm in its bag. “Put that on his foot.”

Scott grabbed the pouch and wrapped it around the immobile foot. “Can you feel that, Gordon?”

Gordon’s left big toe jerked. “Did-I do’t?”

“You did it,” Alan applauded.

Gordon’s mouth curled up slightly. “‘V’ryone ‘appy?” he asked.

“Very happy…” And Jeff Tracy was not alone in having a grin that was almost splitting his face in two.

In fact, Virgil realised that his smile was so big that his cheeks were hurting and he had to rub them to ease the pain. He patted Gordon on the arm. “Welcome back.”

Gordon managed another smile. “Dankyo...” Exhausted, his eyes finally closed and he drifted off back to sleep.

“I think we’d better leave him,” Mr Millington whispered. “Would you mind if we went through into your unit?”

Once everyone had crowded into the tiny room, an elated Jeff held out his hand to the neurologist. “What can I do to thank you, Mr Millington?” he asked pumping the man's hand. “You’ve achieved a miracle.”

“You can start by not getting your hopes up just yet. I’ll admit that all the signs are encouraging, but Gordon’s still got a long way to go before he reaches full fitness... That’s assuming that we are reading the signs right.”

“Are you suggesting that those movements were only reflexes?” Grandma asked. She stared the neurologist in the eye. “Because I know what I felt!”

“I’m sure you did,” he soothed, “just as that movement of his left foot seemed to be a voluntary action rather than a reflexive one. But I will need to make further tests before I’m willing to categorically say that the only thing standing between Gordon and a full recovery is Gordon.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to hold him back,” Virgil stated. “Not now that he knows that it’s all down to him.”

John held up his cell phone into which he’d been typing a text message. “How does this sound? G just awake. Movement of hands and feet. Dozing now. Next txt will have more news. Okay?”

“Send it, John,” Scott ordered. “There are a lot of people waiting for that call.”

John pushed send. “They’ll be happy now.”

It was only seconds later when every cell phone in the room started buzzing. Alan was quickest on the draw. “It’s from my manager. Karl says that that’s good news and maybe now I’ll be able concentrate on racing…” He looked embarrassed. “And this one’s from Tin-Tin saying how happy she is.”

“And I’ve got one from Kyrano,” Jeff said. “Saying that the gods are finally smiling on us… One from Lady Penelope congratulating you, Mr Millington… One from Brains: he’s been following Gordon’s progress over the Internet. And here’s one from Hamish. Wonderful news. Does this mean I’m getting one of my best employees back tomorrow?” He raised an amused eyebrow in Virgil’s direction. “I think you’re missed.”

Scott looked up, the light from his cell phone reflecting onto his face. “I think people have been more understanding and more inconvenienced than we’ve realised.”

“I’d guarantee it...” Virgil was scrolling through his own list of messages. “Lisa’s saying it’s wonderful and that we’re to give Gordon a big kiss from her… I think I’ll leave that job to you, Grandma.” She chuckled. “Butch has only typed one word, terrific, spelt T-R-E-F-I-K. Bruce says that they were working when they received the message and that everyone’s phone went off at once.” He laughed. “Including Greg’s. So much for company rules.”

There were dozens of other texts to work through, from friends and relations. All were offering up their congratulations and best wishes to the Tracy family…

Especially to Gordon.

The patient awoke again early that afternoon and his first words were, “Where’z Cath’rine? Led’z ged ztarted.”

“She might be working with someone else,” Jeff reminded him. “She’s a busy lady.”

“I’ll go see if she’s going to be free soon,” Scott offered. He pointed at Gordon. “Don’t do anything spectacular until I’m back.” He returned a short time later. “I told the nurses and they’re going to try to page her… Now,” he settled back into his chair. “Let’s see what you can do.”

“Here,” Alan pressed the ‘raspberry ball’ into Gordon’s left hand. “Squeeze this.”

The sound Gordon made with the ball wasn’t so much a raspberry as an overripe gooseberry, but his face, weak side and all, beamed in delight. “Where’z my feed.” John folded back the sheets so that two bony feet were exposed. “Im a zkelliton.”

“Then you’ll just have to work hard to get your muscles built up again,” John said. He ran his thumbnail up the sole of one of Gordon’s feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Yez…” Gordon frowned at his right toe. “Weird... Can’d ‘member whad t’do.”

“What would Catherine do?” Virgil asked. “Try moving his foot, John.”

“How come I’m the one working on Gordon’s smelly feet?”

“‘Cos you offered,” Alan told him.

“Besides, they haven’t done anything to start smelling,” Scott reminded him. “Just flex his foot.”

“Okay.” John looked at Gordon. “Don’t go kicking me across the room. Okay?”

Gordon chuckled. “Kay.” He watched as his brother moved the lump of skin and bone at the end of the bed and tried to work out which muscles were working. “Here goez…” There was nothing… Then a twitch… And then his whole right foot pointed forward a centimetre before relaxing back. “Yez!”

“Well done, Son,” Jeff applauded. “Can you do the same with the other one?”

“What’s this? Starting without me?” Catherine asked as she strode into the room. “How are you feeling now, Gordon?”

“More awak. I moved my food. All by myselv.” Gordon managed to point down the bed with his stronger right hand. “Now Im gonna do the otha.”

“Do you want me to move it first?” John asked.

“Yez.” Gordon concentrated on the sensations he was receiving and then managed to replicate them. His left foot didn’t move as far as the right, but it was enough to cheer the group.

“Well done,” Catherine congratulated. “Your speech is a lot clearer too. Rose will be impressed… Do you want me to start working on you?”

“Yez.” Gordon nodded.

“Right!” Catherine rolled up her sleeves. “Do you remember what I said to you first time we worked together? About how a champion swimmer like you must have done a lot of working out in the gym.”

“Yez.”

“Good. Pretend you’ve just finished working out and a pretty girl’s walking past…”

“Lige you.”

Catherine coloured slightly, but retained her professional demeanour. “Can you can show me, uh, her your biceps?” She flexed his arm a couple of times to make sure that the joint was free and then sat back. “Your turn.” Straining slightly Gordon bent his elbow, raising his forearm a few inches off the bed. Catherine smiled. “Not bad for a guy who’s been unconscious for half a week. You’ll have the ladies falling at your feet in no time.”

Delighted, Gordon laughed.

Virgil didn’t fly back home until late Monday evening. He felt no guilt about missing a day off work and no one attempted to tell him that he shouldn’t be staying at the Willis Institute. He would have ignored them if they had.

As his plane left the Willis airfield and flew up into the darkening skies, Virgil breathed a sigh of contentment. It looked as if things were finally coming right for the family and that soon, very soon, they’d be able to begin their work on International Rescue in earnest.

Chapter 22: A Quiet Surprise

Virgil spent much of Tuesday’s breaks telling his friends about the stresses of the previous week and how great it was that all tests seemed to be indicating that Gordon, once he’d got his strength back, was on his way to a full recovery.

He was therefore surprised when he received a phone call from Jeff Tracy on Wednesday evening. “Would you be willing to take the day off tomorrow, Virgil?”

Virgil stared at his father’s image. “Take the day off? You mean take the day off work?? Why? Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Jeff admitted. “Gordon refuses to get into the pool.”

“Huh…?” At first Virgil wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He worked the phrase around in his mind and could come up with no viable alternatives. “Did I hear you right? Gordon refuses to get in the water? Our Gordon!?”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” his father responded. “But Catherine tried to get him to do some exercises in the pool on Tuesday and again today. She said that it would be good for him because he’ll be working against the water’s resistance. She wants to get him upright and walking in an environment where he can build up his muscle strength while there’s no weight on his leg bones and he’s supported… But Gordon refuses to go in.”

“How do you mean ‘refuses’?”

“At first he was giving lots of excuses. He was frightened that he’d get water into his head wounds and would get an infection. He wasn’t feeling well. He had a headache. Then, this afternoon, he outright refused. He wouldn’t even listen to me.”

Virgil frowned. “And you think I could change his mind?”

“Yes, Virgil, I do.” Jeff Tracy fixed his son with an earnest stare. “I don’t know what went on between the pair of you, but whatever it was, Gordon clearly trusted you with something important.”

“I don’t know that he trusts me any more than anyone else,” Virgil corrected. “It was more like I was the path of least resistance because I was only there on the weekends and I’m older than him.”

“Maybe,” Jeff acquiesced, “but even so I think your presence could help. Will you do it?”

Virgil gave a wry grin. “You’re the boss. If ACE will let me have time off then I’m more than happy to help Gordon. But are you sure Scott and John wouldn’t have a better chance of talking him around? Or Grandma? After all, they’ve been with him right through this.”

“They’ve tried, but he’s not listening to them either. Also, your grandmother’s gone home for a couple of days and to bring Rick and Diane back. And I’ve sent your brothers home to Tracy Island to start cranking things up again. If we’re going to do what we’ve got planned for the 28th, then everything’s got to be shipshape… And Gordon’s got to be strong enough.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed. “I’ll be out there first thing tomorrow. Are you going to call Uncle Hamish or shall I?”

“I’ll call and explain,” Jeff said. “He’ll understand.”

“While you’re doing that I’ll call Greg and warn him. The poor guy’s looking stressed enough as it is trying to work out the work schedules; without losing me again.”

“Tell him, off the record, that I’ll make it up to him,” Jeff said.

“Apart from the aversion to the pool, how’s Gordon getting on?” Virgil asked.

“He’s doing well. They tried him on solid foods today, but it’s the first time since his accident and he brought it straight back up. Once he realised that he’s got to take it slowly and not bolt it down like he usually does, it went a lot better. But his whole digestive tract’s still getting used to the idea.” Jeff made a face. “It’s not only his arm and leg muscles relearning how to work… You’re lucky you weren’t here.”

“Maybe it’s just as well he’s not using the pool.”

“That’s one of his excuses, but the medical staff say that they can regulate things like that.” Jeff sighed. “I hope you and I can get him in the water again tomorrow. There’s something unnerving about Gordon Tracy having an aversion to water.”

“Tell me about it.” Virgil treated his father to a reassuring smile. “Anyway, I’ll be out at the Willis tomorrow and we’ll see what we can do to change his mind.”

“Thank you, Virgil. We’ll see you in the morning… Don’t forget your swimming trunks…”

“Whad are you doin’ here!?”

Virgil smiled at his younger brother. “I heard that Scott and John have been sent packing and I thought you might like some company.”

“Bud whad …?” Gordon stopped and tried again. “Bud-t whad-t aboud-t worg?” He sighed in frustration.

“You’ll get there,” Virgil told him. “You’re a lot easier to understand than you were this time last week.”

“Thiz dime… time lasd weeg I waz unconjus… un-con-she-ous.”

“Which proves my point.”

“Which doezn’ anzer my cwesshun.”

Virgil was saved from answering Gordon’s question when Jeff entered the room. “Hello, Virgil? What are you doing here?”

In actual fact Virgil and his father had already met this morning and made plans. “Playing truant,” he responded. “Don’t tell the boss.” He pulled at his collar. “Why do they have to make hospitals as hot as saunas? Now we’re nearly into winter it’s getting cold outside and then you have to walk into what feels like a furnace. It can’t be good for you.”

Jeff chuckled. “I’ve often thought that. I think hospitals must try to drum up business… Don’t worry, you’ll soon acclimatise.”

Catherine came bustling in. “Hello, Virgil,” she said, pretending to be surprised, even though she’d been involved with the earlier discussions. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you until Friday at the earliest.”

“Hi, Catherine. I can’t quite believe that Gordon’s getting better, so I had to reassure myself that it’s not a dream.”

She smiled. “I can guarantee that it’s not a dream… In fact you’re here just in time to see Gordon get some exercise in the pool.”

“The pool!” Virgil exclaimed. “You must be looking forward to that, Gordon. It’ll be like going home.”

Gordon, however, was looking alarmed. “I don’ feel well ‘nough.”

“Again?” Catherine checked the monitors on the wall. “You don’t have a temperature.”

“If you did, a cool swim might be the solution,” Virgil ventured. “I wouldn’t mind something to cool me down about now.” He began to wonder if he was overdoing the overheating line and resolved not to say any more until the right time.

“Come on, Gordon, I’m not going to let you off that easily,” Catherine half scolded. “How about we get you into the wheelchair and wheel you down to the pool. Maybe once you remind yourself how shallow it is you’ll feel differently about going for a swim?”

“No, I won’d… will… not.”

“Well, just in case, we’ll get you ready,” Catherine told him. She turned to the other two Tracys. “If you gentlemen will excuse us…”

Jeff smiled at her. “Of course. We’ll be waiting in the unit. Let us know when you’re ready.”

Virgil followed his father into the little room next to Gordon’s. “He really doesn’t want to go in that pool, does he? What do you suppose is wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jeff admitted. “Catherine had been putting him through hydrotherapy the last few weeks before his operation. At first it was simply to try to maintain his circulation, but once she knew that there was a chance he’d walk again, she had been working to try to boost his muscle tone so he’d be ready.”

“So it’s not like this is a new experience for him,” Virgil noted.

“No. But I did notice that whenever Gordon was in the pool, he was always very quiet. I put it down to him trying to reconcile himself to the idea that he might never swim unaided again, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Virgil suggested. “Maybe he’s worried that he won’t be as good a swimmer as he was? We both know that he set himself high standards…”

There was a knock on the door and Jeff opened it. “Ready, Catherine?”

“We’re ready,” Catherine said. “Good luck,” she added in a whisper. “He’s not making this easy.”

Wearing a helmet that covered the weakened bones of his skull and protected his wounds from the water, and dressed in a robe, Gordon was sitting in a wheelchair that supported his back and neck. “Dad… Don’d… Don’t… wand-t to do thiz. Don’d feel well. Don’d mage me,” he pleaded.

“You’re only going to be looking at the pool,” Jeff reassured him. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

Gordon looked like he did have a problem with that, but he said nothing.

During the walk through the complex, Virgil did his best to keep up a light-hearted, non-water related conversation with his brother, father, Catherine, and the two orderlies who’d been assigned to help. It seemed that, so long as they stayed off the topic that was at the forefront of everyone’s minds, Gordon was more than willing to participate.

The entered the hydrotherapy room. “This place is worse than the rest of the hospital. It’s like a sauna!” Virgil commented without thinking. Already he was feeling beads of sweat trickle down his neck.

“We’ve deliberately turned the heat up a little,” Catherine admitted quietly. “Just to help the deception.”

One of the orderlies pushed Gordon’s chair so that it was facing the pool, close to the sling that was designed for lifting patients in and out of the water, but not near enough that Gordon would feel threatened. Then he and his associate retired a distance away and sat down.

Virgil pulled up a chair next to Gordon’s. “You’ve been in here before?” he asked.

“Yeah…” Gordon submitted to having a brace put around his neck to help his weakened muscles support his head. “Few timez…”

“Do they use that sling thing to get you in and out?”

“Yeah,” Gordon said warily.

“Looks like fun,” Virgil commented; more interested in the mechanics of the device than what it would be like to experience a ride.

“You t-ry it.”

“Maybe later.”

They sat in silence.

Virgil undid the top buttons of his shirt. “It sure is hot in here.” He eyed up the pool. “I think the last time I had a swim was just after I’d been beaten up by that gang. You never realise how… um… liberating water can be until you discover how much it can loosen you up.”

Catherine stared at him wide-eyed. “You were beaten up by a gang?!”

“Yeah. I didn’t tell these guys,” Virgil indicated his brother and father, “but even a week later I was still stiff and sore. So I had a swim in Gordon’s pool, mainly to get some exercise. But I felt a heck of a lot better afterwards because I was able to work out a lot of the kinks without any stress on my body.”

“It sounds like you needed the services of a good massage therapist,” Catherine commented. “It’s a shame we didn’t know each other then.” She paused. “If I’m not prying, how did you manage to get beaten up? Were you mugged?”

“I was at friends’ fifth wedding anniversary party. Butch, that’s the husband, had been an associate member of this gang until he met Lisa. He’d given up on gang life, but the gang crashed the party to help him ‘celebrate’. Unfortunately I got caught up in the ‘action’ when they were asked to leave.”

“You should’ve zeen ‘im!” Gordon exclaimed, his eyes shining as he focussed on something other than the pool in front of him. “A kid bideod…videoed the fighd and we watch’d’d later. He wasz awezome. He dook… took on the gang zingle-handed…”

If it was possible to go any redder in this heat, Virgil felt himself do so. “Hardly single-handed…”

“Bruze was knockt out in the firzd zecond,” Gordon proclaimed. “And Butch waz only interezded in prodecding Liza. You were the one oo deald wid the rezd of them.”

“And they nearly dealt with me,” Virgil reminded him. “Once they got me on the ground I was dead meat. If the cops hadn’t shown up when they did, you would have been visiting me in here instead of the other way around.”

“I’d rather not be reminded about that incident,” Jeff groaned. “Let’s talk about something else…”

Virgil leant forward so that he could look past his brother. “Such as…?”

“Well… I know what you mean by how liberating water can be. When I was in astronaut training they wanted us to get used to working in our spacesuits. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen those things, Catherine, but you feel like a cross between Michelin Man and a walrus trying to get about on land. If I hadn’t had someone holding me upright and steering me in the right direction, I could never have got anywhere. So, to simulate weightlessness, they put us in a pool that must have been at least three times the depth of this one. The difference between being in the water and on land was amazing. It didn’t quite feel like zero gravity because of the resistance of the water, but it came pretty darn close.”

“You’ve had an amazing life, Mr Tracy,” Catherine said.

Jeff grinned. “And it ain’t over yet.” He stretched and then removed his jacket. “It sure is hot in here. Has the heating broken or something?”

“I did mention the temperature to the caretaker,” Catherine admitted in a wonderful piece of double entendre. “He said he’d do what he could.”

“This is getting too much for me.” Virgil pulled at his collar again. “That pool looks inviting, Catherine, would you mind if I had a swim?”

She extended her hand towards the pool. “Be my guest.”

“Thanks.” Ignoring Gordon’s surprised expression; Virgil pulled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and removed his trousers. He was already wearing his swimming trunks; a pair especially chosen because they could have doubled as underwear in appearance. With no further comment he strode over to the side of the pool and dove in, staying underwater for several metres before surfacing. He swam one lap of the pool in freestyle, the second breaststroke, before finishing up with Gordon's Olympic specialty, the butterfly.

“That’s better.” He stopped at the side of the pool and looked up at his audience. “I’m out of practise, Gordon. You’ll have to give me some pointers.” But, before his brother could respond, he flung himself away from the side of the pool and did two laps of nearly flawless backstroke.

“You know,” Jeff commented as he watched his son’s progress. “Virgil’s right. That water does look refreshing.” He pulled off his shirt. “I’m going to join Virgil. Are you joining us, Catherine?”

She gave a smile. “I’d love to, but I’m ‘working’.”

Jeff winked at her. “I’ll have to see if I can cool you down anyway.” He waited until Virgil was a suitable distance away and then bombed the pool, soaking everyone within striking range. He surfaced next to his son. “He’s getting fidgety,” he whispered.

“Good.”

The pair found themselves at the end of the pool next to Gordon. Jeff grinned at Virgil. “Race ya to the other end and back.”

Virgil grinned. “Are you sure? I’d hate to be the one to show you up.”

“Show me up?!” Jeff exclaimed in mock indignation. “I’ll show you, Boy…! Ready…? Three… Two… One!” He pushed Virgil under the water and then took advantage of his son’s distraction to get a head start.

Spluttering at the unexpected dunking, Virgil resurfaced, and then took off. He’d nearly caught up by the time Jeff was on the turn and reached the end a good two metres in front of his father.

“I’m out of practise,” Jeff said ruefully.

“You haven’t been keeping up your exercise regime,” Virgil pointed out. “You’re not as fit as you were.”

They looked over at Gordon who was being shifted into the sling. “We haven’t noticed,” Jeff whispered. And then, louder, said; “I’ll teach you to beat your old man!” He splashed Virgil.

Laughing, Virgil splashed him back before diving under the water, grabbing his father’s legs and pulling him down.

Jeff resurfaced. “Why you…” He retaliated.

They were having such fun that they missed the quiet sound of a motor in operation. It wasn’t until Virgil nearly pulled Catherine, dressed in her wetsuit and carrying a controller, under the water that he realised that something was happening. “Oops… Sorry,” he apologised.

She laughed. “That’s all right. I’d like to join you in your game, but like I said, I’m working.” She pushed a button on the controller and the sling, holding Gordon, swung out over the water.

Virgil swum closer to his brother. “So you’ve decided to join the fun?”

Gordon didn’t look like he was having fun. In fact, he appeared to be terrified: so terrified that he was visibly shaking and his tremors were transferring to the sling, which was swaying.

Jeff knew that Gordon’s pride wouldn’t accept the knowledge that others could see his fear, so he pretended that nothing was amiss. “That device has got a case of the wobbles,” he said, reaching out and laying a steadying hand on his son’s leg. His father’s touch seemed to reassure the young man and the quivering lessened, but the fear remained in Gordon’s eyes.

Virgil went along with the subterfuge. “Looks like it needs a few bolts tightening,” he commented.

“I’ll get maintenance to check it out later,” Catherine agreed. “In the meantime… Okay if I lower you a bit, Gordon? Just until your feet are touching the water?”

Gordon gulped. Then he nodded.

There was a quiet hum and the sling drew closer to the water, Jeff maintaining his steadying hand on Gordon’s leg.

When his toes touched the water, Gordon drew them back sharply as if he’d been stung by an electric shock. It wasn’t the reaction that anyone had expected, but at least it meant that he was exercising his muscles, so no one passed comment.

He sat there; legs shaking with the effort of keeping his feet out of the water. He bit his lip. He frowned. He took a deep breath and held it. Then he relaxed and let his toes touch the surface.

He let his breath out in a juddering sigh.

Virgil swum closer, but not so close that he could touch his brother. “Bet you can’t splash me.”

Gordon looked at him. “Zplash you?” He looked down at his legs as if he was trying to work out which were the correct bits to move. He pulled his left leg back a few centimetres, and then relaxed the muscles. A small ripple creased the surface of the pool, bouncing off Virgil’s chest.

Virgil pretended to be overcome by the force of the ‘surge’ and disappeared under the water. When he resurfaced Gordon was laughing.

“Ready to go a bit lower, Gordon?” Catherine asked.

He hesitated. Then a determined look overtook Gordon’s face. “Yez.”

Virgil swam to the side opposite his father and mirrored Jeff’s actions. Catherine pressed the button and slowly, but surely, Gordon sunk closer to the water’s surface until the base of the sling was just touching.

Up to this point Gordon hadn’t released his white-knuckled grip of the sides of the sling. He took a deep breath, tentatively reached down with his right hand, and touched the water. He gave a half-smile of satisfied pride.

Here it was deep enough for a person to stand easily with their head above the water and Catherine positioned herself so that she was in front of her patient. She took Gordon through a few leg exercises, getting him to push against the resistance of the water. “You’re doing well,” she congratulated. “Now, before we finish for the day, would you be willing to try standing and taking a few steps for me?”

The panicked look reappeared in Gordon’s eyes and he stared at his father as if hoping to receive permission to deny the request.

But Jeff wasn’t prepared to do so. “I think it wouldn’t hurt to try, Gordon,” he said. “Just two steps and then we’ll get you out of the pool. Virgil and I will hang on to you.”

“You… You won’d led my head ged wed?”

“No chance,” Virgil confirmed. “We’ll have a grip on you tighter than a limpet on the hull of a boat.”

Gordon looked into his brother’s eyes as if he was searching out any hint of a lie and Virgil held his gaze. The red-head swallowed. “Okay.”

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt the water rise up his torso. Virgil helped him place his arm about his father’s shoulders so that Jeff could hold onto his son’s right hand and keep a tight grip about his waist.

Then Virgil swum back to Gordon’s left side. “Let your arm float on the water,” he instructed, before swimming underneath and, yet again, mirroring his father’s position. “There… Gotcha,” he murmured as he grasped the support harness at his brother’s waist. “You’re not going anywhere we don’t want you.”

“Don’d led me go.”

Gordon’s pleading entreaty was the first real acknowledgement of the fear that he felt and Virgil and his father looked at each other in silent recognition. Then Jeff spoke. “It’s all right, Son. We have you. We’re not going to let you go.”

“I’m going to lower the sling now,” Catherine informed them. “I’ll slide it out from under you, Gordon, and you can let your legs fall downwards. Don’t worry, your father and Virgil won’t let you slip… There… That’s all right, isn’t it?”

Gordon was breathing heavily through his mouth. He gave a tight nod. He let his legs relax until the soles of his feet were flat on the bottom of the pool.

“Great!” Jeff enthused. “You’re standing, Gordon. You’re standing!”

“Wonderful,” Catherine beamed. She swam around so that she was in front of him. “Now, there’s no rush. Give yourself a chance to get used to being upright again. Let us know when you’re ready for the next stage.”

Gordon waited a moment. Then he nodded. “Ready.”

“Okay. Have you got a good grip of him, Gentlemen...? Now, Gordon, I want you to shift your weight on to your right foot... Not too far,” she cautioned. “Now, lean back towards Virgil... That’s it; shift your weight onto your left foot.” They repeated the process several times. “How’s that?”

“Zoles zore.”

“That’s too be expected. They’re not used to having pressure on them. Do you want to leave it there or carry on?”

Gordon deliberated for a moment. “Carry on.”

“Good,” Catherine approved. “The first step, as it were, is to get your body used to having most of your weight on one foot. I’m sure your dad will be able to support you, so I want you to bend your left knee and lift your foot off the ground. Don’t try taking a step yet, she continued. “We just want to give your body a chance to relearn old sensations.”

“Okay...” Gordon rocked to the right and raised his left leg a couple of centimetres off the bottom of the pool.

“Now the other leg,” Catherine encouraged. “Lean towards Virgil and raise your right foot... And back...” She guided Gordon from one side to the other, continuously offering words of encouragement. “And relax... You’re doing fantastically well. How does that feel?”

“‘Kay.”

“Do you want to try a few steps? Remember this isn’t a race. There’s no hurry.”

Gordon gave her a haunted look then, slowly, he picked up his right leg, swung it forward mere centimetres, and placed it back down on the bottom of the pool. Jeff, keeping pace with the action, moved forward slightly. Virgil didn’t move: bracing his brother so that he couldn’t fall.

“Well done!” Catherine approved. “What was that saying, Mr Tracy? One small step for a man?”

Jeff’s grin was from ear-to-ear. “And one giant leap for Gordon-kind.”

“Now, shift your weight onto that leg, Gordon.” Catherine placed her hands on either side of her patient’s chest and encouraged him to move his body weight. “Your dad will support you… Now, bring forward your left leg.”

Virgil felt Gordon roll away from him and tightened his grip before taking a tiny step forward himself. Gordon placed his left leg beside the right and squared up to his therapist. “Dunnid.”

“Yes, you have,” she agreed.

“Do id again… Brichil leg firsd.”

Catherine beamed at him. “I’m not going to stop you. See if you can swing your Virgil leg further forward this time.”

Gordon looked down, frowning in concentration as he worked on shifting his weight, moving his leg, and then bracing it on the bottom of the pool. “Now Dad leg.”

“Look up this time,” Catherine suggested. “If you look down you’ll shift your weight forward and you’re more likely to overbalance… That’s it,” she approved. “This is wonderful… Are you ready to go back to your room now?”

Gordon shook his head. “No. More.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yez.”

“Good. We’ll start with your ‘Dad leg’ this time.”

Gordon grinned. “Bet you never thoughd you’d be teachin’ me do walk afder all this dime,” he sad to his father.

“True, I never did, but I’m glad I can help you now.”

With considerably more confidence, Gordon finished a full step, walking both his ‘Dad’ and ‘Virgil’ legs. “Do ‘noder.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Catherine asked.

“No. I wand do do ‘noder.”

“You’ll walk too far away from the sling and we won’t be able to get you out of the water.”

Gordon gave her a look of steely determination. “Den I’ll walg bacg.”

“Are you sure, Gordon?” Jeff asked. “You’re sounding tired.”

“I wand do walg!”

“Why don’t we turn around here and walk back,” Virgil suggested. “Okay, Gordon?”

“‘Kay.”

“Lift your legs up and we’ll swing you around,” Jeff said. “You can start working on the tricky manoeuvres, like turning, tomorrow.”

“’Kay.” Gordon lifted both legs off the bottom of the pool and Virgil and his father, performing a weird kind of dance, rotated about so that they were facing the sling again.

When they were facing the right way, Gordon placed the soles of his feet back on the floor of the pool. “Righd!” he said in determination. “Dad leg den Br… Bvr… Vrir… Den I’m goin’ do learn ‘ow do zay y’ name,” he told Virgil, who chuckled.

Gordon was exhausted by the time they got him back into the sling and out of the pool, but despite that he couldn’t keep the beaming smile off his face. “Wanna ring Gwanma, ‘n Scod, ‘n John, ‘n Al’n, ‘n dell ‘em. Dell ‘em I walged.” He rested his head back against the wheelchair’s headrest.

“We’ll get you dried off and back to your room first,” Catherine told him.

“Den I’m ringin’.”

“Then you’re ringing,” she agreed as she handed Jeff and Virgil dry towels and robes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’ve worked miracles.”

“You won’t keep him down now,” Jeff admitted. He nudged Virgil. “Come on. We need to get changed. I've been in the water for so long I feel like a prune.” As they walked past the wheelchair he patted his younger boy on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Son.”

Virgil didn’t say anything until he followed his father back to the unit next to Gordon’s room. “He was terrified, wasn’t he? Terrified of going into the water. I’ve never seen anyone so scared.”

Jeff stopped towelling down his back. “It looked like it.”

“He’s never said anything to me, but has he ever spoken to any of you guys about his accident?” Virgil rubbed down one of his legs. “I’ve always assumed that he was unconscious all the way through, but what if he was aware of what was going on when he was under water? What if he knew he was trapped and was probably going to drown?”

“We’ve never talked about it,” Jeff admitted. “And I’ve never been allowed to be present during his counselling sessions, so I don’t know what he’s said there. But I’ve always thought… hoped… that he had no memory of what had happened.”

They finished getting dressed in silence and waited until Catherine knocked on the door. “We’re ready for you,” she announced when Jeff let her in. “You can help Gordon make his phone call while I’m getting changed.”

Gordon was in bed. “Wherez th’ fone,” he demanded. “Godda ring ‘em all.”

“Keep calm,” Jeff advised. “You’ll run out of energy and won’t be able to say anything. We’ll make it a conference call and you can tell them all at once… How are you getting on, Virgil?”

“I’ve got Scott, John and Grandma,” Virgil said. “They’re prising Alan out of his race car as we… Hiya, Alan. Got someone here with something to tell you. Hang on…” He wheeled the videophone around so that Gordon could see the four faces on screen.

“Hi, Gordon,” Alan acknowledged. “What’s your big news?”

“I wg’d,” Gordon beamed. “I wg’d tree shdepz ou’ ‘n dree shdep bag. Dad le', Brvchl l'. Did le'. Bvrch l'.”

His big announcement was met with confused silence.

“Uhh… That’s great, Gordon,” Scott ventured.

But Gordon, having spent the last of his energy giving out his wonderful news, had collapsed against his pillow and fallen asleep.

“Switch the phone through to the unit,” Jeff told Virgil, pulling a blanket over his gently snoring son. “We’ll tell them in there.”

“Okay.” It took Virgil a little time to make the connection. “Well done, Gordon,” he whispered, and tip-toed into the other room.

“Good, you’re here,” Jeff greeted him. “I thought I’d wait until you could see their reactions.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t understand a word he said,” Alan admitted. “Something about trees and sheep dogs?”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Jeff,” Grandma scolded. “What is Gordon’s big news? What did he say?”

“He said he walked,” Jeff stated. “He took three steps out and three steps back. But,” and here his smile doubled in size, “what I think is the best news is that he got into the pool to do it.”

John’s jaw dropped. “You managed to get him into the pool?! Willingly?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Basically by ignoring him. Virgil and I challenged each other to a swimming race…”

Virgil interrupted his father’s recitation. “And you cheated.”

“I had to give myself an edge somehow.”

“By trying to drown me?”

“What are you complaining for? You won!”

“Okay, okay,” Scott held up his hand to get the discussion back on track. “So you appealed to Gordon’s competitive instincts?”

“At first. Then, like I said, we ignored him. Virgil and I started playing in the water, splashing each other…” Jeff paused. “It was fun. It’s been a while since I’ve played with any of my sons.”

“And he got jealous? Alan asked.

“I suppose so. Next thing we knew they were bringing him out over the pool in the sling…” Jeff paused again, longer this time. “Virgil and I have been trying to figure out why he didn’t want to go into the pool and… Has Gordon discussed his accident with any of you?”

“No.”

“Not that I remember.”

“Nope.”

“No, Jeff.”

“No…” Jeff bit his lip. “I’m trusting you all not to mention this to Gordon unless he says something first, but Virgil and I have formed the theory that he was conscious during his accident and that he was aware that he was drowning.”

Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my!”

“He was frightened of the water. He was shaking like a leaf until we had hold of him and promised that we wouldn’t let go. It was only through sheer guts that he was able to take those steps. It’s no wonder he feels so proud of himself.”

Bewildered, Scott scratched his head. “But if he was so frightened of the water, why didn’t he say something when he was having hydrotherapy in the four weeks before his operation?”

“I don’t know.” Jeff shrugged. “He must have known that there was no way he could have drowned; he had too many people helping and too many buoyancy aids on him to do that. Maybe because he was feeling so helpless and that he had no control over his destiny, he simply gave up?”

Virgil was silent as his father outlined his theory. Four weeks before his operation was when Gordon had asked him to help him commit suicide and Virgil knew for a fact that at that point Gordon had given up…

Totally given up.

On screen Alan turned his head slightly and then looked back. “I’ve got to go. Tell Gordon I think it’s fantastic and that the first thing I want him to do when I get there on Friday is give me a demonstration.”

Jeff smiled at him. “I will do. Maybe he’ll be able to walk onto the track and see your final race?”

Alan’s face lit up. “Boy that would be awesome! I’d be guaranteed to win if he did that.”

They finished the videophone call and then the two Tracys went to lunch. Gordon was awake again and was waiting on his midday meal when they arrived back at his room. “I fell azleep before I god their reaction,” he admitted. “Whad did they zay?”

“They were thrilled,” Jeff told him. “They’re all proud of you and Alan wants you to show him yourself as soon as he gets here on Friday.

“I will!” Gordon’s eyes were shining. “I’ll dake dwendy zdepz! Fifdy!” He relaxed his head back on his pillow. “Thankz for your help, Dad.,, Thank you doo, Brrchll.” He frowned and tried again. “Brr…” He stopped. “Vrr… I’m gonna do thiz… V… Vir… God thad bid… Vir-ch… Zdupid mouth.” He hit his bed in frustration.

“Just try saying ‘Virg’,” Virgil suggested.

“No, thad’s nod your name.”

“Try telling Scott that.”

“Break it down into bits,” their father told him. “Vi… ir… gi… il.”

“‘Kay… Vi… ir… gi… Vi… ir… gi… il.”

“Now bring them together,” Jeff prompted. “Vir…”

“Vir-gi-il… Vir-gi-il… Vir-gil… Vir-gil! Yez!” Gordon crowed. “Thad’z dwo thingz in one day! Thank you, Vir-gil!” He looked his brother in the eye. “Thank you for everything.”

Virgil grasped his grinning brother’s hand. “You’re more than welcome. Any time, any thing… within reason.”

Gordon winked, his weaker eye not quite spoiling the effect. “Gotcha.”

Jeff cleared his throat. “Now that we’re over the worst of it and you’re getting better, Gordon… Are you two going to tell me just what went on between you?”

Virgil’s answer would have been no, but he decided that the decision should be Gordon’s. Fortunately Gordon had come to the same conclusion. “No. All thad’s in the pazd and I’m looking forward do the fudure.”

Virgil nodded. “Gordon’s right. And if it makes you feel any better, I have absolutely no intention of ever telling Scott either.”

Jeff gave a wry grin. “I know it’s stupid, but that does make me feel better.”

“Besidez,” there was more than a hint of Gordon’s old impish grin, “id was juzd the product of a deranged mind...” He looked at Virgil. “You really should do zomething about thad.”

“Hey!” Virgil grabbed a pillow off the bottom of the bed and hit his brother across the chest with it. Gordon grabbed the pillow and hit him back.

And Jeff laughed. A deep belly laugh that seemed to be an echo of the past, so long had it been since Virgil heard it.

Gordon hit his father with the pillow. Jeff deflected the blow, grabbed the pillow from his son’s hands and, not wanting to take advantage of Gordon’s weakened state, hit Virgil. Gordon pulled a pillow from behind his head and resumed his attack on his brother.

“Hey!” Virgil put up his hands to defend himself. “That’s not fair. I’m unarmed here!”

Someone cleared their throat and the three men stopped playing and looked at each other sheepishly. A nurse, carrying Gordon’s lunch, was standing at the door, looking on in horror at what she perceived as wanton destruction.

“Ah… Sorry, Nurse,” Jeff said. “We were just, ah, helping Gordon get some exercise.” He put his pillow behind Gordon’s head and made a show of getting it into position. “Comfortable, Son?”

Gordon’s reply was equally prim and proper. “Yes. Thank you, Father.”

Her lips thin in disapproval, the nurse placed Gordon’s meal on his tray. “I trust that you will be as ‘helpful’ in feeding your son, Mr Tracy.”

Jeff Tracy was behaving like a schoolboy who’d been caught scribbling on one of the desks. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good.” She gave him a look that told him that he was under notice to behave and then departed the room. As soon as she’d gone the three men looked at each other and then collapsed into fits of laughter. Gordon threw his spare pillow at Virgil who caught it and placed it back at the foot of the bed.

Jeff picked up Gordon’s spoon, dipped it into the soup, and then with a mischievous gleam in his eye, looked at Gordon. “You heard the nurse. Now open up like a good boy. Here comes the choo-choo…”

Late that afternoon, Jeff walked with Virgil out to the airfield. “Thank you for coming today. I don’t know that we would have got as far as we did without you.”

“Not a problem,” Virgil responded. “I could stay tomorrow if you wanted.”

“No, I think we’ll be okay. Grandma’s bringing Rick and Diane back tomorrow and they’re bringing their swimming gear. Diane being a nurse will mean she’ll be able to help with his therapy in the pool and Rick’ll just keep him from stressing over being in the water. Alan’s visiting on Friday and then you’ll be back for the weekend. Scott and John will take over from me on Monday and Tuesday.” Jeff gave a rueful chuckle. “I’ve got to start earning my keep again.”

Virgil gave him a concerned look. “Is everything okay financially?”

“I’ve taken a bit of a hit,” Jeff admitted. “The markets don’t take too kindly to corporate leaders taking time out to care for their invalid sons, but that doesn’t mean we’re all going to be tossed out onto the street any time soon. I might have to dip into one or two investments to make sure that the ‘organisation’ keeps going, but we’ll be okay. And…” he paused meaningfully, “even if it had ruined me, nothing would have stopped me from giving Gordon every chance.”

“I know,” Virgil admitted. “And it’s all been worth it.” He thought for a moment. “Father…”

“Yes, Virgil.”

“I know that we’re behind schedule, but, what with one thing and another, I’ve taken a lot of time off work this year and I don’t think that I’ve given ACE one hundred percent. I know I was due to finish at the Christmas break, but do you think I could carry on until the end of January? I know that means that the ‘organisation’ will be even further behind and you’ll be one man short for that month, but I feel I owe it to Uncle Hamish and Greg.”

“Are you sure about this? You’ve always been so keen on building the machines and getting the organisation operational. We’re not really going to be able to make a start on them until you’re there.”

“I realise that, and if you’d rather I stuck to our timetable then I will. But Uncle Hamish and Greg have been good to me and I think it’s the least I could do.”

Jeff stopped and thought. “It might not be a bad idea. Maybe we should all take some time out, live ‘normal’ lives, give Gordon a chance to regain full fitness, before we commit ourselves to our plans. Yes…” He started walking again, still musing out loud. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do. December’s our month off. I’ll tell Scott and John that once they’ve finished all the necessaries they’re to have a break… Brains too. He’s been working too hard, alone, and for too long… And, if nothing else it’ll give me another month to try and convince your grandmother to join us.”

Virgil chuckled. “Do you honestly think that you’ll be able to change her mind? In only one month??”

“Probably not, but you can’t blame a man for trying.” They were at Virgil’s aeroplane and the hangar was empty apart from the two Tracys. “We did good today. I feel like we’ve achieved something momentous.”

“I’m just happy that Gordon can say my name again.”

Jeff looked around. “Virgil… I know I’m not the most demonstrative father, that’s not something I particularly proud of, but I’ve appreciated your support over these last three-and-a-half months, and I know Gordon has too… Whatever it was that happened between the pair of you…”

Virgil held up his hands. “Don’t ask because I’m not telling.”

“Fair enough. Anyway I just wanted to say thank you and…” Jeff looked uncomfortable as he scanned the hangar to see if anyone was watching. “And I wanted you to know that I’m proud of you too…”

“I know you are,” Virgil interrupted. “We all do. You don’t have to say it.”

“But… I… Ah…” Jeff looked even more ill at ease. “Come ‘ere,” he said gruffly, and wrapped his surprised son up in a rough hug. “I appreciate what you’re doing, I’m proud of all you’ve done, I appreciate that you’re giving up a lot for me, and I’m thankful that you’re my son. And… Well… I love you.” He released Virgil and took a step back unable to meet his eyes. “That’s what I wanted to say.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at a spot on the ground.

“Uh… Thanks…” Virgil said. “But you didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did. I nearly lost Gordon twice without him knowing and with what you boys are going to be doing in the organisation…”

“We know and Gordon always knew. It’s not necessary to put into words; your actions have always spoken loud enough.” Virgil put his hand on the door of his aeroplane, but didn’t open it. “Look… Dad…” Jeff glanced up. “It’s not only a one-way street. We all… That is… I… and my brothers... your sons… We all think you’re pretty special too. But that’s not the only reason why we’re ‘giving up’ a lot. It’s because we believe in what you’re doing and we want to be part of it.” He smiled. “And if our only reward is one of those hugs, then it’ll be worth it.”

Jeff stood back. “I’d better let you go.”

Virgil patted him on the arm. “I’ll see you Friday evening. Tell Gordon I’ll be expecting him to be able to walk one hundred steps and say my name as two syllables instead of two words.”

Jeff chuckled. “I’ll tell him. Give my best to Hamish and my apologies to Greg.”

“Will do.” Virgil climbed into his aeroplane, but as he was about to shut the door he stopped. “Hey, Father…”

Jeff craned his neck to look up at his son. “What?”

“I love you too.” Virgil pulled the door shut and settled into the pilot seat before taxiing out to the runway, aware of the warm glow that suffused his body.

His last view of Jeff Tracy was of the man standing at the door to the hangar, a broad grin plastered over his face.

Chapter 23: A Quiet Return

It was only two days later and Virgil was back at the Willis Institute. “Hiya, Alan,” he greeted his kid brother as he stepped out of his aeroplane. “How’s Gordon?”

“Sleeping. He’s tired himself out.”

“How many steps can he do now?”

Alan grinned at his brother. “Sixty five in the water… Seventy three if you count the ones on land.”

“Catherine’s got him walking on land? That’s great!”

“They put him in a kind of harness between parallel bars so that all the weight’s not on his arms and legs. He did one length today and was absolutely exhausted, but he swears he’s going to do three tomorrow.”

“Knowing Gordon, he will do.” Virgil locked down his aeroplane. “How are you? On track for the big race?”

“Yeah. The car’s running sweet, I’m running sweet. If I can keep up this form, and nothing goes wrong mechanically, I’ve got a good chance of winning the championship.”

“Well don’t forget to book us the best seats so we get a good view of you getting that final chequered flag.”

“Already done… How’s work?” Alan asked as the two men started travelling along the travelator.

“Busy. We’re in the run-down towards Christmas and all our customers are demanding that we get their jobs done this year. I don’t know why Uncle Hamish doesn’t go crazy during the silly season.”

“Are you serious about staying on until the end of January?”

“I’d feel guilty if I didn’t,” Virgil admitted. “And this way,” he winked, “you guys will have all the hard, boring jobs finished by the time I get to Tracy Island.”

“Ah. I knew there was method in your madness.”

The pair of them tiptoed into Gordon’s room. Their brother lay on his bed, wearing street clothes, snoring gently.

Virgil placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Hi,” he whispered. “Alan says Gordon’s doing well.”

“He is,” Jeff agreed, his voice equally quiet. “At this rate he’ll be jogging around the island by Christmas.”

“Don’ you know id’z rude to whizper in public,” a sleepy voice said.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes,” Alan laughed.

Virgil watched as Gordon pulled himself into a sitting position. “I hear you’re up to sixty-five steps in the water. Think you’ll be able to do one hundred for me tomorrow?”

“No sweat,” Gordon responded. “Did you also hear that I can now say my Ss and Ts?”

“No,” Virgil replied, impressed.

“Until he gets tired,” Jeff amended. “That’s a giveaway.”

Gordon screwed up his nose. “Then I’ll have to practise saying sentences without those letters.”

“Better to practise saying them.”

Gordon’s grin widened and he began to quote:

“She sells sea shells on the sea shore.

Till a crab tasted her toe and made it very sore.

Two tough jack tars took her on the town,

One offered to take her dress up, when the other took it down.”

“Gordon!” Jeff complained. “If your grandmother could hear you…”

“She can, and it’s no worse than what you and your Air Force buddies used to sing, Jefferson.”

Virgil grinned at his father’s discomfort. “Hi, Grandma.”

“Hello, Honey. Did you have a good flight?”

“Nothing exciting, which I guess is a good thing.”

The family settled down to a quiet evening’s conversation, enjoying the fact that they were all able to understand Gordon, although Virgil did note that as the evening wore on his sentences were becoming more and more slurred.

Another thing that he noticed was that Gordon was continuously working out. He was flexing his limbs, squeezing (thankfully silent) rubber balls, practicing his writing and drawing (using some of Virgil’s pictures), or getting his family to help by adding resistance to his exercises.

Gordon was determined to get back to full fitness and to do it soon.

It was a view that was reinforced the following day when Virgil followed Gordon and Catherine into the hospital’s gym. Virgil had been given the important task of wheeling his brother’s wheelchair about, while Gordon worked on building up his muscles.

Catherine assisted Gordon into his harness so that he could be supported between the parallel bars. “We’re doing this, Virgil,” she explained, “because Gordon has lost a lot of bone density in the time that he was unable to stand. Because of his ongoing physio, his muscles might be strong enough to support him, but his bones are fragile. If he were to try standing unaided he would risk a break now or arthritis in the future.”

“How long before he’ll be able to support his own weight?” Virgil asked.

“It’s usually three to four weeks after the patient is first able to stand again. That’s why we’ve been doing a lot of working out in the pool. In there Gordon is able to stand upright, thereby increasing his bone density, but the water supports him just like this harness.”

Gordon pointed at a folder. “Show Virgil the scans.”

Catherine picked up the folder and pulled out two pieces of paper. “These are the results from Gordon’s latest tests...” Virgil looked at where she was pointing and realised that he was looking at a multicoloured representation of a hip joint. “The various colours represent the density of the bone,” Catherine explained. “A healthy young man, like you, would have his ‘bone’ coloured pale yellow. As you can see, this week Gordon’s principle colour is purple bleeding into orange, which is an improvement on last week when it was all dark purple. I’ll let him stand without help when his bone density is registering as solid orange... Comfortable?” she asked Gordon.

He wriggled in his harness. “Yep.”

Virgil watched as, each foot pressed precisely into place; Gordon walked the length of the parallel bars and then turned for the return journey.

When he’d finished his designated task he was congratulated by Catherine. “Well done, Gordon… Will you bring his chair over, please, Virgil?”

“No!” Gordon refused. “I c’n do more.”

“You don’t want to overdo it,” she cautioned. “You know the risks.”

“One more,” Gordon insisted.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Catherine assisted Gordon to turn until he was facing the other way. Then she gestured to Virgil to follow closely behind with the chair, ready to catch the invalid if he grew too tired to continue.

The further along the bars he progressed, the more obvious it became to his observers that Gordon was fighting to reach his goal. His face was creased in a frown of deep concentration as he struggled to lift one leg up, move it forward, and then place it down again. Then there was a pause as he shifted his weight over, before taking a deep breath and repeating the whole process with the other leg. Each step he took was more laboured than the last, but still Gordon refused to give in.

As Virgil watched his brother creep forward, body shaking with the effort, he wondered why they’d ever had concerns about Gordon’s attitude. He might have been a prankster, and an irritating one at that, but when it mattered he would always give 110 percent. Nothing and nobody would hold him back.

At last Gordon reached the end of his quest. Grinning broadly he let himself be lowered back down into the wheelchair. “Shaid I could do id.”

“Yes, you did,” Catherine agreed. “At this rate it won’t be long and you’ll be walking out that door.”

The following day, Sunday, Virgil returned from his early run to find Gordon’s room empty. He retreated to the nurses’ station. “I seem to have lost him.”

Ange, an attractive nurse who smiled a lot, giggled. “We often seem to do that. Now that he can get himself into an electric wheelchair he goes AWOL. Try the children’s ward in the other wing.”

“Thanks.” Virgil retraced his steps through the Willis Institute until he came to a section he’d never entered before. Following the signs he found himself in a hallway decorated with paintings and drawings by children of all ages. The nurses’ station was deserted so he softly walked down the hallway, listening out for his brother’s familiar voice.

What he did hear was the violent sounds of someone being sick, followed by a familiar voice shouting “Nurse…! Anyone…! Help!”

Glancing into the room from where the voice appeared to come, Virgil found his brother, somehow perched on the side of a bed, supporting a young boy who was depositing what little remained of his stomach contents onto the bedspread. “Gordon!”

Gordon looked up, lines of worry scarring his face. “Virg! Get some help!”

Rather than dashing the length of the hall trying to find someone in uniform, Virgil jogged around the bed and pushed the buzzer that would hopefully bring someone running. Then, grabbing a suitable receptacle, he held it for the boy to use, noticing how gaunt the child’s face was and how what little of his hair remained stuck out in untidy tufts. The boy looked to be no more than six years old and he was clearly very, very sick.

“It’s going to be okay now, Robbie,” Gordon soothed and slid, grunting with the effort, off the bed and back into his wheelchair. “Virgil’s my big brother. He’ll help.”

“What happened?” Virgil asked, pushing the buzzer again and praying that someone would make an appearance soon.

“I’d popped down here to visit Robbie...” Gordon smiled. “He and I often hang out together, right, Pal?” and made no complaint as the boy managed a weak smile, nodded, and then proceeded to throw up into his friend’s lap. “We, that’s his parents and us two, were sitting together chatting when he started vomiting... His parents have gone to find his doctor…” He cast a frantic look over his shoulder, willing someone in authority to arrive. “Where are they?!”

Virgil pushed the non-responsive button again. “I’ll take care of Robbie,” he suggested. “You go and see if you can find help.”

“Okay,” Gordon nodded and laid a caring hand on the little boy’s arm. “Virgil will look after you. He’s always looked after me.” He pushed the ‘chair’s directional lever to one side and had just completed a 180 degree turn when a nurse hurried in.

She took one look at the young patient and then spoke into her personal radio. “Doctor Valt, please report to room one-oh-three, stat.” She took over from Virgil. “Thank you, ah...” She glanced at him. “Are you friend of Robbie’s?”

“No. I’m Gordon’s brother. I was looking for him.”

“Thank you for your help…” She gave the Tracys a grateful smile as other medical staff rushed into the room. “Perhaps you’d better go back to your room now, Gordon?”

Gordon, his eyes on his distressed young friend, nodded, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Come on,” Virgil said and disengaged the wheelchair’s motor. “We’re only in the way here.” As he pulled the ‘chair away from the side of the bed, his eye was caught by something shiny hanging on the wall.

“Just a minute,” one of the other medical staff handed Virgil a towel. “You might want to cover the mess on your brother.”

“Thanks.” Virgil pushed the wheelchair past a harassed looking couple who appeared to be trying to observe all that was happening while keeping clear of the activity by the bed and out into the corridor. Once in the hall he stopped to drape the towel over Gordon’s lap. “What’s the story?”

“Brain tumour.” Gordon was clearly downcast as Virgil started to push him back to his room. “Robbie’s a great kid. You never hear him complain despite all he’s gone through. His parents, we passed them on the way out, have had to practically sell everything they had to get him this treatment… But it doesn’t seem to be doing him any good.”

They left the brightly coloured pictures behind and entered the more sombre walls that marked the adults’ wards. “What are his chances?” Virgil asked.

“I don’t know. They don’t want to worry a poor, helpless, invalid like me.” Gordon’s voice was bitter. “But I don’t think they’re good… And I think Robbie knows it.”

Virgil pushed the ‘chair around a corner. “Is the vomiting as a result of the tumour or the medication?”

“I don’t know what happened in there. He seemed fine. The four of us were having a laugh together and all of a sudden he becomes ill. We couldn’t raise anyone on the buzzer so his parents went to find help. I couldn’t do anything. I’m just a helpless cripple.”

“For ‘a helpless cripple’ you did pretty good back there,” Virgil corrected as they entered Gordon’s room. “You helped Robbie.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You held him upright so he wouldn’t choke.”

“But I couldn’t reach the buzzer to keep trying it, and no one could hear me yelling; I couldn’t get help.”

“You got my attention.” Virgil gave his brother a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Maybe you’re not as mobile as you’d like, but you soon will be. You’ve got to be patient.”

“I’m sick of being patient. I’m sick of being A patient! I want to get out of this place! I want to be able to do something useful!”

“You did something useful. Just being there to support him helped Robbie. He wasn’t alone… Now do you want a hand to get washed and changed?”

Gordon didn’t move. “But what if we were too late getting help because I couldn’t do enough?”

“Gordon… You, and his parents, did the best you could…” Virgil pulled up a chair and sat down, facing his brother. “If you’re going to be a part of… the team… you’re going to have to remember that that’s all we can do, and that sometimes our best won’t be good enough. We’re not going to be able to help everyone. It’s an unpalatable fact, but it’s still a fact.”

Gordon pouted. “Well, it’s a fact I don’t like. He’s just a kid, Virg. He’s only nine! He shouldn’t have to go through something as traumatic as a brain tumour”

“Look at where he is,” Virgil reminded his depressed brother. “He’s being cared for by the Willis Institute. He’s getting the best treatment he possibly can. Just like you did.”

“But he didn’t do anything to warrant being in the Willis. He didn’t do something stupid like crashing a speedboat. It’s his own body attacking him and it’s just not fair!”

“No, it’s not,” Virgil agreed. “But life isn’t always fair. Now, do you want to get cleaned up?”

Nurse Ange bustled into the room. “I thought I saw you two come back.”

“Gordon was helping one of the children and got his clothes dirty,” Virgil explained. “He needs to get changed.”

“What have you been doing this time?” the nurse chided her patient affectionately. “What kind of mess?”

“Robbie was sick on me.”

“Ah…” Ange became serious. “How is he?”

Gordon shook his head. An eloquent gesture that spoke volumes of both his and Robbie’s wellbeing.

“Let’s have a look,” Ange lifted the towel. “Okay, Gordon, we’ll get you a shower and into some clean clothes.”

“Can I help with anything?” Virgil asked.

“I think we’ll be fine,” she responded. “We won’t be long.”

She was as good as her word.

Gordon had perked up by the time he returned to his room. “Thanks for your help, Ange.”

She smiled at him. “All part of the service. Do you want to get back on your bed?”

Gordon shrugged. “May as well. I’m not planning on heading out on any hot dates today.” He flashed her a cheeky grin. “That’s unless you want go out with me?”

Ange laughed. “I don’t think my boyfriend would approve... How many steps are you going to take this afternoon?”

“At least one hundred in the pool.”

“Only one hundred?”

Gordon grinned. “Give me a number, Ange, and I’ll walk it... Just for you.”

Ange giggled. “Sweet talker.” She reached up to adjust a piece of equipment and the top button of her blouse popped off, rolling away to disappear under the bed. As she worked away, she was the only one who didn’t notice its disappearance.

Virgil wondered if he should say something. He nearly did when Ange lent over Gordon to help pump up his pillows, her blouse hanging open in his brother’s face.

Once upon a time, (was it really only four months ago?) being this close to a partially exposed and buxom woman would have elicited at a long hard stare and a lewd comment from his brother, but, much to Virgil’s surprise, Gordon chastely looked away and said nothing.

“There, I think that’s everything,” Ange said, happily. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Gordon?”

“Uh... No, thanks.”

“I’ll be on my way then.” She favoured her patient with another of her broad smiles, and turned to leave, a lacy undergarment exposed for all to see.

“Ah... Ange...” Virgil had decided that he couldn’t leave her parading around the institute in that state. “I think you’ve lost a button.” He dove under the bed and retrieved it, hoping that he wasn’t too red in the face as he held it out, looking somewhere over her left shoulder.

“I have...? Are you sure...? Where...?” Ange checked her cuffs and the blouse’s material bulged out further. “Not there… Oh...!” Finding the threads that marked the errant button’s home, she blushed and pulled her top shut. “Thank you, Virgil,” she gabbled, grabbing the button from his hand and trying to hide her embarrassment. “You’d think that a prestigious institute like the Willis could afford to clothe their staff in uniforms that were of better quality... I’d better go and sew this on before I’m caught out again... Mr Millington would not be impressed... What must you think of me, Gordon? Thank heavens you’re such a gentleman.” Mortified, the nurse hurried out the door, button clasped firmly in one hand as the other held her blouse pressed securely closed against her ample chest.

Virgil turned back to Gordon, who offered up a wry smile. “That’s something you don’t get to see every day.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

“A flustered nurse.”

Virgil chuckled, before returning the frown to his face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes.” Gordon looked surprised. “Why?”

“You didn’t... um... say anything... to Ange.”

“What could I say? I thought it would be better to pretend not to notice; less embarrassing for her.”

“But I thought you would have made some comment.”

Gordon looked genuinely confused. “Like what?”

“Like... I don’t know,” Virgil admitted. “Something about getting an eyeful or something.”

“Oh... No. I didn’t think that. I just felt embarrassed for the poor woman.”

“Really?” Virgil knew his face was all smiles. It looked as though the pre-Olympic champion’s personality had reinstated himself.

“Yes... Wha... Hey!” Gordon’s sentence was cut short when Virgil, overcome with an intense burst of what could only be called brotherly love, wrapped him up in a bear hug. “Quit being so mushy!” But, despite his protests, Gordon returned his brother’s affections with a warm embrace of his own. “What was that for?” he asked when Virgil finally felt he could let go.

“I’m just so happy to have you back.”

“Ah,” Gordon appeared to understand. Then he frowned. “Back from where? I’ve only been as far as the children’s ward.”

“I don’t mean physically. I mean... ah,” Virgil tried to think of a suitable explanation, “...You.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” Virgil nodded, becoming flustered after his uncharacteristic gesture of affection and aware that he wasn’t making much sense. “I mean that... and don’t take this wrong, I think it’s great that you got your medal, I’m really proud of you, we all are, but... after you won it...” he bit his lip, “...you changed.”

“Changed?”

“Became more...” Virgil felt he was digging a hole for himself and decided to stop before the hole became too deep. “Never mind. Forget it.” He slumped back in his chair.

“Changed...” Gordon ran his fingers along the edge of the sheet and thought. “Yeah... Well... I guess I did. I was a jerk, wasn’t I?”

Surprised by this sudden burst of brutal honesty, Virgil attempted to backtrack. “Maybe not... ah... Not a jerk... Not all the time... Maybe...”

Gordon interrupted what was becoming a staccato monologue. “It’s okay, Virgil. I know it’s the truth.”

“Why?”

Gordon shrugged. “I guess I thought that was the way everyone expected me to behave. After a while I began to believe in my own propaganda.”

“So it was our fault? We didn’t mean to change you, but we were so proud of you...”

Gordon interrupted again. “No, it wasn’t only you guys. It was the press. It was the rest of the town. It was me... Suddenly I was a big deal; not only one of Jeff Tracy’s sons. I was recognised for being me; for what I’d done...”

Virgil began to experience a feeling of déjà vu.

“...People asked me for my autograph, to have their photo taken with me as if I’d done something amazing. They acted as if just being close to me was a big deal. As if just by shaking my hand would bring them good fortune. It went to my head... and I guess it took a good, hard knock to shake it out again.”

“But you didn’t behave like that everywhere, did you? When we were talking to your WASP friends they didn’t think you were arrogant. They had nothing but praise for you, especially for that year you were in charge of the bathyscaphe.”

Gordon gave a shrug. “You’ve never been in the services so you won’t know, but it didn’t take me long to find out that although I might have been a big fish at home, I was only small fry at WASP. I had to work to gain everyone’s respect. While we were in the bathyscaphe, we were a long way from home in what could have become a stressful situation. I had to do what I could to make life easy for everyone.”

“You succeeded.” Virgil admitted. “Those guys would have walked over hot coals for you. After your accident they were blaming themselves that they couldn’t do more to help.”

“They did enough. I’m still here and I’m on the mend.” Gordon looked thoughtful. “Was that why you guys didn’t want me to be part of the team? Because I behaved like a jerk?”

Virgil gave a reluctant nod, before quickly changing the subject. “Was that your replica medal that I saw on Robbie’s wall?”

“Yeah. He thought it was the real thing and I said he could look after it for me... That kid deserved it. He’s put more effort into simply living than I ever did training to win a race...” There was a quiet tap on the door. “Come in.”

The door slid open revealing the harassed couple that Virgil had seen briefly when they’d left Robbie’s room. Only now they weren’t looking harassed. They were looking bereft.

Gordon sat up. “Mr and Mrs Tompkinson!? Come in.”

Mr Tompkinson put his hand in the small of his wife’s back and gently pushed her forward. She took a reluctant step into the room and then stopped. Her eyes were red.

“What’s wrong? Is it Robbie?” Virgil could see alarm in Gordon’s face.

Mr Tompkinson, still guiding his wife forward, nodded. “Yes... I’m sorry, Gordon, but he...” He was interrupted by a wail from Mrs Tompkinson.

Virgil got up and carried his chair around to the other side of the bed. “Here, sit down... Would you like me to leave?”

“No. We can’t stay for long,” Mrs Tompkinson gave a sniff and laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you for the help you gave, Robbie.” She tried to smile through her tears. “I never caught your name.”

“Virgil.”

“Thank you, Virgil,” Mr Tompkinson said. He turned back towards the bed and Virgil retreated to a corner so that he wasn’t intruding, but was still available if needed. “We...” the older man swallowed. “We wanted to tell you ourselves, Gordon. You brightened Robbie’s final week. He couldn’t believe that he had actually met someone famous and that you’d given him your medal for safe keeping. You made him feel special.”

“He was special,” Gordon replied. “He was a good friend. He gave me a lot too. It wasn’t only a one way street.”

“And we had to return this.” Mrs Tompkinson removed a tissue from her bag and unwrapped it. “We didn’t want to take the chance that it would go missing.” She held the tissue out to Gordon.

He looked at the 24-carat, diamond encrusted medallion nestled in the white paper. “You keep it.”

“No!” She exclaimed. “We couldn’t! It’s too valuable.”

“It meant more to Robbie than it ever did to me,” Gordon explained. “I was just saying to Virgil that if anyone deserved a medal it was that kid. Please keep it. If you need to sell it to help cover costs then do so. Melt it down if necessary. I haven’t got any emotional or monetary attachments to it. Think of it as my final gift to Robbie, and as a gift from him to you, to say thanks for being such great parents.”

Mrs Tompkinson, her outstretched hand still holding the medallion, stared at him. Then, a fresh wave of tears cascading down her cheeks, she pulled the medallion in close and cradled it to her chest. “Thank you.”

Mr Tompkinson, only just managing to keep his emotions in check, held out his hand. “Thank you, Son,” he said. “We’ll never forget this and we’ll never forget you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Gordon managed a smile. “Keep in touch. You’ve got my email address?”

“Yes...” Mr Tompkinson put his arm around his wife. “Come on, Bridget. We’ve still got a lot to do.”

She nodded. “Goodbye, Gordon.”

“Bye,” he responded and watched as the pair of them shuffled out the door. Then he flopped back against his pillow; his hand to his face.

Virgil cleared his throat. “Ah... Would you like to use your underwater virtual reality gizmo?” he asked, thinking that his brother would appreciate being hidden from the world.

“No.” Gordon slid down his bed. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.” He pulled his blankets over his head.

“Would you like me to draw the curtains?”

There was a muffled, “yes.”

“Okay.” Virgil did so. “I’ll head over to The Satellite. If you want me, give me a call.” There was no response so he headed for the door.

“When’s Dad coming back?”

Virgil turned back to the pile of sheets. “When he’s finished what he’s got to do. He said it would be sometime this afternoon.”

Gordon was silent and Virgil crept out of the room, closing the door behind him. After telling the nurses on duty what had happened, he headed for the lift. Its doors opened just as he was reaching for the button. “You’re early.”

Jeff Tracy stepped out. “Are you going somewhere?”

“One of the kids Gordon visited in the children’s ward has just died. He wanted some time alone so I’m heading back over to The Satellite.”

“Was it Robbie Tompkinson?”

Surprised, Virgil nodded. “Yes. How’d you know?”

“They didn’t want to worry Gordon, but thought I should be aware that the prognosis wasn’t good in case the worst happened. How’s he taken it?”

“He’s buried himself under the sheets. I offered to get out his virtual reality gizmo, but he didn’t want to use it.”

“I’ve noticed that the only time he does use it is when John and Scott are here. And then it’s almost as if he does so that he doesn’t hurt their feelings…” Jeff sighed. “I’ll go and see if he needs anything. If I don’t see you over at the house shortly, I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come back…”

Saturday morning one week later, and Virgil was back at the Willis Institute. He sat in the semi-circle with his father, Alan and Grandma around Gordon’s bed and listened to his brother rant.

“I’m bored! I’m sick of this place! It’s been two and a half weeks since I had the operation but I still haven’t been outside the Willis. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t get out of here soon!” Gordon thumped his bed. “Every day it’s the same routine. Bed, pool, gym, bed, gym, pool, bed. Exercises and more exercises. I need something different. I can get exercise beyond the gate. I could go to the park! I could go for a walk! I could have some decent food at a cafe! Dad!” he appealed. “I’m bored! Get – me – out – of – here!”

Jeff Tracy had been sitting there placidly, listening to the monologue. “Okay.”

“I knew you’d say that! I knew you’d side with...” His father’s solitary word sunk into Gordon’s brain. “Huh?”

“I said ‘okay’.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, Gordon,” Alan smirked. “He said okay. It means yes, all right, of course, no problem...”

“I know what it means.” Curious, Gordon looked back at his father. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you have your heart set on spending some time away from the Willis Institute then you can spend some time away from the Willis Institute.”

Gordon appeared to be having difficulty comprehending what is father had said. “I can?”

“Yes, Gordon, you can. When do you want to leave? Now?”

“Now?” Gordon’s face morphed from bemused surprise to a grin of delight and expectation. “Now!” He clambered down his bed until he was level with his father. “You mean it? I can leave now? Walk out that door?” He pointed. “And no one will stop us?”

“Well, you can be wheeled in your ‘chair out that door. That’s unless you don’t want to...”

“Don’t want to! Dad, let’s get out of here!” Gordon made to get out of the bed.

“Whoa!” Jeff placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Not too fast.”

“First things first, Young Man,” Grandma said. “Don’t you think you should get dressed before you go out?” She produced some of Gordon’s clothes from out of a drawer and placed them beside her excited grandson.

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “I’m not going anywhere with you if you’re going to wear your pyjamas.”

“Easily fixed,” Gordon pulled his pyjama jacket over his head. “Where can we go?”

“We’ve got a couple of ideas,” Jeff admitted. “You can get changed while we sign you out.”

“I’ll be ready before the ink’s dry.”

One hour later and a buzzing Gordon, in his wheelchair, drove out to the Willis Institute’s airstrip. There, waiting patiently, sat the Tracys’ aeroplane.

Gordon pulled on Virgil’s sleeve. “Where are we going?”

“Guess.”

“Guess? I’ve barely had time to think about it and you want me to guess?!” Gordon eyed up the aeroplane. “Okay... Obviously we’re heading out of town.”

“Give the guy a prize,” Alan sniggered. “Where out of town?”

“You tell me.”

“Nope.”

Gordon watched as a section of the aeroplane unfolded and lowered itself to the ground. “You’ve made some alterations.”

“It’s easier than carrying you in your wheelchair,” Jeff admitted as he wheeled his son onto the platform. “Going up.”

“Up where too?”

Jeff chuckled.

They assisted Gordon into a window seat and then stored his ‘chair in the hold at the back of the aeroplane.

“Do you want your blanket, Gordon, dear?” Grandma asked.

“No, thanks, Grandma. I only needed it outside. Now, will you tell me where are we going?” Gordon begged and showed obvious irritation when everyone laughed and said nothing. “Where are we going, Dad?” he begged.

“There and back,” Jeff said as he worked through his pre-flight checks.

Gordon grunted his annoyance. Then he leant forward against the straps of his harness and tapped his brother on the knee. “Virgil, you’re a pilot. Give me the bearing of which direction we’re heading.”

Virgil thought a moment. “Up.”

“Up? Is that all you’ve got for me? Which way!?” He scowled when Virgil pointed skywards. “Horizontally!”

“Oh,” Virgil pointed out the aeroplane in the direction of their destination. “That way.”

“That way,” Gordon grumbled. “That’s not a lot of help. How are you going to find rescue zones if you are only going to go that way? Give me more!”

“No.” Virgil settled back in his seat. “It’ll do. You’ve got to guess where we’re going.”

Gordon scowled at him. “Alan! Help me!”

“Okay,” Alan replied; his face deadpan. “Virgil’s right. We’re going that way.”

Gordon gave him a disgusted look. “You’re no help.”

“All harnesses done up securely?” Jeff asked. “Everyone ready?” Everyone assured him that they were. “Right. Off we go...”

“Where to?” Gordon called after his father as the latter headed into the cockpit.

Jeff didn’t answer.

Unsurprisingly, the take-off was smooth and uneventful. As they flew over land, Gordon spent most of his time staring out the window, drinking in the sights that only a few weeks ago he doubted he’d ever enjoy again and trying to spot something familiar. The rest of the family enjoyed indulging themselves in idle chit-chat, glad of the change in surroundings.

“That’s Lake Winbroke!”

Virgil stopped his explanation about how they’d poured the mould for The Mole. “Where?” He pretended to look out the window in the wrong direction.

“There!” Gordon said excitedly. “Over there!”

“Oh, yes,” Virgil responded, deliberately keeping his voice low key. “So it is.”

“And there’s our old high school!” Gordon’s nose was pressed flat against the window.

“Scene of many a detention,” Alan drawled.

“Yes,” Grandma snorted. “Too many, Young Man.”

“And the playing fields…! There’s Hadley Park… We’re losing height! Are we going home?” Gordon finally tore himself away from the view and looked at three smiling faces. “Is that what you’ve got planned?”

Grandma patted him on the arm. “Just for the day. We thought you’d like a change of scene.”

“Like it!?” Gordon glued himself back to the window. “This is great!!”

They were met at the airport by Scott and John, who helped an eager Gordon out of the aeroplane. “Did you have a good flight?”

“Never mind the flight,” Gordon took control of his wheelchair. “Let’s go home.”

“Over here,” Scott led the way to a hired mini-bus. He started the motor, pushed a button and the back door swung open allowing the wheelchair access lift to lower itself to the ground. “We thought this would be quicker and more dignified than carrying you in and out of a car.”

“I can live with that.” Gordon drove himself onto the platform and submitted to his elder brothers ensuring that he was perfectly safe and wasn’t about to fall off as the lift made it’s upwards journey. “Now where are we going first?” he asked when they’d ensured that his chair was securely fastened to the bus’s floor.

“You said you wanted to go home, so let’s go home,” Scott suggested. He climbed behind the steering wheel and pulled out of the car park.

It wasn’t only the Christmas decorations that lined the streets that made the Tracys feel full of the joy of the season. Scott drove slowly through the town centre, giving the family, and especially Gordon, the chance to lean out the window and greet their friends when they’d stopped at intersections.

“Hi, Mr Hannah!”

“Gordon! It’s great to see you!”

“Pat! Thanks for the get well card and your letters.”

“Gordon! You’re looking well.”

“Hello, Miss Isdale.”

“Hello, Gordon. Back to give your grandma grief, are you?”

Gordon laughed. “Every opportunity I get... Hi, Billy.”

“Gordon! They finally let you out for good behaviour, did they?”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone. I smuggled myself out in the laundry.”

They turned off the main street and cruised down the side roads, heading towards the part of town that had been such a large part of their lives. Gordon waving to everyone like Santa in the annual Christmas parade.

Scott stopped the mini-bus outside the Tracy family home. “Everyone out.”

The first thing that Virgil noticed when they approached the house was that a gently sloping ramp had replaced the front steps. “We’ve made a few changes,” John explained, “to make the place more wheelchair friendly. Things like an elevator so it’s possible to get upstairs.”

Gordon looked alarmed that such major alterations had been carried out. “But I’m not going to be in this thing for much longer.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jeff explained. “We may need the facilities in the future.”

Grandma put her hands on her hips. “I hope you’re not thinking about me when you say that, Jeff.”

“Of course not, Mother. They’ll be an asset if we ever decide to sell.”

“You had better not have forgotten that I’m not moving…”

Virgil followed his brothers inside, leaving the gentle argument behind. They were now in the family lounge and he noticed that the display case that had formerly held Gordon’s true Olympic medal had been repaired after Alan’s rough attempts to open it. But the case was empty, Gordon’s medal being locked away in a drawer back at the Willis, ready to be brought out whenever he needed that extra incentive to push himself.

Gordon took a deep breath, inhaling the old, familiar smells; cooking, perfume, aftershaves, grease, and stink-bombs; memories that told him that he was home. “This feels great…! I’m going to check out my room.” He pushed forward on the wheelchair’s lever.

“Hold it!” Scott glanced at John. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Gordon?”

Gordon frowned. “Why not?”

“Ah… Your room’s upstairs.”

“So? You said you’d put an elevator in.”

“Ah…” Scott repeated. “Yes, we did.” He shared a longer look with John.

His younger brother tried another tack. “You know what a mess you always left it in. You won’t be able to get in there. And if you do get in, you won’t be able to get out.”

“It’s not a mess!” Gordon said indignantly. “I’ve barely slept in there the last two years!”

“That doesn’t mean it’s tidy,” John rejoined.

Gordon made an annoyed sound and, ignoring his brothers, pushed on. “Where’s this… Ah!” He stopped outside an unfamiliar door where a cupboard had once been housed. He pushed a button and the door slid open revealing a small, but serviceable lift. He drove inside and then swung around so he was facing his brothers. “See you guys up there. Bye, bye.” The door slid shut on his grinning face.

“Come on! Let’s cut him off!” Scott took off up the stairs, John hot on his heels.

“What have you guys done?” Alan asked, as he ran behind them. “Thrown all his stuff out or something?”

“Not quite,” John panted.

“Not quite??”

They were faster than the lift and were waiting, seemingly unfazed, when the door opened. “What kept you?” John asked.

“Boys!” There was a bellow from downstairs.

“Yes, Dad?” Alan shouted down the stairwell.

“Are you all up there?

“Yes, Dad.”

“I thought so…” Jeff Tracy started climbing the stairs. “I knew it was either you lot or thunder from an approaching storm. I’m surprised the stairs didn’t give out.”

“Ah, Gordon wants to check out his room,” Scott explained.

“Oh…” Jeff reached the landing. “Well, we’d better wait for your grandmother. She’s trying out the new addition to the house.”

The lift door opened and Mrs Tracy stepped out. “I wish we’d had that years ago when I had to carry all your laundry up and down those stairs.”

“Now that everyone’s here, I’m going to check out my room,” Gordon announced. This time no one tried to stop him and Virgil gave Scott a querying look and was treated to a shrug in reply.

Gordon slid forward in his chair, grasped the handle to his door, twisted and pushed it open before entering his bedroom.

John closed his eyes. “Wait for the explosion,” he muttered.

“My bed! Where’s my bed?!” Gordon wheeled himself back to his door and glared at his two eldest brothers. “What have you done with my bed?!?”

“Moved it,” Jeff explained. “It’s in the boys’ house.”

“What?” Gordon stared at his father. “The Satellite? Why?”

“Because you’re going to be taking over my room,” Scott stated.

“I’m what?”

“Mr Millington said that you’ll probably be able to move out of the Willis Institute by the end of this week,” Jeff explained. “You’ll be able to live at the house and attend the Willis as an out-patient. When you don’t need to be there daily, you’ll be able to move back here and make weekly trips back. Once you don’t need regular checkups then you can move with the rest of us to Tracy Island… That’s if you want to…”

But Gordon was only focussing a week ahead. “I’m moving out of my room in the Willis?” A broad smile crossed his face. “I’m moving out! Finally!” He punched the air in jubilation. “Freedom!”

“Since The Satellite isn’t strictly home, we wanted you to have something that was yours,” Scott explained. “That’s why we took your bed.”

“We’ve made a few alterations as well,” John added. “Scott and I are becoming dab hands at installing ramps.”

“I’m sure the locals must think I’m a mean old cheapskate who thinks of his sons only as a cheap source of labour,” Jeff grumbled. “I did tell you that I’d pay for any professional services.”

“But that wouldn’t be nearly so much fun,” John responded. “It gave us a chance to do something practical after sitting around all day for so long.”

“And it was an opportunity for us to have a little brotherly bonding time,” Scott grinned, “before the mean old cheapskate banishes John up into his tin can.”

Grandma looked at her watch. “I think it’s time for lunch. I hope you boys have stocked the pantry.”

John nodded. “We’ve got everything you asked for, Grandma.”

After lunch the family decided to go for a walk around town. It appeared that everyone, everywhere was celebrating, and not only because of Christmas. It took over an hour for the Tracys to walk one block as it seemed that every second person wanted to stop and exclaim over how well Gordon was looking and say how glad they were that he was getting better. Then the family had to stop off at various establishments in town so that Gordon could thank people in person for the support they’d shown him.

After one of their last stops of the day, the local sweet shop that had been a favourite haunt of the boys when they were children, the Tracys exited back into the brisk winter air. Gordon sucked on a piece of one of his favourite sweets. “This is great.”

“I’m not sure you should be eating that,” Jeff warned. “Candy’s not on the list of foods you’re allowed yet.”

“It’s only a small bit,” Gordon tucked the sweet into his cheek. “I’ll suck on it slowly.”

“Hey, look.” Alan pointed across the street. “Isn’t that Moron… I mean Marrin and his cronies?”

On the other side of the road a group of long-haired youths slouched against a wall. One of them nudged Marrin and pointed in the direction of the Tracys. Marrin glanced over the road, said something, and then peeled himself off the wall and, with the rest of the group tagging along behind, started walking away.

“I don’t believe it. He’s ignoring us,” Scott fumed. “Hey, Marrin!” he yelled.

The youths kept on walking as if they didn’t hear.

“Leave them, Scott,” Gordon advised. “It doesn’t matter.”

“The heck it doesn’t matter! They didn’t do anything for you when you were sick. The least they can do is say hello when you’re getting better… Marrin! ...” There was no response. “Come on, Fellas, all together,” Scott commanded. “One… Two… Three…”

“Marrin!!” Their four-part chorus (with Alan shouting Moron for the heck of it) reverberated down the street. People stopped and stared. They all knew the Tracys and they all knew Marrin’s group and they wanted to see what was going on.

Embarrassed at being caught out, the youths turned back. “Hey, Scotty,” Marrin greeted him. “Didn’t see you there.” He didn’t look at Gordon.

“Yeah, right,” Scott growled.

“How have you been, Marrin?” Jeff asked, his voice pleasant, but with the hint of a coiled rattlesnake about to strike.

“Great, Mr T, great. The band’s doin’ well.” Marrin still didn’t acknowledge Gordon. “But if you were plannin’ on comin’ and catchin’ us, Virgie,” Virgil frowned and Marrin realised his mistake, “I mean, Virgil, we’ve closed at the Waistland.”

“Closed or were kicked out?” Alan asked.

Marrin ignored him, just as he was ignoring Gordon. “Actually, Mr T, you’re just the guy we want to see. Y’see our band, Off the Rails, is ready to move on to the next level and we need the backin’ of a man such as you.”

“I thought, Marrin,” the rattlesnake’s tail was more audible, “that only losers worked for me.”

Marrin gave an uneasy laugh. “Now, who would say that? You’re a big man around here, Mr T… A important man… And ev’ryone knows how you like helpin’ people get started… How about it?” He gave Jeff an overly familiar, supposedly friendly, punch on the shoulder. “Me and the boys are headin’ on to bigger and better things, but we just need a little help up.”

John had had enough. “You haven’t said hello to Gordon yet, Marrin.”

Fear appeared in Marrin’s eyes as they darted over to the wheelchair bound figure and back to the tall blonde. “Ah… Hiya, Gords,” he mumbled, flapping his hand in Gordon’s general direction.

Gordon swung his head around and fixed Marrin with an out-of-focus gaze. “Who are you?” he asked.

Everyone stared at him, and even Marrin finally switched his attention to his former friend. “Ah… It’s me, Gords… Marrin.”

“Moron?”

“No, Marrin… Remember. Me ‘n the boys are in the band… Remember? Off the Rails.”

“Band?” Gordon frowned. “Rubber band?” he let his head flop forward and a string of saliva drooled out of his mouth.

“Oh, dear.” Mrs Tracy reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue, which she used to wipe her grandson’s face. “He’s started doing that again.”

Gordon looked up at her with hopeless adoration. “An angel!”

“No, Gords,” Marrin corrected. “Off the Rails is a music band. You know? Rock n’ Roll? Music?”

“Music.” Gordon lifted his head again. “Like angels sing?” A beatific smile flooded his face. “I like angels… They can fly… Like my big brother Scott… He’s in the Air Force.”

Scott laid a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. “No, Gordon. I’m not in the Air Force any more. I resigned, remember?”

Gordon began to sing something that approximated what could have been, at a pinch, with a bit of imagination, a well known Christmas carol. “Angels I have heard on high… Flying high up in the sky… See them flying oh so high… Before they fall out of the sky… Neeeeyahhh…” His hand became a representation of an acrobatic plane, zooming skywards, stalling, and then falling back to earth before heading skywards again. “Neeeyahhh…” he repeated on each upward stroke.

Marrin took a step backwards. “Ah… Maybe we should go.” He yelped when Gordon reached out and grabbed him with both hands.

“Have you seen an angel?” Gordon asked, and dribbled again as he looked earnestly up into his ex-friend’s face. “I like angels.”

Desperate to escape the vice-like grip, Marrin looked about. “Help me, Mr T!”

The rattlesnake struck. “Help you, Marrin? All the great bands have become great because they’ve had to work hard to reach the top,” Jeff informed the frantic young man. “You’re going to have to work hard too... without my help.” He gave him a condescending pat on the back. “What more could you want from me than to give you the encouragement you deserve?”

“Angels have wings,” Gordon stated, as if he hadn’t followed the conversation. “And wear white dresses. Have you ever worn a white dress?”

“N-n-no.”

“I know lots of angels.” Gordon let his head and hands flop again. A drop of saliva fell onto his shirt.

Finally released from Gordon’s hold Marrin took two steps backwards and nearly fell over one of his cronies. “Get out of my way!” he snapped. “Ah…” He took another step back. “Guess we’d better go…” Another step. “See you guys around…” He took a fourth backwards step, found the edge of the curb, stumbled, and used his momentum to make a run for it, his pals hot on his heels.

“Bye, Moron,” Gordon called after him, before adding, “idiot… Thanks, Grandma...” He accepted the tissue from his grandmother and wiped his mouth. “That’s disgusting when you can’t feel it,” he admitted. “It’s even worse when you can. Yuck!” He felt the material of his shirt. “Now I’m all sticky.”

“You’re a horror, Young Man,” Grandma scolded, but there was no anger, only affection, in her voice.

“No, I’m an idiot,” Gordon sighed. “I’m the only idiot who’s a bigger idiot than that idiot, because I thought that idiot was my friend.” He stuffed the tissue into his pocket and slumped down in his ‘chair. “Idiot.”

No one had a chance to refute him when there was a shout of “Gordon!” from over the road. Looking in the direction of the voice, the Tracys saw Rick Bailey step off the footpath, nearly get bowled by a car, stop, and then when there was a gap in the traffic, jog across to his friend. “Gordon!” He repeated. “It’s great to see you here. Why didn’t you tell us you were leaving the hospital?”

“I didn’t know,” Gordon admitted. “This is a surprise to me too.”

“How long are you in town for?” Rick asked and Gordon looked up at his father for advice.

“We’re heading back this evening,” Jeff admitted. “But we’re hopeful that Gordon will be moving out of the Willis and into the boys’ house by the end of the week. From there it shouldn’t be too much longer before he’ll be allowed home.”

“Fantastic!” Rick beamed. “Look, Diane’ll kill me if I don’t let her know you’re here. She was doing some Christmas shopping and might only be a block or so away... Hang on...” He got out his cell phone and speed dialled a number. “Where are you?” he asked the microphone. “Good. I’m outside Maxy’s. Get yourself here as quickly as you can, there’s someone here you’ve got to meet.” He hung up the phone. “She’s only around the corner and won’t be able to resist responding to my little mystery.” He gave Gordon a playful punch on the arm. “It sure is great to see you out of hospital, Pal.”

Virgil spied a figure rounding the corner, laden with bags of shopping. “There she is.”

Diane Bailey took two steps in their direction, saw who her brother was talking to, gave a squeal of delight, dropped her shopping and ran forward, wrapping Gordon up in a big hug. “Oh...! Gordon, it’s so great to see you!”

“I’d better go collect her stuff,” Rick grumbled and Alan tagged along to give him a hand.

Diane’s full attention was on Gordon. “How long are you in town for?”

“Just today,” Gordon admitted.

“I’d already asked him that,” Rick said, dumping all but one of Diane’s bags on the ground. He looked into the carrier. “Anything in here for me?”

“No!” Diane snatched the bag from him before turning her attention back to Gordon. “Why didn’t you tell us you were visiting?”

“I’ve already asked him that too,” Rick said.

‘You shush,” she scolded. “I’m talking to Gordon.”

“You can blame us for that, Diane,” Jeff offered. “We kept it a secret from Gordon too.”

“Does this mean you’ll all be home for Christmas?” she asked.

Gordon looked startled as if this was something he hadn’t considered. Once again he looked to his father for advice.

“We’re hoping that we’ll all be able to go to the cabin this Christmas,” Jeff explained. “It’s what we’d always planned and, assuming nothing unexpected happens, it looks like we’re still going to be able to go.”

“But when I’m out of this thing,” Gordon thumped his wheelchair’s armrest before grabbing Diane’s hand, “and I’m fully mobile, the three of us will go out somewhere. Just like the old days... Okay?” he added hopefully. “That’s if you want to?”

Rick rubbed his hands together in glee. “We’ll start planning now. Right, Diane?”

“Right,” she agreed. “Just give us the date... And make it soon.”

Gordon gave her hand a squeeze and patted Rick on the arm. “Great. I’ll look forward to it. You’ve got no idea how much it’ll mean to me.”

And Virgil had a feeling that it meant that his brother was back for good.

Chapter 24: A Quiet Christmas

December 23rd.

A raucous sound echoed through the building.

“That,” said Bruce Sanders with feeling as he flicked the switch that stilled his machine, “is music to my ears. Angels’ harps couldn’t sound sweeter.” He joined the exodus towards the locker rooms. “I’m so glad I work for someone who knows the importance of the family.”

“You mean you’re glad to have the week and a half off work between Christmas Eve and Founder’s Day,” Virgil corrected. “How much time are you actually planning on spending with your folks?”

“Christmas day. Then I’m off to do some skiing. While I think of it, wish your father a happy birthday from me?”

“Sure,” Virgil agreed.

“Are you staying for a celebratory drink?”

“I’ve got time for one. Alan’s picking me up in his plane so I won’t have to pilot.”

“Does that mean you’re hitting the hard stuff?” Bruce stripped off his overalls.

Virgil chuckled as he slipped off his boots. “Maybe a beer.” He pulled on a jacket. “When are you heading home?”

“Tomorrow. Mum’s got it all planned that this year Christmas is going to be run like a military operation. If I’m not at home by twelve hundred hours on Christmas Eve then I’m getting cold toast for Christmas dinner.”

The two men exited the locker room and headed down to the canteen, where they met up with Lisa and Butch. The four friends selected their drinks and found themselves a seat.

Virgil poured his beer into a glass. “Are you two going to be spending Christmas with your family?” he asked the Crumps.

“Yeah.” Butch nodded. “Mr and Mrs Riley said we could ‘ave dinner at their place.”

“They took a bit of persuading,” Lisa admitted, “but when I pointed out that I nearly didn’t make it to Christmas this year they changed their minds... When are you leaving for the cabin?”

Virgil raised his glass. “When I’ve finished this. I’ve got to head home and get my stuff before meeting Alan at the airport.”

He was as good as his word. He left ACE with Christmas wishes ringing in his ears and Christmas cards in his bag. He arrived home to his undecorated apartment, had a quick shower, dressed in warm, clean clothes, picked up his pre-packed bag, and hailed a taxi for the airport.

He arrived at the same time that Alan touched down. “How are you, Kiddo?”

“I hope I’m not going to get called that all week,” Alan complained.

“Face it, Alan. You’re the youngest in this family. Even when you’re old...”

“Like some I could mention,” Alan interjected.

Virgil ignored the interruption, “and grey,” he continued, “you’re still going to be our kid brother.”

Alan grunted, and claimed the pilot’s seat. “Did you hear Gordon’s got clearance to spend the week with us? But we’ve got to get him back to the Willis for a check-up when we leave the cabin on Friday.”

Virgil was doing up his safety harness. “That’s good to hear. It wouldn’t be Christmas without everyone there. It was bad enough last year when he was in the bathyscaphe. Have we told him what we’ve got planned?”

“Nope. He thinks we’re cutting short our vacation because of him… It’s a pity Tin-Tin and Kyrano won’t be joining us.”

“Tin-Tin can’t seem to find the time to get away from her studies,” Virgil commented. “But I think Kyrano’s quite excited at the idea catching up with his old friends from Kew Gardens.”

“Excited Kyrano style, you mean,” Alan grinned. “The most emotional I’ve ever seen him, was the time I trampled over his prize petunias to get my ball. Even then he just carried on weeding, but he was just about dislocating his shoulder each time he yanked one out.”

“Did Lady Penelope manage to convince Brains to leave the island for a few days?” Virgil started scrolling through his music collection, trying to find a suitable song for the trip.

“Yep. She told him that if he didn’t join her it would only be her and Parker under the mistletoe,” Alan chuckled. “No... She got him away from his work on the island by convincing him that he could work on her place. But I think the Kyranos are joining them Christmas Day too, so it’s going to be quite a party, especially if Lady Penelope lets Kyrano cook Christmas dinner.”

“I wish Brains would realise that he’s practically part of the family,” Virgil sighed, still trying to find a decent tune. “It’s going to seem strange without him here this year.”

“I know Dad tried to convince him to join us, but I think he’s worried we’ll expect him to do something adventurous when he’d rather have his nose buried in one of his experiments.”

“He may have also decided that as this is probably the last Christmas we’re all going to have together as a real family, then he didn’t want to intrude.” Virgil found Driving home for Christmas. Finally satisfied, he sat back to enjoy the ride.

The flight was smooth and Virgil found that the closer they got to their destination, the more excited he became. The year before his father had sprung the idea of International Rescue on them all, they’d had Christmas on Tracy Island, and while he’d enjoyed the holiday, he’d discovered that the idea of enjoying the seasonal festivities under a hot, summer sun had a slightly surreal feel to it. The Tracy family cabin, cradled like its rustic predecessors in the solitude of the snow capped mountains, but equipped with all the luxuries expected of a billionaire’s home, had always seemed to him to be the ideal place to celebrate Christmastime. And since this was going to be the last time that the whole family was going to be able to enjoy the location together, he aimed to make the most of it.

The pair were the first to arrive and they set about lighting fires, putting the kettle on to boil, and making sure that the cabin was welcoming for the next wave of Tracys. It was late when they arrived, so everyone contented themselves with an evening meal before turning in for the night.

Christmas Eve.

The day was fine, the snow thick, the air crisp and Virgil, his father, and his brothers were making the most of it. Skis and snowboards were the transportation of choice, along with a toboggan, on which each of them took turns pulling Gordon up to the top of the run. Once there they guided him, yelling in pleasure with the feeling of freedom that it afforded, off on a controlled ride back down to the bottom.

“You know,” Scott puffed as he took his turn to tow their charge back to the summit of the run, “there’s got be an easier way to do this.”

“There is,” John reminded him. “It’s called a chair lift.”

Scott gave him a disgusted look. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“Aren’t you getting cold, Gordon?” Jeff asked. “Don’t you want to go back inside?”

But Gordon was having a ball. “Nope.”

They reached their goal and turned the toboggan around so that its driver was facing downhill. Gordon gave a little jump to try to nudge the sled forward, but it didn’t move. He tried again with the same result. “Give us a push.”

“A push?” Scott grumbled. “I’ve just pulled you to the top of the hill and now you want me to push you back down?”

Gordon favoured him with a huge grin and pulled his yellow woolly hat down further down over his protective helmet and his ears. “Yep. Warp speed ten, Scotty.”

“Okay,” Scott sighed. “Then it’s someone else’s turn.”

“Maybe not.” Alan pointed down the hill. “There’s Grandma.” He looked at his watch. “She must have lunch ready. Come on, Scott. If I’m starving, you must be famished.”

“Probably why he’s in a mood,” Virgil suggested. “Come on, Fellas. Let’s make this last one a race.” He squared up next to his father.

“Good idea,” Jeff grinned. “Last one down the hill clears the table.”

“Except me,” Gordon crowed. “Come on, Scott, push me! I want to get down there before you guys cut up the snow and spoil the ride!”

“Okay, okay...” Twisting awkwardly on his skis, Scott got down low and pushed against the toboggan, which didn’t move. “Have you got it stuck on something?” he asked checking the left side of the sled. “I can’t see anything. How about you, John?”

John bent down. “No... I can’t see... Hang on...” He pulled on a branch that was almost completely buried by snow.

Scott had been leaning on the back of the toboggan as he searched for the obstruction and the sudden release of the ‘brake’ coupled with his weight shot the sled forward like a bullet from a gun. The unexpected jolt caused the elder Tracy to fall face first into the snow and Gordon to lose his hold of the steering rope. The Tracys watched, horrified, as he hurtled down the slope out of control and towards the hard wooden wall of the cabin.

“Come on!” Jeff yelled, and they all took off, speeding faster down the ski slope than they ever had before.

But they had no hope of catching up on the whooping tobogganist, and Virgil, head down to get more speed, listened for the sickening sound of impact. He looked up just in time to see Gordon plough into a snowdrift at the base of the cabin and disappear under a white fountain of frozen water.

“Gordon...” Grandma yelled, and pushed through the knee-deep snow in a desperate attempt to reach her grandson. “Gordon! Are you all right?”

The rest of the family pulled up in a shower of snow and, barely stopping to unclip their bindings, pulled off their skis and boards, ready to affect a rescue.

“There’s the toboggan!” Alan pounced on the sled and started digging. “Gordon!”

A mini-avalanche rolled down the drift and a yellow-hatted head popped up from beneath the snowy grave. “That was awesome!”

Everyone released a relieved icy breath. “Are you all right, Son?” Jeff asked.

“Yep!” Gordon beamed at him. “I want to do it again! Faster next time.”

He received a unanimous, “No!” from his family.

“But I’m fine.” Gordon protested. “I’m not hurt.”

Scott started clearing snow away. “You might be okay, but you’ve given the rest of us heart failure.”

“Please,” Gordon begged.

“No,” Jeff repeated.

“Dad...” Gordon ceased his protests when he received an unequivocal glare from his father. Realising that it was a hopeless cause, he began freeing himself by pushing snow away from his torso.

A fall of snow after lunch put paid to any immediate ideas of skiing, so Virgil retired to the workshop to do some tinkering.

He was joined an hour later by his father. “Is this where you’re hiding? Everyone else is keeping warm by the fire.”

Virgil indicated the pile of metal components that he was assembling. “I’m making a ski tow for Gordon so that he can pull himself up the hill.”

Jeff was impressed. “Good idea. Would you like a hand?”

“I’d love one. I’m trying to assemble a braking system so that he gets the full freedom of the downhill run, but comes to a controlled, gentle stop at the bottom before he reaches the cabin. I was thinking of using some kind of friction braking, but I haven’t got the parts I need.” Virgil looked at his father hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas, have you?”

“Maybe…” Jeff rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s see what you’ve got so far…”

Two hours later they’d prepared a working prototype. Virgil strapped on his snowshoes and shouldered a shovel. “It’s stopped snowing, so I’m going to head up the hill to dig in the anchor post,” he said.

His father was putting the tools away. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a break first? You’ve been working for hours.”

“No. Better to get it out of the way in case it starts snowing again later. Then I’ll be able to relax tomorrow.”

The door to the workshop opened and Scott stepped inside. “Is this where you two are? We’ve been trying to decide if you’d gone AWOL or had been kidnapped by the Abominable Snowman.” He looked at the unnamed contraption. “What have you been doing?”

“Giving Gordon some mobility and independence,” Jeff explained. “With this he’ll be able to get himself up AND down the hill in safety and without inconveniencing anyone else.”

“And without giving us all heart attacks?” Scott eyed up Virgil’s shovel. “You’re going to have to dig it in?” He grabbed a pickaxe. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to help,” Virgil protested. “I’ll manage.”

“Are you kidding? That ground’s going to be like solid rock.” Scott swung the pickaxe onto his broad shoulders. “Two hands are better than one.”

Virgil knew that his brother was right and was more than a little glad for the offer of help. Together they slogged up the hill and set about deciding on the optimum place to start digging. They were not altogether surprised when they were joined a short time later by Alan and John, pulling a sled holding the ski tow and more digging tools between them.

Not long afterwards their father arrived, carrying an insulated carry case. “Your grandmother’s insisting that you don’t do any more work until you’ve got something warm inside you,” he said, resting the bag on the sled before opening it. He pulled out a vacuum flask, poured a steaming mug of coffee, and handed it to Virgil, who accepted it with grateful thanks.

“Gordon’s right.” Scott reached into the bag and pulled out an inviting parcel. “She is an angel.” Unwrapping some Christmas mince pies, he held them out for his brothers and father. “Dig in. They’re still warm.” Claiming the last for himself, he took a big bite. “Mmmn…” he murmured. “Delicious.”

Alan started clearing away the snow. “Gordon’s going to love this. We’ll be able to challenge him to some races.”

“Gordon will love it or you will?” John asked, setting to with another shovel. “Are you hoping this’ll give you the competitive edge?

“Why not? If it gives me that little bit extra for the final race, I’m not going to complain. Gomez isn’t going to give away the title too easily. I’m going to have to work for it.”

When they’d finished their coffee break, the five of them worked industriously until they had anchored the support post into the ground. Then they attached the ski tow and stood back to admire their efforts.

“Who’s going to give it a test run?” John asked.

“I’ll do it,” Virgil volunteered. “It was my idea so it should be my neck.”

“In that case…” Alan snapped his boots into the bindings of his snowboard, “I’ll meet you down there to pick up the pieces.”

Virgil glared at the departing back. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He settled onto the toboggan. “Is he in position?”

“Yep,” John responded. “Do you want a countdown?”

Virgil shrugged. “Why not?”

Scott got onto his wristwatch telecom. “This is mission control calling lunar module retriever. Do you read me, Alan?”

“This is lunatic… I mean, lunar module retriever. Reading you strength five.”

“Are you in position?”

“Roger that. I am awaiting touchdown.”

Scott grinned at Virgil. “You’re set to go.”

“So I gathered.”

“Five…”

“Four…”

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One!”

Virgil released the toboggan.

It was a blast sailing down the hill at speed, so close to the ground, and Virgil knew that Gordon was going to love his new toy. He braced himself for the braking system to kick into action.

And kick it did! The brakes slammed the toboggan to a halt, stopping it as effectively as if it had hit a brick wall and sending him tumbling head-first off the end. Virgil ended up lying, face up, beside a pair of boots.

Blue eyes laughing, Alan crouched down. “You know what the problem is, don’t you?” He prodded Virgil’s midriff. “You’re too fat!”

Virgil propped himself onto his elbows. “I am not fat!”

Two wristwatch telecoms sparked into life. “What happened?” their father’s voice asked.

Alan looked at the miniature video screen. “Virgil’s too fat.”

“I am not fat!” Getting to his feet and brushing snow off his clothes, Virgil heard laughter from the tiny speakers. “I am not fat, John!” he reiterated.

“I never said anything,” John responded, amusement clear in his voice. “Not a word.”

Alan kept the channel open. “You’re going to have to eat less, Virgil… Maybe starting with Christmas dinner tomorrow?”

Virgil stared at him. “What?!”

“You can share Gordon’s dinner. Everything he’s going to eat has to be steamed and grilled. And as for dessert…”

Realisation dawned. “You just want more for yourself, Alan!” Virgil folded his arms and faced his youngest brother, deciding that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander… or at least the turkey. “If anyone should be on a diet, it’s you.”

Not expecting his volley to be returned, Alan took a metaphorical and literal step backwards. “Me? Why? I don’t need to go on a diet.”

“Maybe not now, but after you’ve gorged yourself tomorrow…” Virgil shook his head. “I’d hate for you to arrive at Parola Sands ready for your championship winning race, only to not be able to fit in the seat of your car.”

“It won’t happen,” Alan protested.

“If you eat what Gordon’s eating then it won’t…”

“Boys,” their father interrupted, “it’s too cold to be standing around listening to the pair of you discuss the menu and if you don’t stop it you’ll both be eating with Gordon. Now…You were saying that Virgil was too heavy for the toboggan, Alan?”

“Yes,” Alan snapped back into serious mode. “Gordon weighs way less than any of us.” He pointed to some full, lumpy sacks. “I think I couple of bags of kindling should approximate his weight.”

“You’ve made a good point.” Virgil eyed the sacks. “But kindling won’t be able to control the toboggan.”

“So?” Alan smirked. “You couldn’t control it either.” He grabbed a sack and hefted it onto the sled.

Virgil held his tongue and placed a second bag beside the first, lying it flat to keep the centre of gravity low. “Let’s see how it handles the return journey.” He pulled a lever on the side of the toboggan and it began a sedate climb back up to the rest of the party. “Well, at least that works.”

Shielding their eyes against the glare of the snow and the winter sun, the two brothers watched as the toboggan crested the hill. “So far, so good,” Alan commented.

“Any problems?” Virgil asked his watch.

“Negative. Testing: phase one, is complete,” Jeff Tracy announced. “Phase two is about to begin.” The two bags of kindling began their return journey down the hill, skipping over the snow at speed until they neared their destination, when they began to slow down, coming to a gentle stop at Virgil and Alan’s feet.

“Looked good from this end,” Virgil noted. “How about up there?”

“It’s working well,” Jeff responded. “Send it back up, Virgil.”

“Right.”

After two more test runs Virgil and Alan heard tapping on a window behind them. They turned and Gordon pushed the window open. “When can I have a go?”

“I thought you were having a sleep,” Alan remarked.

“Only a short one. You guys have been out there for hours. Well…? Can I have a ride?”

Alan spoke into his watch. “There’s a test pilot inside who wants to take it for a run. Dare we let him?”

“What do you think, Virgil?” their father asked. “Are you happy with its performance?”

“I think it’s ready. What do you say? Should we let him try it out?”

“So long as he’s got his helmet strapped on firmly, then I can’t see any problems.”

Gordon submitted to Alan and Virgil carrying him through the deep snow to the toboggan. “Right! How do you operate this thing?”

“This lever releases the brake allowing the cable to retract back up the hill,” Virgil explained. “When you’re ready to come back down again, reverse the lever.”

“Gotcha.” Gordon released the brake and his brothers watched as his beaming face cruised up and away from them. There was a short wait after he’d reached the summit, as a discussion was held, before he came zipping back down the hill, yelling in delight. “Brilliant!” he exclaimed when he’d come to a gentle halt. “That was absolutely brilliant, Virgil!” He grasped his brother’s hand. “Thanks.”

December 25th

Christmas Day

Virgil awoke early. Not out of some optimistic wish to find presents in a stocking at the end of his bed, but to fulfil a promise he’d made the previous evening. He dressed himself in his swimming gear, put a robe on, and then, taking care to tread quietly, padded down the hall.

The rest of the house was in silence. Some of the family would be still sleeping, while others, the most likely being Scott, would be indulging in their early morning rituals such as working out in the small gym.

Virgil knocked on Gordon’s door and let himself in. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

“Merry Christmas,” Gordon wasn’t bothering to whisper. “You’re late. I was about to come and get you out of bed.” He struggled to sit up, obviously feeling the effects of the previous day’s activities. “Maybe I overdid it a little yesterday.”

“Here,” Virgil grabbed the wheelchair.

“I don’t want to use that,” Gordon complained, trying to get his legs out from under the bedclothes. “I’ll use the scaffolding instead.” He pointed to a tall walking frame that stood next to his bed.

“Gordon,” Virgil protested, “you can barely move, let alone stand. Let me wheel you down to the pool in this and then, when you’ve loosened up, you can use your ‘scaffolding’. Come on,” he positioned the ‘chair beside the bed and pulled back the blankets. “Can you swing yourself around?”

Gordon didn’t answer, all his concentration was on trying to remain upright while getting his stiff and sore legs out of the bed. Emitting little grunts of discomfort, he eventually succeeded and he sat on the edge, frowning at the wheelchair.

Virgil didn’t even bother to ask. He slid his arm about his brother so that he could support him as he eased himself from the bed to the ‘chair, then he handed over the swimming trunks that were hanging on the heated towel rail.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it all before, but Virgil felt that Gordon would appreciate a degree of privacy as he changed. So he busied himself with making the bed; keeping out of the way, but still available should help be needed.

And judging from the grunts and muttered curses that were coming from the ‘chair, help was needed, but this time Virgil waited to be asked.

Eventually there was a frustrated sigh of defeat. “Virgil?”

“Yes?”

Gordon had succeeded in discarding his pyjama jacket, but had failed in his attempt to remove the pants. “I’m sorry, but I need a hand.”

“Okay,” Virgil shrugged. “If I grab you under the arms and lift, you’ll be able to pull them down, won’t you?”

“Ah... But it’s not only that...” Gordon reddened slightly. “I need to go in there.” His thumb jerked in the direction of a wall.

“Oh.” Virgil looked at the door that led to the adjacent toilet. “How do you want to handle this?”

“If...” and Gordon’s reddened complexion turned scarlet. “If you could... kinda... lift me like you were going to, but swing me around onto the, er, seat, I... I can take care of the rest.”

Virgil shrugged; trying to make it seem as if this request was the most natural thing that one brother would ask another. “Okay.” He grabbed the wheelchair’s handles and wheeled it into the ensuite toilet area, assisted with the transfer quickly and with no fuss, and then left. “Give me a yell when you’re ready.”

He waited just outside the door reflecting that this was something new. He’d often thought that Gordon didn’t even know what embarrassment was, let alone how it felt; and yet here his brother was, ashamed to admit that he needed assistance with one of the most basic of human needs.

He heard the sound of running water.

“Finished...”

Gordon had made the most of the opportunity to divest himself of what remained of his pyjamas and had managed to pull his swimming trunks halfway up his thighs. A towel rested on his lap. “I’m sorry, Virgil,” he said, looking even more shamefaced.

“Don’t sweat it,” Virgil reassured him and, giving Gordon long enough to pull the trunks on fully, swung him back into the wheelchair.

“I’m really sorry,” Gordon reiterated. “I didn’t think I’d need help like that anymore.”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I could hardly leave you sitting there in that condition... I only hope you never have to repay the favour.”

“Me too.” Gordon gave an emphatic nod. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I hate being helpless.”

“You’re not as helpless as you were,” Virgil reminded him. “And you are getting better.” He engaged the motor on the wheelchair so that Gordon would be able to propel himself through the building and then picked up the walking frame. “You know, you didn’t have to bring this from the Willis. I could have knocked you something together in the workshop.”

Gordon chuckled, some of his good humour restored, and then thought for a moment. “You know, it’s strange. When I was paralysed I didn’t think anything about what those nurses had to do to me. Some of them had to get pretty intimate with inserting catheters and things like that, but since I couldn’t feel it, I didn’t care. But now that I’ve got full feeling and some mobility I can’t stand the idea of having people help me with the personal stuff.”

They travelled through the building in the direction of the indoor, heated, pool.

Gordon snorted a laugh. “You know that old joke about the hospital patient who hated one of the nurses?”

“Remind me.”

“This particular nurse was the one who always seemed to get the most pleasure out of giving him painful injections and doing the most embarrassing things to him. Then, one day, he was asked to give a sample, so he thought he’d take the opportunity to get some revenge. So he put apple juice into the sample container instead of...”

“I’ve got the picture,” Virgil said.

“Good… Then when this nurse came in to collect the sample she made a comment about how it seemed to be a bit cloudy. So the patient said: in that case, let’s filter it through the system again, grabbed the cup back off her, and drank it down.” Gordon laughed. “You should have seen her face.”

Virgil gasped. “You didn’t!?”

“I did.”

“Which nurse? Not Ange?”

“No, of course not. She’s too nice. No, it was the battleaxe who told us off for having the pillow fight.”

“How did you get away with it? That joke’s so old it’s got more whiskers than Santa Claus.”

“She wouldn’t know a joke if it reared up and bit her,” Gordon chuckled. “She must trust my innocent face.”

“Yeah, right...”

They came to the indoor pool and Virgil stripped off his robe. “If I support you, will you be able to walk down the steps? We’ll take it slowly.”

“I gotta try at least.” Gordon managed to wriggle out of his robe before looking down at what had once been taut, toned muscle. “I’m a mess,” he commented as he traced one particularly long scar with his fingers.

“Compared to the first day when you were unconscious with a humungous hole in your abdomen and with half your insides hanging out, you look pretty good,” Virgil corrected. “That’s just the façade, what matters is that the foundations are still intact.”

“I only hope that termites don’t decide to move in.”

“You can’t see the scars when you’ve got your shirt on anyway,” Virgil commented and let Gordon put his arm around his shoulders.

Taking it slowly so that his body could adjust to the reorientation, Gordon stood. “Right. That’s stage one. Stage two is to start moving.”

“I could probably carry you,” Virgil offered.

“No. I’ve already asked you to do more than anyone could reasonably expect,” Gordon swung a leg forward. “I’m going to walk.”

It took them a good twenty minutes to get from the wheelchair and down the shallow steps into the water. Once there, Virgil swam alongside his brother, keeping pace in case he ran into difficulties, but when it became obvious that Gordon’s muscles were beginning to loosen up and that he didn’t need any help, Virgil pulled himself out of the pool and sat on the side to watch the exercise session.

Gordon began his workout by pulling himself through the water with a lazy breaststroke. After two lengths of the pool he rolled onto his back and started another lap.

“Merry Christmas, Virgil.”

Virgil looked up and smiled at his father. “Merry Christmas.”

Jeff pulled off his slippers, rolled up his pants, and sat next to his son. “How is he today?”

“Sore. It took us about three quarters of an hour just to get to the pool, but I think he’s starting to loosen up now.”

“He moves a lot more freely in the water than he does on land,” Jeff commented. “He’s in his element in there.”

Father and son sat in companionable silence for a couple of laps, watching as Gordon finished swimming on his back and reverted to his original breaststroke.

Virgil frowned. “I’ve just realised something,” he said quietly. “Look at his face.”

“His face?” Jeff leant forward so he could get a clearer view. “What about it?”

“It’s not wet.”

Jeff looked between sons. “Yes, it is.”

“Not really wet. Those droplets are only from where he’s splashed himself. He hasn’t put his face under the water since he got into the pool.”

“What?!” Jeff watched as his second youngest rolled over on to his back again.

“He’s only done those two strokes, and neither involves putting your head under water; not the way he’s doing them anyway.”

Jeff gave Virgil a strange look. When he next spoke it was when his other son had reached the end of the pool. “Merry Christmas, Gordon.”

Gordon grabbed the wall for support and his face lit up when he saw his father. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better now. Virgil’ll tell you that I was a bit stiff to start with.” Gordon gave a disarming grin. “I had too much fun yesterday.”

“You’re moving a lot more freely,” Jeff commented. “Have you tried swimming the butterfly yet?”

“No. My back’s not strong enough. I think I’m going to have to wait a few more weeks before I’ll be able to attempt that with any success.”

Jeff continued his subtle questioning. “How about freestyle? Can you swing your arm over to do that? You don’t seem to be having any problems with backstroke.”

Gordon had lost some of his smile. “I’m taking things slowly.”

Jeff took a metaphorical step back. “That’s good, Son. We don’t want you overdoing it, not on Christmas day.” He glanced at Virgil.

Gordon started swimming his lazy breaststroke again. Halfway across the pool he attempted a similarly lethargic freestyle, still not putting his face under water. He reached the far wall, stopped, and appeared to steel himself.

Virgil glanced at his father and then slipped into the pool.

Gordon pushed away from the side, swam two breaststrokes, two ineffectual freestyle strokes, and then put his face in the water...

Virgil was at his brother’s side the instant Gordon panicked. Coughing, the red-head clung on tightly and Virgil could feel a frantic heart beating. “Don’t let me go...”

“I’m not going to let you go,” Virgil soothed. “Relax... It’s okay...”

Gordon took a shuddering breath, swallowed, and then pushed away, treading water. “I-I’m okay... It was, ah, cramp... In my leg! Yes, that’s what was wrong. I got a case of cramp.”

Virgil decided that the best thing to do was play along. “Has it gone?”

“Ah... Yeah...” Gordon gave a shaky smile. “Thanks.”

“Do you want a hand to get out of the water?”

Gordon nodded, but said, “No. I’d better do another couple of laps... Just to make sure it’s gone... You know?” and Virgil saw the determined look return to his brother’s eye.

Virgil watched as Gordon started swimming again and then pulled himself out of the water next to his father. “I thought you said that this was going to be a quiet year.”

“I wish I’d been right,” Jeff leant on Virgil’s shoulder to help himself up.

Virgil looked up at him. “Where are you going?”

Jeff pulled on his slippers. “To call the Willis. His counsellor should know about this.”

“You can’t call them now. It’s Christmas day!”

Jeff looked grim. “Then I’ll leave a message on their voicemail to call me the instant they get to work.” He stalked out of the heated room and Virgil turned his attention back to where Gordon was finishing his final lap of the morning.

Christmas dinner had been one of the best that Virgil had remembered in a long time. Whether his grandmother had surpassed herself with her cooking this year, or whether it was the fact that they were, almost unexpectedly, all together, he didn’t know. He just knew that he felt happy and contented and, judging by the way that they were sitting back in their chairs, everyone else felt the same.

“That was great, Grandma.” Scott stretched. “I couldn’t eat another thing.”

“That’s a first,” Alan snickered.

John pulled the curtain back so he was able to look out the window. “It’s a brilliantly clear night. I might get out my telescope.”

“Why?” Alan asked. “It’s too late to see Santa Claus. He’ll be just about home by now.”

“Then I’ll see if I can spot the Easter Bunny...”

“Before anyone does leave,” Gordon put the last crumbs of his one treat, a small slither of Christmas cake, into his mouth, “I want to say something. And, simply because I can, I’m going to get to my feet to say it.” He stood, leaning on the table for support. “The last four months have been tough... for us all... And... I know I’ve missed Thanksgiving, but I wanted to thank you for all your support, for being there when I needed you, for helping me when I needed help and for putting your lives on hold while I got mine back together. I want you to know that I appreciate all that you did for me. And,” he pulled his party hat off his head as he looked at Virgil, “all that you didn’t do for me.”

Virgil raised his glass in a salute.

“I know I’ve missed the deadline; and that I’ll have to go through various neurological, physical, and psychological tests to prove I’m fit...” Several mouths opened to pass comment. “Yeah, yeah, I know! Who’d know the difference...? But... I want to be part of International Rescue, even if it’s only cleaning your craft after a rescue.” He tossed his hat into the middle of the table and looked at his family with earnest eyes. “That’s if you’ll have me.” Speech finished, he sat down.

There was a moment’s silence. Then Jeff Tracy spoke. “Well, I’m going to get to my feet too, and that’s because I am delighted to do so... Gordon...” he looked across at his second youngest, “nothing will give me, or any of us, more pleasure than to have you as part of our team. And I’m sure that you’ll have a greater role than simply cleaning down the Thunderbirds.”

“Not that we won’t stop you from doing it,” John quipped.

Virgil grinned. “That’s the co-pilot’s job, isn’t it?”

Alan laughed and raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Hear, hear,” Scott agreed.

Jeff leant forward, hand outstretched. “Welcome aboard, Son.”

Gordon got to his feet again, he face beaming in delight as he accepted the handshake. “Thanks, Dad.”

Jeff’s smile was nearly as broad as he reclaimed his chair. “Well, I must say that you boys have given me the best Christmas present. To know that all five of my sons are going to be part of my dream is something that I’d hoped for, but never really expected. I wouldn’t have been disappointed if any of you had chosen to follow your own career paths, but I’ve got to admit that I’m mighty pleased. Mighty pleased indeed.”

28th December

“I’m really sorry,” Gordon apologised again as he was assisted into the family jet. “You don’t all have to cut short your vacation, just because of me. Most of you can stay here and enjoy yourselves.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil responded. “We’ve all already made other plans anyway.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to having someone look after me for a change,” Grandma added. “I’m tired of cooking for you lot.”

“And Alan had to get in some practise before his big race,” Jeff stated. “And those urgent jobs that I needed Scott and John to do simply couldn’t wait.”

“I know.” But Gordon still looked downcast. He’d enjoyed having his family around him in an environment other than a hospital ward, and his disappointment in seeing three of his brothers fly out early that morning had been palpable.

The flight to the Willis Institute was quick and uneventful and Gordon was welcomed back like a long lost friend, which went some way to cheering him up again. While he underwent a physiotherapy session with Catherine, Jeff and Virgil took the opportunity to talk to his counsellor about Gordon’s apparent fear of total submersion in water. They were surprised to discover that Gordon had already expressed his concerns to the therapist.

It was later that day that Alan turned up at the hospital. “Hiya, Gordon.”

“Alan!” Gordon’s eyes were round. “What are you doing here? I thought you were back in training.”

“Done it,” Alan said dismissively. “Karl’s happy with the way I’m driving, so he’s given me a couple more days off.”

“Yeah!? So are you going to hang around here with us?” Gordon asked, his expression brightening.

Alan gave an offhand shrug. “Actually I was thinking of getting away for a break. Somewhere with plenty of sun.”

Gordon’s face fell. “Where’re you going?”

“The same place we’re all going,” Jeff stated. “Have you got Gordon’s bag ready, Mother?”

“All ready,” she confirmed and Virgil took the suitcase from her, carrying it through the complex, back to the Tracy jet.

“Where are we going?” Gordon asked. “Back to the cabin? Or maybe home?”

“Depends on what you mean by home,” Jeff told him.

Gordon stared at him. “Huh?”

Virgil stepped forward. “Do you want a hand to climb the steps?”

Gordon gave his blanket to his grandmother, accepted Virgil’s support, and, leaning heavily on his brother’s shoulders, climbed into the aeroplane. “Where are we going?” he repeated.

“I think I’m hearing an echo of the past,” Alan said and looked out the aeroplane’s door. “Ah, here she is.” He bounded outside.

Gordon stared at his grandmother, who was in the cabin getting things ready for the flight. “Who?”

“Let me take that,” they heard Alan’s voice say. “After you,” and Catherine climbed on board, followed by the youngest Tracy carrying a suitcase. This he stowed in a luggage compartment as Virgil escorted the physiotherapist to the seat beside Gordon.

Gordon stared at her. “You’re coming too?”

“Yes,” she told him as she handed Virgil her warm jacket to hang in a locker. “I want to keep an eye on my prize patient.” She smiled at Grandma Tracy who claimed the aisle seat next to her.

“O-Kay,” Gordon enunciated. “Change of question. Since you’re coming with us, Catherine, how long are we going for? It must be longer than 24 hours.”

Alan tapped him on the knee. “Shut up and wait, Gordon,” he teased as he settled into the seat beside Virgil, opposite Catherine.

The physiotherapist was looking around the aeroplane. “Wow, I’ve only ever travelled domestic before. This is something else!”

“When it comes to planes, Father won’t have anything but the best.” Virgil gave a nonchalant shrug. “This girl’s a dream to fly.”

“That’s pilot speak for it’s one of the best, safest, most comfortable ‘planes on the market,” Alan explained.

Catherine laughed. “Well, after the number of miles Virgil must have flown the last few months, I suppose he should know the lingo.”

“Would someone at least give me a clue?” Gordon begged. “How far are we going?”

“From here to there,” his Grandmother told him.

“But where’s there?”

“Shut up and wait, Gordon,” Alan teased.

“Is everything in order?” Virgil asked his father as the latter re-entered the aeroplane. “Do you need a hand with anything?”

“No, everything’s fine, thanks.” Jeff smiled at their guest. “Ready for the trip, Catherine?”

She gave a vigorous nod. “Definitely,” she enthused. “I often wondered what it’s like to take a working holiday.”

“Well, you’re about to find out... All set, Gordon?”

“All except for one thing... Where are we going?”

Jeff laughed. “Shut up and wait, Gordon.”

Gordon groaned. “Virgil!” he leant forward, pleading for information. “Where are we going...? And don’t say up!” he added when Virgil grinned at him.

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” Virgil admitted. “I’m not allowed to tell you.”

“Give me a hint.”

Virgil glanced at Catherine, Grandma and then finally Alan. “Okay. We’re heading south... ish.”

“Southish?”

“Yes,” Alan nodded. “Southish.”

“Southish,” his frustrated brother sighed. “Okay, I get the message. Shut up and wait, Gordon.”

At first the flight was just as the one back home had been, with Gordon glued to the window, drinking in the sights. It wasn’t until they crossed a coast and headed out over a large body of water that Virgil noticed a change in his brother’s demeanour. Gordon had closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the headrest, and Virgil might have assumed that the younger man had fallen asleep if it weren’t for the fact that his brother was still exercising his hands by squeezing two rubber balls.

The others were passing the time in light-hearted conversation, but it wasn’t until Grandma suggested that it might be time for something to eat that Gordon joined in. After a quick look out the window to check that they were still flying over water, he focussed his attention on his food and his fellow passengers.

After he’d finished eating, Virgil decided that it was time to relieve his father of the controls of the aeroplane. He knew that Jeff Tracy had spent a little time piloting over the last few months, but figured that his father was probably beginning to feel the effects of a long stint at the control yoke. He also knew that Jeff would never willingly admit to the fact until he reached the point where he was going to be a danger to himself and others. “Hey, Father.”

Jeff glanced over his shoulder. “Hi, Virgil. How’s things going in there?”

“Gordon’s still trying to get us to tell him where we’re going, but I’d say by now he’ll be starting to make some intelligent guesses... We’ve just eaten; do you want me to take over for a bit while you grab a bite?”

Jeff nodded. “Sounds like a good idea, thanks. I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time.”

The changeover had been so smooth that no one in the passenger cabin even realised that it had happened until Jeff claimed the recently vacated seat.

After two hours of flying into darkening skies, Virgil was still at the controls when he acknowledged the initial radio contact with their destination. “Hi, John.”

“Hi, Virgil. Have you pushed the old man out of the pilot’s seat?”

“He got hungry so we did a swap. Have you got the welcome mat out for us?”

“Not only the welcome mat; we’ve got the red carpet. What’s your ETA?”

Virgil checked the chronometer. “Twenty two point four two minutes.”

John laughed. “Scott’s got his stopwatch on and counting.”

“What’s the weather like?”

“Great! You’re lucky. We caught the tail end of a storm that passed through. The sea’s still rough, but that won’t bother you unless you’re planning to ditch the plane.”

“That,” Virgil said with feeling, “is not part of the flight plan.”

“Glad to hear it. Can you patch me through to the in-plane intercom?”

“Putting you through.” Virgil flicked a switch and a light on the control panel told him that his brother’s next words would be heard by all on board.

“Good day, Ladies and Gentlemen,” John’s disembodied voice announced. “This is international airspace. We would like to welcome Flight Three-Two-Four Virgil Pacific Airways to T.I. Airport. The temperature is a balmy 24 degrees Celsius and the air speed is a gentle two knots. In a short time if you would care to look out your starboard window you will get your first glimpse of your destination today...”

Virgil wondered if Gordon was looking out the window.

“When you land, do not be frightened by the natives. They are completely harmless; provided you do not try to hand feed the darker varieties...” Laughter from the passenger cabin preceded a “Get off, Scott...!” and a break in transmission.

The intercom clicked back into life and Scott’s voice continued. “My apologies, Ladies and Gentlemen. That interruption was caused by a tropical species known as Johnus Tracious, generally nocturnal and prone to unpredictable behaviour if exposed to bright light for extended periods of time. We will endeavour to have this creature under control by the time you have landed. I will now ask your pilot to circumnavigate your destination before he comes in for landing.”

Jeff had swapped seats with Catherine so that she could look out the window at the small island surrounded by miles of ocean. As she took in the azure seas, the crystal clear lagoons, the golden sands, and the palm trees, she uttered a small exclamation. “This is a genuine tropical paradise! Look, Gordon.”

Gordon didn’t follow her advice. “I’ve seen it.”

Catherine was still caught up in the excitement of her trip. “I can see right into the crater...” She looked over at her host. “The volcano is extinct, isn’t it, Mr Tracy?”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “It last erupted some five hundred thousand years ago. I think we’re safe.”

Virgil took back control of the intercom. “This is your pilot speaking. Please ensure that your seats are upright and that your safety harnesses are securely fastened.”

Lining up the aeroplane with the runway that stretched in from the Pacific Ocean towards the imposing cliffs, Virgil made sure that the landing was as smooth as his father’s takeoff had been. Once the aeroplane had come to rest, he undid his safety harness, waved to the three figures striding across the tarmac, and walked back into the passenger cabin.

“Excellent landing, Virgil,” Jeff congratulated.

“I learnt from the master.” Taking a moment to enjoy the compliment, Virgil opened the exterior door and almost immediately Scott bounded inside, closely followed by John.

“Good timing, Virg,” Scott held up a stopwatch to display its readout. “You were pretty close with your estimation. You made it here in twenty five point one seven minutes.”

“I would have been on the money if I hadn’t done that circuit of the island.”

Scott laughed. “How was the trip?” he asked. “Did you enjoy the flight, Gordon?”

Gordon was beaming. “I’ll enjoy being on land more.”

Jeff treated Virgil to a wry look. “That’s what he thinks of our flying abilities.” He turned back to the welcoming committee. “You’ve got everything sorted?” There was the merest hint of emphasis on the word ‘everything’.

“We’re missing one or two things...” Scott began.

“Like carpet,” John interrupted when he saw his father’s alarmed expression. “That still hasn’t arrived. But we figured that it would be easier to push the wheelchair about on bare floorboards anyway.”

“Hey,” Gordon complained. “I don’t need a wheelchair now.”

“Not so much inside, anyway,” Jeff corrected. “Are you sure that bare floorboards are a good idea?” The alarmed expression had subsided to a slight frown of concern which creased his forehead.

“We’ve laid a few mats strategically about the place,” Scott reassured him, “to make it more homely. Nothing to worry about.”

“Good.” Jeff stretched. “Then let’s get out of here. I’m sure Catherine’s tired of being cooped up like a sardine and I know Gordon will want to breathe in that good sea air.”

From Gordon’s expression as Scott helped him outside and into the wheelchair, Virgil wasn’t so sure about that.

“We’ll let the others grab the bags,” John suggested. “Let’s go and get some fresh air, Gordon.” He had a brief tussle with Scott over who would get to push the wheelchair, won the battle, and the three of them headed off down the airstrip.

“Hi, Kyrano,” Alan greeted the Asiatic man who was standing a little back from the family group.

“Hello, Mister Alan.”

“How’s Tin-Tin?”

“She is well, thank you. Her studies are keeping her busy.”

“Did you have a good Christmas with Lady Penelope?”

Kyrano inclined his head. “Her Ladyship is an excellent host.”

“Catherine, this is Kyrano,” Jeff introduced. “Catherine is Gordon’s physiotherapist, Kyrano.”

Kyrano bowed. “It is a pleasure, Miss Catherine.”

Virgil started unloading the hold; handing everyone’s bags, as well as the equipment that Gordon would need, to Alan who was placing them onto Kyrano’s trolley.

“Where’s Brains?” Grandma asked.

Kyrano smiled a gentle, but somewhat indulgent smile. “Mister Brains is in his laboratory ‘catching up’. Mister Scott, Mister John and I have all reminded him that you were coming, but he is very involved in his work.”

“I thought I told him to have a break?” Jeff growled. “He should take some time out to relax.”

“He says that his work relaxes him.”

Grandma tutted. “That boy’s asking for trouble. He needs a hobby.”

“If you were to say that to him, Mother, he’d say that he has hobbies,” Jeff pointed out.

This time she humphed. “I don’t call studying trigonometry and thermodynamics relaxing.”

Jeff shrugged. “Each to his own... Don’t worry, Catherine, we’ll drag him out of his lab and introduce the pair of you sometime before we leave on the second.”

Alan took control of the luggage trolley. “Hey, Gordon!” he called to the three men coming in from their stroll. “I’ll challenge you to a race. You in your ‘chair; me pushing this thing.”

“You boys weren’t gone very long,” Grandma commented.

Scott’s expression was sombre. So was John’s, as he offered an explanation. “The sea breeze is a bit cold, so we didn’t go very far.”

Virgil stared at his brothers. ‘Cold’ was not a word he’d use to describe the sea breeze. Coming from a northern hemisphere winter into the southern hemisphere summer, coupled with offloading the luggage, had caused him to break out into a minor sweat.

Gordon diverted the conversation away from short jaunts and temperature variations. “What was that you were saying about a race, Alan? Where’s the finish line?”

“Up at the house,” Jeff rumbled. “You’ve got some sleep to catch up on before you do anything too strenuous.”

“And I think you’re due a massage, Gordon,” Catherine suggested. “You’ve been sitting for too long. If you don’t loosen up now, you won’t be able to move tomorrow.”

“A massage! Sounds like a great idea,” Alan quipped. “I’m next in the queue.” He ducked a clip about the ear from his grandma.

On the trip up to the house, Scott and John kept everyone entertained with tales of their flight through the tail end of the storm. Their conversation remained upbeat until they reached the entrance that lead into the lounge. There they stopped and turned to face their family and Catherine.

“Ah... Before we go in,” Scott began. “We just want you know that it’s not our fault.”

“What’s not your fault?” Alan asked.

“Ah... That...” John jerked his thumb in the direction of the lounge. He offered up no other explanation.

“You two are being very mysterious,” Jeff said. “What has happened? Have you painted the walls fluorescent pink?”

Scott gave an uncertain chuckle. “No, nothing like that.”

Alan stared at him. “Then what have you done?”

“We, er, haven’t done anything,” John admitted. “We weren’t here at the time.”

“All we ask is that you remember that what has been done was done with the best intentions...” Scott explained. “So go easy on him.” He stepped aside. “You’d better go in.”

The first thing that captured Virgil’s attention was the gleaming baby grand piano that dominated one half of the window end of the room. Pleased that his prize had finally been released from the captivity of its crate in the storeroom, he made a beeline for it to check it out. Yes, he decided, he’d definitely made the right decision choosing a white instrument. The room was bright and airy, and a black piano would have dominated the outlook over the Pacific Ocean, spoiling the whole effect.

As he sat down and raised the lid that protected the duel-hued keys, he was practically purring in pleasure. After many long months he was finally going to have the opportunity to play a real piano. Expecting the full melodic sound he’d heard in the shop, he pressed a key and cringed at the noise that emerged. Obviously the piano had not appreciated the move halfway around the world and being crated up for months. It required not only a tune, but he also decided that the pitch would need to be raised. Checking in the piano stool, he was relieved to find that someone, probably Scott, had placed his tuning tools inside.

He was about to start work when he heard Alan laugh and then Gordon’s indignant “Hey! That’s not right!” Looking up he realised that the rest of the group had gathered around a series of portraits on the wall. Curious, he left the piano and wandered over to see what was wrong.

“Who did this?” Gordon demanded, glaring at two of his elder brothers.

“Ah… Brains,” John admitted. “He did it when we were at the Willis. Don’t be mad at him. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

“But he’s put my portrait last!”

Virgil examined the row of five portraits. They were of him and his brothers in civilian clothes and were destined to be the communications link between them all and International Rescue’s headquarters. The problem was that they’d been hung in the order of John, Scott, himself, Alan and finally Gordon.

Brains had got the Tracy pecking order seriously wrong.

Alan was still laughing. “It all looks fine to me.”

“Um... Scott…?” Catherine began, unsure as to whether or not she was speaking out of turn. “I thought you were the oldest?”

“I am,” he admitted.

“Then why is John’s portrait the first one?”

Virgil thought he knew why, but he didn’t dare voice his opinions. He figured that Brains would have decided that John, as the principal Space Monitor, would be the first to make contact during a rescue. Scott, in charge of the super-fast, first-to-the-scene Thunderbird One, would be second. Virgil, in the slower, but vitally important Thunderbird Two, was naturally third in the queue. Alan, as the secondary Space Monitor and pilot of the less frequently used Thunderbird Three was fourth. And, Virgil hypothesised, when Brains had installed these portraits he, like everyone else at the time, had probably thought that there was no way that Gordon would ever take an active role in International Rescue, and was therefore last in the hierarchy.

As he thought this, Virgil briefly wondered if he should be worried that he was actually thinking like the little engineer.

John was enjoying seeing his family’s reactions. “Personally,” he chuckled, “I can’t see anything wrong with the way he’s hung them.”

Scott glared at him. “You know full well what’s wrong with it,” he growled. “I should be…”

“Oh!” There was a startled voice from the edge of the room. “Y-Y-You’re here already?”

“Brains!” Jeff greeted the little engineer with a big smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“G-G-Good to s-s-see you t-t-too, M-M-Mr Tracy.” Brains’ stutter was as bad as Virgil had ever heard, probably exacerbated by the glares he was receiving from some members of the family. “I, ah, I s-s-see you’ve d-d-discovered m-my, er, m-m-mistake?”

“I’ll say,” Gordon muttered.

“I-I-I am s-s-s-s…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeff soothed. “I’ve never heard it said that Jeff Tracy was a slave to convention. I quite like it in this order; it’ll remind the boys to think outside the square.”

“Th-Thank you, Sir.” Brains gave a shy, but relieved smile. “G-Good to see you again, Gordon. You’re looking well.”

Realising that, by order of his father, the portrait sequence was a fait accompli, Gordon smiled. “You too, Brains.”

Jeff introduced Catherine, who accepted Brains’ nervous handshake before suggesting that it was time that she helped Gordon with some of his therapy and he caught up on his sleep. Kyrano bowed. “Let me show you to your room and then to the infirmary, Miss Catherine.”

When the physiotherapist, Kyrano, and Gordon had left, Jeff slapped Brains and John on the back as he smiled at Scott. “You’ve done well. If I didn’t know better I wouldn’t realise that there was anything different about this place.”

“We concentrated on the areas that might arouse suspicion,” Scott conceded. “We’ve still got a heck of a lot to do. And that’s in the house! Apart from my ‘bird we’re way behind in assembling the main vehicles.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Jeff advised. “This week’s part of Gordon’s rehabilitation. He’s our primary focus at the moment.”

“How was he on the trip out?” John asked and Scott shot him a quick look.

“Excited,” Alan said. “He went a bit quiet near the beginning, but once the food arrived we couldn’t shut him up.”

Jeff was frowning at the way John had asked the question. “Why?”

“Well…” John looked at Scott for support and the latter gave a reluctant nod. “You know how we took him for that quick walk down the runway? We thought he’d enjoy getting closer to the sea…” he paused and glanced back at his brother.

Scott took up the narrative. “He was okay at first, but when we were about halfway there…”

“Where the runway starts to jut out into the sea …”

“The water’s a bit rough from the storm, and it was splashing near to where we were walking…”

“Gordon became…” John thought briefly. “…Agitated.”

“Yes,” Scott agreed. “He demanded that we turn around. He said he was cold.”

“Oh…” Jeff murmured. He looked at Virgil. “What do you think?”

“I did notice that he didn’t look out of the windows much after we’d crossed the coast,” Virgil admitted. “He had his eyes shut part of the way.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to get near the water until he can swim in it?” Alan suggested, not aware of some of his family’s concerns. “Perhaps he’s waiting to treat himself?”

Jeff Tracy looked at his youngest son with a deep frown of concern. “Perhaps…”

Chapter 25: A Quiet Paddle

Okay, for those who asked, in the context of this story “Founder’s Day” is January 2nd – Jeff Tracy’s birthday.

The following day the family stirred from their slumber. Gordon, with Catherine’s help, was the last down to breakfast. “What have you got planned for me today?” he asked as his wheelchair was pushed up to the table.

“We’ve set up an exercise pool next to the gym,” Scott told him. “It’s not as deep as the outside pool, so you’ll be able to carry on with your exercises.”

“Great!” Gordon grabbed at his spoon and then promptly dropped it. “Blasted motor skills.” He made a more concerted effort at wrapping his fingers about the implement and managed to pick it up, smiling in triumph.

“We haven’t given Catherine a full tour of the house yet,” John noted. “We can’t have her getting lost.”

Alan was buttering a slice of toast. “It’s been that long since I’ve been here that I’m scared I’ll get lost.”

“I think you’re going to be giving us all the full tour, John,” Virgil commented. “Things have changed since I was here too.”

The ‘tour’ was put on hold until after Gordon had had his first set of exercises for the day. Then the group was escorted around the easily accessible areas of the Tracy estate. There was, Virgil reflected, still a lot of work to be done. He began to have second thoughts about staying that extra month at ACE.

“How about a walk along the shore?” Scott suggested after lunch. “John and I have laid a temporary boardwalk at the tree line so we can get the wheelchair down there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jeff agreed. “Do you feel up to it, Gordon?”

Gordon opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. Then he shut it again and appeared to come to a decision. “Yes. Okay.”

“Are you coming with us, Catherine?”

She patted her mouth to hide a yawn. “I’d love to, Mr Tracy, but I think I’d better take a nap. These time zones are playing havoc with my body clock and I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Was your bed uncomfortable?” Grandma asked.

“No. It was just that first night in a strange place thing,” Catherine admitted. “Would you gentlemen mind if I didn’t join you?”

“Don’t worry about them, dear,” Grandma patted her hand. “We’ll let them do their thing and, once you’ve had a short sleep, you and I can have some girl time together.”

The day was warm, the breeze refreshing and the seas inviting as the Tracy men pushed Gordon in his wheelchair down the path to the golden beach.

“You know,” Alan commented, as they drew close to the shore, “I think I could get to like living here.”

“It’s a bit slower than your racetrack,” Virgil pointed out. “Are you sure you’re not going to get bored?”

Alan grinned. “Once we’re fully operational I don’t think I’m going to get the chance.”

They stopped in the shade of a palm tree and sat on the edge of the path to relax and enjoy the view. In contrast to the surf that had lashed the coastline the day before, today the tide was gently playing on the sands. Trying not to be obvious about it, Virgil watched Gordon to see what reaction his brother was having to being so close to the sea.

The red-head appeared to be more interested in tying knots in a length of string.

“How far behind are we, Scott?” Alan asked. “Have we still got a lot to do to get up to speed?”

“Yep.” Scott started ticking the list off his fingers. “We’ve got to assemble the three ‘birds and the auxiliary equipment, finish Three’s hangar, commission Five… Install Two’s pilot’s chute, set up…”

“We know we’ve got lots to do,” Jeff interrupted, “but we’re not running to a timetable and we are not going to rush anything. We are going to have to work hard, and we won’t be taking any shortcuts. We are not starting operations until I’m convinced that the equipment is ready and that you five are ready. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Of course.”

“Right.”

“I want to go down to the water.”

This final comment was such a left-field statement no-one did anything except stare at Gordon.

He was staring out to sea.

“What did you say, Gordy?” John asked.

“I want to go down to the water.” Not taking his eyes off the Pacific Ocean, Gordon pointed. “Out there. I want to get my feet wet.”

“I… don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment, Son,” Jeff said, his secret knowledge of Gordon’s fears making him wary. “It’ll be difficult to get your wheelchair down the beach. We’ll build an off-ramp from this path and take you this afternoon.”

“Now!” Gordon turned his head to face his father. “I want to go down there now!” He slapped the armrest on his ‘chair for emphasis.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we waited until Catherine…?”

“Now! I don’t want to wait!”

The Tracys glanced uneasily at each other. Gordon was becoming agitated and sounding uncharacteristically petulant. He wanted to go to the water’s edge and he was determined to go there this very minute!

“I need to get my feet wet now,” he reiterated. “Not later. Not this evening. Now!”

Worried, Virgil reached out and placed a hand on his brother’s knee. “Gord…?” He stopped, shocked, when the invalid looked at him. Gordon’s eyes revealed the same terrified resolve that he’d shown when he was being lowered into the pool one month ago.

Suddenly it all became clear and Virgil knew why this was so important for his brother. Gordon’s demons were out in that ocean and he was determined to stamp all over them…

…Or at least wade through them.

“Okay,” Virgil agreed, and stood. “We’ll take you down there now.”

“Virgil…” Jeff began and Virgil looked at him, hoping to transmit the message that he understood why this was necessary and offering a silent plea for their father to agree.

Somehow, Jeff understood. “Very well. But let’s get your helmet first, Gordon. You don’t want to risk bumping your head.” He stood, brushing sand off his pants. “I’ll be back soon.”

Virgil gave Gordon’s shoulder a squeeze, thinking that he’d be satisfied, and then sat back down.

But Gordon wasn’t satisfied. “I don’t want to wait.”

“It’ll only be for a few minutes,” Scott soothed. “He’ll be back soon.”

“No.” Gordon shook his head. “He’ll get caught up with something else. A phone call, or else he’ll see something that needs doing. I’m not waiting. I’m going down there now.” He pointed down the beach and looked at Virgil expectantly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Virgil said. “Not without some protection for your head.”

“I don’t need protection.” Gordon started inching towards the edge of his seat. “My skull’s had a month to heal.”

Scott placed a restraining hand on his younger sibling’s shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t try to stop me, Scott. I’m going to touch that water now if I have to crawl there.”

“Gordon,” John protested. “You can’t.”

“Just watch me.”

“Hold on...” Virgil gave a reluctant sigh and got to his feet again. “Grab his other side, Alan.”

“Huh!” Alan stared at him.

“You heard him, Alan.” Gordon held out his arm. “Help me up.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Alan was still looking at Virgil for guidance.

“No. But I think it’s better than letting him hurt himself trying to crawl to the water.” Virgil let Gordon put an arm about his shoulders. “Are you ready, Alan?”

“Ready.”

“Are you sure about this, Gordon?”

Gordon gave a determined nod; his eyes fixed on the white froth at the water’s edge. “I’m sure.”

They got him to his feet and began their slow, shaky trek over the palm trees’ roots and fallen fronds. Once they reached the relative smoothness of the beach, Gordon released his grip on Alan, preferring to rely solely on Virgil for support.

Alan, clearly wondering if he should insist on being allowed to help, fell by the wayside before dropping back to where Scott and John were carrying the wheelchair between them. “Are we doing the right thing? What if he falls over and hits his head?”

“I don’t know, Alan,” Scott admitted. “But I don’t think we’ve got a hope in Hades of stopping Gordon from getting to the water. Better that he lets us help than tries to do it by himself. Just keep close by in case he falls and Virgil can’t hold him.”

About halfway to the lapping tide Virgil stopped. “Do you want to have a breather? We could take off our shoes here.”

Gordon hesitated, as if he was in two minds about the idea. Then he gave a slow nod. Virgil helped lower him into the ‘chair and then stretched before kicking off his footwear.

“Do you want a hand, Gordon?” Alan asked.

“Please…” Gordon nodded again. “If I try to get down there to take ‘em off, I’ll never be able to sit up again. My back muscles aren’t strong enough yet.”

“Okay,” Alan squatted on the sand. “Give me your right foot…” He removed a shoe and rolled his brother’s trouser leg up to reveal a skeletal limb. Without a comment he placed Gordon’s foot back on the sands and removed the left shoe.

“Where’s Dad? He should be back by now…” John looked up towards the house. “He must have got sidetracked.”

“I’m ready.” Gordon held his arm out to Virgil again. “Let’s go.”

Virgil hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait? One of us could run up to the house to see what’s keeping him.”

“No. I need to do this now.”

“Okay.” Virgil let Gordon place his arm about his shoulders and the assisted the invalid to his feet. “We’ll take this at your pace.”

It was a slow progression towards the water’s edge.

Inches away from the margin where the sand was damp from the ebbing tide, they stopped. “Are you okay?” Virgil asked.

“Yes.” Gordon’s voice was tight. “We won’t go out too far... Just up to our ankles.”

“Understood.”

Gordon took a shuddering breath. “Don’t let me go.”

“I haven’t let you go so far.”

Gordon finally looked away from the Pacific Ocean and at his brother. “No...” and he favoured Virgil with a half-smile. “You haven’t, have you.” He gave Virgil’s shoulder a light squeeze.

We don’t have to do this now. You’ve got this far today; you can go a step further tomorrow.”

“No.” Gordon squared his jaw defiantly and faced the ocean again. “The longer I leave it, the harder it’ll be.”

It was the closest he had come to an open admission of his fears.

“I’ve got a good grip and you’re not going to fall.” Virgil adjusted his hold on his brother’s belt. “We’ll take this slowly, just baby steps... and if you want to get out in a hurry, I’ll pick you up and carry you.”

There was a slight chuckle from the man beside him. “You wouldn’t find that too difficult at the moment.”

“At the moment, no,” Virgil conceded. “But once you’re back to full fitness and have re-grown all your muscles, I’ll need a front-end loader.”

This time he was treated to a wry grin. “Coming from you, that was funny...” Gordon stared down his nemesis again. “Right! Let’s do it...!”

Virgil waited for Gordon to make the first step.

Gordon didn’t move.

They heard someone move closer. “Gordon...” Scott began.

Virgil waved him back and he was silent.

“Count of five,” Gordon suggested. “Five... Four...”

Virgil joined him in his countdown. “Three... Two...”

“One.”

They didn’t move.

A wave crept closer, kissing the tip of Gordon’s foot. He curled his toes up away from it.

“Alan,” Virgil looked over his shoulder. “Grab his other side.”

“Sure.” Glad to help, Alan stepped forward and got a secure hold of his brother. “I’ve got you now, Gordon. There’s no way you’re going to fall.”

“No chance,” Virgil agreed. “And we won’t let any more than your ankles get wet, right, Alan?”

“Right.”

Gordon took a deep breath. “NOW!” He picked up his right foot, moved it forward so it hovered over the damps sands, hesitated, and then lowered it.

He’d barely shifted his weight, so Virgil didn’t follow. “That’s a good start,” he encouraged. “Now the left one.”

Foot up... Forward... Down.

A wave crept around Gordon’s toes and then slunk away.

Right foot up... Forward... Down.

Virgil and Alan shuffled forward.

Left foot up... Forward... Down.

Their soles were wet.

Right foot up... Forward... Down.

A wave washed over Gordon’s toes and he sucked in a breath.

Left foot up... Forward... Down.

Right foot up... Forward... Down.

Left foot up... Forward... Down.

The water was washing around their feet.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left foot.

“One more step, Gordon,” Virgil encouraged. “One more step and the water will be up to your ankles and then you’ve reached today’s goal.”

“Yes,” Alan enthused. “Just one more step. You can do it.”

“Just...” right foot up... “one...” forward... “more...” down... “step.”

The water was up to Gordon’s bony ankle.

“Now the left.” With noticeably more confidence, Gordon brought his other foot up level with his right. “Yes!” he raised his arms skyward in triumph, a beaming smile on his face. “I did it! I did it!!”

There was applause from behind them. “Fantastic, Gordon,” John congratulated. “Really fantastic!”

“I’ll say,” Scott agreed. “That’s one more thing you can check off your list. Father and Grandma are going to be so proud of you.”

“And Catherine,” John added.

“Yeah, and Catherine. And Mr Millington, and everyone at the Willis.”

“And Rick and Diane.”

“And everyone at WASP.”

“And everyone in the ol’ home town.”

Gordon had his eyes closed, aglow with a beatific smile as he let the sun’s warmth bathe his face. “I did it,” he whispered. “I did it.”

Still not willing to release his hold on his brother, Virgil gave him a squeeze. “Yes, you did.”

“We knew you could,” Alan informed him. “Never any doubts, right, Virgil?”

“Right.”

Gordon opened his eyes and stared at the ocean, a defiant glint in his eye. “I’ll be back, Neptune,” he announced to the unseen god of the sea. “There’s no way you’re gonna keep me out. You’re gonna have to learn to share again.”

“You tell him,” Alan agreed. “You tell him that Gordon Tracy’s back.”

Gordon laughed.

“Do you want to walk back?” Virgil asked. “Or do you want us to carry you?”

Gordon gave a sigh, reluctant to admit that even that short walk had tired him. “Would you guys mind carrying me?”

Together, Alan and Virgil adjusted their grip so that their hands formed a seat for their brother, then carefully, as if they were holding a cargo of priceless china, they carried him the short distance back to his wheelchair and placed him in it.

“Thanks, Fellas,” he said, when he was settled. “I know it seems stupid, but...”

Scott placed his hand on Gordon’s shoulder. “It’s not stupid, Gordon. You’ve been through a lot. You’re just, literally, finding your feet again.”

John crouched down so that he was at Gordon’s eye level. “Remember that we’ve been with you all the way through this, and we’re still with you now. If you need our help you only need to ask.”

“I’ll need your help to get back to the house,” Gordon admitted. “I can’t wheel the ‘chair on the sand.”

Scott looked around. “Virgil, grab that bit of driftwood,” he ordered. “That long one.” He strode off in the other direction and came back with his own piece, slightly shorter, but of a similar thickness. “Stick it through under here, like this...” he threaded the wood under the wheelchair’s seat so that one end protruded at the back and the other was sticking out past Gordon’s legs. “Good. Now we can grab an end each and carry his Lordship back to the path. Ready... Set... Lift!”

Gordon and his ‘chair were so light that it was easy to carry him, potentate-like, back up the beach.

Easy that is, until he started shifting about and complaining. “Ouch! Put me down for a moment!”

They complied. “What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

“There’s a twig sticking into my butt. Twist your bit of wood around so it’s pointing downwards, Alan. It feels like I’m sitting on half a tree!”

Alan crouched down on the sand so he could have a look. “It’s not that big.”

“I don’t have much padding down there,” Gordon reminded him.

Alan, with Virgil’s help, spun the branch so the twig was pointed downward. “There, is that better?”

Gordon shuffled in his seat. “Much better.”

“Good.” Scott took hold of his end of a bit of wood. “Keep in step this time... Lift!”

“Stop!”

They let go of their holds. “What is it this time, Gordon?” John asked.

Gordon had a maniacal grin on his face. “Let’s have a race.”

Everyone stared at him. “A race?” Scott asked. “What kind of race.”

“A four-legged race.”

“A four-legged race,” John echoed. “What do you mean a four-legged race?”

“I mean Virg and me against you three.”

“That’s four legs against six,” Alan reminded him.

“Not if you three tie your legs together...” Gordon reached into a pocket in the ‘chair. “I’ve got this string that I use for tying knots... It helps with my digital dexterity... that’s finger movements to you ignoramuses...” He held up two pieces of string. “You three tie your legs together, like a three-legged race, and then you’ll be as handicapped as I will be, having to drag Virgil along.”

Virgil knew better than to bite at the remark.

Scott took the string and looked at it as if it was something disgusting that the tide had washed up. “So you’re saying that the three of us have to tie ourselves together. The two guys on the outside will have their outer legs free, but whoever’s in the middle will have their legs tied to the leg beside them.”

“Yep.”

Scott looked at John and Alan. “What do you think?”

John shrugged. “How far are you planning to run?”

Alan, his competitive instinct surfacing, was keen. “How about to here!?” He ran down the beach and stopped.

“Alan,” Scott complained. “We’re not running a marathon. Gordon’s already had enough exercise today and he won’t be able to reach that far.” He started tying his left leg to John’s right.

“I doubt we’ll be able to reach that far,” John muttered. “Ow! Not so tight!”

Alan jogged closer. “Here?”

“Closer,” Virgil advised.

Face falling, Alan halved the distance again. “Here?”

“That’ll do,” Gordon called, before his brothers had the chance to reduce the course again. “Help me up, Virgil.”

“Here you go,” Scott held out the other bit of string to Alan. “Tie yourself to John’s other leg.”

“Hey!” John exclaimed. “How come I’m in the middle?”

“You’re taller.”

“Well, in that case let’s get some sort of routine established before we start. I don’t want to end up looking like the Christmas wishbone.”

“Okay,” Scott agreed. “Alan and I’ll start with our right legs, so you’ll be starting with your left. Then we’ll take a step with our left legs so you’ll be running with your right...”

Askance, John looked at him. “Running?”

“We’ll build up to it... Shuffle around, Alan, so we’re all facing the same way. Good... How are you two?” Scott looked across towards their opponents. “Ready?”

Virgil let Gordon answer. “Ready, Scott.” The red-head grinned. “Prepare to eat our dust... uh, sand... On our marks... Get set... Go!”

It had to be one of the slowest starts in racing history. It took the six-legged monster that was Alan, John, and Scott about seven strides to get set in their routine and start to gain speed. Virgil and Gordon didn’t have the same disadvantage, but Gordon, despite all his bravado, was still unable to run any quicker than he could walk.

They were being well outpaced by their opponents when Gordon stumbled and fell. Virgil, trying to protect his brother from harm, wrenched a muscle in his left arm as he landed hard on the sand. Ignoring the pain he scrambled to his knees. “Gordon! Are you all right?!”

Gordon moaned and covered his face.

Virgil leant over him. “Gordon,” he repeated. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I-I...” Gordon moaned again. “I-I can’t see...” He reached out blindly for his brother. “Where are you, Virgil?”

Virgil felt his stomach drop, his chest contract, his heart race, and his senses seemed to funnel in onto the figure lying on the sand. He felt sick... He felt scared....

All their hard work... Undone in one moment of stupidity...

“Gordon... Don’t move... Are you in pain?”

“I...” Gordon’s searching hands found Virgil’s shoulders. “I...”

Caught off balance as pressure was applied on one side, his wrenched arm unable to hold him, Virgil found himself rolling onto the sand. Gordon, using his brother’s momentum for leverage, was suddenly on top of him, straddling his torso. The prankster raised his hands high. “The champion!” he crowed and then collapsed onto the sand next to Virgil, laughing.

Stunned by what had just happened, Virgil lay there for a moment. Then he sat up. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Gordon laughed. “I’m fine. You looked like you were going to have kittens.”

Virgil got to his feet. “You’re not hurt?” He stood there, breathing hard and aware that his heart was still pounding in his chest.

“I’m fine,” Gordon repeated and held out his hand. “Help me up.”

Now that the drama was over, anger was building. “No.”

“Aw, come on, Virg. I haven’t got any strength left. Help me up... Please.”

“No,” Virgil repeated. “I don’t trust you.”

Gordon looked hurt. “I’m not wearing a joy buzzer, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He showed both palms.

“I don’t believe you,” Virgil seethed. “After all you’ve been through... After all we’ve done to help you... To play such a stupid trick...”

“Settle down, Virgil,” Gordon soothed, “it was only a joke...”

“A joke? A JOKE! Don’t you ever, EVER, joke about your health again!” Even more angry, Virgil jammed his finger in the prankster’s direction. “You can joke about anything else BUT your health. You can joke about the ocean, you can joke about flying, you can tease me about my art, you can play tricks on us...”

Gordon’s face had lit up. “Can I really tease you about your art?”

Disgusted, Virgil turned away and started walking home.

“Virgil?”

Virgil ignored him.

“Virgil!”

Virgil kept on walking. He felt no guilt at leaving Gordon lying on the sands, as he knew that their brothers were still trying to untangle themselves not much further on. Not only that, but their father had finally arrived, mounted on a much duct-taped hoverjet and casting a bewildered look at his furious son as they passed. But Jeff Tracy did not stop to find out what was wrong.

Virgil knew why when he heard running footsteps catch up to him. “Virgil... Virgil, stop...” Scott jogged past and impeded his march back to the villa. “What’s wrong?”

“Gordon played a joke on me.”

A smile played about Scott’s lips. “A joke? You’re upset over a joke?”

“Not just any joke! This one was cruel, unfeeling, spiteful, selfish, malicious, heartless...”

“Whoa! Calm down...” Trying to help, Scott placed his hands on Virgil’s shoulders and got a shock. “Virgil! You’re shaking! What did he do to you?”

Virgil explained what had happened. “He scared me, Scott. I thought I’d undone all the work we’d done. I was frightened that he’d hurt himself again, more seriously; and I thought it was my fault!!”

Scott’s face had hardened. “That was not one of his funnier jokes.”

“Funny!? There was nothing funny about it!”

“I know, I know,” Scott soothed.

“He gave me a fright!”

“I know.”

“I thought it was my fault!”

“I know,” Scott echoed again. “Now, take a deep breath and calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Virgil raged. “What he did was cruel and...”

“Virgil! Stop!” Scott demanded. “I’m on your side! If he’d done that to me I would have done something more drastic than simply walking away.”

“I only walked away because if I hadn’t I didn’t know what I’d do to him.” Virgil rubbed his sore arm and flexed his hand, grimacing as a spasm of pain shot towards his elbow.

Scott saw the gesture. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.” Virgil looked at the limb. “I pulled a muscle when I was trying not to land on him.”

“Sick as he is, Gordon needs to be taught a lesson,” Scott stated. A sly smile crept onto his face. “Remember that idea we had?”

“Can’t I just wring his scrawny neck and be done with it?”

Scott laughed. “No.”

“Why not?” Virgil grumped.

“Because if you tried I’d be duty bound to pull you off and then you’d be mad at me as well as him. Besides, he’s a sitting duck at the moment, you’d only feel guilty.”

“No, I wouldn’t”

Scott glanced about. “Quick! They’re coming. Can you be patient for about six months?”

“You know me. I’m patient enough to watch paint dry... so long as it’s on one of my paintings.”

“Good.” Scott lowered his voice. “Follow my lead.” The pair of them waited until the rest of the party, Jeff driving the hoverjet and Gordon installed on the back, drew level.

Gordon hadn’t yet seemed to have grasped the magnitude of his error, although everyone else was looking more sombre. He treated Virgil to a bright smile. “How’s my racing partner?”

Virgil glared at him and looked away, holding his sore arm.

“I think you owe Virgil an apology, Gordon,” Scott announced. “He pulled a muscle trying to stop you from hurting yourself when you did that stupid stunt.”

“Oh...” Gordon lost his smile. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I didn’t mean to fall. I lost my footing in the sand and I made up the rest of the joke on the fly.” He ducked his head so he could see Virgil’s face easier. “No hard feelings, huh?”

Still in a bad mood, Virgil grunted a reply.

“How bad is your arm?” Jeff asked.

“It’s nothin’.”

“Maybe you should get Catherine to have a look at it,” Jeff suggested. “We’re not always going to have a trained physio on hand and we may as well make the most of it while we can.”

“Give me a hand with this ‘chair, Alan, and we’ll take it back to the house,” John requested, and the pair of them retrieved the now redundant wheelchair, shaking it to remove much of the sand.

The family started a slow trek back towards the villa. “If I remember correctly,” Scott began, his forehead creased as if he was trying to drag a memory up from the depths, “you had a sore hand last time you were here, Virg.”

Virgil said nothing until he received a surreptitious prod from his brother. Realising that this had to be the lead that Scott was talking about, he agreed. “That’s right. That was when I had the infection. I’d only been working at ACE for a week.”

“That’s right!” Scott exclaimed as if it was all coming back to him. “You flew out here with Lady Penelope and Parker, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Now that,” Scott said reverently, “is one beautiful woman.”

Virgil had no trouble agreeing with him. “Gorgeous. I wonder if she’d let me paint her.”

As if Gordon knew of Scott’s plan and was playing along, the red-head nibbled at the bait. “I haven’t met her yet. I’ve either been under water or in bed. What’s she like?”

“You’ve missed a real treat,” Scott said. “Be prepared to have your socks knocked off when you do meet her. I think she’s already done that to Father.”

“I didn’t employ Lady Penelope for her looks,” Jeff reminded him.

“I know you think she’s some hotshot secret agent with black belts in all these different codes,” Scott stated, “but I’m not sure that she lives up to the hype.” Jeff gave him a sideways look, wondering why his eldest was making such an accusation.

Alan had already met Lady Penelope once. “I know she looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but from what Dad told me she’s not someone to be taken lightly. What do you mean by she doesn’t live up to the hype?”

“Well... While she was visiting she challenged me to a fight.”

Alarmed, John looked at his elder brother. “A fight?”

“Yeah, a duel. It was only a friendly and I took her on just to see what she could do.”

“And?” Alan asked.

“I had to go easy on her, of course. You don’t go all out when fighting a lady.”

“So you won?” John asked.

Scott made a dismissive gesture. “It was a decisive victory.”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “It was a very one sided bout,” and only just managed to suppress a smirk when he received a glare from the storyteller.

“Remember that when she challenges you guys,” Scott advised. “I think that, in all fairness, we can say that you wouldn’t have a chance in your present condition, Gordon. But I’d like to see her take you on when you’re back at full fitness.”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed again. “I’m sure you could achieve Scott’s result.”

They could see the competitive spark light in Gordon’s eyes. “I won’t be fit enough to take her on any time soon, but...”

“But, when you’re one hundred percent, make sure you extend the challenge,” Scott advised. “In our game we’re going to need to know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and that includes Lady Penelope’s. And she’ll probably enjoy the challenge. It’ll make her feel like she’s part of the team. Only make sure we’re there to watch. It’s sure to be an entertaining bout.”

“You want to watch me wipe the floor with her?” Gordon chuckled, unaware that he’d just taken the bait; hook, line and sinker. “No worries. We’ll probably all be living here by then anyway.”

“Okay, Boys,” Jeff warned. “Shop talk over; we’re nearly at the house. Come on, Gordon, I’ll take you inside. Alan and John; will you give the wheelchair a wash down? We don’t want the salt corroding it.”

Soon Virgil and Scott were the only ones remaining outside.

Scott turned to his brother. “Well?”

Virgil grinned. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“Satisfied?”

“It’s going to be a long wait, but it’ll be worth it.”

Scott gave him a light punch on the arm. “Come on. Let’s see if we can scrounge some afternoon tea.”

His mind and body worn out by his earlier exertions, Gordon crashed, and his brothers made the most of the free time by preparing the theatre for the evening’s entertainment; a video of one of Alan’s last races.

Scott stood at the top of the sloping floor and surveyed the room. Like most of the Tracys’ future residence it was still in a state of upheaval. The screen had been temporarily rolled out against the wall, but the seating was still stacked off to one side in boxes. “We’ll only put out enough chairs for tonight. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just comfortable, and that includes ensuring that none of the seats are going to collapse.” He opened a box. “Here are some of the seat cushions... How’s your wrist?” He looked over at Virgil. “Are you going to be able to work on these?”

“Sure,” Virgil agreed. “No problem.”

“That was unexpected, wasn’t it?” Alan said as he extracted the framework of a chair from its box. “I mean, something’s wrong with the world if Gordon’s afraid of the water. It’s almost like an episode from out of the Twilight Zone. If he’d told me he was scared I would have thought he was joking and laughed at him.”

“We all would have,” Scott conceded. “I still wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“I felt it,” Alan admitted. “He was really shaking. And not only because of the physical effort he was putting into walking. Right, Virgil?”

“Right,” Virgil agreed as he fed a bit into his electric drill. “You’ve got to admire the way he pushed himself into the water.”

John grinned. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven him?”

“It’s not funny, John,” Virgil growled. “I genuinely thought he’d hurt himself.”

“Hey!” John held up a pacifying hand. “I agree that it was a stupid trick and I’m glad he didn’t try it out on me, but I’m also glad that he’s well enough to behave like an idiot again.”

“Talking of behaving like an idiot,” Alan began. “Do you think Dad’s okay?”

Scott straightened from where he was screwing two pieces together. “Why?”

“He’s gone all, um…” Alan was concentrating on assembling his seat so he wasn’t looking at his brothers. “Mushy.”

“Mushy?”

“Yes.”

“How do you mean mushy?” Scott pressed.

“He... ah...” Alan looked embarrassed. “He... gave me a hug this morning and... er...” his voice went quiet and he stuck his head into a box in the pretence of searching for a lost screw. “He said that he loved me,” he admitted, his voice hollow.

John laughed. “He’s doing the rounds then.”

Virgil stared at the body with a box for a head. “I hope you didn’t push him away.”

“No...” Alan withdrew his head from its confinement. “Has he done it to you too?”

“Yes,” John nodded. “He got me Christmas Eve.”

“I must have been first then,” Virgil said. “I got the treatment when I was leaving the Institute the Wednesday after Gordon’s operation.”

Scott was following his brothers’ conversation like a spectator at a three-sided tennis match. “What do you mean that he gave you a hug and... the other?”

“He’s realised that Gordon nearly died without Father telling him how much he loves him,” Virgil explained. “And he doesn’t want to take the chance that something will happen to one of us.” He shrugged. “I told him that he doesn’t have to vocalise it, we all know, but if it makes him feel better then it doesn’t bother me.”

“He hasn’t given me a hug.” Scott sounded disappointed.

“Don’t worry, your turn will come,” John chuckled. “He’s probably still plucking up the courage... or working out the best way to hogtie you.”

“You could always take the initiative,” Virgil suggested. “You’d make his day.”

“You can’t be serious!” Alan exclaimed.

“Why not? It’s not like it’s a threat to our masculinity or something.”

“Yes,” John agreed. “He is our father.”

“But...” Alan looked between the pair of them. “It doesn’t seem natural somehow.”

“Only because it’s not something we’ve grown up with,” John reminded him.

“He used to give wonderful cuddles,” Scott mused, a wistful look on his face.

“Huh?” Alan stared at his eldest brother.

Hugging a cushion, Scott stared out into the middle distance. “He’d wrap his arms right around you and you knew you were safe.” He sighed, lost in his memories.

His brothers looked at each other and grinned.

Scott didn’t notice. “You knew that he would protect you from all the monsters that roamed the world and that nothing could harm you...” He was pelted with seat cushions. “Hey! Stop it!”

“When was this, Scotty?” John asked; an expression of pure innocence on his face. “Yesterday?”

“No,” Scott said, pulling himself up straight. “Just after Ma died.” He got to his feet and looked around. “Bother! I’ve left my drill in my room... I’d better go and get it. You guys keep working; I’ll be back soon.” He hurried out the door.

The remaining threesome worked on in silence for a short time, continuing to get the theatre into shape...

“Fellas?” Alan was standing by the pile of boxes. He turned to face his brothers and saw them both looking at them. “Didn’t Scott say he’d left his drill behind?” He bent down and picked something up. It was a tool box with an identifying blue stripe. “You don’t think...” He opened the box and removed a drill.

Virgil looked at John. “He wouldn’t. Would he?”

John’s eyes were goggling. “I wouldn’t have thought so.” He placed his drill on the floor. “What did Dad say he was going to do? Work in his study?”

“I think so...”

“Putting these chairs together is thirsty work,” Alan lied. “I think I’ll go and get a drink.”

“Sounds good to me,” John agreed. “I think I’ll join you.”

Virgil flexed his painless left wrist. “Maybe I’ll see if Catherine’s with Grandma and ask her to take a look at my arm.”

With more haste than was necessary for these particular tasks, the three of them ran through the house. They arrived outside their father’s study just as the door was opening.

Scott stepped out, a smile on his face, which he lost when he saw his brothers. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Uh... We decided we wanted to get a drink,” Alan admitted.

“And Virgil wanted Catherine to look at his arm,” John added.

“I don’t think I’ll bother now,” Virgil said. “It only needed a break from work. It feels fine.”

“Have you finished in the theatre?” Scott asked.

“No,” John shook his head. “We’ve still got a few seats to assemble.”

“Then I’d better find my drill and get down there.”

“We found your drill,” Alan informed him. “One of the boxes had fallen on it.”

“You found it?” Scott appeared taken aback. “Oh... Thanks... I’d better get back to work in that case.” The smile, this time with a trace of smugness, crept back onto his face as he walked away, whistling a jaunty tune.

Three brothers stared at each other.

The door opened again and their father, a broad, beaming smile lighting up his face, exited his study. “What are you boys doing here?”

“We... Ah... We were looking for Scott,” Virgil stammered.

“I think he was planning on heading back down to the theatre,” Jeff recollected. He put his arms about John and Alan’s shoulders and reached out to chuck Virgil under the chin. “I’m so glad I’ve got such great sons. It’s going to be wonderful to have all five of you living with me again... I’ll see you at dinner.” Whistling the same tune Scott had, he wandered away in the direction of the lounge.

John, Virgil and Alan looked at each other. “That,” John said with feeling, “was just plain weird.”

Virgil was psyching himself up for the tedium of watching a car race, by sitting on the villa’s patio, sketching the evening’s sunset. Even though it was summer, dusk in this part of the world didn’t last as long as it did at home, so he had to work quickly. The rest of the family and their friends, except Gordon, were down on the beach, making the most of their first evening on Tracy Island.

He was so wrapped up in his drawing that at first he didn’t realise that he wasn’t alone. Gradually he became aware of a low rumble accompanied by a scraping sound. Looking over his shoulder he saw that Gordon was manoeuvring his way through the lounge, using his walking frame for support. As the younger Tracy moved out of the room’s shadows and into the sunset’s golden light, Virgil could see that the frame was tall enough so that Gordon could walk upright, but the weight wasn’t on his arms.

Gordon shuffled out onto the patio and then, groaning slightly, sank into one of the deck chairs. “It’s hard to believe that I used to be able to run the length of that beach and not be out of breath at the end.”

“It won’t be long and you’ll be able to do it again,” Virgil reminded him.

“I hope so... Did Dad tell you why he took so long getting back to us today?”

“Only that he couldn’t find your helmet and then he did his best to disguise bits of the hoverjet with duct tape.”

“He had a phone call from Mr Millington to check up on me. He was telling him how great I’m doing... He didn’t know that I was behaving like an idiot.”

Virgil didn’t say anything. Had he spoken he might have been inclined to agree.

Gordon’s frame had a basket attached and he lifted the lid and drew out a pastry. “I would have brought you one, but I thought you were down with the others.”

“That’s okay. I had plenty to eat at dinner,” Virgil admitted. “And I’ve had enough of the beach for one day.”

“Oh...” Gordon broke off a crumb from his delicacy and chewed slowly, smiling as the flavours filled his mouth. “I’ll tell you one advantage of being crippled,” he pinched off another morsel and savoured it. “I can raid Grandma’s pantry and you guys will get the blame.” He laughed.

Virgil couldn’t help smiling. “Are you sure you should be eating that?”

“I’m okay... Mr Millington said that if I keep improving at the rate I am, I’ll be able to move here permanently by the end of January.”

“Really?” Virgil’s grin broadened. “That’s great, Gordon, really great.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to put up with me?”

Virgil chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

“And I’ll try not to play any practical jokes on you. And I won’t joke about my health.”

“Good.”

“I...” Gordon examined his snack. “At first I couldn’t understand why you were so mad with me today... After all it was only a joke.”

Virgil grunted and said nothing.

“But then, when I woke up this afternoon and I was lying there thinking about it, I put myself in your shoes.”

“And?”

“And... if I’d done to me what I did to you, I would have done more than shout at me. I would have taken me by the scruff of my silly neck and the seat of my pants and I would have thrown me as far as I could out into the water. And I would have left me to deal with my irrational fears by myself.”

Virgil said nothing. For Gordon to admit that he was frightened of something was a big deal.

“I’ve been so wrapped up in my own little world for so long that I haven’t considered how hard it’s been on everyone else. I should have realised when I saw Dad in the pool. He’s lost a lot of weight.”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “I noticed that.”

“My only excuse is that I think I must still have a screw loose in there,” Gordon tapped his head and stopped when Virgil gave him a pointed look. “I know. Don’t joke about my health.” He took a solemn bite out of the pastry. “I owe you a lot, Virgil. You’ve helped me through some hard times and I’ve given you some hard times, and I had to go and repay you like that...” He put his snack on the lid of the basket and fixed his brother with an earnest look. “I’m sorry; really and truly sorry. It was a dumb trick and you had every right to be mad with me.”

There wasn’t a lot that Virgil could say in reply to what was obviously a heartfelt statement. “Apology accepted.”

“Thanks.” Gordon picked up his pastry again and pulled off a bite sized lump. “Mmmn. This is great.”

“Gordon...” Virgil swung his legs around so that he was facing his brother. “Are you okay... with that?” He swung his arm out in an arc, encompassing the Pacific Ocean that surrounded the island.

“Up here, with solid ground under my feet, I’m fine,” Gordon admitted. “I still find watching the tide relaxing... And going to sleep last night, listening to the waves pounding on the rocks was heaven; just like that device John and Scott came up with... But the idea of putting my head under water makes me want to run for the hills...” He gave a rueful chuckle. “Well, it would if I could run.”

“I noticed that you went quiet when we crossed the coast yesterday. Are you going to be okay going home?”

“I don’t think I’ll freak out, but... Yesterday, when I suddenly realised that we were flying over the ocean and there was nothing between me and that great body of water except a tin can and Dad... It gave me the creeps.”

“Maybe you should sit in an aisle seat next time?” Virgil suggested.

“I’ll be okay,” Gordon reassured him. “I made it here all right, didn’t I? And since then I’ve been in the water.” He smiled broadly. “I got my feet wet. I’m not going to let my fears beat me.” He chuckled. “But I am going to have to quit WASP. You can’t have an aquanaut who’s scared of the water.” He took a big bite out of his dessert and chewed slowly. “...But neither can International Rescue.”

“It’ll be an excuse, nothing more,” Virgil stated. “You’ll get your confidence back and once you do, that’ll be an extra cover for us. No one will believe that an aquaphobe is capable of operating a submarine.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so... Gordon...” Virgil began slowly, “if you don’t like having your head underwater; how did you cope with that virtual reality box that John and Scott made for you?”

Gordon swallowed his mouthful. “I tried not to use it. But I know how much effort they put into it, so I didn’t want to disappoint them. So, I kept my eyes shut and reminding myself that I was lying on my bed and that I wasn’t underwater. If they’d somehow made it a total immersion experience, and made it feel as if I were swimming, I would have freaked out big time.”

“Have you talked with anyone about this... this...?”

“Phobia? Yes... But I’ve got to deal with it my way.”

“It can’t be a phobia, Gordon,” Virgil remarked. “If it was there’s no way you could have done what you did today. It’s more like...” he thought for a moment, trying to find the right words, “extreme respect.”

Gordon laughed. “Oh, yes. I’m very respectful. I’m going to have to learn to loosen up around old man Neptune again.”

“You’ll do it. You’ve never failed at something you’ve set your mind to yet.”

Gordon raised his bun in a salute. “I’ll eat to that.” He took a huge bite.

Virgil frowned. “Gordon... What have you got there?”

“What this?” Gordon looked at the glazed pastry. “I don’t know, but it’s delicious... Hey!” he complained when Virgil snatched it from his hand. “Get your own!”

Virgil examined the circular bun, noting that it had appeared to have been made up of a coil of dough. He sniffed it.

“I’m not gonna want to eat it after it’s been up your nose!”

Virgil handed it back. “Do you know what this is?”

“No, I don’t know” Gordon snatched it back and held his prize protectively. “I just know it’s mine.”

“That’s a cinnamon roll, Gordon.”

Gordon’s eyes grew round. “A what?”

“A cinnamon roll. You’re eating cinnamon! You hate cinnamon!”

“I do, don’t I.” Gordon stared at the bun, shrugged, and took a big bite.

A slow grin spread across Virgil’s face. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“A bigger range of delicious things to eat?”

“No. It means no more special apple pies just for you. You’re going to have to share everyone else’s. Grandma’s going to be pleased.”

Gordon looked alarmed. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

“Just watch me...” Virgil reflected that as satisfying it would be to see a fully fit Gordon being soundly thrashed by Lady Penelope in about six months time, it would infinitely more satisfying to be able to get revenge on the same day. “Next time I see Grandma I’m going to tell her.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would! You still owe me for all those messages you changed on my voicemail!”

Gordon stared at his brother. Then he stared at the cinnamon roll. “I suppose that’s fair.” He took another bite.

Virgil grinned. “I’m glad you’re gonna be okay, Gordon, and I’m glad I’ve got my co-pilot back. International Rescue is going to need a brave guy like you.”

“Brave?” Gordon looked up. “I’m not brave. I can’t even think about putting my head under the water without getting a case of the shivers.”

“But you’re not letting that stop you. To have faced what you faced, and to still be able to face your fears head-on takes courage.”

“Maybe...”

“No maybes about it. You must be the bravest man I know, and I’m proud to be able to call you my brother.”

“You are?” Gordon looked surprised.

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Both men sat in silence for a time, watching the figures playing on the beach and the surf roll in.

The setting sun morphed from orange to red...

“Did you mean it when you said I could tease you about your art?”

“No!”

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