Scott's overworked and exhausted and his brothers think it's time to do something about it.
The blaring alarm shot through Scott’s eardrums as he jolted awake, the tablet resting on his chest clattering to the floor.
Please, not now John, he thought as he struggled to pry his eyelids open.
“International Rescue, we have a situation.”
Damn.
John’s voice was loud and urgent in the night and Scott yawned as his brothers ran into the room. Alan was still in his day clothes and he avoided Scott’s disapproving gaze. He would need to check in with Grandma and see if she could help him corner Alan about that – if he was staying awake into the night playing video games, Scott was concerned there would be hell to pay in the future.
If he was being honest with himself, there was hell to pay now. The end of the financial year was fast approaching and with it the annual uptick in deadlines and meetings and fifteen hour working days trying to fulfil his duties to Tracy Industries as well as to International Rescue and his family. He never expected to sympathise with his Dad after their numerous rows when he was a teenager but he had to admit, these days, he could understand the emotional turmoil on his father’s end that had made their fights so explosive.
“Actually, just Scott is needed this time,” John was saying, floating above them.
Scott started and looked up at John guiltily. He hadn’t the slightest clue what he was being expected to do, beyond get to Thunderbird One. His brothers were watching him closely and he made a snap decision.
“FAB, John,” he said, trying to inject confidence into his voice. He flashed him a smile as he jogged over to the lights to prepare for launch.
“John, are you sure?” said Virgil, who was now watching him with eyes far sharper than Scott was comfortable with. “Maybe I should–”
“I’m fine,” scoffed Scott as he pulled the levers down and the wall spun around. I have to be fine. I can’t let them down.
He could still hear their voices as he strode forward.
“I don’t see why we had to all get up if you knew just Scooter was needed,” grumbled Gordon through the wall. “You could have – OW!”
Scott dismissed the comment from his mind as the launch sequence began. It was time to put aside his concerns for Alan, the piling backlog of reports and the need for sleep. There were people out there who needed him and who wouldn’t be afforded mundane luxuries like work and sleep until he had reached them.
Meanwhile, Gordon was hopping up and down on one leg.
“What was that for Virgil?” he complained loudly as he examined the foot in his hand carefully.
“He could still hear you,” said Virgil. “Out with it, John, what’s really going on?”
“This will have to be quick, I don’t think he heard a single thing I said,” John told them as he hurriedly pulled up the data he had been compiling and sent a copy to Virgil’s tablet.
“Wait, you sent him on a real mission?” exclaimed Virgil.
“Of course I did, you thought I was going to get him to fly around aimlessly and tell him ‘oh, no worries, it’s been handled come home now’?”
“But, is that safe?” asked Gordon worriedly.
“Definitely not,” said John grimly. “But that’s the point isn’t it? He’s not being safe and I don’t think he even realises it. We need to act.”
“I was more thinking of the people you’ve sent him after.”
“They’ll be fine. They’re stranded by a rockfall with no supplies but they’re uninjured, emergency services were going to take seventy-two hours to clear the road at minimum. They requested our help as their helicopters were all busy with injured parties. All he has to do is pick them up and drop them on the other side. One moment guys.”
John’s hologram blinked off as he went to explain the situation to Scott again.
Virgil flicked through John’s compilation of stats while they waited.
“What are we gonna do, Virgil?” asked Alan as he read over his shoulder.
“And he gets on my case about consistent scheduling,” muttered Gordon. “Look at that!”
“He’s got a lot on his plate right now,” said Virgil quietly. “I’m not sure how we can make this easier on him.”
“Couldn’t we share some of this though?” asked Alan. “I mean, we could help!”
“Not as simple as that Allie,” said Gordon, pulling up the tab showing Scott’s to-do list. He whistled softly. “Look, that’s all Tracy Industries – we’re not allowed to help with that until we’re twenty-one.”
“And we’d need a business degree besides to be of any use,” said Virgil, looking through the list glumly. “I still can’t wrap my head around what the difference between the CEO and the COO’s jobs are, let alone sound halfway intelligent at the board of directors’ meeting. John might be able to do something, but I sure can’t.”
They looked up at the rumble coming from the pool outside and watched as Thunderbird One took to the skies. Alan gave a half-hearted wave.
“He’s gone,” said John popping back into view. “He chewed me out for not getting enough sleep, the hypocrite. So he won’t be interrupting unless it’s urgent.”
“What do you want us to do with this, Johnny?” said Gordon, waving the tablet at him. “You didn’t just send us all this so we could feel bad for Scott and not be a dick to him.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Well I did partially. Good first step would be not being a dick to him. Even better would be to move right up the other end of the scale into some actual compassion.”
“What John means,” said Virgil, interrupting Gordon’s indignant response, “is that we have to keep an eye on him and help make sure he hits the basics. Food, sleep, a bit of fun – pranks don’t count Gordon.”
“And we need to get him in a better mood before I can approach him about sharing the TI work,” said John. “He’s the one that has to attend the meetings, but I can read and summarise information much faster than he can.”
“As of right now, you can submit your requests for equipment to me,” said Virgil. “I imagine he won’t let go of debrief anytime soon, but everything else I’m sure we can handle quietly as long as we keep a paper trail. That ought to lighten at least some of the workload as well.”
Virgil and John looked at each other and nodded.
“Will that be enough?” asked Alan.
“It’s not forever,” said John. “It’s just been a busy quarter. There’s an end coming and he’ll be right back to his normal self. We just don’t want him burnt out in the meantime.”
“Well then,” said Gordon cheerfully. “Operation Smother Scott is go!”
Alan rolled his eyes. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”
There was a murmur of agreement as they settled back into their usual routine, waiting to see what the next day would bring.
***
It was 3 a.m. when Scott stumbled back into the silent house. He looked longingly towards the staircase that would lead him up to his room before staggering over to the coffee machine. Newly refuelled, he settled himself at his Dad’s desk and picked up one of the discarded tablets from his work earlier. His cheek fell steadily downwards as he read until it came to a rest on the desktop and his fingers went slack around the stylus he held. A soft snore betrayed his slumber to Gordon who was sneaking through the lounge room to go for his morning swim. His brother paused, turning the lights off and gently wrapping a spare blanket across his shoulders. Scott remained oblivious to the entire incident.
It was 11:30 a.m. when Scott stirred. He blinked slowly, trying to clear the blur from his vision and reached a hand up to scrub at his face. Instead of soft skin and scratchy stubble, he felt the smooth texture of paper crinkling under his fingers.
“What the?” he muttered to himself, pulling himself upright. The sticky note was easily removed and he stared at it for a moment, trying to bring the words written on it into focus.
‘Love you Scott!’ The black ink stood out against the bright pink of the sticky, in the familiar scrawl that Scott recognised from reading Alan’s homework over the years. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he read it over again. He looked up and saw another sticky note – green this time – hanging off the edge of the desk.
Plucking it from the desk, his smile broadened as he read the note – ‘Follow me :)’
And now he could see it, a trail of neon leading him away from the desk and down the stairs. They don’t all have writing on them but he collects them anyway, tangible and real reminders of this small adventure Alan has concocted and the w3ay he sees his big brother.
‘Thank you for being my brother’
‘I’m cheering you on!’
‘We’re here for you <3’
‘Do you think we could have tacos tomorrow night? I’ll make them!’
The stickies led up the side of the island in the kitchen to a covered plate. It was coated in even more sticky notes and Scott huffed a laugh as he leaned over to read the detailed threats of what would happen if anyone other than Scott so much as breathed on the cookies Alan had evidently baked that morning. The frowny faces he’d drawn all over the stickies were at odds with the gesture but Scott couldn’t help but bask in the warmth that filled his stomach as he ate the first cookie, chocolate chips melting in his mouth.
He picked up the plate and took them back upstairs and set them back down on the desk. The sticky notes he carefully arranged around him so he could see them as he dove back into the world of quarterly profits and projected market shares and PR release forms and the rest of the backlog that found its way into his inbox.
It wasn’t much, but his heart lightened with every flash of neon he spotted out of the corner of his eyes.
***
Scott had worked through cramping muscles on daring rescues more times than he could count. However, the stiff ache that developed from hunching over paperwork for hours on end was a new experience for him. He groaned and arched his back, hoping to reassure his protesting muscles into silence.
The light outside had dimmed enough that looking back down at the tablet made Scott’s eyes ache, but he sighed and turned the desk lamp on to settle in for another long night.
“Hey, brother of mine,” said Gordon, leaning against Scott’s shoulder. “Still working?”
“You have pointy elbows,” he grumbled and then gasped as Gordon let more of his weight slip onto his back.
“How tense are you, Scotty?” Gordon demanded. “Come on, up you get, let’s go.”
“Go where?” he asked, looking befuddled but allowing himself to be dragged to his feet.
“Your room,” replied Gordon, pushing him up the stairs. “Hop to.”
Scott tried to think of what on earth Gordon could want that couldn’t be sorted out in the lounge room.
“Did you need something, Gordon?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” agreed Gordon. “Very wrong.”
“Can you talk to Virgil?” Scott asked, a guilty feeling erupting in his gut at the words. “I’m sorry Gords, but I’m really busy.”
“It has to be you.”
“Oh,” said Scott, cringing slightly. “Okay.”
They stepped into Scott’s room together and Scott blinked at the late afternoon sun that streamed through his windows. The room was tidy, bed made and clothes hung neatly in the wardrobe. It was just the way Scott liked it, calm and organised and in complete contrast to the digital clutter taking up room in both his tablet and his brain.
“When was the last time you were up here?” grumbled Gordon as he flung the windows open in an effort to refresh the stifling air.
“Only a couple of days ago,” said Scott vaguely, turning on the air conditioner. “Maybe three. Before that flash flood.”
Gordon shook his head, knowing that the incident Scott was remembering had taken place a week earlier. He dumped himself unceremoniously onto Scott’s bed and patted the newly formed wrinkle beside him. Scott crawled onto the covers next to him.
“Well?” he said, hunching over in an attempt to relieve the ache spreading down from his neck. “What’s wrong Gordon?”
“I’m worried about you, Scott.”
“That’s usually my line.”
“Well, now I know how you feel.”
Scott sighed. “Gordon, I’m really sorry but if that’s all, the best thing right now is to let me keep working. The sooner I finish, the sooner things will go back to normal.”
“They won’t though,” said Gordon looking troubled. “Come on Scott, this isn’t sustainable in the long run. Can’t we do anything to help out?”
Scott grimaced as he thought back over the long list of tasks still to be completed. He knew delegation was his weakest skill, whether it was due to not trusting himself to accurately communicate his vision, or happily giving his brothers a much deserved break, or simply not realising it was an option. He had to admit, Gordon’s offer was tempting.
He twisted his head to look directly at Gordon and winced at the loud crack that reverberated around the room.
Gordon pulled a face.
“Okay, I can at least help with that,” he said with an eye roll. “Do you just not take care of your body at all? Come on, turn around.”
“What for?”
“Massage,” his brother replied shortly. “Lie down, you’ve been in one position for far too long working on all that crap.”
“That ‘crap’ is the guts and bones of everything Dad built,” Scott reminded him as he laid down on his stomach. “Paperwork is…”
“Crap, I know. Stay there,” ordered Gordon.
“Where are you going?” called Scott as his brother raced out of the room. He groaned and shoved his head into the pillow. “I’m going to regret this.”
“Okay, ready,” said Gordon racing back into the room.
“What is that?”
“Massage cream. Trust me, this kind of friction on bare skin hurts.”
“Why do you have massage cream?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Scotty?”
Scott grunted in response as Gordon’s deft hands began to knead at his neck. His hands seemed to glide and it was evident his brother did know what he was doing, his touch gentle and sure.
“You’re doing a good job, Scott,” Gordon said quietly. “Dad would be proud of you.”
Scott swallowed back a hard lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. He could feel tension slowly being drained from his body like some kind of magic, leaving him raw and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t anticipated. There was little else to focus on and so he listened intently to the sound of his own breathing which grew slowly deeper as his mind drifted into sleep.
Gordon grinned down at his eldest brother, asleep in his own bed for the first time in a week.
***
Scott awoke slowly, disorientated by the feel of soft fabric beneath his cheek instead of the hard, sharp edge of his tablet, warmed by the prolonged contact with his skin. He propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes with a yawn.
“Where the hell did he learn that?” Scott muttered to himself, stretching out the muscles Gordon had so adeptly massaged the previous afternoon. He felt refreshed, his thinking clearer that he could remember it being and the many, many hours of deep sleep had evidently done him a world of good.
No longer befuddled with stress and exhaustion, he could feel the old sweat and dirt built up to a low level grime in his hair and on his clothes. A quick shower and change of clothes and Scott was quickly walking down the stairs to get to the lounge room.
“Scott!”
John’s hologram popped up in the centre of the room and his brother smiled down at him.
“Morning John,” he called. “Where is everyone?”
John nodded at the displays offscreen. “Mission. They’re nearly wrapped up though, we can talk. How are you feeling?”
“You know, I feel fantastic.”
“Good.”
Scott couldn’t help but notice John was looking rather self-satisfied at his statement. He narrowed his eyes.
“What did you do?”
“Not a thing.”
“Did you get Alan to drug those cookies? Gordon’s massage cream?”
“Gordon has massage cream? Why?”
“Don’t ask, and don’t change the subject.”
John rolled his eyes and turned away to input some data on an unseen holoscreen.
“Nobody drugged you. You just got fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time in years.”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Scott said with a smile. “Makes the prospect of getting on with all this much more bearable.”
“Right back into then? Can I help?”
Scott automatically opened his mouth to refuse him, but paused slightly as the memory of Gordon’s words last night floated into his head. The sincerity was mirrored in the blue hologram above him and he couldn’t think of a good reason to tell John no.
“Yeah, actually,” he said. To his credit, John only looked surprised for a mere fraction of a second before breaking into a broad grin.
“What can I do?”
“Could you scan through these files and write me a summary of their contents? Find the most important information for me to write up the board report and presentation, as well as the company address. You know what needs to be included?”
“Market returns, share predictions, personnel changes…” John rattled off the list quickly and Scott nodded, grateful that his brother’s near perfect recall would prevent any delays.
“Thanks John. I’ll get onto the IR side of things in the meantime.”
“FAB, Scott. Sounds like a plan.”
Scott turned to walk towards the desk when his brother called him back gently.
“You’re doing great, you know that?” he said. “All the hard work? We appreciate what you do for us, words can’t express it.”
Scott smiled and blinked back sudden tears that came on as quickly as the swelling in his chest.
“Love you, Johnny.”
John looked a little embarrassed. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I talk to you later.”
***
Scott stood and stretched, listening to the quiet melody of the piano behind him. Virgil had closed the lid so as not to disturb him but they had all grown used to working through the soft flow of music over the years and Scott didn’t really mind. Mid-scale, the piece was cut off abruptly when Virgil looked up, noticing his brother’s movement.
“How’s it going?”
“Finished.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Scott groaned and flopped down, leaning against the piano.
“Get off,” said Virgil, looking mildly exasperated.
Scott didn’t move. “Don’t ever let me do that again.”
Virgil’s expression softened.
“Sure thing Scott,” he said, turning back to his piano. “We’re proud of you though. Did you ask John for help in the end?”
“He asked me. So did Gordon for that matter.”
Virgil hummed, his hands gliding across the keys again. Scott waited as the composition around him swelled.
“I think,” said Virgil slowly as the music dropped in tempo. “I think we might need a change.”
“A change?”
“So this doesn’t happen again.”
They were both quiet, Virgil needing his mental energy to continue playing, Scott needing his to think.
“What do you suggest?” Scott finally asked.
Virgil glanced up and said nothing. In truth, he was just happy his brothers had gotten Scott to a position where they could have this conversation. He was fairly certain that it would be a long road of trial and error to find a new balance that worked for them all. And he also understood Scott’s desire to give them all a break better than his younger brothers.
“We can split it,” he said finally as his hands fell on the final bars. “Brains and I can work IR, John can help with the business end of things and give Gordon and Alan a couple of PR projects. We’ll follow your lead, we trust you.”
There were three words that reverberated in Scott’s head, three words that widened his vision to the reality, the enormity of what Virgil was telling him.
They trusted him, completely and fully.
Every doubt that had plagued him since their Dad had disappeared, every fear that he’d make the wrong step and one of his brothers wouldn’t come home.
We trust you.
Scott smiled, the words lifting his spirit in a way he hadn’t realised he was missing.
“Sounds like a plan.”