“Virg, let me do it?”Virgil brushed his fingertips through the length of one of his blac

“Virg, let me do it?”

Virgil brushed his fingertips through the length of one of his black flight feathers. Its root twinged, both with irritation and the ache of bruising, but he found the grass seed responsible and a pair of fingernails scraped it out and dropped it onto the locker room floor.

The relief was wonderful.

Only a thousand or so more to go.

A sigh. “Do what?” He started working on the next grass seed. Honestly, grass was evil and he was ever so thankful there was very little of it on the Island.

“Preen your feathers.” Gordon was standing in his swim shorts watching Virgil poke at his wings. “I want to help.”

Another grass seed fell to the floor. “It wasn’t your fault, Fish.”

“You still saved my ass.” A hesitant and emotional breath. “I want to help you.”

Scott was usually the one who helped each brother preen. ‘Smotherhen’ was a very appropriate name when he had his feathers out. Virgil helped Scott when he had issues. But feathers were sensitive and preening a deeply personal thing, much like bathing.

And Gordon didn’t have feathers and didn’t know what it felt like.

“You know I help Allie sometimes.”

The honesty and concern in those russet eyes were ever so strong.

“Okay.”

The small smile that spread on Gordon’s face lit up his eyes.

Virgil ripped another grass seed from his plumage and bruises twinged. Ow. “Be gentle. There are a few…bruises.”

The smile disappeared. “Are you hurt?”

Virgil sighed. Gordon had managed to get all the rescuees onto the rescue rig, but an explosion had destabilised the building before he could jump off himself. The result had seen his fish brother pinwheeling towards hard concrete.

Virgil hadn’t hesitated, his wings out before thought. Launching off the rescue rig, he’d swooped through smoke and caught his little brother midair. But another explosion had thrown him off pace and the result was Virgil curled protectively around Gordon and tumbling through a field full of weeds.

And grass. So much ripe seeding grass.

So not only was he aching all over from a shitty landing that could have, but somehow hadn’t, seriously broken something, his wings were also full of contaminants.

The flight home had been hell. Even hidden in his mark, they itched, irritated and tormented him.

To finally be home and able to attend to the mess was a relief in itself, but not so much as getting all those damned seeds out. If Scott had been here, there would have been a lecture, but so much help.

Eight metres of feathers was a lot to attend to.

But Scott was on Three with Alan, so it was just him and Gords, an equally caring but inexperienced brother.

Virgil stretched out his right wing. It groaned and complained, forcing a breath from him. “Just aching bruises. I’m fine, Gords. Honest. Getting these seeds out will help a lot.”

Gordon held up his hands. “Tell me what to do.”

So Virgil did. He guided his brother’s hands to a feather, pointed out the snag and showed him how to use his fingernails to brush it out, how to align the feather into its correct position, and outlined how he would wash them himself and work a light preening oil over them after his shower.

Gordon listened ever so attentively and Virgil had to admit, it was a relief to have another set of hands working through his feathers despite the ache.

Gordon, for all their brotherly ribbing, was ever so gentle when he wanted to be. Virgil had seen him caring for children and babies out in the field and he trusted him with so much. His feathers were nothing in comparison.

More grass seeds fell to the floor. They would be vacuumed up and destroyed lest they contaminate the Island which was why Virgil was doing this in the locker room rather than anywhere else. There were decontamination facilities here of multiple types.

“Sit down, Virgil. Let me do this.”

Virgil blinked. “It will get done faster if we both do it.”

“You need to rest. And don’t tell me otherwise, or I’ll grab the scanner and prove my point enough to call in Grandma.”

His shoulders dropped. “Gordon…”

“Sit down, bro.” A hand on his wing shoulder. “Please.” Gordon really knew how to throw those puppy eyes around. To top it off, Gordon grabbed an office chair and wheeled it in so Virgil didn’t have to sit on the hard bench.

The upholstery looked soft and inviting – a sign that Virgil was obviously desperate. It was only one of the many type chairs in the villa and nothing special.

He must be tired.

“Fine.” Virgil groaned as he took the chair and straddled it backwards, letting the back rest support his front while his wings had total freedom.

Gordon was right. That tumble of a landing had punched the wind out of him. It had been a shitty rescue to begin with. The fall had just topped it off.

Fortunately, Gordon was fine. Virgil had used that entire eight metres of feathers to wrap around and protect his brother, curling them up into a ball that rolled, shedding harmful momentum.

But there were scrapes and bent feathers and bruises.

So many bruises.

Virgil winced as Gordon tugged on one. “Sorry! A stubborn burr. It’s out now.”

Virgil closed his eyes. “Is fine.”

Gordon’s fingers gently moved between primaries, methodically examining and removing irritants.

It was quite nice to have someone else taking care of his feathers. Gordon’s touch caressed jangled nerves, untangled snags and lined up vanes one by one. The relief was palpable and relaxing.

Virgil sagged ever so slowly where he sat, his head falling onto his arms.

At some point he realised Gordon was humming. Just softly and a familiar tune. It took a solid few minutes for Virgil to connect the notes and come up with the composition he had created for Grandma’s last birthday.

Gordon had a good voice. He wasn’t ashamed to use it either. Unfortunately, his choice of repertoire left much to be desired. His best usually involved an ancient sea shanty, a genre his fish brother actively took an interest in. At his worst, it was something like the ‘I’m too sexy for this shirt’ song from last century.

His little brother had blown a few shirt buttons the last time he danced to that one. If he’d known that Alan would film it and send a copy to Lady Penelope, then perhaps he wouldn’t have danced so…exotically.

Alan was still suffering the fallout from that episode.

Lady P was still smiling.

Virgil couldn’t help smiling, too.

“Got something on your mind?” Gordon startled him. “When’s Tin due back?”

“Gordon…”

“What? I know you have a thing for our lovely security chief. Just asking.”

“Well, don’t.”

But even that poke in the ribs couldn’t disturb him that much. Gordon was doing a great job cleaning his feathers and Virgil lost himself in the sensation of being cared for.

Gordon must have realised that his brother had found peace because he didn’t say anything further, just hummed away as he worked.

Virgil ended up with his eyes closed, his shoulders relaxed and his wings drooping on the floor.

He was vaguely aware of Gordon sweeping up detritus and for a moment, he put enough energy in to lift his wings off the concrete properly.

“I think I’ve got most of them.” His brother brushed his fingers gently through feathers, skipping across his secondaries, up to his lesser coverts and onto the down that tracked over his shoulders and back.

Virgil shivered at his touch.

“Virg?”

He pushed himself up, staggering to his feet. “Gotta go wash.” Gordon grabbed him as he wobbled.

“You sure about that?”

“Will be more comfortable.” He had to remind himself that Gordon didn’t know. Or maybe he did. Virgil felt suddenly felt guilty for not having had such a discussion with his little brother in the past.

“I can understand that, but you’re dead on your feet.”

Virgil forced himself to stand up straighter and everything ached. He experimentally flapped his wings just a little. So much better.

But they were still dusty.

“A quick rinse and dry. That’s all.”

Gordon looked ready to go for that scanner again.

Virgil sighed, half folded his wings and headed for the specialised wet area designed for just this activity.

He closed the doors between his brother and himself.

“Virg?”

“I’m fine, Gordon. I won’t be long.” Something obviously had the fish worried. Virgil closed his eyes and let his wings droop. They were heavy.

He gave himself that moment, before shucking off his pants and throwing them in the laundry chute. Lifting his wings again, he walked to the wall, punched in a temperature and set the fine spray running.

Walking into the warm water was bliss.

He may have lost himself for a moment or two between soap and spray.

“Virg? You okay in there?”

He startled and realised he had been standing there, half asleep for he didn’t know how long.

But he was clean. Thank goodness. Soap had been applied to skin and water had washed the dust from his feathers.

This, of course, made them heavier, but only for a short time as he switched the spray off and activated the blow dry.

Warm air evaporated the moisture off his wings. He flapped them repeatedly and they complained. But the water fell and soon he was as dry as he could be.

With a sigh, he carefully folded his pinions and let them go.

As always, it was a rush of sensation as they disappeared and his centre of gravity shifted abruptly. So tired, he staggered to one knee with a groan.

So many bruises.

“Virg, goddamnit.” His brother was suddenly there.

It wasn’t a gasp. It wasn’t. Really. “You ever heard of knocking?”

Yellow light flickered over him and he groaned. “Gordon, I’m fine. Just need some sleep.” He pushed himself off the floor.

A towel was shoved into his stomach. “Put this on. We’re going to see Grandma.”

Virgil clutched at the towel. “Why?”

Gordon held up the readings on the medscanner. “You tell me.”

Virgil stared at the numbers and the diagram representing his body. “Just some bruising.” Perhaps some imbalances. Nothing sleep and a good meal couldn’t fix.

The thought of food turned his stomach over. Maybe just a drink.

“I’m fine, Gordon. Feathers were a bit messed up. Broke a couple and gained some bruises. There is nothing a simple painkiller and bed won’t fix.”

He wrapped the towel around his waist anyway and strode towards the doors.

“Virgil-“

“Gordon, please.”

“Didn’t you say you needed to oil your feathers?”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“I could do it for you now.”

Virgil closed his eyes again. God, he was tired. “You can help me tomorrow. Now, I’m going to bed.” He shoved the doors open further and strode through. His uniform was still on the bench, but he’d stash that tomorrow as well.

Gordon hurried to catch up with him and followed him to his rooms.

“You’re stalking me, Gords. I’m going to get weirded out.”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror yet?”

“What? Why?”

He had been about to shed the towel and don his pyjama pants, but wasn’t used to the audience.

Gordon grabbed him gently by the elbow and led him over to his full-length mirror.

His reflection looked as tired as he felt. “What is your point, Gordon?”

His brother turned him side on, the black etching of his mark wrapping around his biceps and shoulder…was mottled.

Virgil twisted further around and found his mark to be a patchwork of red and blue up and down the length of his torso.

That explained the ow.

“I would really prefer Grandma to take a look, Virgil.”

“It’s just bruising.” No matter how spectacular.

“We fell from quite a height.”

Virgil looked over at his brother. “This is not your fault, Gords. You know that. A few bruises are nothing compared to your safety.”

“But what about your safety?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why won’t you let Grandma have a look?”

“She doesn’t need to. There is nothing to look at.”

Gordon stared at him and something flickered in his eyes. “Fine. But I want you to let your wings out before you go to bed.”

Virgil blinked. “Why?” He had just let them go and that had hurt enough.

“I want to check to make sure all the burrs are gone.”

“We’ve already done that.”

“I want to give them another look, just to make sure.”

Virgil eyed him. “There is not enough room in here.” He gestured around his bedroom.

“Then we’ll go into the living room and set up a lounger.”

“So Grandma can accidentally find me there?” Virgil frowned at his brother.

“Nooooo.”

Virgil glared at him. He was up to something, he was sure of it. But Virgil didn’t have the energy to pursue it and honestly, he did trust Gordon. He knew enough to know that feathers were no joking matter.

Ever.

Not after the incident with Scott all those years ago.

That had not been funny at all.

And there was something in his brother’s eyes. Honest concern.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Entering the living room, Virgil was surprised to find that it was evening and the sun was gilding the Island. A gentle breeze was blowing off the caldera and the birds on Mateo were warbling as they settled down for the evening.

Virgil stood on the balcony barefoot, shirtless and just let it soak in. The breeze ruffled his hair and caressed aching skin.

“Virg? Come lay down.”

He blinked and turned to find Gordon standing beside a lounger with a thick mattress and several pillows.

“Gordon, why are you doing this?”

“I want to help. You got hurt because of me. Please help me fix it, even just a little.”

“It was not your fault. Just a shitty rescue.”

“You’re in pain.”

“It’s nothing, Gords, honest.”

“Will you please just lift and lie down.” There was just a touch of warning in his little brother’s tone. Gordon had a streak of their father in him almost as much as Scott did.

Fine.

But Virgil glared anyway.

Before he could think about it too much, he hunched and lifted.

And Gordon had to catch him or he would have fallen. God, that hurt. Only bruising, but ow.

Gordon had caught him under his arms. “Virg? You with me?” Worried brown eyes peered up at him.

“I’m fine.” But it was rasped out. His wings were still folded and a mass of ache, dragging on the floor.

“C’mon, let’s get you lying down.”

Virgil grunted. The divan suddenly looked so much more inviting. The pillow was soft beneath his cheek as he finally lay down on his belly. He let out a breath and every aching muscle relaxed into the soft mattress. Where had his brother found it? It was heaven.

“Spread your wings for me, Virgil?”

He blinked, almost on the edge of sleep. “Mmm-hmm…”

“This is the last I’ll ask of you, I promise. Spread your wings and then you can sleep.”

Sleep.

Ever so stiff, his pinions ached and creaked as he unfolded and extended them out. Gentle hands caught his left wing and guided it down to a soft surface. Footsteps around him and his right wing was gently nudged to an equally soft landing.

A hand on his shoulder and a finger brushed hair out of his eyes.

Ever so quietly. “Sleep, big brother.”

Virgil let his wing shoulders relax and mumbled into his pillow.

Gordon snorted just softly and a moment later a light blanket was laid over his legs. “Your modesty is safe. Now sleep.”

Mmph.

But Gordon was running his fingers through the fine down on his shoulders and Virgil was too tired to resist.

He slipped away.

-o-o-o-

“He’s okay, Gordon.”

The voice was his beloved grandmother, whispering. “He has some bruising and a few electrolyte imbalances. He just needs rest and possibly a painkiller.”

“He won’t take them, you know that.” A shaky breath. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, honey. What about you? You took the fall as well.”

“I’m good, Grandma.”

There was silence for a moment and Virgil drifted.

“He saved me.”

“You boys have a habit of doing that.”

“Grandma…”

“You fell. Your brothers can fly. Of course they are going to catch you.”

There was a muffled sound.

“Aww, honey, come here.” Shuffled footsteps. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“He’s hurt because of me.” There was a shake to Gordon’s voice that set off alarms in Virgil’s head. His little brother was hurting.

He shifted, attempting to shrug off the fog of sleep, but a small hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetie.” He had no idea if the words were addressed to him or to his little brother, but the hand brushed gently through his shoulder down and was ever so paralysing that he lost his fight with sleep again and drifted off.

-o-o-o-

Someone was tugging gently at one of his primaries.

The tugging nudged him into awareness, but then disappeared, leaving him floating in that lazy level just below full consciousness.

Fingers were combing ever so gently through his feathers.

One by one.

He was being looked after.

He wasn’t awake enough to protest, to resist the care being given. Not awake enough to feel guilt.

But enough to just enjoy being looked after, being cared for.

Being loved in the gentlest way possible.

Fingers combed through his secondaries and he let himself fall away.

-o-o-o-

“He’s okay, Scott. Grandma has checked him over, I promise. Just a mass of bruising.” Gordon’s voice was whispering again.

“He looks awful.” Alan’s honesty bounced around Virgil’s dopey brain.

“Shh. I know. Don’t wake him.”

A flicker of yellow light and Gordon sighed. “Don’t believe me, huh?”

“I believe you. I just need to check for myself.” Scott’s deeper rumble blossomed comfort in Virgil’s heart. His big brother was home. He would look after Gordy.

Virgil relaxed just that notch further.

-o-o-o-

Time passed.

It must have, because when Virgil finally woke up everything was quiet. Slow blinking revealed very early dawn barely lighting up the hardwood floor.

Slow neurons fired and eventually gave him the information he needed. He had fallen asleep before the sun went down. Gordy.

Gordy falling.

He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

“Gordon’s fine, Virgil.”

The words were quiet and calm.

He was laying on his belly and the barest of movements proved his wings were still out. Looking up he caught sight of his eldest brother sitting against the glass doors that led out onto the balcony. He blinked. They were closed.

Scott put down his glass of protein shake. He was dressed in his running outfit, but by the look of it, he hadn’t been out yet.

“How are you feeling?” His brother pushed himself off the floor and took the few steps across the hardwood to crouch down beside Virgil.

How was he feeling?

He had obviously slept in the same position all night and the smallest of movements let him know all about it.

Another groan gave him away as he let his forehead drop to the pillow again.

“That bad, huh?” A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers gently nudging the fine down of his trapezius. “Can you fold your wings?”

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut. Scott was right. Remove the weight of his wings and then attempt the rest.

Movement hurt. The next day was always the worst. Adrenalin gone, abused muscles stiff, bruises fully realised. He grit his teeth.

But this wasn’t the first time.

He lifted his wings off the pillows Gordon had piled there for him and with a groan that crept out between his teeth, he retracted his wings, folded them, and let them go.

All the breath in his body left with a whoosh and he collapsed back into the bed and closed his eyes.

“Better?”

Virgil’s muffled expletive said everything.

Scott snorted. “Okay. Hold that thought. I’ve got just the thing.”

A breath and Virgil let himself drift.

A gentle touch to his mark startled him.

“Hey, relax. Just a little preening oil. Gordon did your wings last night. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to rub a little on sore muscles.” And with that his brother started running gentle circles all over Virgil’s back. His mark tingled at the contact, but it was safe contact, welcome brotherly care.

Care.

The scent of the bathing oil wafted past his nostrils. Scott knew from his own experience where and what hurt in this situation.

Well, not perhaps this exact situation. Virgil couldn’t recall Scott catching Gordon midair before, but there had been that incident with Allie. Their little brother terrifying them all prematurely grey.

It had been Virgil who had administered the care to Scott that day.

Fingers nudged knots and movement into his muscles. It felt good and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

“Thanks, Scott.”

His brother didn’t stop his ministrations. “Anytime, Virg, you know that.”

There was silence for a while after that, Scott methodically and medically working to rub in the liniment. Virgil knew he should move, get up, find where Gordy was…but he found himself paralysed.

Scott knew exactly what he was doing.

Caring, smotherhen, big brother…

-o-o-o-

He must have fallen asleep again, because the next he knew the sun was high in the sky.

He blinked. Everything was quiet – a very unusual situation for the comms room.

Shaking off most of the fog, he pushed himself into a sitting position and was pleasantly surprised when the pain was minimal. It still hurt, but a good percentage of the stiffness was gone. His skin was ever so soft where his big brother had rubbed in oil.

Standing up proved a little more of a challenge, but he got there and worked several of his muscles until they loosened up.

He felt surprisingly good, despite the aches.

All he needed now was coffee.

He shuffled his way across the hardwood floor in his bare feet and down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Virg! You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Virgil blinked and froze. Gordon, as usual, was far too full of energy first thing in the morning.

“Oh, hell. Coffee. You haven’t had your coffee yet. Sit down, I’ll get you some of your stim juice. Just a moment.”

Gordon started flapping around the kitchen.

Virgil stayed where he was and just stared.

What?

The smell of coffee was suddenly in the air and Virgil felt like floating on it like Pepe Le Pew on a waft of perfume.

“C’mon, Virg, sit down. Coffee’s nearly ready. Want some toast?”

Virgil was notoriously slow in the mornings, but even his morning fog brain could twig something wasn’t right. Gordon was always kind, but this?

“Gordon, what are you doing?”

“Getting you coffee. And breakfast, if you want it.”

His fish brother darted about the kitchen like a guppy swimming in caffeine.

“Gordon?”

“You want sugar?”

“Gordon.”

But his brother wasn’t stopping. With not enough brain cells to work out a different strategy, Virgil resorted to putting himself directly in his brother’s path and grabbing him. “Gordon, stop.”

“What? Why?”

Virgil sighed. It was all too much before coffee. He pulled his brother into a hug. A tight one.

“I’m okay, Gords.”

His brother’s response was muffled against Virgil’s shoulder. Gordon struggled against his hold, so Virgil let him go.

Gordon flung himself away. “Aaargh! You don’t have a shirt on, Virg. Bare skin much?” He stared at his hands. “And oily. Ergh.”

Virgil snorted. “Sorry.” He bit back a grin, but soon lost the fight and ended up chuckling at the expression on his little brother’s face.

Gordon screwed that face up in disgust. “That’s it, you can get your own coffee.”

“Will do.” He reached out and ruffled the fish’s hair.

Gordon batted him away. “Get’orff.”

Virgil sighed, smiling. “Thanks, Gords.”

The fish froze, staring. Something stirred in his eyes. “Anytime, Virg.” He swallowed. “Always.”

Virgil softened even more. “Same.”

They stared at each other a moment longer only for it to be broken by the chime of the coffee machine.

“Ooh, I dare not stand between you and your coffee.” He backed away and then around Virgil as if he was an explosive.

Virgil rolled his eyes and beelined for the coffee machine, because coffee. When he turned around, beverage of the gods in hand, Gordon was gone.

And the warmth in Virgil’s heart had nothing to do with the mug in his hand.

-o-o-o-