Chapter 1: Fear of the Goal

The water was cool as it enveloped him. His legs tight together, they started to kick in a smooth metered pace—up and down, up and down, forcing his body through the water as fast as he could. He slowly rose to the surface, the water racing past him as he pulled his hands from where they started in front of him down, trying to grasp as much water as he could and pushed himself forward. He brought his arms up, over his head, and then back in the water for another push, this time pushing his body out of the water to fly above it. He took in a quick lungful of air before bending his head and diving back into the water with his arms ready for another pull and push. Again he flew above the water and dived back in. Over and over he did this, sailing over the water then gliding underneath. The wall of the pool loomed before him, and he reached out with his hands, flipped and pushed off of it, sending him deeper into the pool, allowing his arms a moment of rest as his legs propelled him forward. Then, once again his arms pushed him forward, up over his head, and then pulled and pushed again, sending him flying over the surface.

He rammed into the wall and burst from the surface gasping for air. He leaned his head on the cold cement before him, breathing deeply, trying to gain control of the burning in his lungs. That had been the first time in a long while since he had swum one-hundred meters doing the butterfly stroke. It had been his goal though—at least the one he had told his therapists about.

They had been hesitant, had tried to get him to reconsider. After all eight vertebrae had been damaged, some even crushed. His right femur was cracked, the fibula and tibia broke in half. His left fibula and tibia were also broken. His right radius and ulna as well. It was a surprise his left arm had went undamaged. Broken nose, concussion, and internal bleeding in addition to all that. Then a twelve hour surgery to attempt to reassemble, or in a few cases replace the damaged pieces of vertebrae without damaging the spinal cord more than it already had been. Later, more surgeries where bolts and rods were put into his legs to try and fix those breaks that had not been clean. He had worn a halo to keep his neck straight for almost six months, had just gotten that off—and he wanted to swim.

Swimming was actually good therapy for the type of injuries he had. But not the butterfly and not swimming one-hundred meters as fast as he could. They tried to get him to choose something a little easier to start with, but his mind had been made up.

Gordon looked up at his therapist, who squatted at the edge of the pool looking down at him, the stopwatch in his hand. "How… did… I… do?" He was still out of breath. That had been a lot harder than he had hoped.

"Two minutes thirty seconds."

Gordon groaned and flopped back into the water, floating on his back.

"Hey, I thought you did pretty good." His therapist stood and sat down on the starting block. "I mean, no, it's nowhere near your world record, but after what you went through, this is pretty damn amazing."

Gordon righted himself and swam back over to the wall, he put his hands up on the edge and tried to pull himself up onto the side of the pool, but couldn't. He frowned and cursed to himself before trying again. This time the therapist reached down and grabbed his arm, helping him up onto the side. "Thanks." He sat for a moment looking at his hands before looking up at the man on the starting block. "Forty-nine point eight two."

"I'm not familiar with that number."

"That was the record set by Michael Phelps in two-thousand and nine."

"The record you beat?"

Gordon had his chin up and his back straight. "The record I destroyed by two point one eight seconds."

"But not something you need to get to again, is it?" They both jumped and turned to the voice. Virgil was leaning against the wall just outside of the locker rooms, his arms crossed. "Unless you were secretly planning to train for the Olympics again that is."

Gordon smiled and leaned back on his hands. "Nah, I have other plans, but I do need to be in top shape regardless."

The brothers both broke out in grins as Virgil pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the pool—the sound of his bare feet echoing in the empty natatorium.

"Well, as far as your recovery goes, you have out performed anything we imagined you would. In fact I was going to be satisfied if you could do a hundred meters at any time, let alone in just over two minutes."

"I told you I would." Gordon smiled and ran his hand through his wet hair.

"Yes you did."

Virgil sat down on the starting block of the next lane and dipped a toe into the water. "This kid is always surprising us. Tell him he can't swim before he can walk and he does. Tell him he can't train for the Olympics and he does anyways. Tell him there's no way he'll qualify and he does. Tell him it's impossible to break a record that has been holding strong for fifty years, and he does."

"Fifty-one."

"Huh?"

"It was a fifty-one year old record." Gordon looked smug, but then had every right to be.

"And he's a pain in the ass." Virgil smiled as he reached over and ruffled Gordon's hair.

Gordon reached over and attempted to pull Virgil off of the starting block, but Virgil jerked his leg out of the way before he could.

"Anyways, I think this is your last session. There is little more I can do for you. If you want to improve, it's time for a coach to step in." The therapist cleared off the stop watch and stood up. "I believe you have a doctors appointment in a half hour, might want to get going."

"Come on, I'll drive." Virgil reached down and took Gordon's hand, hauling him to his feet.

They made it to the doctor's office with seconds to spare and walked in to the giggling of nurses. There were three nurses behind the glass that divided the waiting room from the office area—one woman and two men, only one of the men was giggling, the other was rolling his eyes at the other two. It was the non-giggler of the group that opened the window and greeted Gordon. They all knew him by that point—monthly visits for the past six months would do that. Once he was checked in—and had flirted with the other two in the office, they took a couple of seats near the door and waited. Virgil thumbed through an issues of Better Housekeeping while Gordon stared blankly out of the window.

Gordon glanced over at Virgil, wondering just why his brother was there. He hadn't been expecting him—at least not for another week. But here he was, possibly with news from his father. Gordon wondered if maybe he hadn't been fast enough in getting better, maybe they had decided to start the organization without him, maybe his father had decided not to go ahead with his plans at all.

Gordon shook his head, not sure where those thoughts had come from. His father would not back out on his plans this late in the game, nor would he start the organization without all of his sons with him—even if Gordon was somehow unable to participate, he knew his father would at least want him there. As for not healing fast enough, that was a laugh. They initially told him it would be at least a year before he was back to leading a normal life, and he had just been told he didn't need therapy anymore and it was't even close to a year—okay, just two months short, but still. It was fast.

"Gordon, you can come back now."

Gordon snapped his head from his musing and looked at the nurse that had opened the door. He was just as broad as Virgil with tattoos down both arms. "Hey, Matt! How's it going?" Gordon jumped from his seat pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind and made his way to the door a hand in the air, mid wave. "Still dating the cute thing from Washington?"

"Yep, got this one for her, here." He rolled his arm over to a reddened spot where a new picture of a dove was still raised against the ink around it.

"Ah, man, you know that's bad luck." Gordon hung his head and laid a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Every time you do that they end up breaking up with you."

"Can't help it." He just shrugged and smiled. "Room seven as usual."

"I'll wait for you out here, Gords." Virgil flipped a page in his magazine as he readjusted his seat.

"You his brother?" Matt asked as Gordon paused to see what was up.

"Uh, yeah." Virgil blinked.

"The doctor would like to talk to you as well."

"Me?"

"That's what she said." Matt shrugged and gestured for Virgil to follow Gordon.

Gordon frowned as Virgil nodded and stood, he didn't really want Virgil in the appointment with him. This was still private information as far as he was concerned. He hadn't even talked to his father about it yet.

They waited for about five minutes before Matt reappeared and took Gordon's vitals. He commented that his heart rate was a bit elevated, to which Gordon relayed to him his swimming trial. Matt left impressed by Gordon's accomplishment and the two sat, waiting on the doctor.

"I hope she makes you turn your head and cough." Virgil was reading a pamphlet on colon cancer and wrinkled his nose at one of the pictures.

"Nah, did that two months ago." Gordon waved him off and readjusted the hospital gown he had been forced to change into.

The door opened and Doctor Hamilton walked in. She was an older woman, well established in her career and well respected. Their father would have approved of nothing less. "Gordon, I hear you went swimming today. I hope you didn't overexert yourself."

"Nah, not at all." Gordon smiled at her, continuing to fiddle with his gown.

"Is that so. It takes a half hour to get here from the pool, you sat waiting here in the office for almost fifteen more minutes and yet your heart rate was still elevated."

"Just excited to be here!" Gordon swung his arm enthusiastically and then had to readjust his gown before anything fell out. In reality he was nervous, anxious about what the doctor would say about him in front of Virgil. Afraid she was going to sit and list all the things that were still wrong with him. All the reasons why they should just start the organization without him.

"I'll take your word for it." Dr. Hamilton smiled at him. "I doubt I want to know the details anyways."

"Well, let's just leave it at the fact that I'm officially done with therapy." Gordon straightened his back and smiled broadly at her. He had to stop thinking about this negative stuff. He had just successfully swam a hundred meter butterfly, something he really should have never been able to do again.

"That is good news. However, you're not in the clear yet. Let me see how you're doing." She turned her chair so that she was facing the wall. "If you could help your brother I need him face down on the table, gown off his back."

Gordon couldn't help but laugh a little at Virgil's wide eyes as he jumped off the table, took off the gown, threw it at Virgil and then jumped back up to lay on his stomach.

Virgil bumbled a little as he stood up to drape the gown over Gordon's lower extremities and then cleared his throat to let the doctor know they were ready.

"Alright, let's take a look at your back."

Gordon's back was something else. While those he had dealt with during his recovery were skilled in hiding their reactions to the large welt that ran the length of his spinal column and the web of other smaller scars that covered his back from armpit to armpit, Virgil was not. It wasn't that he hadn't seen it before, he just hadn't seen it enough to become used to it. Gordon knew his brother didn't mean anything by it, it probably wasn't something he had much control over really, but Gordon couldn't stand to look at him while the doctor poked, prodded him.

"Well, it looks like everything is holding up just fine." She stepped back and turned to look at the wall again. "You may sit up."

Gordon quickly flipped around and pulled the gown over his knees and lower torso. "So, am I fully healed?" He was trying his best to be optimistic, hoping it would make the rest of the appointment go as well as it had already.

"With an injury like yours we generally never say one is fully healed." The doctor sat down on her stool again and looked between the two brothers. "I've been talking to the orthopedic surgeon who did your surgeries, the therapists, as well as the psychologist you've been seeing."

Gordon couldn't help but tense. Virgil knew he was seeing a psychologist, but he did not want that to be discussed like they had just gone out for a picnic.

"We've all pretty much came to the same conclusion. We've done as much as we can for you. The rest is up to you."

Gordon leaned forward and talked quickly, hoping to finish things up quickly. "So, does that mean I'm healed?"

The doctor sighed and shook her head. "No, you are at maybe sixty percent of where you were before your accident. You will probably never get to one hundred percent."

"What if I kept training, kept trying?" Still his speech was fast, his hands gripping the side of the table firmly. He just wanted to get out of there, did not want to hear the truth. The fact that he may never be good enough to take part in his father's dream. The only one of his sons unable to participate.

"No, I would encourage you to continue healthy habits, keep swimming especially, but do not push yourself. You are lucky to be where you are now. The orthopedic surgeon thought the best you would do was maybe thirty or forty percent, you'd be walking but with braces and a cane at best. You out did any of his expectations, and honestly he's a little annoyed at that—he doesn't like to be proven wrong."

"Should I go to his office and do a little dance for him? Rub it in his face?" Gordon wiggled a little on the table—hoping a little humor might deter the conversation a bit. He had to grab the gown as it started to slid off his legs.

"I wouldn't recommend it. He may just re-bill you saying he made a calculation error and charge you more."

Gordon raised his eyebrows, a devilish glint in his eyes—that sounded like a challenge. He had to keep it going, keep her off the subject, but Virgil cleared his throat and gave him a warning glance. "Is there anything we should worry about? Is there a chance of reinjury?"

"There will always be a chance of reinjury. Even with all the metal that's in his back now, it's not as strong as it once was. If he pushes it too hard it could lock up on him or his muscles could start spasming. Either way, it's painful and depending on the severity he may end up on the operating table again."

"Yeah, don't want that. Four times was enough." Gordon was still smiling as he held his hands up in an x before him. He could feel his heart start to beat faster again, he was losing control of the room to Virgil, the conversation was not going the way he needed it to.

"Is there anything we can do if either of those happen?"

The doctor turned to Virgil and looked him up and down. "Your father told me that you and one other occupant of the island has had advanced paramedic training. Is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then if either of those should happen, Gordon needs to be put on a solid flat surface, traction if possible and given some muscle relaxants."

"Right, lay flat, and ignore the last part. Are we good to go?"

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him, but turned back to the doctor. "If they are mild, would plain painkillers work?"

"If they are mild, yes. However, if he is screaming in pain don't hesitate. I'll even prescribe him an injectable version as well as the pills just I case. Otherwise, continue with the medication you've been using until further notice."

"Oh yes, I'm going to need a list of those."

"Virgil, I can take care of my own pills." Gordon was frowning his arms crossed. Him being here was bad enough, him knowing all of his medications was crossing the line. "Anyways, haven't taken any of it for the past month."

"Gordon, that was very dangerous of you to do. Some of those medications can have side effects if taken off of too quickly." The doctor had turned to face him, a frown on her face.

"But I'm fine, no harm done." Gordon waved her off and readjusted his seat. He was smoothing out the gown that was still draped over his legs.

"Dad put me in charge of the infirmary. As such, I want to know what everyone is taking and I want it kept in one place." Virgil was trying to meet eyes with Gordon, but Gordon wasn't letting him.

"That is very wise of you." Dr. Hamilton nodded and brought Virgil's attention back to her.

"Well, I don't need them." Gordon crumpled the gown in a his fists.

"I would have to argue, but I cannot force you to take them. However, you should still have them on hand should you need them."

"So, it would be okay to take them as needed?" Virgil was leaning forward, toward the doctor.

"Yes. I would encourage it. I'll have Matt print off a list, but I'll go over them with you in case you have any questions."

"That's not necessary. Virgil is sharp as a tack, he doesn't need any explanation." Gordon hopped off of the table, holding the gown in one hand.

"I'm glad your confident in my ability, but I would rather go over the medicine with the doc." Virgil grabbed a pad of paper and balanced it on his knee to take notes.

Gordon leaned up against the table. This was the worst possible situation it he could find himself in. It was his life, he didn't want Virgil in charge of it.

"Alright. For muscle spasms; if they are light then extra strength Tylenol or ibuprofen should work fine, though I would recommend Tylenol over the ibuprofen as the latter in large doses can lead to kidney problems. More major spasms should be treated with Baclofen, it's a 5 mg pill he'll take three times a day for three days, if after three days he's still having issues, call me and I'll give you further instructions. If for some reason he has a severe muscle spasm and is crying in pain I'll prescribe some Valium. It'll be the injectable which you will give him a starting dose of 2 mg. If that is not enough increase it by 1 mg. Once he has stabilized you need to get him to the mainland for professional help."

"Oh, come on. I'm not going to need Valium!" Gordon's core was shaking he was getting so frustrated at Virgil and the doctor.

"It may not even be needed, Gordon." Virgil frowned as he jotted his instructions down.

"That depends only on one person." The doctor turned to look at Gordon who was still clutching at the gown his arms crossed.

It was entirely possible he would have issues with his back. He could only push himself so far right now, and was still working on strengthening the muscles. He was still limited to fifty pounds lifting, could bench press a little more than that, but he still had some ways to go. After his swim that day he couldn't do much more as it was.

"For depression and anxiety he's been prescribed Zoloft. It's a 50 mg tablet he should take once a day as needed."

"I don't need it." It was said quietly, but loud enough that Virgil glanced over at him an eyebrow raised.

"If that doesn't seem to be working then he's not taking it and you should check his cheeks and under his tongue to see if he's hiding it and spitting it out later."

"Uh, right." Virgil's widened his eyes and blinked a little, glancing between Gordon and the Doctor.

"Fake taking your medicine three times and your tagged for life." Gordon waved his hand in annoyance.

The doctor just continued. "The psychologist said he has been having some occurrences of nightmares—"

"Hey!" Gordon threw the gown to the floor, finally annoyed with the amount of information she was handing over. "No one was supposed to know that! That was just between me and him!"

"Gordon, put your damn clothes on!" Virgil turned bright red and picked up the gown holding it up over Gordon.

"Virgil is your primary care provider while on the island. He is legally and morally required to know all of your issues." The doctor was unfazed by the show and continued on.

"When he has a nightmare it usually lingers and occurs for the next few days. He has been prescribed Xanax, .5 mg tablet three times a day until the nightmares stop. If that does not help, then I recommend he return to the mainland for more psychiatric help."

"Are we done yet?" Gordon was pulling on his underwear shorts throwing Virgil angry looks.

"Just about. I'm going to prescribe two more medicines, just in case. He hasn't had any instances that I am aware of, but if he starts having dissociative flashbacks or intrusive memories give him one to two 10 mg tablets of Propranolol four times a day as needed. And, I hope nothing like this ever happens, but if he starts to have psychotic-like illusions or hallucinations of the accident give him Olanzapine, 2.5 mg once a day, as needed." She turned to look at Gordon who was turning a bright red. "This is only precautionary. You lot will be on an island without any nearby help after all."

"New Zealand isn't that far away." Gordon snapped as he grabbed for his shirt.

"When you're in severe pain, it will seem as if it's on the other side of the world." The doctor closed his file and stood. "I believe that is all I can do to help. Just give me a call if you have any questions and I do hope, Gordon, that you will never need this medication."

"I won't." Gordon finished buttoning his shirt and stormed out of the room and down the hall, not even saying a last goodbye to the nurses who watched him go in shock.

Virgil drove them back to Gordon's apartment in silence where they packed up his things and then drove to the small airport outside of San Francisco where Tracy Two was parked. There were two trucks waiting on them when they arrived outside the family hangar and Virgil jumped out, calling out his apologies to the men waiting on him.

Gordon sat in the car and fumed. He was not depressed, anxious, and very much not psychotic. Yes, he had had some nightmares. He had also been trapped in a capsized ship for six hours, there would have to be something wrong with him if he hadn't had the occasional nightmare. Even when he did have the nightmares he never took the medicine they gave him. He just didn't like it. Didn't like not being in control.

Virgil came back to the car a few minutes later, and drove it into the hangar where several crates of stuff were being stacked. He parked the car in its normal spot, turned off the engine, and turned to Gordon. "Look, Gordon."

Gordon sighed, he knew he was not going to be able to just go and get to the island, not with the way Virgil was looking at him right now. So he shook his head, It wasn't Virgil's fault—at least not completely. "Look, sorry. It's just—I'm tired of being the sick kid. I'm tired of everyone looking at me like I'm broken, and in need of constant help. You heard the doctor, I'm healed!"

"Actually, she said—"

"Yeah, I know, sixty percent healed, but in my book that is still healed. No more therapy, no more doctor appointments. And I don't need any medicine." Gordon glanced into the backseat where the box of various meds sat that they had picked up at the pharmacy.

"Look, all those meds back there are as needed. You may accidentally pull your back, or injure it in some way. We're going to be doing dangerous work, we need to be prepared for all possible outcomes."

"That's fine, I understand that, but that stuff doesn't have your name on it, or Alan or Scott or John's. It's mine, and anyone that looks at it is going to see my name."

"No one is going to see it. It's going to get locked away in the infirmary and only myself and Brains are going to have keys." Virgil was staring at Gordon, his eyes narrowed. "What?"

"What, what?" Gordon frowned, knitted his eyebrows together, and crossed his arms trying to keep the shaking to a minimum.

"There's more."

"Nope, that's all. Nothing else to see here." Gordon turned his head to watch the men as they continued to unload their trucks. He wasn't in the mood to open his soul to anyone, let alone Virgil.

"Lier." Gordon could hear the squeak in the seat as Virgil readjusted himself. "It's not just the medicine. What is wrong?"

Gordon frowned. Virgil wasn't going to let him out of the car that easily. He had to think of something he could complain about without actually opening up to him. Gordon glanced over at Virgil, sighed, and slumped down in the seat, there was at least one thing he knew was going to happen that he was not looking forward to. "They're going to baby me."

"Gordon." Virgil rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You were just involved in a major accident. You shouldn't be here right now! You should be six feet under, or at the very least still in a wheelchair because you freaking broke your back. Yes, we are going to baby you! We're worried about you and don't want to see you get hurt again!"

"What ever happened to getting up and taking care of yourself. When we were little if we got hurt Dad would just tell us to get up and walk it off, get over it, and keep going. That is what I'm trying to do, but you guys—Dad and Scott especially, won't let me."

"They care about you."

"I know! That's what's keeping me from punching them in the nose." Gordon let his hands fall down onto his legs in frustration. "Scott came to visit a couple of weeks ago. We went out to eat and the entire time he was at my elbow as if he was expecting me to crumple to the ground at any moment. I was so sick of him hovering that I feigned tiredness and went to bed at six o'clock."

"He didn't know how to act, didn't know where you were at. Two weeks ago, you'd only had the halo off for a couple of weeks." Virgil waved his hands toward Gordon's head and Gordon couldn't help but reach up and feel the scars were the contraption had been screwed into his head. "Look, here is what we'll do. Once everyone is on the island we'll have a meeting about you. Talk about where you are, what you are and aren't able to do, and what is expected of you. You can be there or not, that is up to you. That way they all know when they can baby you and when not to."

"You have got to be kidding. That will only make it worse!" Gordon threw open the door and pulled himself out of the car, storming over to the plane. He could hear Virgil's door close as well, and quickened the pace, but came to a halt just outside of the plane.

"Gordon, will you stop." Virgil caught up to him and grabbed his arm pulling him around to face him.

"What, Virgil?" Gordon tried to stand at his full height, unfortunately still an inch shorter than Virgil.

"I'm just trying to help you. We are going to be working closely together once Dad's organization is up and running and we have to be able to trust each other. Not just you and me, but Scott, Alan, John, and Dad. You don't want to be babied, I get that, but you're going to have to address it properly and not just run away from it. We need to know all of your issues, even the ones you didn't tell your doctors. Or do you not want to be part of this?"

Gordon blinked and took a step away from Virgil. He was still a part of all this. There was no way his father would keep him out. He was healthy and whatever problems he had, he was going to get over them. Nothing was going to stop him from being a part of this adventure. He took in a deep breath and looked down at the scars on his hands. "Of course I do! It's what has been keeping me going! I just—" Gordon slumped down on a nearby crate and leaned his head in his hands. "I just want to be able to take off and leave it all behind. The accident, the injuries, my recovery, everything. I want to be able to start off fresh as if it never happened."

"But it did happen, and you're not the same anymore. Olympian Gordon and WASP Gordon, they were great guys, but they're gone now. They're still a part of you, mind, but they aren't you anymore."

"Then who the hell am I now? Broken and battered Gordon?"

"Well, that's the thing. We don't know quite yet. Your determined that's for sure, won't take no for an answer. Still a pain in the ass, wish that had been left behind." A small smile flickered across Virgil's lips. "Maybe this Gordon, the one you are now, is going to be better than the ones before."

"But how do I know?" Gordon really didn't like how this conversation was going. He already felt lost and Virgil wasn't helping.

"Well, in a way you are starting fresh, this Gordon hasn't been labeled yet, except for the ass part, that's been done in permanent marker. Can't erase that."

"Thanks."

Virgil sat down next to Gordon and leaned his shoulder up next to him. "Brains has been working hard on your machine. Making sure none of the controls are too stiff, or awkward to get to." Virgil held up his hand as Gordon started to argue. "Not because he's going easy on you, but because he wants it to be the best mini sub the world has ever seen, and for it to be perfect for the best diver and oceanographer the world has ever seen. One not even a crash at four-hundred knots can finish off."

Gordon was quiet for a moment. He was still in a turmoil inside, but knew Virgil was just trying to cheer him up. So he looked up at him with a big grin plastered on his face."Well, I can't argue with that. I am pretty awesome."

"That you are." Virgil patted him on the back. "Come on, let's get this stuff loaded up so we can get home."

Gordon smiled a little to himself as he moved over and picked up one of the smaller containers. He had been wishing that John would be the one to come get him. He usually didn't pry into things, would have just taken the list of meds and they would have been off. However, John was a quiet guy, and Gordon wasn't too fond of quietness.

Virgil knew when quiet was needed and when it wasn't. Knew when to push for information and when to back off. Yeah, he forced Gordon into the conversation, yes Gordon hadn't been completely honest with him, but Virgil could read Gordon like none of the others could. He hadn't kept pushing him like Scott would have. He wasn't going to keep giving him worried looks like his father would have. He also wouldn't have just left him alone like John would have. He'll make conversation, talk about the island, his brothers, and try to get more information out of Gordon, but he wouldn't push it too much.

Gordon was glad it had been Virgil to pick him up. The trip to the island was going to be a bit more sufferable than it could have been. He was excited, really. Excited to see the island for the first time, to see his machine, to see his brothers—all five together for the first time in years. He was not eager to see his father, to test his limits and find out just how far he was from where he needed to be. He was afraid of what the future held for him, of what he may or may not become and if he would be able to reach his true goal or not.