Undefeated

"Wow!" Robbie, who had parted one of the stage curtains to peer out, looked back at his teammates, his eyes wide. "We got ourselves an actual audience this time!"

Mikal took up Robbie's position, and came back with a surprised look on his face. "I think half the school must be here."

"Then we will be motivated all the more," Devdan said, his tone calm. He put out a fist, and the other team members put theirs on his. "Whizzards win!" he called, joined by his teammates.

The group broke up, waiting for the signal to come out on stage. Fermat, who was standing apart from the rest, jumped when a large, warm hand fell on his shoulder. He turned... and his eyes opened wide with surprise and delight. "D-Dad!"

"Surprise!" Brains stood behind him, smiling warmly, his arms open wide.

"When did you g-g-g... arrive? Why didn't you t-t-t-tell me you were c-coming?" Fermat asked, his words tumbling out as he embraced his father.

"We wanted it to be a surprise." Gordon now stepped up, grinning. "Hey, Fermat! It's good to see you." He ruffled Fermat's hair.

"G-Good to s-s-see you, too, Gordon." Fermat stepped back from his father, looking up at Brains's thin face. "This is g-g-great!"

"It's going to be a surprise for the Sprout, too." Gordon rubbed his hands together. "I can hardly wait to see his face!"

"I thought I sh-should tell you I was h-here so I wouldn't d-d-distract you once the m-m-m... game started," Brains explained. He glanced at his watch. "T-Time to go. We'll be w-watching and ch-ch-ch... yelling loudly." He grinned and straightened his son's tie. "We'll s-see you again after you w-w-w... your v-victory."

"O-Okay, Dad." Fermat returned the grin. "I'll d-do my best... and even b-better now that y-you're here!"

"Psst! Fermat!" Mikal was gesturing; he had the curtain open and the rest of the underclassmen were in line. Fermat gave his father a quick salute, and joined his team. They filed out onto the stage to loud applause.

"C'mon, Brains," Gordon said, moving toward the stage door. "Let's find the Sprout."

"Mathematics. Define the term: annulus."

Fermat leapt to his feet, and waited to be acknowledged. The opposing team's coach, a Mrs. Willis, turned to him and said, "Wharton three."

"A-Annulus is the area between the e-edges of two c-concentric circles."

She consulted the laptop, and nodded. "That is correct. A point for Wharton." The audience broke into loud applause and cheering as Fermat took his seat.

The meet had been a nail-biter. The underclassmen on the Wharton squad were behind by two points in the first round when the upperclassmen took their places. Fermat and Aaron had easily quizzed out, but their teammates, Robbie and Tom, had not. The upperclassmen also missed two questions, which increased their opponents' lead by another two points. Now it was the underclassmen's turn again for the second round. All of the Wharton players were buoyed by the applause from the audience when things went right, but the disappointed sounds when questions were answered incorrectly could be frustrating.

"I almost wish we didn't have an audience tonight," Tom had whispered when the younger group had exchanged seats with the older players after their first round ended.

"A l-least they're b-being polite to the other t-team," Fermat had responded. This was true; the spectators politely applauded each correct answer by the opposition.

"American literature." Fermat could feel Tom tense beside him.

"Name the author of The Devil's Dictionary."

Tom was on his feet in a flash, but the coach acknowledged the other team. "Northampton four."

Their opponent, a red-haired girl, said quickly, "Ambrose Pierce."

Mrs. Willis consulted the laptop, and Fermat could see her lips twitch. "That is incorrect. Wharton four."

"Ambrose Bierce," Tom stated, emphasizing the first sound of the author's last name.

"That is correct. A point for Wharton." She looked up at both teams. "Will the upperclassmen please take their places?"

As the teachers swapped places for the next half of the second round, Fermat glanced out over the audience. His father and Gordon were in the row just behind Alan, but a few seats over. It seemed to Fermat that Alan hadn't even noticed that the visitors were there. He was too busy talking with Jason. Kay had a camera in his hands, and was snapping pictures as the upperclassmen took the seats that the younger boys had just vacated.

"Let's hope they can pull us out of the hole," Aaron whispered.

He quieted and sat up straighter as Mr. Feng said, "Because Wharton is behind, they get the first question. European history..." And the round continued.

By the end of the second round, Wharton's deficit had been cut in half, and it was a far more confident group of younger boys who changed places with their older counterparts. They nailed all their questions, including the geometry problem that Fermat had been given. When they'd finished, their opponents were ahead by one point—a deficit quickly erased by the older team members in their final round. Mr. Feng conferred with his counterpart, talking quietly over the computer.

"Since the score is tied," Mr. Feng began, "we will have a tie-breaker round. I would like the captains of each team to choose a number from one to ten. Northampton."

The team captain, a short Asian said, "Ten."

"Wharton."

Devdan spoke up. "Three."

There was more discussion, then Northampton's coach pulled out a coin. She flipped it, and Mr. Feng called, "Heads." The coin spun, landed in its owner's hand, then was turned over to the opposite wrist. The boys couldn't hear who won, but Mr. Feng grinned widely. He pressed a couple of keys on the laptop, then looked up at both teams.

"The subjects are mathematics, geography and music. Captains, please select your players for the tie-breaker round."

Devdan quickly stood., and gathered the others around him, allowing Mr. Feng and Mrs. Willis to set the jump seats for the round. "Mikal, please represent us for geography."

Mikal nodded, his face serious. Devdan turned his gaze to Will.

"Will, would you please represent us for music?"

"Sure, Dev. I'll do it."

Everyone relaxed a little, thinking that Devdan himself would play for their side in the round. So Fermat could be forgiven for starting when his captain addressed him. "Fermat. Please be our champion in mathematics."

"M-M-Me?" Fermat stammered. "Wh-Why?"

"Because, my young friend, I must have at least one player from the underclassmen for the round." He put a hand on Fermat's shoulder. "I wish to choose my best players, and you are the best."

"B-B-B..." Fermat stuttered, trying to protest.

"He's right, y'know," Robbie said, looking Fermat in the eye. "Mikal and Will are our best for their subjects, and if we can't have Dev, you're the man, Fermat."

"Captains?" It was Mrs. Willis calling. "Are you ready to begin?"

"C'mon, guys. It's showtime," Will quipped, taking a step or two toward the three chairs that had been set up for their team, then looking back.

"Go, Fermat," Tom said. "You'll do great." He gave Fermat a little push, then joined the others as they trooped off the stage and into the front row.

"I h-hope s-s-so," Fermat muttered as he took the second chair.

The audience had become restless during the set-up, but now they quieted down. All but Alan and Jason, who shouted, "Go Brain!" much to the amusement of the crowd.

Mr. Feng, however, was not amused, and fixed a baleful eye on the two before turning back. "The round consists of three questions, and best two out of three wins. As always with the jump seats, the first player standing will be acknowledged, and allowed to answer. You will have ten seconds to answer the question once it is asked. If you do not answer correctly, the other team will be allowed to reply. If neither team is correct, no points are awarded and the turn is over. Should either team get the first two questions, they will be declared the winner." He glanced around. "Do you understand?"

The players all nodded their assent, and he cleared his throat. "Music."

Will shifted position, leaning forward a little. "What musical notation indicates that a piece is to be played very, very slowly?"

Both players were on their feet in a flash. "Wharton one."

"Adagissimo," Will said promptly.

Mr. Feng consulted the computer. "That is correct. A point for Wharton."

There was a good deal of cheering, and clapping at Mr. Feng's pronouncement, and Will grinned as he joined his team in the front row.

Mrs. Willis took over. "Geography."

Mikal sat straighter, and his feet shifted position. "Give the current name of the country once known as The Republic of Upper Volta."

Again, both players were up in a split-second, and she called, "Wharton three."

Mikal licked his lips and paused. A look of confusion set over his face, then he blurted out, "Cameroon."

She looked at the computer and shook her head. "That is incorrect." She gave a slight nod to her team. "Northampton two."

The team captain, for he was the player, stood there for a moment, then replied hesitantly, "Burkina Faso?"

A smile crossed the coach's face. "That is correct. Point to Northampton." The audience clapped loudly, and the Northampton team cheered as their captain stepped down to join them.

Fermat swallowed heavily as Mr. Feng stood before the computer. He shifted his weight forward, putting his sweaty hands on his knees, waiting for the question.

"Mathematics." Mr. Feng looked from one player to another, from Fermat, who pushed his glasses back up his nose, to the pert red-haired girl who waited eagerly for the question. "Who is considered the father of analytical geometry?"

Fermat surged to his feet and stood stock still, waiting to be called on. But Mr. Feng turned to the other team. "Northampton one."

The girl took a deep breath and said, confidently, "Pierre Fermat."

Fermat's jaw dropped open, and Mr. Feng's eyebrows rose. He made a show of checking the computer. "That is incorrect."

The girl looked stricken as she stood there, waiting for Fermat's response. The audience was quiet as Mr. Feng turned to Fermat. "Wharton two."

"R-R-R..." Fermat struggled with the name, aware that his ten seconds was ticking by. His face screwed up in concentration; his hands curled into fists and he lightly stamped his foot. Finally out popped, "R-René Descartes!"

Mr. Feng broke into a wide grin. "That is correct. Wharton wins."

The audience erupted into cheering and applause. Fermat slumped a bit, huffing out a relieved breath, then smiled at his coach. Brains jumped to his feet, put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Gordon looked up at him in amusement, before standing up to join the crowd. Alan and Jason started clapping and chanting, "Whizzards! Whizzards!", something that the rest of the audience picked up on.

The Whizzards rose to their feet and surged up to the stage, clapping Fermat on the back and ruffling his hair. The opposition also came back to the platform, and the two teams passed each other, shaking hands to show there were no hard feelings.

The red-haired girl was last to pass. "Good game," she said, a slight, wistful smile on her face.

"Y-You, too," Fermat replied, holding onto her hand. He leaned forward, not letting her go. "You t-took me by s-s-surprise, you know."

"I did?"

"Y-Yeah. You see, I'm n-named for P-Pierre Fermat." He pronounced the surname as the French would. "Only everyone calls me F-Fermat."

She laughed, the wistfulness gone. "That's funny! You have a cool name!"

"Th-Thanks." He paused and released her hand. "What's y-yours?"

She giggled a bit. "Renée."

Fermat's jaw dropped again, but any comment he would have made was forestalled by a hand on Renée's shoulder. Her coach stood behind her. "Time to pack up, Renée."

"Yes, Mrs. Willis." The girl turned to go, but looked over one shoulder at Fermat. "Nice to meet you, Fermat. Just wait until next time."

"R-Right. Nice to m-meet you, too." Fermat raised a hand in farewell.

Mrs. Willis watched Renée go, then offered her hand. "You did very well there, young man. I can see we're going to have some stiff competition for the rest of the season."

"Th-Thank you, ma'am," he responded, shaking her hand firmly. "Your team was r-really good. It was a cl-close game."

The coach smiled, and snorted a soft laugh. "We'll be ready for you at our next match." She glanced up as Mr. Feng approached. "See you again soon, Gary." She offered her hand.

"Right, Jess." Mr. Feng took her hand, and shook it firmly, then moved to stand beside Fermat as Mrs. Willis walked off. "Well, Fermat, your father's here. I don't know what his plans are..."

He was interrupted by the arrival of Brains, Alan, and Gordon. "Hey, Fermat!" Alan hollered. "That was awesome! You rock, man!" He out a hand; Fermat slapped it with his own, then Alan returned the favor. "And... look who I found out in the auditorium!"

"I kn-know, Alan," Fermat said, grinning. "D-Dad checked in with m-me before the meet started. Didn't want me f-freaking out on st-stage."

"This dork didn't even know we were there until your dad started whistling," Gordon said with a laugh. "You should have seen his face!" He gathered Alan into a headlock, and rubbed his knuckles across his brother's scalp. "Clueless, I tell ya!"

"Not the hair!" Alan pushed at his brother. "Let go, lummox!"

While this horseplay was going on, Brains and Mr. Feng were greeting each other and conversing quietly. Turning toward the boys, Brains said, "G-Gordon. Please."

"Okay, Brains. Since you asked so politely and all." Gordon released Alan, dusting his hands off.

Alan made a lunge for his brother, but was stopped by Mr. Feng's sharp, "Alan. Enough."

The boy huffed out a breath and said, somewhat resignedly, "Yes, sir."

Mr. Feng turned to his student. "Fermat, we're going to the snack shop to celebrate and I've invited your father to come along."

"It's m-m-my treat," Brains insisted. "G-Gotta celebrate the hard-earned v-v-v... win."

"Can't argue with that," Mr. Feng said. "So, let me collect up the equipment, and the rest of the team, and we'll head over." He walked off to where Devdan and Will were putting things away.

"And wh-what will you two be d-doing in the i-i-i... meantime?" Brains asked. "I'll need to know where to f-find Gordon."

The brothers looked at each other. "I'll take Gords here back to my room," Alan finally said. "Introduce him to the guys."

"Sounds g-good. I'll m-meet you in your d-dorm in..." Brains glanced at his watch. "Two hours?"

"Sure, Brains. Fermat knows where I am." Alan started tugging on his brother's arm. "C'mon, Gords. I've got snacks in my fridge."

"Snacks? Did you say snacks?" Gordon slung an arm across Alan's shoulders. "Lead the way, Sprout."

Alan shrugged off his brother's arm, saying, "Just follow me, 'Nemo'."

Gordon frowned, and smacked his brother lightly on the back of his head as they walked off. "Don't call me Nemo."

"Then don't call me Sprout!"

Brains and Fermat watched them go, with Fermat shaking his head. Brains looked down at his boy. "C'mon, s-son. Let's c-c-c... let's party!"

"Man, you're in Birchwood?" Gordon took the steps to the dorm two at a time. "I didn't know you were in Birchwood! That's where I was my senior year!" He glanced over at Alan, grinning. "I have some goood memories of this place!"

"Yeah, this is where I moved to after..." Alan huffed a little breath. His brother paused, looking at him, his smile fading. With a little shrug, Alan smiled ruefully. "C'mon. I want to introduce you to Dom. Then we can grab some snacks and go looking for Zave and Kay. Jase is over in Oakwood, but I already introduced you to him."

Gordon began to laugh. "Yeah! He thought your face was pretty funny, too!"

"Yeah, well," Alan groused as they entered the lobby. "You'd look pretty weird, too, if one of us popped up out of nowhere without warning."

"I tell ya, Alan, we were sitting back there for the whole meet and you didn't blink an eye!" Gordon shook his head. "Your friend looked over at least twice when Brains was yelling but you were o-bliv-ee-us!"

"It was a tight match, okay?" Alan paused outside his room. "Here we are." He put his hand up to the scanner.

"This is cool!" Gordon gazed down the hall. "I lived two... no, three doors down on the opposite side of the hall. Good times, man."

The door slid open and Alan slipped out of his jacket as he entered. Dom was there, looking through some pictures on his laptop. "Hey, Alan! I hear the quiz match was a nail-biter!"

"It was! Fermat was the man, though. He pulled out the win at the last second." Alan gestured toward Gordon. "Hey, this is my brother, Gordon. Gords, this is Dom Bertoli."

The two young men shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Gordon," Dom said. "I've been going through some of the old yearbooks lately; seems you were a big name in sports a few years back."

To his brother's surprise, Gordon blushed slightly, and shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was doing what I loved, and that's what was important."

"Hey, are those pictures of the match?" Alan had caught a glimpse of what Dom was viewing and leaned in to get a better look.

"Yeah. Qaeshon just uploaded them. I'll be looking through and picking out the best for the yearbook," Dom explained. He clicked on a window. "How's that one of Fermat?"

Qaeshon had caught Fermat with his mouth agape, his jaw slack, looking both totally surprised and utterly goofy. Alan chuckled. "Yeah, that was in the tie-breaker, when the other team answered the question before he could."

Gordon nodded. "Yeah, I don't know which surprised him more: that she got it wrong, or the answer she gave."

Dom glanced from brother to brother. "What did she say?"

"She thought the answer was the guy who Fermat is named for, some old French mathematician," Alan replied.

"Pierre Fermat," Gordon supplied, helpfully. He shook his head. "I don't know that this picture really inspires faith in the quiz team's abilities." Turning his head slightly to one side, he pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "I think it perpetuates the stereotype of the average quiz team member."

"You mean brainy and geeky?" Dom asked.

Alan nodded. "Yeah. I mean, they are brainy and geeky, but..."

Dom cut in. "I see what you mean." He looked over the picture again and nodded decisively. "I'll use it."

Gordon opened his mouth to object, but Alan grabbed his arm and steered him over to the room's refrigerator. "Now that it's settled, let's grab those snacks, Gords, and find someplace to eat. Leave Dom to his yearbook stuff."

"Hey, I appreciate it," Dom said, smiling.

While Gordon gathered drinks, Alan raided his box of snack foods. "We'll be back later!"

"Right! Nice to meet you, Gordon!" The words were cut off by the door sliding shut behind him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Gordon asked, standing in the hallway, his arms full of cans and bottles.

"Just... I wanted to get out of there, and not get into a big argument with him." Alan looked up and down the hall. "I'll talk with him later. Where do you think we should go? The TV room?"

"Nah, let's go to the quiet rooms." Gordon now set off purposefully toward the far stairwell.

"The quiet rooms?" Alan reached out to stop his brother, but his hand missed. He hurried to catch up. "Where are those?"

"You've lived here how long and you've never heard of the quiet rooms?" Gordon pressed the door's latch bar with one hip. Instead of heading up stairs, however, he headed down.

"No, I've never heard of the quiet rooms," Alan said, his tone snarky and sarcastic.

Gordon grinned. "Then come, little Grasshopper, and I will show you the way."

Alan rolled his eyes, but he followed his brother to a door set under the stairs on the ground floor. "They're in the basement?"

"Yeah." Gordon managed to open the door with a clumsy, three-fingered grip, and he preceded Alan down the well-lit steps. "Where else would you practice the trumpet?"

As they alighted from the last step, Gordon opened another door, and stepped into a hallway. It wasn't exactly quiet; there was a deep rumbling that Alan recognized as coming from the heating system. He noticed how dry it was, and how the usual damp smell that went with old basements was missing. Along each side of the hallway were wide doors that were nearly half window. Some of them had closed blinds, but light shone beyond the blinds, indicating that the rooms were occupied. In one of the rooms, the blinds were up, and someone Alan didn't recognize was playing a cello.

"Hey, Gords?" He felt the need to whisper. "How come I can't hear him?"

"These rooms are really well soundproofed," Gordon explained, using a normal tone and volume. "They're for the guys who play instruments, mostly. Or if you need a really quiet place to study." He stopped by a room where the window was dark. "Where's your ID?"

Alan pulled off his lanyard with one hand, holding it out to his brother, who shook his head. "My hands are a little full here."

"Well, then. What do I do?"

"Slide the ID into the slot, nitwit. Just like you'd do at a hotel."

"Oh." Alan pulled his ID card out with difficulty, trying to balance the snacks he had in one arm. He finally managed to slide it into the lock, which turned green. Gordon used his three free fingers to pull down the door latch, and they went inside. The lights went on the moment they walked in.

"Put the stuff on the table," the older Tracy directed. "I'll get the blinds."

Alan looked around. There was a small table, big enough to study at, and two chairs. An electronic keyboard sat against one wall. A music stand stood in a corner near the keyboard, folded down, but not taken apart. A trash can occupied another corner, sitting on top of the industrial gray carpet. He turned as Gordon opened a soda. "Man, the things a guy could do in here!"

"And they've all been tried, too." Gordon pulled up a chair, and sat down, leaning back and putting his feet up on the table. "Bringing in booze, girls..."

"Girls?" Alan looked around the room again. "What girl in her right mind would want to come here?"

"Who said they were in their right minds?" The older boy took a long gulp of his soda. "If some guy has a girlfriend and they want a little hanky-panky... well, the threat of getting caught just adds to the excitement." He nodded toward the corner over the door. "That's why there are cameras in the room."

The bubble Gordon indicated was the same color as the wall, and barely distinguishable from it. "They know that you're the student who is in here, too. Your ID told them that."

"And how do you know all this? Especially about the girls?" Alan's tone was slyly accusatory. He took the other chair, turned it around, and sat, straddling the seat and leaning on the back. Pulling out a package of cheese puffs, he opened them and began to eat.

"Wellll," Gordon drawled. "Let's just say that a couple of guys I knew got kicked out for hanky-panky. The booze was actually harder because the stores around here are really strict about the legal drinking age, but one guy managed to lift some vodka from his dad's stash..."

"You are kidding me!"

Gordon smiled, a smug sleepy-eyed expression. "I kid you not, Sprout. They had themselves a little party in one of these rooms. Half his floor were busted on that one. I think it was in Chetwood, though. Not here."

"Damn!" Alan reached for a bottle of root beer. "If I'd known about this, I'd have probably tried it last year so I could get kicked out!"

A thick, dark eyebrow rose. "And face Dad's wrath when you did? Not to mention blowing any possibility of joining the family business?"

Gordon's choice of words answered a question that Alan had meant to ask about possible microphones. "Yeah. I sure would have blown it." He shook his head. "Good thing then I didn't know about these rooms." He took a long swig of root beer, then went, "Aaah," and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, does Maplewood have these?"

"I guess so." Gordon shrugged. "Why?"

"Fermat sometimes needs a quiet place to call home. This is probably better than where he's been going lately."

"Where's that?" Gordon began munching on some corn chips.

"The top of the stairwell. Where there's this little door..."

"Ah. Yeah. I know where you're talking about." Gordon finished his first soda, and picked up a bottle of root beer. "Did you know that you get to the roof that way?"

Alan shrugged, and crumpled up his cheese puff bag, aiming it at the trash can. It went in smoothly. "I figured you could, but it's locked."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Gordon said, taking a swig. "I used to go up there and sunbathe..."

The younger Tracy nodded sagely. "Yeah. Right. Sure. They would have booted you for that and you'd have been the one facing Dad's wrath." He leaned on his arms. "Besides, it's too cold to sunbathe around here. Even in the spring."

Gordon rolled his eyes dramatically and waved a dismissive hand. "Facts. Don't bother me with facts."

They both laughed. Gordon took a swig from his own bottle, then held it up in the direction of the camera, pointing at the raised glass letters. "Root beer. See. Not beer, root beer. My brother's obeying the rules."

"So." Alan said, grabbing a can. "What was this about Pierce? Dad told me some of it, but said I should ask you if I wanted more details."

Turning his gaze toward the ceiling and making a sour face, Gordon sighed. "I was stupid, okay. Stupid and smart at the same time." He picked up a bag of mini-pretzels. "Pierce was a popular dude. Best athlete on campus. Basketball captain, swim team captain, baseball... you name the sport, he probably competed at one point or another. Well, except maybe golf. Never heard he was into that." He opened the bag, and crunched down some of the contents, following them with a swig of his drink. "He saw that I was good. Started being pals with me. He had a cool posse, y'see. All the popular athletes knew him and hung around with him. Even the seniors." He shrugged. "I was flattered. Felt good to be included with the big dogs. He even wanted me to move in with him." Pausing, he ate some more pretzels, looking pensive. Draining the root beer, he continued. "Then he brought down the boom. He started pushing me. Trying to get me to do better, to step up my game. I was drowning in his criticism. Coach seemed pleased by my edge but not Pierce. He was the captain, and it was his approval I craved. So, after one heavy dressing-down, he took me aside and told me that I needed to increase my strength, and he knew an easy way to do it. 'Everyone's doing it,' he said."

"I was scared. I'd heard all the stories about steroids. I didn't want to take them, but I had to do something. So, I put him off and started pushing my strength training, working to get stronger. Working to get his approval without compromising my own conscience." He shook his head, looking beyond Alan at the wall, without really seeing it. "My grades started going down, and Coach was ready to cut me from the team. Dad put in his oar, too, and the pressure got to be too much." Gordon transferred his gaze to Alan, brown eyes meeting blue. His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Took me three years before I wised up and ratted Pierce out."

"You what?!"

Gordon snorted at his brother's wide-eyed expression. "Shh! Not so loud! We don't know just who is monitoring this room, now do we?"

Alan closed his mouth and sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. "What made you...?"

"I just finally realized that Dad was right and that Pierce was a bad influence. I don't think he ever knew exactly who did it, but everyone got tested and he was caught." Gordon kept his voice low, and punctuated his speech with the occasional pretzel. "It was hard; he had been my friend, and it was his senior year. But when he was kicked out, it was like a weight had lifted." He shook his head again, then crumpled up the empty pretzel bag, launching toward the trash can. It hit the rim and fell out. "Damn."

As Gordon got up to retrieve his trash, Alan used both hands to crumple the soda can he'd just drained. "The things you learn about your brothers."

"Hey! If I'd known Pierce was involved in all this, I'd have told you to run, not walk, away."

Alan waved Gordon away from the trash basket, and tossed his crumpled can. It hit the edge with a thunk, causing the basket to tip slightly before dropping in with a muted rustle. "I didn't know that Pierce was involved, not to the extent that he was. To me, he was just a dishwasher who happened to be a jerk."

Gordon took his seat again, picking up a candy bar and settling in to eat it. "And now he's a jailbird who's a jerk." He glanced over at Alan. "He is a jailbird, right?"

"So I'm told."

There was silence between them for a long moment. Gordon broke it by asking, hesitantly, "Have you heard anything about Sugimoto?"

Taking a deep breath, Alan let it out forcefully. "Not yet. I suppose I'll hear something soon, though. Have to give all the legal eagles time to figure things out." He absently rubbed the scars above his eyebrow, a motion that his brother noticed.

"Hey, you okay, Sprout?"

Alan sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I dunno. I guess so. I just wish it was all over. I wish it had never happened. Maybe if I hadn't been so stupid..."

Gordon pulled his feet off the table, and brought the chair legs back down to the floor with a thump. He leaned forward to look his brother in the eye. "Not true, Alan. Yeah, maybe you could look at it that way. Maybe you could say you were 'stupid'...," here he crooked the first and second fingers on both hands, "...that night, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that you did the right thing. You went to help somebody." He put a hand on Alan's shoulder and shook him gently. "I would have done the same thing, Sprout. The same damned thing."

Alan was silent for a moment, looking down. Then he raised his gaze to meet his brother's and said, "Don't call me Sprout."

Gordon collapsed back into his chair, rolling his eyes again. "Okay, okay. No more Sprout." He rocked the seat back again, thoughtfully fingering his chin as he said, "Hmm. What was it I heard your friends call you? Pinky?"

"Yes," Alan growled. "That's what my friends call me."

A wide grin slowly grew. "Oh, c'mon, Al. I'm not just your brother! I'm your friend, too, aren't I?"

"You're a pain in the butt, Gordon. Always have been, always will be." Alan's glare held for another second, then he grudgingly said, "Okay. You can call me Pinky." At the widening of his brother's grin he added, "But only here!" He glanced at his watch. "And speaking of friends, we'd better go if I'm going to introduce you to Zave and Kay before Brains gets here."

"Right!" Gordon let the chair back down again, and stood. Gathering his and Alan's remaining trash, he dumped it into the can. Alan took a moment to straighten the chairs, and wipe any crumbs off the table with a swipe of his hand.

"That should do it," Gordon said, as he opened the blinds on the door. He motioned to Alan. "Lead on." As they left the room, Gordon glanced up at the bubble and gave it a sloppy salute.

They stopped long enough for Alan to swipe his card again. "There," his brother explained. "All logged out."

"C'mon." Alan hurried back toward the hallway entrance. "We'll want some time to hang out, and I do need a good night's sleep."

Gordon shook his head and grinned as Alan slammed through the stairwell door. "Right behind ya... Pinky."