A/N: Right, so here's the fourth chapter. Not so much Latin in here, and dear Eru I have problems writing Gordon. I have also come to the conclusion that I don't like anything I write, and therefore I'm a terrible judge of how stories turn out, and therefore my opinion on the matter is going to be ignored from hence forth.
Thank you once more to Amy, as always, 'cause she's brilliant and witty and has a large stick to beat me with when I procrastinate.
It was official. He was bored. Bored of the pod, bored of his stinky, dirty uniform, bored of the same conversation with his brother, over and over again.
"Fine," Gordon huffed, bored and almost annoyed. "We'll just have to agree to disagree. He's either a Roman, a Scot, or a transvestite."
Alan groaned, shaking his head. "No way is he a transvestite bro! Even saying so just discounts your spy theory."
"And your Roman theory is that much more coherent?"
The certainty in Alan's voice was suddenly very funny. Gordon burst out laughing, which didn't help his (also bored) brother remain calm. Not that Alan was known for his emotional control anyway.
"Fine then, laugh it up…" he muttered, scowling.
Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Gordon only rolled himself off the bench, still chuckling, and headed towards the elevator.
"Where are you going?" Alan's mood darkened further at his older brother's retreat.
"The flight deck, to check on Scooter. See if an update's come through."
"Right. Have fun."
Swallowing further laughter at Alan's petulant tone, Gordon only nodded.
It wasn't long before the elevator reached it's destination, tipping forwards to allow him access. He pushed aside the rail, stepping onto the main deck, and taking in a very unusual sight.
To Gordon, it appeared that Scott had snapped. The oldest of the Tracy boys was slumped in the pilot's chair, forehead resting against the metal console. That is, until he raised it slightly and thumped it back down. Several times. Forcefully.
That the brunette was also making disturbing groaning noises during this process didn't help his brother's peace of mind any, either.
Thump! "… aargh…"
"Um, Scott? Are you okay?"
Gordon stared at his eldest brother. "What was that? I missed it."
Scott only groaned again, and thumped his head against the console once more for good measure.
"Scott, seriously. What is it?"
"I'm gonna kill him." Scott muttered.
Gordon was intrigued. Scott was never one to let his emotions rule him, and, with the notable exceptions being any time Gordon himself was feeling particularly mischievous (and suicidal), he would easily forgive anything his brothers said or did. "Big help Scott, thanks. Would you like to clarify?"
"How on Earth does he know… Wrong question. Why on Earth does he know how to say that? Any of that?" Raising his eyes to the heavens, Scott glared upwards. "I'm gonna kill you."
"Right, so you're either talking about God, which is highly unlikely, or John."
"Hey!" Gordon sniffed. "Is that any way to speak to your brother?"
"Fine then. I guess you won't get your birthday present after all."
"Just do me one favor?"
"Why should I?"
"Because I'm asking you nicely."
"You haven't said please."
"Don't be a smart ass, and look this up for me, will you?"
Gordon took the slip of paper that his older brother passed him, reading it with interest. "Look it up?"
"Well, I don't want it in English. I know how to say it in English."
"Alright, don't get all huffy. So, how should I look it up? Morse code?"
"I know Morse code. In Latin, please."
"Should I ask?"
"It's for John, isn't it?"
"The sooner you find me a translation, the sooner you'll know. Now shoo!"
With one final glance at his brother, Gordon left the cockpit, wondering what on Earth John said to make Scott so snappy. And if John would possibly teach it to him…
An hour later, Gordon had learned many fascinating phrases in Latin. He had not, unfortunately, gotten the one that Scott wanted, and the red head vaguely wondered what would happen if he substituted this one for it instead. After all, Scott wouldn't know the difference, and the results would certainly be mighty interesting…
Shaking off the amusing (but, as previously stated, suicidal) impulse, Gordon sat back. Perhaps he was going about his search the wrong way? After all, he really just needed that one word to get a focused search, without having to dig through hundreds of sayings first.
Setting up his search, he grinned when he saw the results. Bingo!
From there, it was smooth sailing, but Gordon killed another twenty minutes memorizing his own little stash to drive Scott nuts with. Who knew that Mister Perfect Tracy's weakness was languages?
He shoved the pieces of paper into his uniform pockets, to keep in case he ever really wanted to end up pitched off a cliff. Heading back up to the cockpit, Gordon grinned at the thought of the impending amusement.
"Alright, I've got the translation."
Scott glanced up as his brother entered the flight deck, a small scrap of paper clutched in one hand.
"You didn't ask John, did you?"
"You want it for him, Scott. Do you really think I'd go to him for the translation?"
"Just tell me you didn't."
"Alright, I didn't."
"Now be honest."
"I didn't! Why do you think I would do that?"
"Because you're Gordon."
"Fine then. Last time I'm doing you a favor."
"Can I have it now?"
"You didn't say please."
Scott looked at the short phrase scribbled onto the paper. It was nearly illegible, Gordon's handwriting skills not exactly the most concise he'd ever seen. "Thanks squirt." He added, almost as an afterthought; already busy dialling up the comm.
Baby Jesus hates a wise ass, John.
Revenge was sweet.
Gordon made a non-committal reply, disappearing before Scott ever looked up. He didn't want to be visible when John heard that. He wasn't sure what the reaction would be, but he was pretty sure he'd be able to hear it from the pod.
The blond looked up at his brother, still a little sulky from earlier. He must have been tired, Gordon noted. Alan didn't usually sulk this long, unless Tin-Tin was involved.
"Think fast!" Gordon fired the ball of paper at his brother, who only just managed to catch it before it smacked him in the face. Scowl deepening, he aimed the glare at his tormentor.
"What was that for?"
Rolling his eyes, Gordon replied, "Read it, squirt. I thought it would suit your mood."
Un-crumpling the ball, Alan gave it a disinterested once over. He glanced back up at Gordon, and then down at the paper again.
"Cogito ergo doleo? Huh?"
"What, did I forget the translation?"
Gordon was saved from answering by the loud guffawing that was suddenly heard, ringing through the pod. He grinned.
Yup. I was right.
A/N: For those less linguistically inclined, here are translations. First for Scott's revenge phrase (yes, I know the Latin is a little off, but that's the best I could do), and second for Gordon's Alan-appropriate phrase.
Infans Jesu invidit assini Baby Jesus hates a wise ass
Cogito ergo doleo I think, therefore I am depressed