Just something from Gordon's point of view. I haven't written something from his in a while as he hasn't had too many central episodes. But this idea caught me. Happy reading and happy Christmas. The second part should be up pretty much straight after this.

He'd have to get back to Brains with that feedback on the electric charge things. He couldn't be bothered to think of their proper name right now.

He'd just had lighting, shocky, ion things pumped through his limbs and now he had the pleasure of a real outside view.

The pod creaked. The iron it was attached to shaking beneath the storm. Directly beneath the storm.

Bottom line: the pod needed one of those things.

The sky around him was black, slight slithers of grey and occasionally white, but nothing welcoming. Nothing of a bright colour, say green. He was the only coloured thing for miles and right now yellow wasn't serving to make him feel overly bright when everything around him was so dull and dark. Everything including the outlook.

With the feeling of shocks still shooting up his arm, grabbing the handle of the pod as he went overboard quickly with no warning whatsoever hadn't been as easy as he'd made it look. The large amount of exclamations probably showed that.

Still, here he was dangling above his possible death site, with only a limb to hold him up.

"Guys! It's a long way down without a parachute!"

The drones were still in the air too, circling like lions and the pod was beginning to slip. He supposed he was incredibly lucky Kayo was in the area and able to bring Shadow over. He had to jump down which was hardly preferred, but it was better to falling. Falling with the pod as it took another, final hit from the weather drones. He never thought he'd say it but he was glad to be on the rocking wings of Shadow right now as opposed to a nice, safe pod on the ground. Because that image was skewed. The ground was as dangerous a zone right now as the sky. The tower wobbled, balanced precariously up high, yet down low it would be the same, a wreckage spread miles with little to no chance for survivors.

Great.

As much as he wished to avoid Fischler's company there was no other choice. He broke into a run – the fastest of his life, quite possibly, he wasn't sure he didn't have a stopwatch but it felt like it – and dashed across the top of the tower. The weather was horrendous, the drones were on his tail, the tower extremely dangerous and oh, did he mention the weather?

"Open the door! Open the door! Open the door!"

The nerve of that man. Where was Scott when you needed him? Of course, the eldest brother wasn't aware he knew about the incident with the Professor outside the tunnels, but he most certainly did. A certain direct elder had let it slip. Not to mention he'd seen the anger Fischler brought to Scott with his previous invention. He'd flat out avoided the living room for the rest of the morning as the pilot tried repeatedly to get Fischler to listen to sense.

Yes, Scott could be incredibly over protective. So where was he now! Having fun with Alan probably. He should have taken up the offer to go too.

He barely managed to make it to the door as the drone released another wave of sharp attacks, but he did do it, how he had no clue. The landing wasn't pretty or particularly comfortable as he flew in and all but landed directly on his back.

Ouch.

His hands had hardly functioned to keep him up and so yes, with the nerve of that man he groaned and let himself collapse onto the floor. At least it was cold and flat and (relatively) stable. Thank goodness he was still wearing his helmet though or he'd have quite a nasty bump on his head.

"We have to get back in there and help those people."

Those people. Yes. He was now one of those people. To anyone else that would be it's, but translated by Virgil's desperate tone it meant Gordon.

International Rescue would happily rescue everyone and anyone in that tower (maybe Fischler with less of the happy), but truthfully there were priorities between them regardless and trying to ignore that did them no favours. It was the only disadvantage to working as a team of brothers. The only one.

Oh, did Brains say he may have a plan? Or were his ears just playing cruel tricks on him?

"Well I hope it's a quick one. This tower is going down any minute."

And it was. It was rocking back and forth like their Granddad's old rocking chair. He really hoped that sentence hadn't been lost on Virgil.

Help me.

Fischler was panicking. Fischler was panicking! What was he meant to be doing then? And Brains was only babbling on about drones and signals… he wasn't really taking it in. Oh, drone bait! He did a very good job at that he reckoned. He quite possibly still did by the way they were intently zapping at the tower.

Great.

Green.

Green! Virgil! Thunderbird Two was the most welcoming sight for once.

"That's as steady as it's gonna' get. Let's get these people off now."

Get yourself off now. He stuck his helmet back on and headed out. Of course, the outside world saw different images, different words completely to what they really knew.

And Fischler was still Fischler. Why was he such an irritating man? With a worse sense of humour than his too! The tower was creaking again. He thought his back did as he stood up. Stood, only for a moment though as the tower properly slipped thus throwing him back onto his back.

Ouch, ow, ouch.

Little more could be said or thought. There honestly wasn't the time as the harness withdrew back up. Up towards safety without him. Virgil! This is when a psychic connection would come in to work wonders. He did suggest to John and Brains they start work on. He'd have to remind them.

Aching limbs ignored he jumped up, the tower tilting beneath his feet unsteadily, as unsteady as his nerves honestly felt. The dip didn't help his run up, throwing him even further off balance, the flying debris not helping to keep him on course, the winds attempting to blow him from it. He supposed he was incredibly lucky none of it hit him.

There was no other option except to jump for it. There really was a reason he didn't take up track sports like his brothers.

The strain and effort it took to reach up, to jump up – ouch! – let alone grasp something moving away from him at speed, unpredictable speeds thanks to the current weather. It was definitely a question in his mind now of weather or not he'd make it. Slip of words, Virgil would have to laugh at that surely? That's if he got to tell him.

The tower slipped from beneath his feet, the air was his only platform with nothing stable to hold it up, and his hand couldn't quite… no, reach further Gordon… damn… no, he couldn't… determination. Come on… hand clasp… He shut his eyes. If he was going to fall he'd preferred not to see. Not that the weather conditions would have exactly let him see whereabouts he was falling in the pile of rubble.

"Gordon!" Proceed to open eyes. There was something stable beneath his fingers, something unbending and unbreaking for once today. So… I made it? Yeah, he couldn't believe it either. The odds had been so massively stacked against him too. "Where are you?"

Yes, Virgil was talking wasn't he? It was a stupid idea of his to look down as they emerged from the black plume. It was a long, long way down.

"Oh, just hanging out."

He supposed it was true in a way. He was hanging like clothing on a washing line. He was still stuck in an unstable field, was that just his place today? He was swaying like a palm tree in a tropical storm and ouch, ouch, his hand was definitely slipping. As risky as it was, there's was nothing he could do but try and gain a little more momentum, in full knowledge he could simply fall off, in complete awareness that he only had one shot because… hand definitely slipping now and…

Got it! His left hand nearly slipped as his right grabbed hold and suddenly it seemed he may be able to regain some sense of stability. His left hand was still aching and twitching, oh, that's not so good, but they were so nearly there and so if he could just hold on… he had two hands now too…

Hold on, Gordon. New mantra for certain. Repeat, repeat, just endlessly mentally repeat.

Oh no, what's that buzzing.

"We've got company!" He'd had enough of these things! He'd fall now if it hit him for certain, something he'd much rather avoid. And onwards it came, electricity ready as Shadow swooped in like a missile, the debris narrowly missing him as it broke up and disintegrated, beginning its descent to the ground below.

And with that, they made it.

Thunderbird Two was actually within an arm's reach and the desire to touch its perfect green paintwork had to be resisted because his strength was failing and with one arm holding on he would – for real this time – fall.

It was a narrow fit as the hatch closed beneath him and it took all of his remaining arm strength to pull his limbs up out of the way. It was lucky he had stomach muscles too or his hands may well have given up, let go at the last moment, so close to safety. They were calling to be released from their cramping position, their twitching muscles and aching bones.

Let go… The hatch was still closing; he was still holding on. Need to let go. His hands ceased from the pain, the muscles quite simply screaming at him to let go. Let go… The hatch closed. Down he went like a lump of lead.

He wondered if it showed on his features briefly how much it hurt as his back connected to the ground harsher than he had before in the tower. Now his right hand was completely dead, having taken the brunt away from the left and he was glad when it landed against his suit and not the floor. He was also certain he had a case of pins and needles.

Fischler was being far, far too loud and irritating so he used all remaining strength to pull himself to his feet, trying to keep his upper body as out of it as possible. It wasn't easy to travel with Two still in motion herself but he had to get away. His limbs were protesting but he pushed them on, knowing his legs had little to complain about compared to his back. He wondered if Virgil would know anything to help it?

After we finish the mission.

Oh, how he wished that Fischler could disappear, teleport out of Two and no longer be their problem. He lowered himself into his seat beside Virgil, just happy to sit as co-pilot again. He didn't think he'd get another chance back there for an honest moment. Or another chance to see Virgil. Yes, Virgil was still Virgil. Maybe he'd attained an extra grey hair or a frown line, but he was still the strong, loving and caring Virgil he knew.

He leaned back, trying to find a comfortable spot for his back, resting his hands across his body. This would have to do. The constant twitches and spasms of muscles kept him from relaxing fully, but he took the moment regardless. He was in Thunderbird Two, with Virgil, safe and relatively unharmed. Breathe. Breathe, Gordon.

He wasn't hanging for his life anymore. He wasn't straining his limbs to keep holding on. He'd gone out on a limb and now he was here, safe and sound, happy and tired.

He waited for the slight jolt of Thunderbird Two's landing against the rumpled sand, but felt nothing at all. He smiled, silently thanking Virgil.