Anyone in the mood for shameless whump? Apparently I am! I tried to write a happy story, but ended up writing this one instead.
I do not own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story.
John and Gordon strode briskly down the New York City sidewalk, expertly weaving their way through the thick crowds.
"Remind me why we didn't take a taxi?" Gordon asked, slurping up the last of his milkshake and tossing the cup into a nearby garbage can.
"Because sometimes I like having lots of people around," John said. "For a little while, anyway. It makes me appreciate the solitude more when I go back up to Five." He walked with his head held high, admiring the soaring buildings and taking in the restless energy of the crowds and the teeming traffic.
And then he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and would have fallen on his face if it weren't for Gordon's quick reflexes.
Gordon hauled him back upright, laughing. "Gravity getting to you already?"
John rolled his eyes. He hated the leaden feeling that always came over him after a little while in Earth's atmosphere, slowing him down and dulling his reflexes. "Always does. Maybe we should grab a taxi after all – it's almost all the way around the block to the Pizzeria."
"I've got a better idea," Gordon told him. He gestured with his thumb to an alleyway that cut between two buildings. "Shortcut." He started down the narrow passageway.
John followed him hesitantly, shivering slightly as the buildings seemed to close in overhead, shutting out the sunshine and plunging the alley into a kind of perpetual twilight. He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head – he didn't need them any more. "You sure it's safe?"
Gordon shrugged. "It's the middle of the day, John. Sure it's safe! And this should dump us out right next to the Pizzeria. It'll save us a few minutes of walking."
All five Tracy brothers were visiting the city on a rare day off from International Rescue. They had spent the morning wandering through some of their favorite shops and museums. When it had come time for lunch, though, there had been a huge debate – Scott, Virgil and Alan were convinced that a tiny hole-in-the-wall pizza shop was the only possible choice, while John and Gordon insisted that they go to their favorite restaurant, an old-fashioned burger joint. In the end, they had simply split up and agreed to meet again after lunch.
"I hope they're done eating," Gordon said. "They made me go with them last time, and it takes forever before you get your pizza."
"That's because they make every order from scratch," John replied absently, craning his neck to look behind them – it sure sounded like there were a lot more than two sets of footsteps echoing off the dirty brick walls.
Gordon strode confidently down the dark, narrow alley, calmly sidestepping old trash, garbage cans, abandoned tires, and all manner of nameless junk.
John trailed in his wake, feeling more and more nervous the farther they walked. He rubbed his sweating palms on his pants and sternly told himself, Stop it! There's absolutely nothing to be worried about!
But then suddenly there was something to be worried about. He and Gordon skidded to a halt, startled, as two men stepped out from behind a dumpster a little ways ahead of them. The hair on the back of John's neck prickled, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that three more men had appeared behind them.
One of the men in front of them stepped forward, grinning menacingly. "Hello, boys. What brings you two off the beaten path this fine day?"
Adrenaline resolved John's nerves into crisp focus, sharpening his gaze and straightening his lean frame. He stepped up to Gordon's side. "Just passing through," he said. "Pardon us."
This time he was the one to walk boldly forward, Gordon sticking close to his heels.
The men stood their ground, though.
"'Pardon us,' he says," the leader sneered. "Well, sorry, but I ain't in a pardoning kinda mood! Take 'em, boys!" He lunged forward.
Suddenly grateful for the long, sweaty self-defense training sessions Kayo had forced upon all the brothers, John neatly dodged the fist heading for his face and kicked the man behind the knee, sending him sprawling.
Another man wrapped his arms around him from behind; John stomped down on the man's foot and sent him stumbling away with a yelp.
John found himself stumbling, too, though, the rush of adrenaline not quite enough to overcome the drag of gravity that was trying to press him down into the ground. Hands seized his arms, and he struggled against them, but then there was a flurry of motion, and John's knees cracked hard against the pavement, and he was only saved from pitching forward by the strength of the hand twisting his arm painfully behind his back. He tried to jerk free, but he was effectively pinned in place.
Gordon was still fighting. Light on his feet, he looked fresh and bright-eyed, while the big men stumbling around him sported evidence of having been on the receiving end of some hard blows. John knew the power in his little brother's arms and shoulders – he'd held the punching bag for Gordon a few times – and he winced involuntarily as Gordon's fist flashed forward again, sending one man stumbling backward, clutching his jaw.
But the battle was four against one, and even the scrappy, second-youngest Tracy could only hold out for so long against those odds. The men worked together to back Gordon against a wall, and then it was only a matter of time before they broke through his defenses and got a tight grip on his arms. They forced him down onto his knees opposite John.
Their eyes met, and Gordon frowned apologetically, as if to say he was sorry for suggesting they go down the alley.
John rolled his eyes and shrugged slightly, hoping that Gordon would get the message – It's not your fault.
The men went through their pockets, taking their wallets, cell phones, watches and sunglasses.
Gordon protested loudly, until one of the men smacked him across the mouth, splitting his lip.
"Hey!" John snapped. "Leave him alone!"
The leader glanced up from leafing through the money in their wallets. He grinned and shoved the wallets in his pocket, slowly walking over to stand beside Gordon. "I would…really, I would, but he messed up my face, see?" He pointed to a dark smudge of color beneath his eye. "I gotta pay him back a little." He turned to face Gordon and drew back his fist, aiming a ferocious blow straight at Gordon's face.
Gordon knew to roll with the punch, but it still had enough force to send his head snapping back and to split the skin over his cheekbone.
"No!" John raged, struggling against the grip on his arm, but unable to get any leverage. "Stop that!"
But the man just laughed cruelly and gestured for the guys holding Gordon to lift him to his feet.
And for a minute, he used Gordon as his own personal punching bag, ignoring John's frantic shouts for him to stop as he pounded Gordon's ribs with blow after blow.
By the time the leader paused, the men behind Gordon were supporting most of his weight; Gordon's knees were wobbly, he was gasping painfully for breath, and his eyes were scrunched nearly shut.
The men holding him let him go, and he collapsed slowly down onto the filthy pavement, curling around himself with a groan and wrapping his arms around his ribs.
"Gordon!" John exclaimed hoarsely, straining toward his brother. He looked up at the leader and pushed a few more words past his raw throat. "You are going to pay for this," he growled.
"Oh, yeah? And who's gonna make me pay? You?" The man laughed harshly and swung his fist almost casually toward John's face.
The blow caught John over the eye and sent him reeling back against the man behind him. He straightened back up slowly, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Glancing up, he met the man's eyes again. "No, not me. Them." He nodded to the alleyway behind the men.
They whipped around – and jerked backward in surprise as they saw two tall, muscular figures striding purposefully toward them, and a third, smaller person slipping along in the shadows some distance back.
Scott had pulled himself up to his full height and looked ready to breathe fire in his rage, his lean frame taut with a fierce energy and his blue eyes practically shooting sparks.
Virgil looked like a grizzly bear about to charge, his broad shoulders hunched forward slightly and his big hands clenched into fists, making the muscles in his forearms stand out like ropes.
Alan kept well back, his eyes taking in the scene and his phone pressed to his ear as he carried on a low conversation with someone – presumably the police.
Scott stopped ten feet away, Virgil at his shoulder. "Let my brothers go – now," he said quietly.
John shivered. Scott speaking softly was almost more ominous than if he had shouted.
The leader sneered. "Sure, you can have 'em…we were just about done playing with them, anyway." He grabbed John by the collar and jerked him to his feet. "Here!" He shoved John, sending him stumbling forward.
Scott stepped forward and caught John, grunting as he ended up supporting most of John's weight for a moment.
The men took advantage of the distraction to try to rush Scott and Virgil, doubtless planning to add to their wallet collection.
Things didn't go as well for them the second time, though. Virgil held them off until Scott had his hands free, and then the combination of Scott's technique and Virgil's brute force had the men reeling back with just a few blows – right into the arms of the police officers who Alan had cleverly directed to the other end of the alley.
Their youngest brother had clearly been busy on the phone, as suddenly there were paramedics on the scene too, a couple bending over Gordon while another checked on John.
"I'm fine," John snapped, trying to look around the woman inspecting the bruising around his eye. "Gordon…?"
Alan was crouched by Gordon's side, watching the paramedics work, his expressive face clouded with worry.
Gordon opened one eye and wearily raised his hand, giving his brothers a thumbs-up. "I'm good," he muttered. Then he grimaced and gently rubbed his ribs.
Alan grinned. "He's good," he repeated. He bent down and whispered something in Gordon's ear.
Gordon laughed, then groaned.
John shook his head and turned back to Scott and Virgil.
Scott still looked tense, but as John met his eyes, he smirked. "Honestly, can't we leave you two alone for an hour without you getting into trouble?"
"Next time maybe you should just get pizza with us," Virgil added, crossing his arms over his chest.
"My hamburger was delicious, thank you very much," John retorted.
Alan called, "Hey, they want to take Gordon to the hospital to make sure none of his ribs are broken. Can I ride in the ambulance with him?"
"Nah, let's send John," Scott said. "He should be under observation too."
"I'm fine," John growled. Then he relented. "But I wouldn't mind riding with Gordon."
Casting the handcuffed criminals one last dark glare, he followed as the paramedics pushed Gordon on a gurney to the end of the alley and loaded him on an ambulance.
John sat near Gordon's head on the ride, and he sighed as he looked down at his younger brother's bruised face. "Sorry I couldn't protect you, Gords," he sighed.
Gordon's rich brown eyes slowly blinked open. He smiled, then winced as the motion pulled at his split lip. "Not your fault," he said. "It was my idea to go down the alley."
"Well, it wasn't your fault either," John said.
"Nah, I know that." Gordon's eyes closed again. "Some people are just nasty."
John sighed. "Brutal is more like it."
For all the horrors in their job, they didn't often see brutality. Fear, yes. Anger, definitely. Selfishness, fairly often.
But sheer cruelty? It was jarring, and John was intensely grateful that they didn't come across people like that very often.
"Good thing we've got superheroes for brothers, huh, Johnny?" Gordon murmured sleepily.
"Yeah, good thing, Kiddo," John said. "A very good thing."
Pizza actually sounded pretty good.