Almost forgot about this one…I posted it on Blogspot because it contains *gasp!* illustrations! Want to see them? Story for red dot blogspot dot com
I don't own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story.
Virgil awoke with a start and lurched upright in his bed, looking wildly around his room for the source of the loud thump that had jolted him from his restless slumber. He frowned when nothing appeared out of place. Had he just dreamed the sound?
But then it came again, and this time he identified it – Scott had just slammed a dresser drawer shut in the room next to Virgil's.
Ah, right. Scott.
Scott – the person responsible for the lump of unease sitting like one of Grandma's rolls in Virgil's stomach – left his room at that moment and went stomping down the hallway, taking none of his usual care to tread quietly. Virgil glanced at the clock on his bedside table and flopped back onto his pillow with a groan – it was only five in the morning.
What time had he and Scott even stopped arguing? Midnight? One?
He rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. Even when he had finally gone to bed, he had spent an hour thrashing around, unable to relax his mind enough to get comfortable. The exhaustion of a long day had eventually overcome him, but his sleep had been far from restful, the residual anger and anxiety twisting their way into his mind to warp his dreams. He'd spent his few hours of sleep trying to rescue people, only to have them slip from his grasp at the last second – or looking for one of his brothers and being unable to find him. And he didn't even know how many times he'd watched Scott die.
The idiot.
The anger, still close to the surface, bubbled up again, and Virgil rolled over with a growl and punched his pillow. That felt mildly satisfying, so he did it again.
He curled up on his side and lay still for a few minutes, half thinking that he really ought to try to get more sleep, and half really, really annoyed at the way his sheets were tangled around his legs.
Finally, he decided that he was too alert to drift off again, so he might as well get up and do something useful. He sighed and pushed himself back up, working his legs free of the bedding and dropping them heavily over the side of the bed. He sat there for a minute, scrunching his toes in the soft rug, bitter thoughts weighing his limbs down.
He really couldn't understand what Scott's problem was. Did Scott want to die? Or did he just really, truly believe that he was invincible? Because he was sure acting like his life wasn't worth a thing to him.
Things had been better for the first few months after the incident in the Arctic Circle. That was the first time Virgil had confronted Scott over his reckless behavior, and he had been sure that his words had gotten through to his oldest brother. But in recent weeks, Scott had begun taking crazy chances again, and he seemed to be pushing himself harder and harder with every rescue.
Just the day before, Virgil had watched Scott run – without a single moment of hesitation in his stride – and leap across a set of train tracks a split second before he would have been creamed by a freight train. The real kicker? The train only took thirty seconds to pass by, and then the tracks were clear and perfectly safe to walk across.
That was just one example out of eighteen that were right at the top of Virgil's mind. He had used all of them during the argument, and had assured Scott that if he had ten seconds to think, he could easily come up with at least another dozen examples.
They had only quit arguing because Virgil had lost his voice.
He cleared his throat experimentally. It still felt a little raw.
He allowed himself one more long, blustery sigh before he pushed off the bed to get ready for the day. He had the feeling that it was going to be another very long one.
oooooooooo
Scott's feet slipped out from under him, but he caught himself before he hit the muddy ground. He growled in annoyance and pushed himself back upright, forcing his tired muscles to keep carrying him up the slope.
Still seething from the argument with Virgil, he'd found himself drawn to the island's steepest, rockiest trail for his morning run. Actually, calling it a "run" might be a rather generous description, he thought – so far, he had spent most of his time scrambling up and down nearly vertical slopes, setting off mini rockslides and scraping his hands.
The intense workout wasn't helping Scott achieve his goal, either – he'd hoped to drain some of his anger, but he'd been on the trail for an hour, and he still wanted to go find Virgil and slam him up against a wall.
He knew he should feel guilty for even letting such a thought cross his mind, but he didn't. Virgil's verbal attack the night before had been sudden, brutal, and entirely unjustified – who did he think he was, trying to tell Scott how to conduct himself? Virgil wasn't the one who had had to take on mounds of extra responsibilities when their father had gone missing. Virgil didn't know what it was like trying to head up Tracy Industries, run International Rescue, and keep their family going. Scott couldn't afford to slow down, to stop pushing himself so hard – everything would crumble if he didn't keep on moving at top speed, he just knew it.
Never mind that he felt pangs of loneliness watching his brothers hang out around the pool while he did paperwork – somebody had to do the important stuff.
Never mind that he didn't have time to get more than a few hours of sleep each night – he was young; he could handle it.
Never mind that he took a chance here and there on rescues – he didn't always have time to wait for backup, or for a freight train to pass by, or for the debris to stop falling. A delay could mean the difference between life and death for the victims of many of the disasters International Rescue responded to.
Eventually, he made it to a gentler slope, and by the time he reached the house, his emotions had settled down a bit to match the terrain, shifting into a slow simmer instead of a fierce boil. He walked into the house, fighting against the weariness that was trying to drag him down.
It'd be nice to sit back and relax over a long breakfast, but he didn't have time. He'd take a two-minute shower, then grab some coffee and start tackling his mile-long to-do list for the day.
Five minutes later, freshly showered, he walked into the kitchen – and froze as he spotted Virgil sitting at the counter, cradling a huge mug of coffee in his big hands. A flash of concern zipped through Scott's mind as he noticed the tired slump of his brother's shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes. Virgil shouldn't be up this early. He'd worked hard at the rescue the day before; he had to be exhausted.
But then Scott remembered that Virgil could have gone to bed early the night before, but that instead, he had chosen to start an argument. So he hardened his face and stiffened his shoulders, and tried to ignore the way his body language immediately snuffed out the faint spark of hope in Virgil's eyes.
Scott was just reaching for the coffee pot when the two-toned rescue alarm sounded. He spun around and hurried down the steps into the lounge area, Virgil right at his heels. So much for his to-do list, he thought with a sigh.
John's hologram blinked on, filling the space over the coffee table. With typical bluntness, he skipped the preamble and announced, "Guys, we may have a situation."
"'May have?'" Scott repeated. "Well, do we, or don't we?" He winced internally at how brusque he sounded – it really wasn't fair to take his anger out on John, but neither did he feel like trying to moderate his tone.
John ignored Scott's moodiness, keeping his own voice strictly neutral, although he did glance briefly toward Virgil…and was that a hint of sympathy that flickered through his eyes? "Well, I've been picking up on a transmission from the warehouse district in a suburb of Philadelphia," John said. "I think they're asking for International Rescue's help, but it's so garbled that it's a little hard to be sure. I can't get them to respond to me, either. I don't know whether I ought to send you two, or call the police first and have them check it out."
"Call the police!" Virgil said, at the same exact moment that Scott exclaimed, "I'll go take a look!"
They glared at each other.
"Scott, this is exactly what I've been talking about," Virgil growled. His voice was still a little hoarse. "We should get more information first, instead of just blindly charging into the situation."
"But if someone's calling IR, then they need help," Scott countered. "It's our job, Virgil! We can't hyper analyze every call!"
Virgil sighed and looked at the floor. He muttered, "I don't know, Scott. I just have a weird feeling about this call."
"A feeling?" Scott scoffed. He strode toward One's hangar entrance and grasped the light fixtures. "I am not holding back for some stupid feeling, Virg. Follow me if you want to, but I am going." The last thing he saw as the platform rotated him into the wall was his younger brother's shoulders drooping in discouragement.
And for one brief moment, Scott hated himself.
Then he pushed that thought aside and focused on preparing to fly. Any ship as fast as Thunderbird One required all of his attention – no distractions were allowed in his cockpit.
During the flight, he kept his radio contact to a bare minimum, and he was glad that John didn't try to push him into conversation.
Virgil took off a few minutes after Scott had left, trailing quite a long distance behind his older brother. He had paused long enough to grab Gordon.
Reaching Philadelphia, Scott set Thunderbird One down in a big, empty parking lot near the warehouse the transmission had come from.
Virgil wouldn't be along for another half hour.
"Slowpoke," Scott muttered under his breath as he hurried toward the warehouse door. "I can't imagine how much time I'd waste if I had to wait for him to catch up at every single rescue!"
He ducked inside the building and made a quick circuit, but the huge space appeared to be completely empty; he didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
He paused as he exited the building, planning to call John and verify that he was in the right place, but as he was reaching for the IR symbol on his chest, something suddenly cracked against the back of his head, and he tumbled into blackness.
oooooooooo
Virgil was still twenty minutes out from the danger zone when John's hologram popped up in front of him.
"John," Virgil said. "What's the word? Is it a false alarm?"
John looked grim. "I don't know," he said. "Scott's not answering his comms."
Virgil snorted, even as a cold tendril of fear began worming its way through his gut. "You sure he's not just ignoring you on purpose?"
John speared him with a glance. "You know he wouldn't do that."
"Do I?" Virgil shot back. "You haven't seen him out in the field lately, Johnny. He lets himself get so focused on the rescue that almost everything else falls to the side." In his peripheral vision, he saw Gordon nodding in agreement.
John shook his head. "I don't know, Virgil…I still don't think he would ignore my calls. Can you step up your pace a bit? I agree with you about this call – I've got a bad feeling about it. It's nothing I can really explain, but I think that you were right. We should have called the police."
"FAB," Virgil said, tweaking the controls and pushing Two up to her maximum speed. Despite what Scott had said the night before, Virgil did know that there were times when it was necessary to push the limits – he just believed that it didn't have to be all the time.
John's hologram disappeared – but then it popped back up again almost immediately. "Virgil!" John exclaimed. "Scott just dropped entirely off my sensors!"
Gordon exclaimed, "But, but…that's not possible! Is it?"
Virgil leaned forward in his seat, and suddenly all of his anger toward Scott drained away, replaced by a hard, cold lump of worry in his stomach. "What? What do you mean?"
"He's just...gone! One second, his symbol was clearly visible on my scanners, and the next second, it wasn't there, and now I can't find him anywhere!"
A shiver rippled up and down Virgil's spine, and he met Gordon's eyes briefly, wondering if his younger brother was thinking the same thing he was – that John's words sounded eerily similar to the ones he had used the day their father had gone missing. He shook his head, pulling his mind out of the past. Dad was gone, but he refused to believe that Scott could just disappear too. "Well, okay, uh, can you tap into One's cameras? Get a visual on the scene?" He nudged Two's controls again and watched the speed indicator climb a little ways into the red zone.
"Yes, but he parked it around a couple corners, and I can't find any other security cameras in the area." There was a pause, and then John continued slowly, "Okay, this is weird…"
"What?"
"I can't use any satellites to view that section of the warehouse district."
Virgil blinked. "But…how is that even possible? That's a big city – aren't there tons of satellites pointed toward it?"
"Yes…and on all of them, that one little section is showing up as a great big blank spot." John sighed. "There's only one thing that I can think of that would do that – a cloaking device."
Virgil winced. "Scotty, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he muttered.
They were all silent for a long moment, and then John spoke up again. "Okay, that's it – I'm calling the GDF," he said firmly. "You can land, but I want you guys to stay inside Thunderbird Two until they've run a sweep on the whole area."
"But, John–" Virgil protested.
"No buts!" John replied. He smirked slightly. "Hey, you're the one who's been trying to get Scott to be more careful. Better listen to your own advice!" Then he straightened his face. "In all seriousness, though, this feels like it could be some kind of a trap, and I will not let you two walk in there without making sure it's safe first."
"Okay, okay," Virgil sighed. "Point taken. For the record, though, I don't like it."
John laughed. "You might think of that the next time you tell Scott he's being too reckless." He held up a hand to forestall Virgil's protests. "And don't start in on me – I know he needs to take things down a notch. I'm not arguing with you there. I'm just saying that you should remember that we're all hardwired to run into danger and try to save people."
He disappeared from sight again.
Gordon immediately tried to draw Virgil into a long-winded discussion on potential ways to keep better track of Scott in the future, but Virgil was too heavy-hearted to really listen. He just made sure to nod occasionally and say "Uh-huh" periodically.
It was the longest twenty minute flight he'd ever experienced.
The GDF, even with a crew of ten, took half an hour to complete a full sweep of the half dozen abandoned warehouses in the area affected by the cloaking device. They eventually found the device and turned it off, but Scott still didn't show up on John's scanners.
"Wait, so that means that–" Gordon started to say.
John finished for him – "That Scott's not in the area any more. The GDF didn't find his sash, so he's probably still wearing it – which means that whoever took him must have a second cloaking device."
The only thing the GDF had found that seemed a little out of place was a crowbar on the ground, laying near Scott's last known position. They had bagged it as evidence, planning to check it for fingerprints – and for any signs of blood or skin cells.
Gordon had flinched when John had told them that last part, and Virgil was trying not to think about what it would mean if they did find anything.
"Okay…so…now what?" Virgil asked John.
There was a long silence, and then John admitted, "I have no idea."
oooooooooo
Scott woke up slowly, groaning as he tried to lift his heavy head. He squinted against the glare of the single light bulb hanging from the rafters. Was he…in a barn? When had that happened? And why did his head hurt so badly?
Heavy footsteps drew nearer, and a man wearing a ski mask came around the corner. Without saying a word, he set up an old-fashioned video camera on a tripod and turned it to face Scott.
A chill wind whistled through the gaps in the barn wall, and Scott shivered. A few of Virgil's words from the argument the night before rattled through his mind – "Slow down. Think things through. Look before you leap."
For the first time, Scott wondered if maybe he should have listened to his brother.
The man stalked toward him and thrust a paper in his face; Scott automatically reached for it, but grimaced as he discovered that his wrists were tied to the arms of the old wooden chair he was sitting in.
"Read this when I turn the camera on," the man growled.
Scott squinted at the paper. "I'm not sure I can," he muttered. "I think I've got double vision–" His sentence ended with a grunt as a forearm smacked across his face in a heavy backhanded blow that made his chair rock on the uneven ground.
"Don't be smart," his captor snarled. "Or I'll really give you double vision!" He grabbed Scott's hand and jammed the paper into his grasp. "When I nod, you read what the paper says. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Scott mumbled, trying to angle the paper toward the light. The side of his face throbbed, joining with the pain in the back of his head to create a truly miserable headache.
Of course, a part of the headache could be caffeine withdrawal, he thought – after all, he'd never gotten his cup of coffee that morning.
The man nodded, and Scott cleared his throat, glancing down at the paper in his hand. "Uh, okay." He squinted. "This is Scott Tracy, and I am being held for ransom. If you ever want to see me alive again…" He paused and looked toward the kidnapper. "Uh, hate to disappoint you, but I think a couple of my brothers actually might not want to see me alive again."
"Keep reading," the man snapped.
"Right. Um, where was I? Oh, yeah, so if you guys want to see me alive again, collect ten million dollars in cash and wait for the next call." He looked up again. "How do you want that? In quarters?"
The man surged forward and swung his fist in a wide punch. Scott tried to duck, but there was nowhere for him to go, and the blow caught him right on the cheekbone. This time the chair did tip over, and he hissed in pain as the rope dug into his wrists.
"Thought I told you not to try to be smart," the kidnapper shouted. He spun toward the camera. "Don't call the GDF, or he gets it," he barked out, then reached around to turn the camera off.
He stalked grimly toward Scott and drew his foot back to kick him in the ribs.
Another man charged into the old barn at that moment, also wearing a ski mask. "Hey, hey, what's happening in here?" he demanded. "I thought I told you not to lose your cool, man!" He dragged the first kidnapper away from Scott.
While the two men argued, Scott took a minute to try to reach his comm. symbol. He quickly gave up, though, first because he quickly discovered that it was physically impossible, and second, because it occurred to him that if Thunderbird Two wasn't crashing through the side wall of the barn by this point, then the kidnappers probably had some sort of a cloaking device, and his comms probably wouldn't even work.
The first man went stomping out of the barn then, and the second came over to Scott, tipping the chair back upright. "Sorry about that," he said gruffly, and moved over to the camera.
Scott snorted. "If you were really sorry, you'd let me go," he snapped.
The man shrugged. "I think it's a little too late for that now." He took the camera's memory card and left the building through a door somewhere behind Scott.
Scott spent the next fifteen minutes trying to escape the ropes around his wrist. The left one was a bit loose, and he thought that if he could just twist his hand at the right angle – and if he didn't mind a little pain – then he could probably wiggle his hand free.
It was harder work than he had realized it would be, and he had to take a break a couple times to let the strength seep back into his tired muscles. By the time he had pulled his hand halfway through the ropes, he was sweating.
He was so intent on what he was doing that he jumped when a sudden shout sounded from the doorway.
"Hey! What are you doing? Stop that!"
It was the first kidnapper again, leaping toward Scott.
In a desperate, last-ditch attempt, Scott managed to wrench his hand free, but in the same instant, the kidnapper dove forward and grabbed Scott's wrist, pinning it down.
"No, you don't!" he snarled, then turned and hollered over his shoulder, "Yo, Gio, get in here!"
The second man dashed in. "What? What now? Hey, I thought I told you to leave him alone, Stony!"
"He's trying to get away," Stony snapped. "Grab me some more rope, will you?"
Gio hurried back out the door, but he returned quickly.
A loop of rope dropped in front of Scott and tightened around his chest. "You're not going to get away with this," he said, fighting against Stony's grip. "My brothers will find me!"
"Yes, we will, and no, they won't," Stony said. "Here, Gio, you hold his arm. I want to do that."
The two men traded spots, and Scott winced as Stony cinched the rope around his chest painfully tight. Stony tied down Scott's left wrist next and then tightened the rope around his right wrist as well.
"There, that's better," he said, stepping back and dusting off his hands. "Try getting out of that, smart mouth." Then his eyes lit up. "Oh, hang on, I just thought of the perfect finishing touch." He ducked out of sight for a moment and then came back holding a roll of duct tape. He tore off a strip and slapped it over Scott's mouth. "All right, I think we're all set here," he said to Gio. He glanced back toward Scott. "We're just off to enjoy a home-cooked pot roast," he said. "It's dripping with gravy, and it smells amazing – makes my mouth water just thinking about it. And then after that, we've got some hot apple pie and ice cream – lots of ice cream. Too bad you don't get any!" He laughed and headed toward the door.
"You shouldn't mess with him like that," Gio said halfheartedly as they left the building.
Scott tipped his head back and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh, grimacing at the way the rope pinched his arms and chest. He was hungry, and he was tired, and the throbbing in his head was making his whole body hurt. And worst of all, despite what he had said to the kidnappers, he wasn't at all confident that his brothers would be able to find him.
For once, there was no action he could take…all he could do was sit still and wait to see what would happen next.
oooooooooo
Virgil sat back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was so tired. He needed to think, but he couldn't.
He, Gordon and John had been batting ideas back and forth for the past hour, trying to think of some way to track Scott down, but they kept coming back to the fact that they simply didn't have a clue where to start.
They had reached the point where the ideas had stopped flowing and they were more or less just snapping at each other.
"Whoa, uh, hang on," John said suddenly, glancing to one side. He made a couple broad swiping motions, and then a video popped up in front of Virgil and Gordon.
Virgil's breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was seeing – Scott, tied to a chair in some dim room.
"I can't track the signal," John was saying absently. "And I don't know what kind of a camera they used – it's some sort of old technology."
His voice trailed off as Scott began speaking. Virgil winced when Scott got to the part about certain brothers not wanting to see him alive again, and his hands curled into fists at the thought of trying to collect ten million dollars in a hurry. Scott himself was actually the only one tied closely enough into Tracy Industries to have that kind of pull.
As one, the three brothers lurched forward with a gasp when the kidnapper punched Scott and his chair tipped over, disappearing from sight. Virgil kept his eyes on the bottom of the camera frame, barely catching the kidnapper's shout about not involving the GDF.
"Why would he do that?" he gasped. "Why would he keep mouthing off to that guy?"
John's eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his finger, he rewound the video until the kidnapper's face filled the screen. "That's why," he said grimly. "Give him some credit, Virg – he does know how to think on his feet. I mean, maybe it's not the best approach, but it worked! I'm running this guy through the facial recognition databases now."
Gordon squinted at the grainy video. "And now we know that he's in a barn," he pointed out.
Virgil rolled his eyes. "Gordon, it's Pennsylvania. There's probably thousands of barns in the whole state."
Gordon sank back into his seat. "Hmm, good point." He was quiet for a minute, but then his face lit up. "Hey, I've got an idea!" he exclaimed. Glancing at his brothers' expressions, he added, "And it's a way better idea than the last one I had."
"Make that the last ten ideas you had," Virgil muttered.
"Anyway," Gordon said loudly. "I think we should look back through security footage from the surrounding areas at around the time that Scott disappeared. The kidnappers' vehicle should look distorted because of the cloaking device, right? So, if we spot it, we just keep following it with the cameras as long as we can. Maybe it'll lead us to the barn, but if not, it'll at least give us a direction so we can start looking."
Virgil and John glanced at each other. Virgil had been all set to shoot Gordon's idea down, but he honestly couldn't think of anything wrong with it.
He cleared his throat. "Huh. Well…okay, let's do it, then. John, can you pull up some footage for us to start with?" He pressed a button on his console and a video screen dropped down in front of Gordon so he could help too.
"FAB," John said, his fingers flying. "Here, try these. These are all from a three-block radius of the warehouse. Better start at one minute out from Scott's disappearance and work your way up."
Two's cockpit was quiet for the next few minutes as the brothers flicked through videos, sometimes at high speed, and other times slowing them down for a closer look at something.
Gordon was the first to exclaim, "Found it!" He bounced up and down in his seat, pointing at his screen.
Virgil glanced at the still shot. The cloaked car looked almost like a reflection in a window, sort of shimmering and distorted. "Okay, that one was…let's see…Oak Street, right? And looks like it's in the southbound lane…so let's skip ahead a bit and see if they're still on the same road a few blocks further."
Once they got the hang of the technique, they were able to move quickly, piecing the route together as the kidnappers made their way through the outskirts of the city. As they drove on, though, the security camera footage became scarcer and scarcer, until finally the vehicle passed into the open countryside and out of sight of all cameras.
"Well, that's still a huge help," John said. "Based on their trajectory and the time they sent us that video, I can calculate an approximate area to search. It's still quite a large area, but it's better than the whole state of Pennsylvania."
"Ooh, ooh, I got another idea!" Gordon said. "It's kind of a similar idea – what if you use the satellites to look for barns with distortion around them?"
John groaned. "That's a lot of barns, Gordon."
"We can help," Gordon said. "Actually, we don't even need the satellites – Virg and I could just fly over the barns and use our scanners. If we find a big blank spot, then bingo!"
A faint ding sounded, and John glanced at something on Five's screens. He grinned. "Or, we could get a hit on the facial recognition software, and bingo!" he replied. "Okay, let's see who you are…" He flicked at his screen. "Martin Stone, but usually goes by Stony," he said. "Wow, he's got a record like you wouldn't believe. But here's the important part – his home address. It is a disused farm, and it is within our search area." He swung back around to face his brothers, his expression suddenly sober. "All right, guys, I'm uploading the coordinates now. Do a fly-by and see if you can pick up the distortion on your scanners. If it's the right place, we'll call the GDF in. Do not try to rescue Scott on your own, okay?"
"FAB," Virgil said, firing his Bird up. Suddenly he didn't feel tired any more, and he swung around to grin at Gordon. "Ready?" he asked.
Gordon grinned back. "I was born ready!"
Thunderbird Two lifted into the air and shot off toward the sunset.
oooooooooo
"Um, Virgil," Gordon said.
"Shut up, Gordon."
"Didn't John specifically say not to try to rescue Scott?"
"Shut up, Gordon. Hey, there it is!" Virgil cautiously pushed aside a branch and glanced down at his scanner, then up at the buildings in front of him. A house sat at the top of a little rise fifty yards away; the barn was a dark shadow in a hollow at the bottom of the hill. The mix of stone and rough wood fit what they had seen in the video.
Gordon crowded up next to him. "Yeah, that looks right," he said. "Now what?"
John's voice suddenly exploded from Virgil's comm. system. "What are you two doing? I thought I told you to stay in the ship?"
"Shh, John, shh," Virgil whispered. "You'll give our position away!"
John lowered his voice to a whisper – a very angry whisper. "We will be talking about this later," he hissed. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, while you're there, I guess you may as well grab Scott. Just, for goodness' sake, be careful!"
"FAB," Virgil whispered.
"Yeah, that's what you said the last time, too," John said bitterly.
Virgil and Gordon crept across the field toward the barn, wincing at every twig that crackled under their feet and stumbling over loose soil and rocks in the dark. There was one snag when Gordon got hung up on a barbed wire fence he hadn't seen in the dark; it took a few minutes to untangle him.
Eventually, though, they reached the side of the barn. They looked nervously toward the door, noticing that it was within the faint circle of light radiating outward from a single bulb on the porch of the house. If anyone looked out a window while they were creeping across that empty space…
Virgil swallowed hard and led the way, sticking close to the barn wall and slipping cautiously through the door. As they entered, he told Gordon, "Stay here and watch the house. Let me know if you see signs of movement."
Gordon nodded and stood just inside the doorframe, his eyes fixed on the house.
Virgil looked inside the barn, and his heart leapt in excitement – there was Scott, still in the chair. He was still and quiet, his head bowed forward.
Virgil moved toward Scott and laid his hand on his shoulder; Scott jumped, and his head came up, his breathing picking up speed.
"Easy, easy, it's just me," Virgil murmured, reaching into his pocket for a knife to cut the ropes with. "You okay?"
Scott nodded.
Wondering why Scott didn't speak, Virgil risked shining a small flashlight, cupping it in his hands to get just a dim glow. He winced as he saw the duct tape over his older brother's mouth. "You talked too much for them, huh?" he said.
Scott's brilliant blue eyes lit up with a smile, and he shrugged.
Virgil found the edge of the tape. "Okay, you ready?"
Scott flinched before Virgil even started pulling, but then a moment later, the tape was off. He cleared his throat and carefully licked his lips, then let out a sigh. "Thanks, Virg," he said, his voice a dry whisper.
"No problem," Virgil replied. "And Scott?" He ducked his head. "I'm sorry. For starting that argument." He went back to cutting the ropes.
Scott gave a little laugh. "Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you. I'm sorry, Virg. You were right – I've been pushing the limit, and it finally came back to bite me." He flexed his fingers as the ropes fell away from his right hand.
"Well, about that…" Virgil said. He grinned sheepishly. "I may or may not have pushed a few limits myself coming after you tonight, and I think I understand a little bit better now why you act the way you do." He glanced up and met Scott's eyes. "What if we meet in the middle? You try to slow down a bit and remember that you don't have to save the whole world all on your own, and I'll try to step up and be more of a help to you."
"Sounds like a plan," Scott said. The last of the ropes dropped to the ground, and he grimaced as he moved his arms around.
"You gonna be able to walk?" Virgil asked, watching his stiff movements.
"Yeah, sure, just give me a minute," Scott muttered.
A sharp psst from the door caught their attention, and they swung around to see Gordon wildly waving his arms. "We've got bogies at twelve o'clock," Gordon hissed. "Are we ready to evacuate?"
Virgil looked down at Scott.
Scott nodded decisively and leapt to his feet – and crumpled.
Virgil caught him before he fell all the way to the ground. "Scott! You okay?"
"Fine, fine," Scott grumbled, slumping back down into the chair and rubbing his face with both hands. "Just a little dizzy. Sorry."
Virgil snorted. "There's nothing to apologize for." He glanced toward Gordon. "How long have we got, Gords?"
"Thirty seconds," Gordon replied.
Virgil looked around wildly and spotted the roll of duct tape. "Stay here," he told Scott, then dove for the duct tape. He quickly unrolled a couple long strips and twisted them around themselves, then crouched by the door and passed Gordon the other end of the strip.
Gordon understood what he was doing immediately, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin.
They crouched on either side of the door and waited. Just as the first kidnapper was stepping through the doorway, they pulled up on the strip of duct tape and held it tight; the man tripped and fell to the ground with a yelp.
Gordon pounced on him, twisting his arm up behind his back, while Virgil met the other man with a solid punch to the jaw that sent him flying backwards. Virgil dashed forward and dragged him back into the barn, checking his pulse to make sure he hadn't done too much damage.
Gordon had seized the roll of duct tape and was busily wrapping the first man up like a mummy.
"All right, let's get out of here," Virgil said. "The GDF should be arriving any time."
With Scott between them, they ducked outside and moved across the field as quickly as they could. By the time they reached the trees, they could hear the helicopters approaching.
They had stashed hover bikes a little ways back in the trees, and in just a few more minutes, they were riding up into the belly of Thunderbird Two. Virgil breathed a huge sigh of relief as the door shut – he always felt safe inside his Bird.
He turned to check on Scott and winced as he got his first good look at his brother in the light – he had a livid bruise on his cheekbone, and a little bit of darkening under one eye. He looked tired and pale, but he still managed a faint smile.
"We going to pick up my Bird?" he asked.
Virgil rolled his eyes. Of course that was the first thing Scott would ask. "No, John remote piloted her home earlier." He started toward the lift to the cockpit. "You want to come up to the cockpit, or rest down here? I've got food."
"I'll come sit with you guys," Scott said. "I think I've spent enough time on my own today." He snagged a water bottle on the way, though, and downed half of it in one go.
Scott fell asleep two minutes after takeoff, and didn't move during the entire ride. Virgil almost hated to wake him when they finally arrived back at Tracy Island, but he knew it'd be better for Scott to sleep in a real bed.
He guided a very drowsy Scott to his room and helped him out of his uniform, tucking the blankets around him and smiling as he remembered Scott doing the same thing for him many times when he was younger.
He turned to leave and saw John – not in hologram form, but in the flesh – standing in the doorway watching. He smiled at him and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
John had his arms crossed over his chest, but he was smiling. "Well done," he said softly. "I guess I can forgive you for taking a chance like that, since you got Scott safely home. I just hope you're not going to be making a habit of doing things like that."
Virgil shrugged. "Hey, there are times to push the limit. I'm not saying it's good to do it all the time, but once in a while, it's okay." He paused, then added, "And I think that Scott might understand that a little better now, too."
"Rugged way to learn it," John said, grimacing. "Hey, want to bake some cookies with me? I've been craving chocolate chip cookies like you wouldn't believe, and Scott likes them too." He grinned. "We can even feed him cookies for breakfast – while we're all discussing how we can divide the household responsibilities a little better so not quite so much falls on Scott."
"Hmm," Virgil said. "We'll have to let Gordon and Alan eat cookies for breakfast, too, otherwise they'll never agree to anything. You sure we're up for that kind of chaos?"
John shrugged. "We can handle it for one day. And if we can't, I'll just go back up to Five and leave you to deal with them."
With a startled laugh, Virgil said, "Hey, thanks, John. What a great brother you are."
As they walked to the kitchen, Virgil was startled to notice that it was only five in the evening – he was mostly used to crossing multiple time zones, but it still occasionally threw him for a loop.
Twelve hours earlier, he had been dreading his day. It had turned out to be an awful day, but not for the reasons he had anticipated. And now, here he was, getting out flour and sugar and chocolate chips. He was exhausted, but somehow he was far happier than he had been that morning.
He measured the flour and watched John cut up the butter, and suddenly he grinned – he couldn't wait to see Scott's face when they went into his bedroom with a tray full of cookies in the morning.