This doesn't have a set place as such, but it's based off the original series, like Waiting out the Storm compared to the new one. Though if you want to read it in the context of the newer series feel free, you may just have to imagine a few things differently.

Darkness was all that was present, eyes shut or open. Dust drifted around, thick and choking. The ground was harsh and uneven, fragile and unstable. Echoes came from every corner, vibrating off of old beams of steel and being absorbed into shattering concreate walls. Anything could be happening above, but there would be no hints to it down here, down in the depths of solitude and destruction, where no beings dared to walk and those who had…

Rubble tumbled down, small chinks of light filtering in through their dislodged gaps. He breathed in deeper, scarcely breathing at all in fear. He was alone, stuck and completely terrified. His voice had long since given out on him, the most it was able to manage being a strained and strangulated whisper.

His muscles twinged and convulsed painfully, trepidation being the only thing that kept him awake. Minutes felt like hours and the silence that reached him was not comforting in the slightest, instead completely haunting and unsettling. The large corridor was far too expansive now, far too empty and extremely dangerous. There was no shielding down here, only the terror of extremely bad craftsman shift, towering feet high over you, precariously tipping in the wind. The raging fire was stealing the oxygen he needed, selfishly consuming it all to feed its own need. The darkness was smothering, pushing down and threatening him with defeat, suggesting he should give up.

No one was coming down here.

No one unless they were desperate to become trapped themselves, to be forced under in a struggle against nature that was started by man. No one unless they were already aware he was even down there, because goodness knows he couldn't get a hold of anyone. The darkness was encouraging the inevitable, the fracturing structure bringing it closer and the crevices of light mocking the lack of escape.

He thought he gasped, but it might have been a sob. Blood dripped over his eyelashes and he strained to keep his eyes open, scared of shutting them, but unhappy to keep them open. The red liquid slipped over his vision and made him feel queasy. He tried to breathe again, but his chest felt constricted, blocked; as though the dust was building up and suffocating him, the slave to the darkness carrying out its silent threat.

He tried to stay still as larger rocks began to tumble down, but he wanted to move, his mind was screaming at him to move even though his body was fighting the command. If he didn't move soon he wouldn't be able to. Looking up was his only option from his practically fitted position, like a perfectly carved body suit.

He couldn't do this any longer. The world above him wouldn't stay forever and he didn't want to be awake when he came crashing down.

So he shut his eyes.

"John, anything?"

"Sorry Virgil, all signals are negative." It really wasn't the answer he wanted to give. What he would give was anything to be down there, fully able to help other than his pitching in when they called. He would trade any of his knowledge on the current happenings of the world to be there, in full possession of the knowledge concerning his family's event filled world. Though at times like this he found himself wishing it wasn't so. "Are you certain they went in?"

"Completely." Virgil answered surely, yet solemnly. "We all did."

"Why didn't they come out with you?"

"We were separated, I radioed them, but they obviously didn't receive it."

The stargazer was wracking his brains for a solution which they desperately needed, but his mind was failing him, falling short at the final hurdle, the last leg. "Is there any way you can go and look?" He was desperate for them to do so, because he had to know his younger brothers were alright, or… otherwise: whatever form that took.

"We're investigating that now…"

"We need to get down there immediately."

"Sir, that's not protocol."

"I don't care about your protocols!"

Virgil turned from the conversation, knowing how it was likely to end if his brother used the ire he stored. "But it's not looking too good. We've got no direct way in."

"Let me know when you find one." When, not if. Virgil just hoped that was something they could deliver. John relied on them for every piece of information regarding their own welfare, and he rarely liked to believe they couldn't or wouldn't make it through something. It was what kept him able to wait for so long up there in the depths of space. That, and his extremely calm nature.

'Find a way,' After all there had to be one.

The dust had settled like snow, covering the dangers hidden below like ice. Above, the fiery rage towered like a threat, the red wisps warning them away. The space mocked them like a child winning hide and seek, a trivial thing, a game to be played in safety not disaster.

Because this was disaster. A major one.

Yet one that could have been avoided, one that was needless if some could work to the very meaning of the word. All the Thunderbirds had been designed and built properly making it very difficult for Virgil to see how anyone could mess that up with a tower block. Or at least mess it up so badly that everything ended up wired incorrectly, meaning the slightest ignition to the gas and flick of an electric switch sparked an inferno more deadly than an oil fire at sea.

"Scott, do you read me?"

"Reading you John."

"The weather reports look as though it's definitely gonna' come in worse."

"How long have we got?"

"I wouldn't say you've got time to spare." He didn't need to. If the weather was making a slow approach, it wouldn't stop the flames from licking up what was now theirs; and if the weather came in quicker, the building would hardly be making a sluggish decent. Either way, they were fighting against time, and they all knew from experience that could be one of the trickiest parts of their jobs.

"Thanks John, we'll bare it in mind." Virgil had gained ground on Scott by the time he finished talking to John, looking around desperately, the torch light flitting between one side and the other.

"Gordon? Alan?" Sounds came back like boomerangs, boomerangs that seemed to travel the longest of distances at the quickest of paces. The bright beams of light from their torches were doing very little, aided slightly by the spot on their helmets, but none gave view of the necessary sight, the sought sight: the prize.

The shriek he pulled from his throat was shill and animalistic, coming from a depth unknown with a volume not even the wrath could douse, "Alan!"

The youngest Tracy was buried in settled dust, surrounded by a collection of rocks that had pooled around him. Immediately Virgil was attempting to move them away to create a space in which he could get close enough.

"Is he alright?"

"Space, Scott." It seemed too constricted, there was too much around them, far too much to be content with and floods continuing to topple down. Rains of rocks flew onto them like magnets, covering them in the ever increasing dust. Soon they would be followed by the touches of flames and that would be followed by everything residing overhead, all of it in one surge – a finality.

He wasn't watching were Scott went afterwards, only that he mentioned something about 'having found Alan'. He had to be talking to John, because he stopped talking a moment later. Their patriarch would have asked further questions, but the communications expert (no matter how many he was desperate to ask), would wait. The eldest knelt opposite him after moment and started to help.

"I don't reckon we've got long, Virgil."

"We'll make it." Scott wasn't too sure. It was shadowed in the fallen hall, murky from the streaks of dust floating down from the breaking construction above. Their basic first aid training palled in comparison to having a doctor with them. The services had made it very clear that if they did feel obliged to go in, they were their own responsibilities.

"He doesn't look too good."

"It's stuffy down here. Did we bring any oxygen?" Virgil pulled his head up from his work to look at the pilot who seemed incredibly uncomfortable.

"I didn't think." A steel gantry shifted behind them, the cracks of light minutely increasing, the heat coming closer as it whittled away the fodder provided by the faulty scaffold. The wind had picked up, the bad weather John promised having finally hit. The rain would do little for the fire, but the change in wind would only aid it. With every passing moment it seemed to come further in, hanging over them suggesting the impending end. When it eventually appeared that the last rubble had fallen for now, Virgil released a breath he had been unaware he was holding.

"I'll find Gordon." Scott told him as he pulled himself to his feet. "Can you manage?" Words escaped him, but Scott seemed to understand before he started off. Virgil finally managed to create a space for himself to sit close enough to his brother, checking him over for visible injuries. The cut on his head had congealed with a layer of dust, but other than that he was unscathed to the eye. The floor above creaked mockingly and Virgil tried not to look around, knowing it wouldn't do any good. If the building collapsed now, they would have no hope of getting out and John would be left to tell father… he shook his head. Thoughts like that were only a hindrance at a time like this.

"Alan, can you hear me?" The silence from both Alan and the blaze was a worry and Virgil was unsure what he preferred. The abrupt stillness was dangerous. It meant there was no warning, no telling signs and he secretly feared that. "Come on kiddo."

Alan's eyelids flicked, opening slowly, blinking back the small quantities of flickering light. "V… Virgil?" He sounded groggy and was beginning to look shaky.

"Yeah. Are you alright?"

"Something's digging into my back, by my shoulders."

"Okay, hold on." He could almost believe he was turning into a mole with the amount of digging he was practically doing as he pulled and shoved the fallen rocks and concreate blocks away from his brother's side. "Sit up, steady." Carefully he helped Alan up before stopping him as he noticed the jagged rock which had fallen under the younger. Alan coughed as he lowered him back down, wary of what unseen damage could be done. Alan took a sharp intake of breath and looked to him with unfocused eyes.

"Better?" The younger nodded, though the gesture was only just visible.

"Are we… gonna' go home?"

"Yeah."

"You're not sounding very convincing."

Virgil quickly regained his serious tone knowing they were very short on time and Scott had given him nothing to say he had located the aquanaut. "Alan, do you know where Gordon is?"

"He was ahead of me. Said something about going up stairs."

"Alan?" The younger's eyes were beginning to roll, his head dropping. "No, you have to stay awake. Alan, stay awake." He wanted to scream at him, yell however loud he needed to in order for the astronaut to hear him. He would rip his throat roar for his words to have the power of keeping his brother awake. A growl seemed to pull from his throat as Alan ignored his orders.

"Scott, see if you can locate the stairs." He should have said what was the stairs. Scott's affirmative came back to him before the gritty buzz across the abandoned radio line. Whilst he waited, he lightly shook the blonde's shoulder, but the contact had no success in waking him.

"Damn."

He was glad when the radio crackled back to life. "Virgil, I've got him. The stairway at the end of the corridor, to your left."

"That's good, Scott. I'll let John know." He took a deep breath before calling Thunderbird Five. "John, we've got Gordon as well."

"Great, now get out of there."

"We will as soon a-"

"Just get out Virgil." He'd been listening in, he had to have been. John had been doing exactly that. The radio reports given by the service men to their superiors were within his grasp, so he'd taken complete advantage of that. They may be wrong, but he doubted how much they would be when the building was a complete shambles. It was going to come down and if they didn't move, it would be on top of them.

The bluntness in John's voice was alarming. He was always calm, and the things which caused John to lose that state of being had to be severe.

"I'll tell Scott." It was the only answer Virgil gave over the line. There were none which really fitted the situation. "Could you update dad?" They both knew they translated to 'I don't want to', but they took it as 'I don't have time to'. Virgil was shying away for a reason, a reason John guessed was a simple as 'he didn't know'. Virgil liked to know what they were dealing with, it's part of why he made such a good follow up to Scott, because then he'd know and he'd think of something. And if he couldn't, Brains certainly would.

"FAB."

"Virgil." Scott had heard the last exchange of words between the second and third brothers. Virgil remained completely unaware of his presence during the last moments of the conversation, and maybe part of him was glad of that.

"Where's Gordon?" It was the first question – quite rightly too, but Scott had hoped he wouldn't have to answer it.

"We can't risk moving him." He'd heaved the rubble out of the way only to find it gave him no help. Gordon was sprawled on the floor, a bone protruding through the flesh of his leg. From the angle, Scott guessed he'd tumbled down the stairs and landed on his back. It was that he hated to think of. Gordon struggled enough the first time, however now he had a weakness there, one that was vulnerable to the threats some International Rescue operations posed to it.

"We have to." Virgil didn't want to, but nor did he want to lose a brother.

"I'll get a stretcher." The younger looked around quickly, realising that was something he'd forgot to bring.

"Hurry." The retreating pounds of sprinting steps were enough to confirm the eldest was doing just that, but time played as their constant enemy, one who would never face them other than with the most taunting of monotonous ticks. Every second was another wasted moment, every sound was a possible hope, though all were shot down in a string of mockery.

'Not now, not ever.' The wind mocked them, aiding their enemy.

"Not now." He barely knew he who was speaking to any more. The people he wanted to answer him would not, could not, maybe never would again? He tried not to think along those lines as he began to clean the wound marring Alan's forehead. Luckily it didn't seem deep.

"We can't lose you," Oh, how much it would damage the fragile family beneath the façade. "Not ever."

Their father might not cope with losing any of them. He'd told them he had a bad feeling about this one after they took off and asked them to keep in contact with him. Goodness knows what the wait was currently doing to his nerves, calmed possibly by Kyrano's coffee, yet still frantic enough to frazzle some out and take years of the patriarch's life.

The gantry's started moving again, swinging precariously with the exposed cables from their misplaced posts and continuing naked flame from above, knocking off the unsettled stones and lumps of concreate. Their dislodgement caused disturb within the whole structure, upper levels tumbling down upon him. The cascade of shrapnel was rough, strong and relentless. Virgil looked down, making an effort to keep his eyes away from the particles of grit. As the tumult continued he became aware of the direct weakness above them. Leaning forward he tried to shield Alan as much as possible, some of the jagged, broken bricks rebounded off his helmet, sharper chunks cutting through his uniform. It felt like hours had dragged past when all settled, though still he remained where he was, agonisingly waiting in case anything else slipped from its instable hold.

He breathed through the lump in his throat as he lent back and revelled in the silent break, taking the time to finish temporally dressing the wound on Alan's head. It was easier not to think of the mass storeys above, nor of the mass amount of materials which had been put towards the construction of the height. That said, it was difficult not to. His hands were swimming in dust. Almost everywhere you moved there was grit to seep through open fingers. Almost everywhere you looked there were cascades of rubble and the intense heat was trawling closer. He tried to keep himself focussed, thinking of the rough granules as grains of sand. By thinking of the palm trees and the unrestricted breeze, rather than the stodgy atmosphere here. He tried to picture the sun, whilst at the side of the pool against the ever-worsening inundation they faced.

It was a serene image. Home was always easy to long for when it was the one thing you were missing. It was the one thing that was so effortless to remember when you were struggling to picture anything else. Just like family, it was a part of you, it was something you were drawn to come back to. And that was what they did: come back. Sometimes there were no smiles, no joke at some fools expense, but they always came back, they always came home - all of them.

He didn't see it. Grains of sand had become sands of time. He's been too absorbed in thinking, too off-point to have even heard the movement, and there was no way he could have sensed it. He didn't see it, and he should have.

All of them had sharpened reflexes thanks to this job. All of them were agile enough to move at the bark of orders or the snap of fingers. He moved, the blocks and rubble missing him, and thankfully Alan, but the move was jagged, rushed and off balance. His elbow smashed into the wall, shocks running up through his muscle and sparks leaping through his veins, followed by a stream of cussing their father would have reprimanded him for. Right now, it was the only thing that held him back from the desire to howl. But he had to think. What would Scott think if he heard him? What would Alan think if he woke? And what would cross Gordon's mind if he should wake and hear the animalistic cries?

He tried not to contemplate the disaster that could have been, or what releases screaming would allow. He endeavoured to block out the main, but the receptors of his body refused to listen. In a strange sense, he was glad of it. The pain was sharp and strong enough to keep him awake, to keep him firmly planted in the here and now, completely aware and focussed. It kept him grounded in the oddest of ways.

A broken bone for a broken family.

They should have tried to bring the Firefly down. It would have offered some protection, some aid to the desperate mess, but the time it might have taken to clear a way suitable - and in this weather - could have finished it before it even began.

The time between Scott's going and his return seemed agonisingly long, far too long and deprived him of any conscious company. Scott returned with another few sets of footsteps that Virgil would have missed had he not been listening out for signs of the building's crumbling. The further shifts in the building would not be unknown to him on any accounts. He refused to let himself be distracted again.

"Virg, what happened?"

"The building decided we needed more problems."

"Sure you didn't decide to try and tussle with it?" Scott didn't do joking during missions. In fact, he rarely did so at all. The only times he ever used such a tone when they were working was when he was becoming nervous, when he was beginning to feel trapped and facing the pressure of the situation. It happened rarely and its sudden rearing now was enough to transfer to Virgil was he must have seen from the outside view. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the tone was replaced with his normal field commander attitude, the orders that beneath them held every piece of mind-boggling concern. "Seriously, are you alright?"

He chose not to answer that question. "The building's coming down, fast."

"Okay, how are we doing?"

"We can move him, but he's not regained conscious again." That should have been screaming danger at them, staring them point blank in the face with one thing after another. A twist, then a turn, then a stab; a painful one to stick right in their hearts, a knife too deeply rooted to be removed.

"And you?"

He hated how Scott could think of what he viewed as a trivial injury at a time like this. "I'll manage."

"I'll get Gordon."

"No." Virgil called suddenly, stopping Scott in his tracks before he'd succeeded in running a fair distance away. "I won't be able to carry Alan."

It made complete sense, though the thought hadn't even occurred to Scott. "Right, you go with them and get Gordon, I'll take him."

"FAB." It was a whisper if it could even warrant to be called that. Virgil disappeared into the distance with the two men Scott had managed to get to follow them down and assist. He could see what Virgil meant as knelt beside his youngest sibling. The crumbling mess was coming ever closer and they really didn't have much time. The overcast sky was becoming visible as the roof was pulled apart by the flames, the skylight making for a nice view if the weather wasn't horrendous and the situation tragically perilous.

"Come on, Kiddo." He wasn't quite sure why he was speaking. Alan was outright dead to the world and there was no one else to hear him. He supposed it was to calm his own nerves. It wasn't doing a very successful job. The heat was getting to him now and he knew exactly what the increase meant: it wasn't a good sign to say the least. The baby of the family looked pale and despite his normal resilience, Scott feared how much of that could be kept in this predicament. Virgil thought he was alright to move and Scott believed that too from what he could see, yet he only hoped their first aid skills hadn't missed anything major. 'Alan would have said', he kept telling himself. In those brief moments of consciousness he had, he would have said. "You've got to stay with us."

Carefully he lifted the other into his arms, shifting his weight as he stood to keep Alan in the best possible position, cradling him in his grasp like he had when the blonde was only a baby. He felt just as fragile now, just as damageable and Scott feared everything he had when their mother had first allowed them the privilege of holding the last Tracy child: the child who was a male version of her, the one who Scott always thought it would kill dad to lose for that precise reason.

The near invisible flakes were heavy like mist as he looked down the corridor in hopes of seeing his artistic brother. "Virgil!" He hated the way the echo brought his call back answerless.

"Go, we're right behind you."

"I'll wait."

"Don't be stubborn, go!" Arguing would get them nowhere now so he gritted his teeth and caved for once, vowing to himself he'd get Alan out before coming back in if they weren't "right behind him" like Virgil had promised. It had to be a promise for a reassurance was useless. They were small, feeble things that meant nothing compared to a promise, a word one to abide to no matter what attempted to break it. They were tensile lines which could stretch any distance and still make it in one piece.

They were the only thing which Scott could believe in right now, the only thing he could put any trust and hope in. It would be a conviction to which the brothers would have to stick with, one Scott would hold the younger to.

The rain outside hadn't let up, if anything it had got worse just like a parallel to their own situation. The access the emergency crews had managed to create for them was terrible to begin with, though now the constant torrent had made it treacherously slippy. As the building crumbled, the narrow path decreased in size and Scott knew if they didn't get out of the way quickly, they'd be buried beneath it.

He hated how the fire chief stood waiting. He'd been desperate to keep them out of the building in the first place and it was only by pulling rank with a few possible threats that managed to sway the decision. Even then it had been with full reluctance. His team could have worked faster, for Scott was sure he could have done so, though that steam of thoughts only prompted him to think that the man had every intention of keeping them out even if the way to do so was to time waste. The basement had been treated no differently to any other danger zone by the services, but to them it was the only one that mattered.

It was stupid. It was stupid how ignorant they'd been. He'd never forgive himself for that. If he lost anyone today, he wouldn't forgive himself. They'd felt the building shake and left, but they should have noticed sooner the younger weren't following them, they just should have. Scott shouldn't have held back. He should have run back in – thinking back now he wasn't sure what stopped him or why he didn't do so – or at the very least radioed straight away to find where they were. If only the skills that made him good for the first responder job hadn't abandoned him in those most crucial seconds.

If only the building had been built properly, the floor wouldn't have given way so easily. The whole situation would never have occurred and they would be at home, sat by the pool with Gordon and Tin-Tin splashing water at them until they conceded to throw down whatever they were reading or abandon any games to jump in and join them.

Instantly he blanked the hands that reached towards him and the figures which motioned for him to hand Alan to them as though they were the monstrous demons which plagued the minds of children. Right now, his baby brother was the one thing he was not letting go off, whether it made the small steep difficult to climb or not didn't matter.

He looked back with a sharp eye, seeking any sign of the blue uniform and coloured sashes - any sign of his two remaining brothers.

"Stand clear." He was feeling sick now, a pit of dread having established itself firmly within his stomach. His feet refused to move, half of his brain instructing him that it made sense, the other half yelling at him that it made none. Alan's light weight was the only thing keeping him secured to the ground, the only thing that logically told him he couldn't go back in. The burning glow had shifted its way down within metres of the ground. The structure wobbled, final remains of glass flying towards them as the fire destroyed their supports. His hands had started to shake, trembling through to the nerves as he unconsciously tightened his grip on Alan.

"Come on, Virgil." The words quickly became his unspoken mantra, his desperate plea to see them emerge from the pit.

"Scott?" Alan pulled his focus, his voice a meek and wavering sound. Alan was hardly conscious, his eyes heavy and fighting to keep open.

"You're okay." He had nothing else to say. It might not be true, but he didn't feel he could say nothing. Alan was looking at him with doe eyes, blinking like he'd been caught in headlights before his comprehension seemed to return to him and he shifted to try and break free. Scott refused to let go, fighting until Alan settled. Though it seemed like too much time had passed since he adverted his eyes to his brother, the clock hands hadn't rushed by. He wouldn't have had the time to go in and out again. Alan would have been alone, surrounded by strangers and a complete mess when those strangers smashed his heart without even knowing why.

Because no one could ever understand International Rescue the way they did. It was their blood, their memorial, their heritage and family line which none outside that close circle could ever truly understand. They would never know they were brothers. They wouldn't think how close the team could be in that respect, only that they saved lives and came to call. And why wouldn't they? They didn't tell anyone, they didn't imply it. They just knew and knowing for them was enough. No one else needed to know for the sake of newspaper and magazine trivia.

Alan's sudden grip on him brought him back from somewhere he didn't know he'd even gone to. It brought him back to awareness of clouded eyes and misted thoughts of this and that and nothing of importance. The younger reflected himself back at him, emotions running high in force like the rain reaching down to meet them. Through the tears he been unable to hold, he couldn't see what he wanted. He could feel Alan shake his head and tighten his grip again until his nails were digging into Scott's skin. He'd become a lifeline now. Letting go would mean accepting much more than either of them wanted to, than either of them felt able to.

For the building finally came down, and with it, their hearts.

More, or no?