So, I've decided to take some time off from writing – Real Life calls! I hope to be back within a few weeks, but I'm not sure when, so I thought I'd go out with a bang – aka, with some shameless Gordon whump! Thanks for everyone's support as I've gotten back into writing – it has meant the world to me!
I don't own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story.
"Ah, just what the doctor ordered," Gordon sighed, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the warm tropical sun on his skin and the gentle breeze on his face as their boat cut through the waves.
Alan rolled his eyes. "Technically, the doctor ordered you to stay in the infirmary." He spun the wheel to avoid a stick floating in the water.
"Well, if we're gonna get all technical, Virgil's not even really a doctor, so I guess I don't have to listen to him anyway, huh?"
"Wow. Has anyone ever told you your sense of logic is a bit…uh, messed up?" Alan cast a nervous glance over his shoulder toward the speck on the horizon that was Tracy Island. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this – Scott and Virgil are going to kill me," he grumbled.
"Eh, they won't find out about it – how can they, since no one's home?" Gordon paused, his breath hitching as he fought against a familiar tickle in his throat. After a moment, he had to give in to a series of ragged coughs that threatened to crack his ribs. By the time he could make himself stop, little black specks were dancing at the edges of his vision, his head ached and his chest hurt. He melted down into his seat with a cautious sigh, all of his energy suddenly gone.
"This is stupid," Alan muttered. "I'm taking you back!" He guided the boat around in a broad turn and sped up once they were heading toward the island again.
"I just wanted some fresh air and sunshine," Gordon moaned. "Virgil's had me cooped up in the infirmary for almost a week now!"
"And with good reason," Alan told him sternly. "That bronchitis hit you hard!"
"Well, I guess I can sit by the pool instead."
"Only if you promise to stay out the water," Alan said. He twisted around to look at Gordon. "And hold up your hands while you promise so I can see that you're not crossing your fingers!"
Gordon rolled his eyes and obeyed. "I promise," he grumbled.
Alan's blue eyes softened as he studied Gordon's pale, tired face. "Don't worry – I'm sure you'll be back in the pool in no time."
Gordon smiled…but then his smile shifted into a frown as something caught his eye in front of the boat – something was causing an irregularity in the waves. "Alan, watch it!"
Alan snapped his gaze back to the front of the boat and wrenched the wheel violently to one side, but he was a moment too late.
A palm tree, probably uprooted during a recent storm, was bobbing in the waves, waterlogged enough that it was barely visible above the surface. With a sickening crunch, the tree speared straight through the boat's fiberglass hull. The engine's revving reached a painful, high-pitched scream as the boat twisted onto its side, flipping over and flinging its passengers into the ocean.
It took all of Gordon's years of swimming experience to keep from inhaling as he was plunged deep beneath the water. Even though his lungs were urgently demanding air, he paused to orient himself, turning in a circle as he floated upward, making sure he wouldn't surface only to be run over by the boat.
Spotting Alan a little ways away, he swam in that direction and broke through the surface right next to his younger brother. His first gasp of air had him coughing again – so hard that he missed the moment that Alan slipped silently below the surface. When he finally caught his breath, he turned to speak to Alan, and his heart dropped into his stomach when his brother wasn't there.
Quickly gulping in another breath and forcing his leaden limbs to cooperate, he dove, eyes open. What he saw would be forever imprinted on his mind's eye, and he had no doubt that it would haunt his nightmares for years to come – Alan, arms and legs limp, slowly sinking downward, a small cloud of blood floating around his head.
That sight gave Gordon enough adrenaline to shoot down with nearly all of his normal speed. Wrapping an arm around his younger brother, he kicked hard for the surface. They broke back out into the warm sunshine, and Gordon struggled to listen for Alan's faint breaths over his own noisy fight for oxygen.
Finally he determined that Alan was breathing, and let out a sigh of relief that was nearly their undoing, as it sent him into another paroxysm of coughing.
"Okay, wow!" he gasped, once he could speak. "Alan, dude – when we get in trouble, we get into epic trouble. What am I supposed to do now?"
Supporting Alan with one arm, Gordon slowly paddled himself around in a circle. The boat was a goner – he could see it floating upside down a little ways away, and he doubted he had the strength to pull himself up onto its curved surface, much less Alan – and Tracy Island was miles distant. Normally he might be able to make the swim to the Island, but between his bronchitis and Alan's deadweight, he knew it would be suicidal to try it.
His eyes fastened on a tiny islet a quarter mile away. It would still be a challenging swim with limbs that felt like they were gaining ten pounds a minute, but it seemed to be his only option.
Adjusting his grip on Alan, he began kicking steadily toward the little island, ignoring the rattle in his chest and the burn in all of his muscles. He had a goal, and even though he was moving at a fraction of his Olympic speed, he knew that the outcome of this swim was far more important than winning any medal – he would be either winning or losing his life and the life of his younger brother.
He set his entire focus on simply moving straight ahead and shut everything else out.
He was startled when his hand brushed up against sand, and his feet kicked something solid. He stopped swimming, sputtering when a gentle wave seized him and cast him up on the beach; he tightened his arm around Alan as the wave receded and tried to pull his brother away from him.
With eyes that felt too heavy to keep open, Gordon stared at the small, sandy beach stretching out ahead of him, topped by a tiny patch of palm trees and scrub brush. His brain noted the high tide mark, and pointed out that he and Alan really ought to be above that line, just in case they were still on the island when the tide came in.
That part of the journey was the hardest – without the buoyancy of the ocean water, Alan seemed to weigh about a thousand pounds. Gordon moved him a few inches at a time, dragging him across the hot sand in a sort of modified army crawl.
Finally they were in the shadows of the palm trees. Gordon kept himself propped up on one elbow, knowing that there was one last thing he had to do, and that if he lay down, he would never get it done before he passed out.
Moving ever so slowly, Gordon lifted his left arm – and found himself staring at a blank wrist. He blinked at it, nonplussed, before he remembered that Virgil had taken his watch off when he had set up an IV a few days earlier, and that he had never put it back on.
With a sigh, he reached for Alan's arm instead and pulled his brother's wrist close to his mouth.
"Scott," he murmured. "Alan's hurt…"
That done, he gave in to the blackness creeping around the edges of his vision.
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"If I didn't know better, I'd say you two were in a hurry to get back to the island," John said lightly. He glanced at Scott and Virgil over the top of his milkshake, his blue eyes amused.
Virgil sighed, absently using his straw to push the ice cream below the surface of his root beer float. "I just hate to leave Gordon practically alone on the island. With Dad and Kyrano out of town, Brains and Tin-tin on Five, Grandma in Kansas, and Scott and me picking you up from this conference, that just leaves Alan to keep an eye on Gordon."
"And you know how easily Alan can be talked into mischief," Scott concluded.
"So Gordon was really that sick, huh?" John asked. "You guys wouldn't normally be so worked up over a little cold."
"Yeah, he was pretty miserable for a few days – he was coughing so much that he could hardly sleep, and I was worried that he was going to crack a rib," Virgil replied. "Now he's a little better, but he's at that annoying point where he feels just good enough that he's likely to try to do too much and will just end up making himself sick again." He grimaced. "Okay, I really shouldn't have left him…"
"You guys worry too much," John scoffed. "It's just one day. How much trouble could he possibly get into?"
Scott raised an eyebrow. "You suffering memory loss, Johnny? This is Gordon we're talking about, remember?"
As if to emphasize his words, Scott's watch beeped at that exact moment, and the three brothers stiffened as Gordon's weak voice gasped out, "Scott, Alan's hurt…"
"Gordon?" Scott snapped. "Gordon, what happened? Gordon, come in!"
Scott growled in frustration when Gordon didn't have anything further to say, and then there was a flurry of activity as all three brothers stood at once. John slapped some money down on the table – more than enough to cover their meal, but he didn't even take the time to count it out – and they snatched up their jackets and headed for the door at a run, brushing past the startled hostess with hasty words of apology.
As they got into their rental car and Scott threaded his way expertly through the heavy traffic, John kept trying to reestablish contact, but neither younger brother was answering his watch.
They reached the airport and piled into the Tracy jet. The plane was top of the line as far as civilian jets went, but it still felt like it was crawling through the air as they took off and headed for Tracy Island.
John continued to try the wrist comms throughout the flight, his voice calm but his brow gradually furrowing as his worry increased. Finally, about halfway home, he got a faint response from Alan's watch.
"John?"
"Alan! Gordon said you're hurt – what happened?"
"Dunno – head hurts," Alan whispered.
"Alan? C'mon, stay with me, kiddo! Alan, come in!"
"Hey, where is Gordon, anyway?"
The wrist comm. went silent after that, no matter what John tried, and the roar of the jet's engines increased minutely as Scott pushed the plane a little further beyond its limits.
At Virgil's suggestion, John pulled out his laptop and pinpointed their younger brothers' locations, using the tracking devices in their watches. Gordon's signal was coming from the infirmary, but they were surprised to see that Alan was apparently on a tiny island a few miles out in the Pacific.
"What in the world is he doing out there?" John asked.
"Who knows? But whatever he was up to, I guess he got himself hurt and called Gordon, who then called us," Virgil said. His brows scrunched together in concern as he thought about the situation. "But if Gordon's still in the infirmary, it could mean that he's taken a turn for the worse again, especially since he's not responding to the wrist comm. either."
An hour later, John and Virgil were gripping the edges of their seats as they hurtled down toward the Tracy Island runway – they were descending like a rock, but their trust in Scott was implicit. Sure enough, although the rate of descent might have given even their veteran pilot father a few more gray hairs, the landing was smooth, and Scott set them down in record time.
Abandoning the plane on the tarmac with no thought of post-flight checks, they sprinted toward the boat house, piling into the fastest speedboat and taking off like a shot across the water.
"Easy, Scott – remember, this one isn't supposed to fly," John grumbled, even as he leaned forward, scanning the horizon for the islet.
"There," Virgil said, pointing.
They squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun. The tiny island was just a speck in the mighty Pacific, its little cluster of palm trees appearing to rise mysteriously out of the ocean.
Scott slowed the speedboat down as they approached, watching for reefs and sand bars. He frowned as he spotted the upside down boat bobbing some distance offshore.
"Looks like he ran into a tree, huh?" Virgil said,
They pulled up onto the beach a minute later; they leapt out into the shallows, only pausing briefly to jab a beach anchor into the sand.
"There!" John cried, racing up the beach.
Scott and Virgil caught up to him and they reached Alan's side at the same time.
Alan lay on his side under the palm trees. His blond hair was matted with blood from a nasty gash on his scalp, but his breathing was steady and his color was good.
Virgil knelt next to him and checked him over, shining his penlight in Alan's eyes. "Definitely a concussion," he murmured. "And a few bruises. But other than that, I think he's okay. We keep a backboard in that boat, right?"
Scott nodded and ran to retrieve the backboard. He brought back a bag of other medical equipment as well, and with the efficiency of long practice, it was only a couple minutes before they were carrying Alan to the boat, strapped to the backboard and with a cervical collar in place as a precaution.
Scott guided the boat with considerably more care as they left the island than he had when they had approached.
Their focus was entirely on Alan; no one thought to cast a last glance toward the island, otherwise they would have seen a forlorn figure standing on the beach, watching them go.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Gordon had awakened when he had started coughing and couldn't stop. He knew from his experience over the past week that sitting up seemed to help, so he wearily pushed himself up on one elbow, wondering vaguely why every muscle in his body ached.
As soon as he caught his breath, he glanced around. Oh, right, he thought. Alan crashed the boat…Alan!
His heart in his throat, he bent over his younger brother, his racing pulse gradually slowing as he studied Alan and determined that, all things considered, the damage wasn't too bad. He didn't like how long Alan had been unconscious, but he didn't seem to be declining, so hopefully that was just typical Tracy stubbornness coming into play.
He carefully shifted Alan into the recovery position, just in case he developed any nausea from the head injury.
Glancing at the position of the sun, he guessed that it would be at least another hour until his older brothers showed up. For once, he thought, a little bit of smothering might be kind of nice – all he wanted was to be in a soft bed, with a mug of tea to soothe his sore throat, and concerned brothers at his beck and call.
With a sigh, he pushed himself slowly up to his feet, stifling a groan – he'd apparently pulled a few muscles in the accident or in the exertion afterward.
For the time being, he was the only older brother around, and that meant that it was his responsibility to take care of Alan. He didn't think there was anything on the tiny island that could help Alan, but it was worth checking out. Moving slowly, every step a chore in the loose sand, he began to circle the islet.
As he expected, it was devoid of anything remotely helpful, other than the bit of shade provided by the tuft of palm trees in the center. There was no fresh water, no fruit, and barely any animals. Hopefully their brothers would come before they were reduced to eating lizards and grubs, Gordon thought.
The sun beat down on him mercilessly, and when he was on the far side of the island – separated by the trees from where Alan lay, but just a hundred feet from him – he suddenly felt very unwell. The world spun around him, his head pounded, and all of his remaining strength seemed to drain away from him.
He fought it just long enough to stagger over to the shade; he collapsed under a palm tree, and things went gray for a while.
He missed the jet arriving, but he heard the boat – and he could hear his older brothers' voices. And then he heard their voices receding, the boat's engine starting up again…in a panic, he managed to push himself back up to his feet and rush through the tiny patch of jungle.
He was too late, though – the boat was already well on its way back to Tracy Island when he burst out onto the beach. He sank onto his knees, panting, and watched it go – he had no energy to shout, and they wouldn't hear it over the sound of the boat, anyway.
"Well," he grumbled to himself. "That didn't exactly go the way I figured it would."
He shrugged and stumbled back to the edge of the trees, propping himself up against a palm tree. Suddenly feeling cold, he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, trying not to shiver.
He could wait, he told himself, ignoring the wheezing sound in his chest. His brothers would figure everything out eventually and come back for him. Until then, there was nothing to do but relax and try to get some sleep.
And maybe work on thinking up a few good pranks to pay his older brothers back for leaving him behind…
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Scott, John and Virgil were startled, to say the least, when they carried Alan into the infirmary and Gordon wasn't there, but for a little while they were too focused on getting Alan settled to try to figure out where their other brother had disappeared to.
It was almost an hour before Virgil finished his exam of Alan. He had done a head-to-toe exam, run scans, set up IVs, and cleaned and stitched the wound on his scalp. Finally, there was nothing else to do but check Alan's vitals regularly and wait for him to wake up.
He glanced toward Gordon's empty bed and frowned. "So do you think he went looking for Alan after he called us?"
"I don't know," Scott said. "There weren't any other boats missing, were there? I was in too much of a hurry to notice."
"I'll check," John volunteered.
"And I'll look around the house," Scott said.
They returned in ten minutes, their concern significantly increased.
"No other boats are gone," John said.
"And he's not anywhere in the house or out by the pool," Scott added. "Hey, it's been a while since we tried his wrist comm." He lifted his watch to his mouth. "Gordon, come in."
It sounded like his voice echoed, and they blinked at each other for a moment in confusion.
John was the first to figure it out. He strode over to the table by Gordon's bed and picked up his watch. "He took his wrist comm. off! Why would he do that?"
Virgil shrugged. "He's had it off for a few days – it got in the way of the IV. I guess maybe Alan called him, then Gordon called us and went to look for Alan, but forgot to take his watch along."
Scott frowned. "I don't like it. If Gordon didn't take a boat, where is he?"
"Thunderbird Four?" John suggested. "Hang on – I can find out." He sat down at the infirmary computer and tapped away for a minute before shaking his head. "Nope – still there." He glanced up at Scott. "Want me to start going through security footage?"
A long groan from Alan's bed suddenly claimed their full attention. In seconds, all three of them were bent over their baby brother, watching his blue eyes slowly blink open.
He stared at them blankly for a moment before groaning again and squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh, man, just kill me now," he moaned.
"I don't think we have to," John said, amused. "You nearly did it yourself."
"No, I know I'm in trouble…I don't remember why, though." He opened his eyes again, looking confused. "Something involving a boat?"
"Well, you crashed the boat, but unless you were doing something stupid at the time, I don't see why we'd have to kill you for that," Virgil told him.
"Aw, I crashed it? Yeah, I guess I remember that. It's totaled, huh? Oh, man, Gordon's gonna kill me too!"
The older brothers' brows all furrowed at the mention of Gordon, and John retreated to the computer. He picked up Gordon's watch and frowned at it, then tapped away in the computer, his face intent.
"How is Gordon, anyway?" Alan asked. He glanced over to the opposite side of the room, and when he saw the empty bed, he gasped and suddenly turned white. He tried to sit up, fighting against Scott's hands. "Wait – where is Gordon?" he demanded.
"Calm down, Alan!" Scott said. "That's what we were trying to figure out when you woke up."
"Yeah, as near as we can figure, he called to tell us that you were hurt, then went looking for you," Virgil added. "We haven't found him yet, though – he didn't bring his watch with him."
Alan swatted at Scott's hands, still trying to get up, even though the movement was clearly making his head hurt worse. "No, you guys don't understand," he said desperately. "Gordon was on the boat with me!"
His words shocked his older brothers into silence. Scott and Virgil exchanged horrified glances, even as John confirmed Alan's words.
"He's right," John said, his voice tense. "I tapped into the comm. system audio files, and that call from Gordon didn't come from his watch – it came from Alan's. Gordon must have been on that island with Alan!"
"So why didn't we find him with Alan?" Virgil demanded, stuffing medical supplies haphazardly into a bag. "That island's, like, a speck! He could hardly have missed us blazing up in a noisy speedboat!"
"Unless he was badly hurt," Scott said in a low voice. He rushed for the door.
Virgil grabbed his bag, but hesitated for a split second, suddenly remembering that he had a patient who required monitoring.
"Go!" John told him. "I'll keep an eye on Alan."
With a quick nod of thanks, Virgil sprinted out of the room, intent on catching up to Scott.
Despite Virgil's best efforts, Scott reached the boat ten strides ahead of him, and Virgil barely got on board before they were tearing across the Pacific once again.
The ten-minute trip to the islet felt, if possible, even longer than before as they tried not to imagine why Gordon hadn't been with Alan – and why he hadn't heard them arrive.
They barely remembered to use the beach anchor as they leapt out one more time onto the tiny patch of shoreline.
"Gordon!" Scott hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth and scanning the tree line with an eagle gaze.
There was no response.
"All right, you go that way, and I'll go this way," Scott said, pointing. He took off at a brisk jog, churning through the loose sand, calling for Gordon as he went.
Virgil circled the island in the opposite direction, and met Scott in just a few minutes. They exchanged a glance, and without hesitation, plunged into the tiny patch of jungle.
However tiny, it was a true jungle, with dense underbrush, creeping vines and plenty of bugs. It was twenty minutes before they broke back out onto the beach where their boat was anchored. They stared at each other in dismay.
Scott glanced out toward the upside-down boat and flinched. "What if he – I mean, maybe he made that call right after the accident, while they were still in the water…"
Virgil's expression was stricken as he realized what Scott was trying to say. He shook his head numbly, trying to think of something – anything – that would prove that Gordon had made it to the island after the crash, but nothing came to mind.
And then they heard coughing.
It came from the tree line, less than ten feet away from them. They covered the distance in two bounds, and Scott carefully pulled away some low-hanging branches to reveal their brother, curled up in an amazingly tiny ball at the base of a palm tree.
"Gordon," Virgil breathed, dropping down next to him. He winced as he touched Gordon's forehead. "His fever's up – way up. And I don't like the sound of that cough. C'mon, help me get him to the boat."
Scott bent down and simply scooped Gordon up in his arms, grunting at the weight as he marched back down the beach.
Virgil rolled his eyes and hurried after him. "Or you can do it that way," he muttered. He clambered up into the boat and helped Scott lift Gordon aboard and lay him across a bench seat.
As Scott guided the boat back to Tracy Island, Virgil examined Gordon as best as he could. Finally he shook his head. "I'll have to do some scans to be sure, but I don't think he was really hurt in the accident. I think he just did too much – probably dragged Alan ashore – and it really set him back. A relapse, if you will."
Gordon started coughing again – a harsh, wheezing sound – and curled around himself, wrapping his arms around his ribs. After a minute, he stopped coughing and opened his eyes a crack. He gave Virgil a faint smile. "Wondered how long it'd take you to figure it out," he murmured. "How's Alan?"
Virgil's fingers automatically smoothed Gordon's hair back off his forehead. "He's going to be fine. He's got a concussion and some bruises, but he woke up and gave us what for when he figured out that we'd left you behind."
Gordon smiled. "I was thinking of pranking you guys for leaving me behind, but then it occurred to me that if I did that, you might not be so eager to rescue me the next time."
Virgil snorted. "Never. We'll always come for you. And I say that even knowing how truly awful some of your pranks are."
Gordon's eyes drifted shut. "Thanks, Virg." His breath caught, and he was lost in another coughing fit. When he could speak again, he studied Virgil's face for a moment before asking, "So…do you think Al and I are gonna be in trouble when Dad finds out about this?"
"I'm guessing this one will fall under the old, 'You boys have punished yourselves enough already, so I'll let this one slide,'" Virgil said, smirking. "You and Alan might be buying another boat, though."
Gordon groaned. "Yeah, you're probably right. There goes my spending money for a while."
They pulled into the boat shed and slowly made their way up to the infirmary, Scott and Virgil supporting most of Gordon's weight and occasionally pausing for him to cough.
Alan was asleep again, but John stood up when they entered, his face lighting up with a relieved smile. "Hey, Gords," he said. "Have fun at the beach?"
Gordon made a face. "For once, I can honestly say no." He sighed happily as he sat on his bed and leaned back against his high pile of pillows. It wasn't quite as nice as lying down, but he'd take it.
John twitched the covers over him, grimacing. "You sure you don't want a bath? You smell like the ocean, and you're leaking sand everywhere."
"Nah, it's okay," Gordon said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "I use ocean water as cologne, and sand is my middle name."
Gordon's voice grew progressively softer, and his brothers could see that he was completely out of energy.
Virgil had gone straight to the supply cabinet, and he elbowed his way past his brothers to Gordon's side, quickly setting up an IV, assuming that Gordon was probably dehydrated. "You want some water or tea, Gords?"
"Water sounds good." Gordon accepted the glass of water, sipping it nonchalantly, barely wincing as Virgil inserted the IV in his other hand.
Alan woke up then. "Gordon!" he exclaimed, then flinched as his own voice made his head pound. "You okay?"
"Yeah, sure, fine," Gordon mumbled. "You?"
"Just peachy," Alan said, his eyes starting to drift shut again already.
"Wanna go swimming tomorrow?" Gordon asked sleepily.
"Okay," Alan said.
Scott and Virgil shared a glance, shaking their heads in fond exasperation.
"Those two," John sighed. "Okay, so I'm never again going to ask what kind of trouble they can get into in a single day. This has totally cured me!"
John and Virgil left the room, turning off the light on the way, while Scott settled into a chair between the two beds with a sigh, keeping an eye on his two youngest brothers.
Can't even leave them for just one day, he thought wryly. He got up to lay another blanket over Gordon, who had started shivering violently. He stood by Gordon's bed, looking down at his tired face. His second-youngest brother's determination never failed to amaze him. He wondered if he would have been able to tow Alan to the shore of that island while exhausted from a week of fighting bronchitis. Gordon never stopped to think about things like that, though – he just did them, and never spoke a word of complaint, even when it was hard on him.
He brushed Gordon's hair off his forehead and sat down again. He knew John and Virgil were probably cooking dinner, but he'd stay where he was until they came for him. He saw the events days like this as a reminder to sit back and enjoy his family. Maybe the next day he'd hang out with them by the pool – and not just to make sure that Gordon stayed out of the water…