Author's Note: Hey guys! Many thanks goes to the guest who pointed out that the sub Gordon pilots is called Thunderbird Four, not Thunderbird Three. I'm a new fan and have been having a blast learning all I can about these characters. Thanks again, buddy, for letting me know!
Scott scanned the skyline with a shrug of his shoulders. The familiar hum of Thunderbird One's engines massaged his back as he shifted her up a gear. He never felt more at home than when he was piloting the beautiful aircraft. With a contented sigh he activated his comm and addressed John with his usual clipped professionalism.
"Thunderbird Five, this is Thunderbird One. Permission to land." John's hologram hesitated before answering, his eyebrows raised in concern.
"Hold position, permission declined," came John's reply. The hologram momentarily vanished. Scott paused, confused. He was at Tracy Island—there'd never been an issue landing the bird before. Just when he was about to press John for details, his brother's image reappeared, all formalities aside. "Scott, I've notified Virgil and Gordon of your location. Don't move until they get there. ETA five minutes." Scott tilted his head to the side in thought.
"John, what's going on? Did something happen to Alan at home? Just give me five minutes and I'll have her parked and—"
"Scott, you're not at Tracy Island. You're flying above a remote area of the Atlantic Ocean. Do not attempt to land," the space monitor interrupted. Scott stared at him listlessly. John's voice shook slightly. "Stay with me. Keep talking until the others arrive. What do you remember about the mission?" The mission?
"Send me the coordinates. I'll be on my way," Scott replied, already punching in the controls. Hologram John placed his hands out in a calming gesture.
"You've already completed the mission. You were just on your way back to the island when you started to fly off course. It was a tough crisis, Scott. A massive landslide. Do you feel any discomfort or pain? Any injuries that you didn't notice before your takeoff?" John was met with the same blank stare from before.
"Not sure," Scott finally answered. He unconsciously rubbed his right wrist.
"I'm gonna bring the others on the line, okay?"
"FAB, Thunderbird Five," Scott answered mechanically. He tried to recall the landslide, but was met with a gaping hole in his memory. He didn't have time to dwell on that frightening realization as the holograms of Virgil and Gordon appeared on the console.
"You don't look too good, Scott. We're coming to you. Just hang on until we get there, okay?" Virgil said. Scott narrowed his eyes in confusion.
"Alan? What are you doing flying Thunderbird Two? Where's Virgil?" The three younger brothers looked taken aback.
"Scott, I AM Virgil."
"This is Gordon. Scott, do you recognize me? Scott?" The aquanaut's question went unanswered.
"You're starting to descend, Thunderbird One. I need you to pull up," John ordered. When the pilot remained motionless, he continued. "Pull up or I'll be forced to do it for you." This seemed to shake Scott from his reverie.
"Copy that, Thunderbird Five. Readjusting my position now." The plane shuddered as Scott tampered with the instruments and deactivated the cloaking device in the process. The nose lowered a few more degrees, beginning the first stage of an arcing swan dive that would send Thunderbird One straight into the Atlantic's chilly depths. John was desperate, raising his voice over the comms.
"Listen to me, Scotty! If you don't change course right now, you'll crash. I'm taking over. Standby, do not touch the console."
"I can't read the controls. Why would Brains switch up my console without telling me?" Scott mumbled, his body listing forward against the restraints of his harness as John remotely accessed the aircraft and pulled it out of the free fall.
"It's gonna be okay. Just hold on," the second oldest brother said as he dabbled with a keyboard in front of him. He paused, his face stricken with terror. "A missile's targeting you, Scott. I'm gonna try to lose it. Virgil, Gordon, I don't care what it takes, push those Thunderbirds as fast as they can go. There's a submarine close by and it just deployed a missile. I can't get a lock on the sub. Gordon, you'll have to do that manually from Thunderbird Four."
"FAB," replied the duo as they cut communication. Virgil wouldn't dare admit it, but he'd wanted any excuse to turn away from Scott's dazed and delirious form, a far cry from the fearless leader that had led the landslide rescue and consoled the families of those whose loved ones hadn't survived the disaster.
The space monitor directed Thunderbird One into a series of evasive maneuvers, none of which dislodged the missile headed straight for the hull.
"Scotty, there's no way around it. You're going to get hit. There's a small landmass not far away. When that missile strikes, it'll temporarily override my control over Thunderbird One. That means you're going to have to take over for the landing. Do you understand? It's all muscle memory. You can do this."
"Dad? When did you come back?" Scott replied, rummaging his hands through his hair. "It's good to hear your voice again. Listen, Thunderbirds Two and Four are on their way here. My plane's gonna get hit." His breath hitched and he gripped the wheel tightly even though he no longer had control of the flight. "I need you to order them to retreat. I don't want to put them in danger." Scott's body started to tremble. Beads of perspiration poured down his face. John frowned but didn't waste time correcting him. He continued onward, taking his father's identity in stride.
"Negative, son. We don't leave one of our own behind. Your brothers are capable men. What I need from you is your undivided attention. Look at the controls. Can you land Thunderbird One?" Scott took an intake of breath to calm his nerves.
"The console's different. It was changed without my permission. The missile's going to hit Tracy Island, Dad. I have to land in the ocean. If anything were to happen to Alan and the others—" John watched as Scott started to panic as the landmass neared, its craggy edge reaching up to meet him like a dagger. He turned the wheel, setting his jaw when his beloved aircraft remained unresponsive in his trembling hands. "Tell them I'm sorry, Dad. I can't change the route. Thunderbird One is going to hit the house. Please, can John do anything? Can you have him crash my plane into the ocean instead?" John closed his eyes momentarily, quelling down the panic that was now rising in his chest. His oldest brother thought that the unpopulated landmass was Tracy Island and was asking—no, begging— for him to plummet his plane in the ocean in order to protect his family. Even in his fragile mental state, it was still the same selfless Scott. John cleared his throat and offered what little comfort he could before the impact. TEN.
"Don't worry about it, Scotty. No one's on the island." NINE. "You're going to be just fine. I'll get you as close to it as I can. You've got to land her, okay?" EIGHT.
"I can't remember the mission. Why can't I remember?" SEVEN. Scott pushed another hand through his hair, making it stand on end. SIX. "Thunderbird Five? Are you still there? Something's wrong with me. I think I blacked out for a second. Was I talking to Dad?" FIVE.
"I'm here, Scott. It's John. I'm going to be in contact with you the whole time," John said. He kept his voice level as the missile inched closer, seconds away from ripping control of Thunderbird One away from him. There was a heartbreaking silence as another second ticked away. FOUR. Scott's voice came through the comms, labored and weak.
"I'm sorry, John. I can't risk hurting International Rescue and damaging our base—our home. We've come too far. I know what I have to do." THREE. The fair-haired brother clenched his fist in desperation as he saw the resolve in Scott's face.
"Don't you dare crash into the ocean—whatever you do! Virg and Gords are on their way! Scotty—" TWO. The two eldest siblings locked eyes with one another. The space station had never seemed so far away.
"It's what Dad would've done." ONE. The missile slammed into Thunderbird One and a fiery explosion jostled the pilot in his chair. The plane veered to the side with a powerful lurch as it spiraled to its destination below. Scott angled the nose downward into a dive toward the deep blue expanse, even as the dizzying speed nearly rendered him unconscious from the force. At the last second his comm sputtered back to life and the gorgeous bird changed course against his will, careening instead onto a rocky cliff edge jutting out from the landmass. The impact was almost more than Scott could take as the mechanical body shuddered and bent, the metal twisting and grinding underneath him. When the broken rescue vehicle came to a final halt, John hailed Scott as fast as communications would allow. He knew Brains had built the birds to withstand such a crash, but he still gave a sigh of relief once he saw Scott disoriented but safe, held upright in his pilot's seat. John didn't want to think what would've happened if he hadn't been able to regain control of Thunderbird One at the last minute and reroute it onto the cliff. Thunderbird One wasn't equipped to operate underwater. It sent chills up his spine thinking that Scott—who knew his baby better than anyone—had tried to sacrifice his aircraft in the Atlantic waves.
"Scott, are you okay? Say something, nod your head, anything," John said. Scott gave a small nod, rubbing his wrist. Even through the hologram, the Thunderbird Five expert could see the faint tendrils of smoke enter the cockpit. "Your Thunderbird is still on fire from the missile. It's fine, you're not in any immediate danger, but I want you to evacuate and get outside. Do you understand, Scott? Take off your safety harness and make it outside."
"FAB, Dad," Scott said wearily. He fumbled with the harness that locked him tightly in place. John commed Virgil and Gordon on a separate line. It was a struggle to keep the panic out of his voice as he relayed the news.
"Scott's not doing well at all, Virg. I need you to help him out of Thunderbird One and check him over for injuries. Something happened between the time we finished the landslide rescue and while he was piloting his plane, and I want to know what."
"Understood. I've just arrived on scene. Preparing to land next to Thunderbird One now," Virgil replied, landing his own aircraft with the absence of his usual finesse in his haste to see to Scott's needs.
Virgil exited Thunderbird Two and took in the sight before him. He could tell that Scott's landing—or crash, rather—had been rough and unorthodox. The bird had skidded to a stop dangerously close to the cliff edge and the sheer drop below into the churning waves made Virgil's heart skip a bit. The island was small and rocky, filled with dips and hills of sparse vegetation and jagged peaks. He shouldered his med pack and made a beeline for the fallen bird.
John directed his attention to the blonde younger brother who waited for his next instructions in Thunderbird Four.
"Gordon, I need you to patrol the island. I couldn't lock on to the submarine from earlier, but it could still be nearby. When Virgil has Scott aboard Thunderbird Two, I'll have you take a closer look at Thunderbird One and see if we can find anything for Brains to inspect from the missile." Gordon nodded tightly and tried to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down his face. The space monitor attempted to console him with a small smile. "Trust me, Gords, it's gonna be fine. Scott just got confused. We'll sort this out. I'm sure it won't be long before our big bro is back to normal." Gordon still didn't seem convinced but gave another nod anyway.
"FAB, John."
"I'm here if you need me, Gords. I'll keep you informed at all times. Let me know if you find anything down there—especially that sub." He cut connection with the aquanaut and allowed his comms to roam back to Scott who'd managed to release himself from the pilot's chair and now stood shakily in the cockpit. Virgil entered moments later and gripped his brother by both shoulders, looking him over.
"Scott, do you know where you are?" When Scott's eyes roved past him, the second pilot gave him a gentle shake. "Look at me, Scotty. Do you know who I am?" Scott looked at Virgil, hesitated for a moment as if debating, then said, "Virgil."
"Very good," Virgil said with a ghost of a smile. He pressed his hands against his brother's head, neck and spine, checking for injuries that would prevent him from safely exiting the fallen plane. Finding none, he nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, Scotty. I'm gonna take you back to Thunderbird Two. We'll chat, have some snacks and make our way back home. Whaddaya say?"
"But I destroyed home, Virg. Dad's going to be disappointed in me. I let him down." Virgil flinched at the mention of their missing father. John's debrief had been short and concise—he hadn't mentioned anything about Scott talking about Dad.
"What are you saying? Dad could never be disappointed in you," Virgil said. He prompted his brother away from the cockpit as they made to leave the smoky husk of the aircraft behind. Scott withdrew from his touch in pure Scotty bull-headed fashion.
"I disobeyed him. He wanted me to land on Tracy Island but Virg…I didn't want to. I couldn't. I tried to crash her in the ocean but I must've miscalculated." The blue-eyed pilot took a few deep breaths as Virgil put a comforting hand on his shoulder and led him towards the hatch. "I don't feel right. Am I running a fever? Maybe Virgil would know. We should ask him. Hey Alan, why are you flying Thunderbird Two?" Virgil was about to reply, his heart breaking as Scott called him Alan for the second time that day, when John's voice crackled through their comms, his voice urgent.
"THERE'S A SECOND MISSILE HEADED STRAIGHT FOR YOU! SCOTT, VIRG, GET OUT OF THERE NOW—" Scott felt his body pitch backward from the unexpected explosion and saw stars as his head hit the wall with an audible thud. Thunderbird One tilted precariously on its side as it hovered against the cliff edge, consumed in fire. "I DON'T HAVE REMOTE ACCESS TO THUNDERBIRD ONE! DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, GET OUT!" John's cries fell unheeded as the burning aircraft finally pitched over the edge and into the churning waves of the ocean below.
John attempted to contact the fallen brothers but heard no response from either. He was about to alert Gordon when the blonde commed him instead, his voice breathless with excitement.
"I found him, John! I found the submarine. In pursuit now."
"Gordon, wait—"
"I can catch him. Give me a little more time. I'm gaining on it."
"Gords—" John tried again, only for the aquanaut to brush his words aside.
"Almost there. Just a few more feet—"
"GORDS! STOP!" John demanded. "I'm calling off the chase. Return to Thunderbird One." Gordon bristled at the terse command and, in a rare act of defiance, chose to disobey John's orders.
"I almost have him! Give me one more minute!"
"We don't have a minute, Gordon! Disengage." When his younger sibling wavered, John pressed him further. "Don't test me. Not today." His attention was momentarily redirected as his recent scan on Thunderbird One flooded the screen with information. Communication, audio and video feeds were down. Extensive body damage. Limited air reserves. He scrolled past the jarring details until he found what he was looking for: coordinates. A natural plateau deep under the surface had finally stopped the bird's descent. He committed it to memory as he turned to face Gordon's hologram. Gordon, however, had continued with his pursuit, pulling Thunderbird Four further away from the wreckage that held Virgil and Scott captive. A streak of anger burned through John's chest at the blatant disregard. His usual calm disposition shattered; he unleashed his full fury on the aquatic expert.
"Gordon, I can and will take control over your Thunderbird, whether you're physically and emotionally capable or not. Thunderbird One was struck by a second missile. Virgil and Scott are trapped inside. Turn. Back. NOW." John saw Gordon's hologram stiffen at the news.
"But what if the sub releases another missile? Or targets them again? We can't let it escape! I'm so close, John!"
"We don't leave family behind!"
"Virg can look after Scotty for a bit longer, please, just another ten seconds! I'll be able to put a tracker on it at least and—" The communications specialist raised his voice in heated anger.
"Your BROTHERS are trapped underwater and you're the ONLY one who can reach them in time."
"They're underwater? But weren't they just—" John refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. He knew he was to blame for Gordon's confusion, as it was his responsibility to update him on the specifics, but the situation rattled him more than he cared to admit. And for someone who handled emergencies and dangerous rescues on a daily basis, he rarely became rattled. He did not have time to apologize or ask Gordon nicely.
"With Scott and Virgil out of commission, I'm the acting field officer and you will follow my instructions," he snapped, the warning evident under his steely tone. "I'm sending you their coordinates now. You will retreat, as ordered, and aid in extracting Scott and Virgil from Thunderbird One." John sent him the information with detached movements. Gordon acknowledged their arrival with a curt, "FAB" before splitting from his intended target and piloting the aircraft toward the island. The space monitor resisted the urge to rub his temples and stop the headache from morphing into a full-blown migraine. He could live with an angry brother. But he couldn't live with the absence of two of them. He attempted to contact his trapped brothers again in vain. Either the signal wasn't getting through somehow or they were too incapacitated to answer. "Hurry up, Gordon," he muttered to himself as he observed Gordon's route to the wreckage from the interactive computer screen.
Pain. Dull, aching, consuming pain. Scott groaned and lifted a hand to his throbbing head. His vision blurred from the effort.
"Scott? Are you awake? Scotty?" Scott blinked in surprise. He turned to the source of the noise and saw his dark-haired brother slowly picking himself up from the strewn debris of the cockpit.
"Virgil? What's going on?" Scott asked. A chill ran up his spine until his entire body shook from the cold. He noticed water seeping in from the walls, coating most of the floor in a liquid blanket. Thunderbird One. Had something happened to his beloved bird? Before he could voice his concerns, Virgil was beside him in an instant. Scott managed to prop himself up on one elbow and winced as another wave of pain coursed through his skull. The younger pilot inspected the tender knot on the back of Scott's head.
"Scott, are you with me? Do you know who I am?"
"I'll be fine, Virg, I just hit my head," he replied. He attempted to get to his feet only to stagger aimlessly as the structure groaned and shifted. The metal screeched in protest and more water burst through the widening seams of the cockpit. Virgil kept a firm grip on his charge and forced Scott to meet his gaze.
"Do you know where we are?"
"Thunderbird One," Scott said without hesitation. Virgil's frown lessened slightly.
"Good. What's the last thing you remember?" Scott forced himself to think past the unrelenting headache.
"An emergency…a landslide of some kind. Virg, this is all well and good, but shouldn't we focus on getting out of here? Are we underwater? And who's responsible for wrecking my baby?" The frown shifted into a relieved smile as the broad shouldered man clapped Scott on the shoulder.
"It's good to have you back, Scott. You had us worried there for a minute." At Scott's renewed confusion he shrugged. "I'll explain later. Right now we need to escape before this entire thing caves in from the pressure." He tried to activate his comm with no success. "My comm's out. It must've busted when I hit the back wall." For the first time Scott noticed Virgil holding his right arm protectively against his chest. The Thunderbird Two pilot dismissed Scott's concern with a small grin.
"It's nothing us Tracy brothers can't handle. I've had worse. Like grandma's cooking."
"Don't let her catch you saying that," Scott chided. He reached for his own comm. The connection was weak and sluggish and it took multiple tries until he was able to lock onto Thunderbird Five's signal. John, at the sight of Scott and Virgil, let out a shaky breath and ran a hand across his face.
"You can't imagine how good it is to see you both. Virg, how's Scotty holding up?"
"He's fine, back to the old Scotty we know and love. Worried about Thunderbird One more than himself. Typical." The smile that lit up John's weary face was a welcome sight.
"FAB, Virgil. I'll let Gordon know. He should be at your location in two minutes." A tinny screech interrupted the reunion as an icy spray of water from the ceiling showered its two occupants, eliciting cries of surprise from both.
"Tell him to bring blankets. Lots of blankets," Scott said. His teeth chattered from the cold that threatened to numb his limbs. The duo shuffled to one side of the cramped interior in an attempt to avoid the icy droplets of water. Scott rummaged through the back compartment and pulled out two spare helmets. The brothers fitted them on with trembling hands. "We have breathing apparatuses in case we lose this air pocket. Putting them on now."
"Copy that. Hang in there." John switched frequencies and spoke with Gordon in his familiar, steady manner. John's words from earlier still stung but he pushed those feelings aside and confirmed that he had the plateau in sight.
Gordon approached the crippled cockpit with apprehension and let out an exclamation when he saw the damage up close. The plane was battered and crunched, barely recognizable from the charred holes ripped along the side. He could see the air bubbles rising from the cracked exterior and his heart sank. Water was entering the sub—fast. He edged as close as he could to the plane.
"I'm going to attach clamps onto the side of Thunderbird One and secure Thunderbird Four in place," Gordon relayed to John. He activated the two mechanical claws from his sub and anchored them into the outer shell of Thunderbird One. With his vessel steady, he directed his full attention to the visible entry and exit points along the plane. Grimacing, he added, "From what I can see all the hatches are crushed. There's only one way to get inside. I'm going to have to cut a hole from one of the weak spots and go in from there." Gordon had already dived into the water when he heard John's voice from the comms.
"You only have a couple minutes, Gordon. Their suits aren't designed for these underwater temperatures. If they become submerged—"
"Understood. I'll make it quick."
The water quickly reached Scott and Virgil's waists as another stream of icy mist burst from somewhere above. Virgil's legs nearly buckled underneath him and Scott managed to keep him upright even as his own body protested the movement. The hull gave another dismal moan.
"G-Gordon, how's it c-coming along?" Scott asked. His breath caught as the water raised a few more inches.
"Nearly there. Another thirty seconds and I should be through."
"F-FAB. J-John, you getting this?"
"Loud and clear, Scott. When you have a clear path to Thunderbird Four, take it. The sooner we can get you out of the water, the better—" Both pilots staggered as a wall of crushing water suddenly flooded the cockpit and dragged them under. The shock almost knocked the air from Scott's lungs and he fought against the rising panic. There was a reason why he favored the open skies, he thought numbly, as the water twisted him into a series of dizzying circles until he no longer knew which way was up. He was so disoriented that he barely registered Gordon squeezing himself into the aircraft and reaching for his tumbling form.
"Relax, Scott. I've got you," Gordon said as he hooked a hand around Scott's utility belt. He gave a hand signal to Virgil to follow his path out of the cockpit. The swim was slow and arduous as the two older brothers willed their freezing arms and legs to paddle through the swirling water. Once Gordon had guided them out of the open wound of the plane and deposited the shivering duo into the safety of Thunderbird Four, he regained his place at the helm and began their ascent. The vehicle lifted upwards and away from the sunken abyss that proceeded to tear Scott's beautiful bird to pieces.
"Gordon, I'm getting Thunderbird Two in position above you. I'll pull you up once Thunderbird Four breaks through the surface. After you check on Virgil and Scott, I'll transfer control of Thunderbird Two over to you."
"FAB. Coming topside now."
"B-be careful w-with my Thunderbird, G-Gords," Virgil stuttered. He tried to hide the tremor that pierced his body from the cold. "L-last time you d-drove it in training y-you scratched it!" The blonde flashed him a smile, showing just a hint of his usual chipper attitude.
"Relax, the scratch was there before I flew it."
"N-no it wasn't! It w-was perfect!"
The pair bickered good-naturedly, diffusing the tension, as John lowered the cables from Thunderbird Two and attached them onto Thunderbird Four from the air. They felt the slight pull as the submarine locked firmly in place in the belly of the green flight vehicle. Gordon ushered his brothers into the larger aircraft, stopping momentarily to toss them each a set of heated towels from their onboard supply locker. Scott pressed his face into the lush material with a deep sigh before flopping into a spare seat.
John and Gordon exchanged a few curt responses once Tracy Island came to view, but the eldest sibling was too exhausted to notice the strain between them. Virgil, however, after glancing over at Scott's weary but relaxed form, approached Gordon. He hugged the heated towel closer over his shoulders.
"Gords, is everything okay? Did something happen between you and John?" He saw the usually steady hands grip the wheel tighter.
"It's fine, Virg. It's nothing." The words were forced, almost mechanical. Virgil frowned, about to press the issue, when Gordon continued. "Hey, good job out there today. First the landslide, then this…it wasn't easy. Don't worry about anything. Once we land, you two get some rest. I'll let Alan and Kayo know what happened and we can all reconvene in the morning." The speech was unnaturally mature for the inherent prankster and signaled the end of their conversation. Virgil left Gordon to his thoughts and returned to Scott's side. Scott opened his eyes a crack and attempted a smile but his expression remained apprehensive. He rubbed his right wrist absentmindedly. "I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm the one who crashed Thunderbird One. Why would I do that? Did I pass out at the wheel? It certainly feels that way." Scott touched the back of his head with a grimace.
"It's been a long day. Just enjoy the ride until we get home." Scott nodded. As much as he wanted answers, he could sense Virgil's reluctance to discuss the topic and gave in to his wish.
"Understood." He scratched his wrist again and a flicker of annoyance crossed his features. "I must've scraped my wrist against something. It's really starting to itch."
"Well don't make it worse," Virgil scolded and slapped his hand away. "Let me take a look." He lifted Scott's wrist to his line of sight and narrowed his eyes.
"This isn't a scratch. It looks like…a puncture wound." Scott yawned, closed his eyes and nestled back against the warm towel encircling his neck.
"Well, whatever it is, it hurts. I'll just add it to the list of all my other aches and pains—"
"Scott." Virgil interrupted, his face serious. "It looks like you were pierced with something. My guess is a needle of some kind." Scott's eyes flickered open immediately, all sense of relaxation gone. He glanced at his wrist a second time and sighed.
"Now I remember. That must've been it. At the time I thought it was a bee sting." Virgil leaned forward with interest.
"Did this happen at the landslide?" he prompted. Scott nodded.
"It was after we'd cleared the rubble and rescued the civilians trapped underneath. While I was walking to my Thunderbird a man came up to thank me personally for the help. He said he was a family member of one of the victims. I shook his hand, felt something sharp and…" The brothers exchanged glances.
"I think we might've found the source of the problem," Virgil said as Gordon prepared to land.