A/N: I had intended to have written at least the next two chapters by now, but it's been something of a week at Hargadon Towers and I haven't had time/opportunity/energy to write so much as my own name. Apologies for unanswered reviews and PMs, I promise I will reply as soon as I can. And hopefully I'll get chance to write more frequently next week. If there's any character you'd especially like to see next, please don't forget to let me know!

With love to Teebs for everything - always; endless gratitude to CreativeGirl26 for her awesome reviews; and the biggest hug I can manage to the lovely JoTracy123, who has helped me with this one more than I can tell you.

Virgil

"Emergency! Emergency! Situation Cri-ti-cal!"

I swear to god I will never be able to unhear those words. I bet even when I'm ninety, every time I close my eyes all I'll hear is Braman on repeat.

Part of me can't help but feel a little responsible for what happened. I know it isn't logical, I know it's a typical artist 'surely the world revolves around me!' reaction, I know it isn't my fault. It's the Chaos Crew, it's The Hood. They're to blame for what happened to Gordon. That doesn't change the fact that neither the Chaos Crew nor The Hood were the ones who let their little brother rush off into danger headfirst, all guns blazing, just because I'd put the idea into his head that Braman was feeling all sad and lonely at the bottom of the sea.

Surely he knew I was kidding? He must have known I was kidding, right? Even Brains said that Braman wasn't in any danger. Gordon and I always know which buttons to press to grind each other's gears, our entire lives are spent teasing and joking with each other. There again, I do have a tendency to function on a level of sarcasm so subtle that I don't always know when I'm being serious, especially on minimal sleep and minimal caffiene. Gordon was overtired, and still visibly cringing with embarrassment from his encounter with a polecat at Creighton-Ward Mansion the previous day, so it made sense he'd be overzealous and would want to do everything he could to make things right when a rescue call came in. Even so, it wouldn't have killed him to hang fire for five minutes for us to come up with a plan of action before he left.

It wouldn't have killed him to wait, and I have no idea how he survived what happened to him. That kid has more lives than a cat.

I guess from the outside looking in, the way International Rescue is operated is a carefully orchestrated affair, with each of us guys taking on very specific roles that we have spent our entire careers specialising in and training for. That's only partly true. In fact, International Rescue only functions the way it does because it mirrors our family dynamic so neatly. We fit into our respective roles so easily, not because it's our job, but because it's who we are. Scott is the undisputed leader because he's the eldest and the one who has always been there for the rest of us, steadfastly, without question, unconditionally, ready to do whatever he can to fix any problem. He and I have been partners in crime since - forever, I guess. I can't remember a time in my life that I haven't thought of Scott as being the best friend I've ever had. Thunderbirds One and Two work so well together on missions because Scott and I know exactly what makes each other tick, how we would respond to given situations, and instinctively we know what we need to do to support each other best. It's more than a bond, it's practically a psychic link.

John has always been too cool for us, which has proved to be a constant source of joke ammunition for all three of us. There's no lack of love, just a change in dynamic. Scott and I have been inseparable since I was born, and John was always happiest with his own company. His best friend has always been himself, and he is unapologetic about that. John was always the one most likely to have his head stuck in a book or to have a telescope in front of his eye, always fastidious over the way he looked, how neat his clothes were, how tidy his hair was. Y'know, I don't think I've ever seen John with so much as a rogue splash of spaghetti sauce on his cheek - he's like Teflon. He's always a little aloof, always poised and cool on the outside despite the most trying of circumstances. Thunderbird Five only serves as the communications hub as well as it does because it has a guy in charge who will unfailingly keep his head when all about him is going to hell in a handbasket. John speaks with an air of assurance that makes you believe he is in full control of any situation, and I'm in no doubt that his level-headed, rational manner in response to calls for help has been the difference between success and failure in our missions. Keeping the rescuees calm, and even getting them to help themselves when the situation allows, is better than having an extra pair of hands during the rescue itself.

Then when the youngest two came along, the dynamic shifted again. Alan always clung to Scott like a limpet. Scott could barely even go to the bathroom without Alan following him. Everything Scott did, Alan wanted to do. Both were absolute speed demons, obsessed with fast bikes, fast rollerskates, fast cars, fast planes, fast food, fast everything. Scott bought a new pair of shades, he had to buy an extra one because Alan would only want a pair of his own to be just like Scott. Scott had a leather jacket, Alan wanted one too. All Alan has ever really wanted is to be Scott Tracy when he grows up. I can't think of a better man to aspire to be, and who knows if he'll ever make it. I hope he does. Scott and Alan working together on space missions in Thunderbird Three is a perfect arrangement, they're both hot-headed and impulsive, both unafraid of making snap decisions when they need to - but Alan knows that Scott is in charge, and Scott knows that Alan always wants to impress his big brother.

If Alan is Team Scott, then Gordon is Team Virgil. He would never crowd me quite as much as Alan would crowd Scott, but every time I sat down to draw, within ten or fifteen minutes, Gordon would casually stroll into my room with a colouring book and crayons. Then he'd sit opposite me and start colouring in, valiantly trying to keep within the lines and always failing miserably. I can still see him in my mind's eye, aged five, sitting cross-legged on the floor and colouring in a big octopus using all his favourite colours - blue, green, orange, yellow, purple and pink - his face screwed up with concentration, his tongue jutting out between his clamped-shut lips. He didn't really have any interest in art, but he didn't want me to have to do anything on my own either, and was always happy to join in. Every time I played anything on the piano, Gordon would always somehow magically appear and start making up silly dances to whatever I played. Even now, if I start doing any exercise in the gym, he'll get me to do push-ups with him sitting on my back and he thinks it's the coolest, funniest thing on earth. We're physically polar opposites, he's a short blond guy with a personality as bright as the sun, and I'm a tall dark guy who is a lot more shy and laid-back, but we have very much the same sense of humour. Even if his is more outrageous than mine. It means that working together as co-pilots in Thunderbird Two is always a lot of fun, and, more than any other combination of us brothers, we can say things to each other that nobody else would get away with. That makes coordinating rescues together much less stressful. We can be blunt and direct with each other, but we know the most important thing is the rescue, and not our feelings - and no matter what, we can make each other laugh without saying a word. Obviously I'd never tell him this, but it sometimes feels weird to be in Thunderbird Two without him.

What the hell would I have done if anything had happened to my wing-man?

I couldn't bring myself to see him at first. In fact, I was the last of the four of us to finally summon the courage to see him. After hearing Scott say, "Ugh, this is a LOT worse than I thought!" my imagination whirred into overdrive. If a situation was worse than anything Scott could imagine, all I could think was that Gordon had been pulverised under the rocks. The silence as I waited for confirmation that Penelope had pulled Gordon from Thunderbird Four seemed endless, and it was only when I finally heard her shout, "I have him!" that I let out the breath I didn't realise I'd been holding. Stupidly wanting to believe that there was nothing wrong with Gordon that a few days' bed rest and a couple aspirin wouldn't cure, I decided to set course for Tracy Island. We were only ten minutes away from home.

"Virgil, no!" Grandma shouted. Of course, she was right. As soon as she said my name, it hit me. Gordon might not survive. Even if he did survive, we had no way of knowing how permanent any of his injuries were. What if the Gordon that raced into action less than an hour ago wasn't the Gordon that would come home? What if that Gordon was gone forever? I felt sick to the pit of my stomach. Even the idea that Gordon had played his last prank was too much for me to bear.

I made so many excuses not to see Gordon. I needed to stay with Thunderbird Two. There was nowhere I could leave her. The chairs in the waiting room were too uncomfortable. I didn't want to crowd the bed. Alan and Penelope were practically glued to the side of his bed and the hospital rules were only three to the bed at a time. I needed to get some air, I'd see Gordon later. John's just arrived all the way from Thunderbird Five, he needs to spend some time with Gordon before I do. Scott looked at me, tilting his chin slightly and furrowing his brow suspiciously. I made more lame excuses and went outside. Less than five minutes later, Scott had found me.

"What is it?"

"What makes you think it's something?" I asked. Scott raised an eyebrow.

"Don't let's play that game, we've both had too much of a shitty day."

I nodded in agreement and looked away before speaking, ashamed of how selfish I sounded. "I can't see him. I just can't. I can't take seeing him in pain."

"He's not in any pain," Scott said, with a reassuring smile. "He's also not exactly on planet Earth right now, but morphine'll do that to a guy." We both let out a breath of rueful laughter at his joke. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you gotta front this out. Gordon needs you."

"He doesn't need me," I said, shaking my head.

"Are you kidding? Are we gonna pretend like you aren't his favourite?" Scott asked, dryly. Despite myself, I grinned.

"I guess you've either got it or you haven't. We can't all be Evel Knievel like you and Alan." Scott laughed and shook his head.

"That's true," he said. "Listen I'm gonna try and get the others to go grab a bite to eat. We'll be about a half-hour. Gordon probably won't even be awake," he said, clapping his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly. "Just go say hi. He's gonna be fine, Virge. I promise."

I watched Scott walk back into the hospital and spent the following ten minutes coming up with a million different reasons as to why I couldn't possibly see Gordon yet. None of them really made any sense, so I made my way to his hospital room. Scott had been true to his word and finally managed to prise everyone else away from Gordon's bed, so he was alone. To my surprise, he was also wide awake.

"Hey buddy," I said, a little confused by the fact he wasn't actually at death's door, when my imagination had quite clearly told me he was at least missing a limb and possibly also an eye. I think my brain had decided that Gordon was now destined to become a pirate.

"Thought you were avoiding me" he said, licking his dry lips and swallowing with difficulty. There was a glass of water with a straw on the table next to the bed, so I picked it up and held it to his lips so he could take a drink.

"Maybe I was. How're you feeling?"

"Pretty shit," he said. "Tired."

"I guess worse things happen at sea, right?" I asked. I couldn't even pretend to wipe the smug grin off my face. Gordon let out a groan and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Too soon, bro! Too soon!"

I laughed and mussed his hair solely to annoy him, then sat next to his bed and listened to him trying to make incoherent conversation until sleep overtook him again. I never really needed to worry about Gordon surviving the crash. Gordon is too damn stubborn to die. The only people who really need to worry are the Chaos Crew and The Hood when Gordon recovers and they find themselves facing the wrath of all five of the Tracy brothers together...