Hey guys. What's this - a second chapter within two days?! Here's the truth - I should be revising for a German exam right now. Am I going to ignore that along with other responsibilities so that I can write fanfiction? Yes. Yes I am.
Thank you so much to those of you who favourited, followed and read the last chapter and an especially big thank you to those who reviewed. :)
So, without further ado, here is the second instalment. Only one f-bomb, and maybe a touch triggering if you're claustrophobic. Also, for those of you who managed to watch Inferno (the episode which wasn't aired in the U.K. - fear not lovelies, it's on Amazon), see if you can spot the reference.
Thunderbird 2
The second time it occurred was on a Tuesday, at three minutes past nine exactly. Alan knows this because he can recall wishing the distress call had come in a minute later. That single minute of extra time would have sufficed as his waffle would have had time to pop out of the toaster, so he could enjoy it during the pre-launch checks (instead it had been found and eaten by Gordon twenty minutes later when he'd got back from his morning swim).
With his exams finally out of the way, Alan was enjoying the relative freedom of the summer holidays. A good half of his time was spent building up experience of flying Thunderbird 3, with the rest of his International Rescue hours dedicated to land-based rescues (Scott was getting there, but the idea of having his youngest brother in the seemingly bottomless depths of the ocean was something he had to work on). Gordon had been surprisingly agreeable to his younger blond counterpart taking his place as Virgil's co-pilot, commenting that he'd missed practising '4's launch from Tracy Island anyway.
This had resulted in much of Alan's time in Thunderbird 2 being spent trying to persuade Virgil to paint her a different colour and creating new playlists that he knew would irritate his brother to no ends. John (following Virgil's pleas) had descended from Thunderbird 5 with a backpack literally crammed full of books which he demanded Alan read, which had kept the blond occupied for most of the flights.
To give credit where it was due, Virgil had allowed him to take the controls and sometimes even the lead on several of the more recent call-outs. After a certain explosion of flames scorching the right-hand side of '2, the middle Tracy had hastily reverted all flying rights for the next week, leaving Alan surrounded by John's dog-eared books and amber holograms, sprawled across his seat in the cockpit.
It seemed to Alan that they'd been receiving more earthquake related calls than ever before, as he had sat slouched in his chair, mourning his waffle while Virgil ran through the pre-flight checks. At least Virgil had been able to have something that morning (although it was questionable as to whether the pilot could even function without coffee at this point). Alan had to admit that he hadn't been listening to John's explanation from the lounge, as he'd silently willed his waffle to pop from the toaster before Virgil had grabbed his arm and literally dragged him across to the launch chute, ignoring his protests.
"So," the blond began, lifting his feet onto the seat to sit cross-legged. "Where're we headed?"
Virgil guided Thunderbird 2 to her new trajectory. "You weren't listening, were you?" His tone resulted in it sounded more like a statement than it was a question.
Alan snuck a look across at him. His brother's mouth quirked with a slight smile, dry amusement clear to hear in his voice. "Nope."
"Abandoned coal mine, western Arizona." Virgil swiped the readouts across to him in the form of holograms. "Three kids were exploring when a 5.3 earthquake struck, which isn't that high, but it caused the roof to cave in at the entrance, so they're trapped in the lower section."
"Anyone injured?"
"No, luckily." A comfortable silence fell, with the only sound being the purring of '2's engines as Virgil guided them over the dry heat of the central American states below. John's hologram appeared with a quiet buzz, as the space-monitor waited patiently for Virgil's report. Golden sunlight flooded the cockpit as the aircraft descended through the wisps of cloud that lay scattered throughout otherwise clear skies. Alan ducked his head to avoid being blinded, cracking his knuckles to watch John cringe, before a soft thud signified they had landed. Thunderbird 2's VTOLs cut out with a low grumble, sending dust spiralling into the air. Arizona appeared to be the queen of stereotypes, with a large expanse of desert and sudden flashes of green where cacti contrasted against the sandy landscape.
John, still glaring at Alan, switched into his profession International Rescue persona with well-practised ease. "I've been in contact with our adventure trio," he mentioned. "The leader is Maya; she's very feisty but she's keeping the others calm, which is always a plus."
Personally, Alan wondered exactly what the girl had done or said to earn the description of feisty by John of all people (the guy talked to Kayo and Scott on a daily basis!), but he managed to keep his mouth shut.
"The other two, Aidan and Carlos, are a bit shaken up, but they're alright."
"Right." Virgil pushed back his chair. "And the bad news?"
John blinked. "What bad news?"
"It's you, Johnny, there's always bad news."
Alan snickered.
"I'll try not to take offence to that." Fighting back a yawn, John skimmed through the scans projected in front of him, flashing EOS' camera a grateful look. "The structural integrity has been compromised, so you'll only have about twenty minutes in which to get them out. As well as that, there are aftershocks headed your way, so watch out for more cave-ins."
"Fun times," Virgil deadpanned, headed for the pod with a farewell ruffle of Alan's hair. Frantically running his fingers through the tousled locks, Alan flipped around in his seat, confusion evident in his expression.
"Wait, what about me?"
Virgil, exchanging a wry look with his immediate older brother who was still hovering above the control panel, nodded to the book. "You can read."
"But that's boring." Alan ignored John's outraged exclamation behind him, widening his eyes in a pleading gaze. "C'mon Virg, you might need my help."
"This is a simple drop in and get them kinda job. All I'm gonna need is the Mole." Virgil sighed, a guilty look crossing his face at the despondent expression that clung to his brother. "Sorry, Al, I promise you can take the next rescue."
With that, he disappeared into the pod below. Alan slid down in the chair with a long groan of frustration. In an act of pettiness, he hit mute on the radio link, propping an arm over his face and closing his eyes.
As ever, if any one of those decisions had been altered, they probably wouldn't be in the situation they were right now. The situation at hand included: a mine, a trapped green-sashed pilot, aftershocks and a muted radio, none of which made for a fun time.
"I think this is one of my top five worst moments," Virgil commented, wincing as another scattering of dust tumbled from the low ceiling. Squinting, he could still see the particles clinging to his helmet in a muddy smear.
John hummed softly, not really paying attention to his brother as he attempted to locate a different exit. Maya (who had rightfully earnt the title of feisty, it transpired), Aidan and Carlos had been safely transported to the surface, bundled into the Mole which Virgil piloted remotely from his watch. They really needed to address the lack of seating in the Pod, he thought to himself, as now he was trapped near the base of the mine due to further aftershocks, with no way of retrieving the Mole or (apparently) contacting Alan (of all the times for the kid to act like a normal teenager, he just had to pick now).
"Hey John," he murmured, keeping his voice low as though even the slightest of sounds could disturb the tonnes of rock above him. "Any luck yet? Because, y'know, I'd sort of really like to get out of here."
John made an impatient sound in his throat before his blue eyes widened in horror. "Virgil, aftershock, get down-" His warning was cut off in a screech of static as the ground started shaking. With a muttered curse, Virgil dropped to the ground, pressing his back to the solid wall of rock behind him and silently praying he wasn't about to be crushed. The aftershock appeared to carry on forever, with a long crack opening up across the ceiling with a deep rumble. Pebbles skittered down the wall next to him, and one stone smashed into the side of his helmet, sending spiderweb cracks spreading out from the impact. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped.
Virgil gingerly crawled forwards. The ceiling had descended lower than before and he couldn't sit upright without crashing his head into the rock. With one gloved hand, he lightly pressed his fingertips to the rock above him. An ominous groan resounded about the cave at the contact, and he withdrew his hand sharply.
"John?" He whispered. There was no reply and a look down at his watch revealed that he had lost the signal. For the first time, a genuine rush of panic flooded through him, catching in his throat and escaping through minute tremors in his hands. Oh God. He was held prisoner by the cold, unforgiving rocks closing in on him, with no way of contacting his family. He was going to be trapped down here forever. "John? Please."
His breathing hitched, and he instinctively grappled with his helmet. The cool oxygen suddenly felt thick and choking and his fingers connected with the button at the base of the plastic, releasing the helmet to land at his heels. With trembling fingers, he fumbled with the last glowstick on his sash, relief flooding through him as the cool mint-green glow rushed into the tiny cave. In the corners, creeping ever closer, the darkness seemed oppressive and threatening.
"Can anyone hear me?" Virgil schooled his voice into that of false-confidence. There was that uncomfortable burning sensation behind his eyes that always signifies oncoming tears and he drew his knees up to his chest as best he could, sucking in a breath through a choked sob. Don't cry, don't cry… He flew into dangerous situations every day, yet somehow, he always had faith that he'd get out of them. Now it appeared his luck had run out, and god, he wished it didn't terrify him so much, but the fact remained that he was only twenty-one and he really didn't want to die.
The glowstick was dimming quicker than he'd expected. His hand met with an empty belt and cold dread engulfed him in a wave. Panic rose up in his throat and he pressed his hands to the hard soil beneath the fabric of his gloves in an attempt to ground himself.
"Oh my god." He cuffed at his cheeks angrily, feeling the warmth of tears cutting ribbons through the thin layer of dust that had gathered there. "I'm actually gonna die down here." Saying it aloud made the panic even worse; a deep fire in his chest making every breath a struggle. He pressed his face to his arms, his useless watch digging painfully into his temple. The glow stick finally flickered out and the darkness swept in, clutching at his very being.
As if on cue, the all-too familiar vibrations chased through the ground.
"No." He startled, making a grab for his helmet a second too late. "No, no, no."
The aftershocks hit with a vengeance, sending rocks and dust cascading down from all directions. For a few terrifying seconds, he couldn't tell which way was up or down, and in the darkness all he could hear was his frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears as he threw an arm up in a feeble attempt to protect his head. White-hot pain ignited in his wrist and he couldn't breathe until the shaking dispersed, leaving him in the suffocating darkness.
The ceiling had descended further, if that were even possible. Clutching his injured wrist to his chest, Virgil closed his eyes tightly, and tried to concentrate on breathing. Panic threatened to overwhelm him still and with a strangled cough, he let the tears fall. In the darkness, there was no-one around to see him. But God, he would sacrifice his pride to have someone here to rescue him.
"International Rescue?" He whispered with a hoarse cough. "Hello?" Warmth was dripping down his left cheek and when he reached up, he could feel his hair around the area felt damp. Great. Head-wounds always complicated things. When he licked his lips, he could taste copper as well as the thick dust. "John. I guess you can't hear me."
He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut, it was so dark. Part of him thought about Alan, still waiting on the surface after taking Maya and her friends to the nearest hospital. Would John break the news to him first, or to Scott? And god, Gordon. Gordon, who he'd spoken to about letting Alan co-pilot because the guy may seem full of jokes and self-confidence all the time, but he was a lot more than that, and the idea that he was being replaced had crossed the aquanaut's mind more than once. There was a cruel irony in that, Virgil thought in a panicked laugh, because Gordon was going to be replacing him. God. He had to get out of here.
"If you can, then sorry. I'm so s-sorry." His wrist throbbed, and he dug his nails into his palms to focus. "This is…I'm really fucking scared, alright? And I want to get out of here, but if I don't, then you've got to promise me that you won't blame yourselves. Alan and Scott especially."
He took a shuddering breath. "You should come down from '5 more. We miss you, more than you know. And talk to Gordon. He'll pretend he's fine, but he really won't be." Another rockfall crashed to the ground. He sneezed, wincing as it jogged his wrist. "I'm not giving up, I just…well. I love you all." He tilted his head back to lean against the cave-side, thinking back to the earlier conversation with a weak smile. "And don't let Alan paint '2 orange, whatever you do."
The sound of distant thunder filtered through the darkness, accompanied by the shaking of the rocks around him again. He kept his eyes closed and tried to think of anything but the stones tumbling down from the ceiling.
Alan dropped his book to the floor with a satisfied sigh, looping his arms around the back of the co-pilot's seat as he stretched. The novel had actually been entertaining (not that he would ever admit this to John), and he'd lost track of time, but the amber tint to the skies above the horizon suggested that sundown was not far off. Which, he thought, with a sudden sense of nervousness, was concerning given when he'd dropped Maya and her companions off at the nearest hospital, the sun had still been high in the sky.
Jolting upright, he realised with a rush of horror that he still hadn't taken the radio off mute. Hastily jabbing at the hologram with one finger, he leant forwards in his seat. He couldn't see any signs of movement below. Virgil should have made his way out of the mine by now, even if he was taking the long way around.
"John?" Alan asked when there came no immediate call. The hologram sprang into life as his brother appeared, with what appeared to be a look of panic (this immediately made Alan even more worried, because John was the brother who was most in control of his emotions) on his face.
"Where have you been?"
Alan dropped his gaze to the discarded book. "Waiting. Reading."
John stared at him. "You never, never, have the radio on mute when you're out on rescue. For God's sake Alan, we've taught you this."
"What's happened?" Alan cut in, noting the tension in his sibling's shoulders. "Is Virgil alright?"
"There was another aftershock and it brought the rocks down. Virgil was trapped in this section, here," John pressed on one of the hologram images, highlighting it. Alan tapped to zoom in, paling as he realised the consequences.
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know." John clawed his fingers through his hair. "I lost contact with him ten minutes ago."
"Oh," Alan said, in a small voice. If only he had turned the radio off mute before that…
"Don't do that to yourself." John, ever the mind-reader, noted his expression and was quick to stop that train of thoughts in its tracks. "I've been scanning the mine to try and locate another exit but the rocks have fallen too far down and I can't find a way to get him out of it without physically taking the top half off, which, obviously, is impossible."
"Why?" All nervous energy and determination, Alan swung himself over the edge of his seat, bounding to the pilot's chair without a second thought.
"Because, while you're a great pilot, you're not experienced enough. One wrong move handling that main rock and you'll send the rest crashing down on top of him. It's too difficult a manoeuvre, Alan, you can't do it."
Alan glared at him. "Don't tell me what I can and can't do."
John's eyes widened in realisation. "Alan-" He snapped as the younger Tracy hit the mute button once more.
"Sorry." Alan muttered as he closed his fingers around the throttle. "But I don't have time to argue with you." With that, he pushed forwards and with a thunderous roar, the colossal aircraft rose into the air.
Thunderbird 2, he discovered, was a lot different to fly in real life than on the simulators (which given they were created by Brains, was a surprise). Something which he had learnt the first time he'd flown '3, was that the Thunderbirds weren't like normal aircraft; there was something tangible and alive about them. '2 was no exception, purring beneath his tight grip on the controls as her powerful engines whipped up the dust below, clouding the previously clear view until the VTOLs propelled them above the small sandstorm the ship had created. Above the horizon, the warm glow of sunset lights filled the cockpit as Alan swung the Thunderbird around so that her nose pointed towards the jagged rocky outcrop a few metres below.
"Now for the hard part," he commented, hunching his shoulders as he leant even further forwards in concentration. The holographic display in front of him highlighted the area of rock that needed to be removed and, with a deep breath, he reached up to flick the switch that would enable the laser cutter. While he was well within his comfort zone using a laser, that was, admittedly, only in space and it was on a much smaller scale. Thunderbird 2's focussed beam was many times more powerful and less precise, especially when he had next to none experience. The stakes were high, as well, he thought with a rush of fear for his trapped brother below. This was the one thing he could not mess up.
"Dammit." His palms were sweating, and he resisted the urge to drag off his gloves. Thunderbird 2 hovered over the collapsed mine shaft, her engines complaining at the sudden updrafts. With a sudden feeling of overwhelming panic, he hit the unmute button on John's hologram, which had reappeared as soon as he'd shifted all engine power to the VTOLs.
"You're doing great."
"What if I-"
"You won't."
"It's Virgil. Not just another trapped kid or miner."
John refrained from commenting that Alan himself, was just a kid, and instead fixed his gaze on his younger brother. "I trust you. We all do. I was wrong. You can do this."
Alan let the reassurance wash over him in a comforting wave. "Okay," he replied breathlessly.
"Not to hurry you or anything, but he's running out of space." And oxygen, John mentally added, biting at his lower lip nervously. Come on, Alan. Please. Not for the first time, he resented being stuck up in space. He loved Thunderbird 5, and EOS, but nothing could help him with the paralysing helplessness that he faced every time one of his brothers was in trouble.
"Right. Let's do this."
With narrowed eyes, Alan clenched his fists around the controls, gently lowering '2 through the air to line up the laser with the bulk of rock in front of the aircraft. With every hiss of the red glare as the laser ate through the stone, he held his breath. "Just a little bit further…"
Observing him silently, John checked on the readouts of oxygen from the cave below. They were cutting it close – too close. Scott's image flickered into being to his left.
"I'm two minutes out. How is he?"
"Alan's handling it."
Scott's grip tightened on the controls of his Thunderbird. "And?"
"And Alan's got this. You've gotta trust him. We'll get Virgil back. He still has five minutes of oxygen left."
Meanwhile, thousands of miles below the satellite, Alan eased the laser away from the rock, locking in on the unsecured rock with the grapple ropes. This was the riskiest part of the entire operation, and he gingerly increased the pressure on the throttle an inch at a time. Thunderbird 2, ever faithful, rose into the air smoothly, responding to his every movement without a hitch. The cables held firm to the massive rock below, exposing the partially flattened cave underneath and Alan flung himself out of the open pod doors below. The wind buffeted against his uniform and he twisted in the air like a cat, working on instinct as he squinted, taking the shot. His grapple connected with the underside of '2's hulk with a soft snick, and his descent slowed instantly.
"Virgil!"
Alan hit the ground with a muffled thud, catching his balance, bracing one hand against the rock pile he'd landed on. A nagging feeling at the back of his mind made him glance down and he felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him at the sight of his glove glistening with fresh blood.
"Alan?" John's voice was tense with worry. "Have you found him?"
"Not yet," he whispered in a choked voice, struggling over the rubble towards the back of the cave, where the terrible scarlet trail led. Ruffled dark hair and deep blue uniform were just about visible under the small pile of debris that had been knocked aside when he'd lifted the main rock from the surface. "Virgil!" He dropped to his knees amongst the rocks, scrabbling at the stones frantically. "John, can you get a read on his vitals yet?" There was a deafening silence from the audio link. "John."
"Working on it."
Alan tugged his middle brother towards him, clawing his gloves off his hands to feel for injuries. No helmet made for a strong chance of a head-wound, and Alan had witnessed the frankly terrifying affects of those before. His palms came away sticky with blood and he tracked his gaze up to the still sluggishly bleeding cut.
"Shit."
John's breath caught audibly. "What?"
"Head injury."
"Bad?"
Alan shook his head, blinking back panicked tears. "No. I mean, I don't think so? I don't know, dammit…" The familiar thunder of '1's engines sounded from next to '2 but he couldn't quite comprehend what that meant, still too focussed on the motionless form in front of him.
"Okay, scan complete. Fractured wrist and mild concussion, which given he's not wearing a helmet is fu-…really damn lucky. Multiple lacerations and bruising, as well. But no internal bleeding, and his breathing is a little slow but even."
Alan sank back on his heels. "So, he's alright?"
John let out a long breath. "Yes."
The sounds of stumbling footsteps as the rocks gave way underfoot came from behind him, and Alan snuck a look over his shoulder to catch sight of Scott. One hand landed on his shoulder, lightly squeezing in a comforting grip, before the eldest Tracy brother knelt down, gently tugging Virgil towards him.
Virgil blearily opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light. "H-hey, you made it."
Scott grinned, relief glimmering in his sky-blue gaze. "This was all Alan."
"He fl-flew Two?"
"Yeah." Alan rubbed at his eyes, relief crashing down on him in the form of tears. He shuffled closer so that his knee brushed his brother's leg. "Sorry about that."
Virgil dropped his head to lean against Scott's chest with a thud. "No." He uttered with pure conviction. "You did good, Alan." He blinked across at his blond brother. "Thank you."
Alan all but launched himself across the gap to collide with the injured pilot, wrapping his arms around Virgil in a tight hug, mindful of his injured wrist. Scott took a deep breath, resting his chin on the ruffled dark head below him.
"You're okay," he whispered to himself. "You're both okay."
Virgil let out a pained laugh. "Hey Allie? How about we go h-home now?"
"Hell yeah."
"You want to fly One?"
Virgil frowned up at his older brother. "Nah, the kid's earnt flying rights."
"Virg-"
"Alan flies Two."
Scott met Alan's gaze with a questioning look. "You up for that?"
Alan took a shaky breath and nodded. "Always."
The flight back to Tracy Island was spent with Virgil asleep in the tipped back co-pilot's seat, the white bandage across his temple a stark contrast to his dark hair. Alan guided Thunderbird 2 into the hanger with all the ease and grace of an experienced pilot (which he technically was, just not in '2) and dropped his hands from the controls. With Scott's help, a still-sleeping Virgil was deposited in the infirmary where Brains was waiting.
Alan emerged an hour later from his shower to find Gordon sitting propped up against the wall opposite his door. The red-head was dozing, his head cushioned on one shoulder and with an exasperated sigh, Alan leant down to shake him awake.
"Huh?"
Alan raised a brow. "What are you even doing down there?" He held out a hand to help his brother up and Gordon grabbed it, clicking his back as he climbed to his feet.
"Waiting for you. Scott told me what happened earlier, before Grandma kicked him out. She won't let him see Virgil until he's had a shower."
Alan bit back a laugh before sobering at the memory of not being able to contact his brother, and then finding him, unsure as to whether he were even alive…
Gordon's arm swung round his shoulders. "So, I normally don't say stuff like this, that's down to the smother-twins, but… that would have been me out there, in your place, if Virgil hadn't kept you as his co-pilot for the past month."
"Yeah. I know." Alan stared down at the floor, noting the damp footprints Gordon was leaving in their wake (was it physically possible for the family fish to go an evening without swimming?).
"Hey, don't look so sad." Gordon stared ahead at the approaching infirmary doors, where a tall blond was lounging in a chair, scrolling through a tablet of world alerts. "Actually, I was gonna say well done."
"Seriously?"
"Jeez, Al, obviously. I've flown Two many more times than you, but I don't think I could've pulled that off." Alan shot him a doubtful look and Gordon sighed. "I'm being serious. Which is weird. I don't like it. I'm gonna have to throw John in the pool or something to feel better again."
John crossed one ankle over the other, shuffled in his chair and fixed Gordon with the deadliest warning stare he could muster. "Don't you dare."
Alan grinned, and Gordon gave a joyous yell, practically bouncing on his feet. "There you go."
"What?" Alan frowned at him in confusion.
"You weren't smiling. It was just…wrong." Gordon shrugged and across the hall, John ducked his head to hide his smile. "Anyway, point is, you were awesome out there." He clapped his hands together. "Wanna go make fun of the patient?"
Alan sniggered. "Always."
"Johnny, you coming?"
"Grandma gave me orders to keep Scott out unless he's showered." John raised his tablet. "I'm on guard duty."
"Fun times. C'mon short stuff, let's go."
Alan elbowed him in the ribs, mock outrage playing on his face. "You're one to talk."
"It's genetics, dammit Alan."
The doors closed behind the two with a hiss, and John dropped the tablet into his lap. The entire day had been stressful, and he still couldn't get the panic to fully leave him. Staring down at the tablet in front of him, his finger hovered over the message Virgil had attempted to send to him, when stuck in the cave. It had only come through now, several hours later, and after listening to it, John was desperately hoping his brother would wake up soon, even if just so he could hug him.
Scott appeared from around the corner.
"Did you shower?"
Scott, with water dripping from his hair, gave him an unimpressed look. "Obviously."
"About Alan-"
Scott sighed. "Can we talk about this later?"
"He was really good out there, Scott."
"Soon."
John stood up, leaving his tablet on the chair. "He flies '3 most of the time anyway, just make it official already."
"John. Leave it." Scott gave a pointed look towards the doors. "Can we focus on getting Virg back on his feet before giving Alan free reign over space?"
John clamped a hand to his brother's shoulder, with a warm smile. "Sure."
So, how was that? Can anyone guess which Thunderbird is up next?
Leave a review?
- Kat x