A/N: Very nearly didn't get this out tonight. Consider yourselves lucky that I was able to convince my mum that I needed to finish 'something important' before I went to bed. She's under the impression that it was Uni stuff. Heehee!

Disclaimer: If not for Sylvia and Gerry Anderson, I would not be able to play in this wonderful playground, so no; I do not own the Thunderbirds.

Also, I am a university student of Primary Education, so you must take everything I say on medical topics with a grain of salt, as it is only what I have gathered from online sources!

I didn't know why, but for some reason, Gordon seemed to find the colour of Virgil's hair hilarious to a much larger extent than I had. Looking at Gordon, though, as he stood doubled over, his face bright red and his hands clutching at his aching sides, I was forced to consider the possibility that he was crossing the line from giggly and amused, into full-blown-hysterical-panic-attack territory.

It was a well-known fact that the redhead usually turned to pranks and humour when he wanted to release tension, but it sometimes came to the point where even Gordon couldn't diffuse the situation with his wit. It appeared that this was one of the times where he was going to collapse in a heap, where even he wasn't even able to preserve a sense of self-comfort. I should have known that it wouldn't be this easy for my family.

I hadn't seen him this off since he had been in hospital after his accident. It had been a struggle for the then-sixteen-year-old to face the possibility that he might just end up spending his life as a paraplegic. Four months stuck in a hospital bed, and then a further two confined to the villa here on the island was enough for him to break down more than once. He and I were really the only ones who really know how terrifying it was to face a life-threatening experience of that sort; the things we had both gone through in our lives were unexplainably daunting. We had both faced the possibility of a life-altering illness or injury that could have and still could quite possibly shorten or lessen the quality of our lifespans. It was completely different to that of the issues of being injured and lost in enemy territory, for instance. That did not lessen Scott's experience in Afghanistan, of course, no, not at all - but health and the considerable worries that they brought to the injured party, and that of their bodies was vastly different to the ones Scotty had faced all those months ago.

Gordon was still going strong; breaths coming in ever more desperate gasps, and I felt myself tensing immediately, little flashes of scary-electric alarm zapping through me as he began to hitch in increasingly more violent wheezes, taking more than one squeaky-sputter breath as he tried to draw air.

I sprang immediately into action; completely disregarding the presence of my IV, and the lurching of my previously-quiet stomach. I lunged off of the bed, half-catching myself on the table beside me, grabbing Gordon's shoulders and forcing him with his collapsing knees and shaky-gasp breaths into a seated position on the bed behind him. Really, I was surprised and alarmed that this hadn't occurred long before now. There obviously hadn't been a trigger point to his aftermath yet, but clearly his asthma had decided that this was a good time to do so; forcing him into an attack in order to really freak the both of us out.

"Where's your inhaler, Gordon?" I asked him urgently, his fear-widened green eyes locking onto mine, as well as his trembling fingers as they clenched spasmodically around my free arm.

He didn't seem able to form words, he was gripping my wrist so tight that I could already feel it bruising, but his hand twitched shakily towards his shorts pocket; he seemed too unstable to fish it out himself. Growing more worried and scared myself as the seconds were passing, watching his face pale dramatically as he grew increasingly more frantic, I yanked myself from his grip, and grabbed for his medication, my hands choosing precisely the wrong time to misbehave as they fumbled their way into the loose pocket.

"VIRGIL!" I yelled, a little hoarsely than I really wanted right now —my voice raw from all the throwing up I had been doing. "Breathe on that, Gordy." I told my brother, unlocking the cap and preparing the dose, placing it between my brother's open lips. "VIRGIL! SCOTT! Get down here!" Not hearing any feet coming down the hall, I took my chances in leaving Gordon for a second to race and slam my hand on the call switch centered on the wall, tripping over my chemo-and-fatigue-clumsy feet as I tried to move with more haste than I had in me at the moment. Uh-huh. Screw the whole concept of adrenaline to hell right now.

There was a banshee-loud wailing over the comm. system that I determinedly ignored, forcing another dose into a brother who had gone alarmingly white all of a sudden; rubbery-limbed and weighing something akin to a tonne of bricks when you factored in the level of diminished strength I had been experiencing. Clearly, the medication wasn't helping much, and that completely terrified me to an extent I wasn't able to put clearly into words, even if I had time to register such feelings right then.

There was a sudden bang-crash-shudder sound from behind me, as all our brothers, Dad and Brains came barrelling in; Virgil immediately demanding to know what the hell is going on? His hair colour was almost mocking in the way it had added to the reasons why Gordon was having an asthma attack worse than he had had in years.

He took in Gordon's shaky-wobble body, and the glazed-terror look that was in his eyes, and immediately pushed me aside, into Scott's grip.

I felt a little shaky myself. I was still weak from the blood-loss yesterday, and hadn't had much to sustain me in the interim, so I wasn't really surprised to feel Scott basically forcing me to put my head between my knees. I wondered when I had gotten so lightheaded, but I managed to convince myself that it was more than worth it to try and fight through it, for I needed to know how Gordon was doing. I could definitely still hear the not-easing wheeze of his desperate lungs as he tried to bring his breathing back under control. It was frightening. I was desperately trying to fight against Scott's hands, but it was a losing battle as my already exhausted body put the kibosh on that idea, slumping wearily within the supportive circle of my elder brother's arms.

I hated not being able to help my second-youngest brother; I knew what to do, as I too had suffered from chronic asthma as a child, but I was too off at the minute to even try to offer my assistance. I had managed to grow out of it: Gordon had been told that he was going to have it for the rest of his life. It was I that suggested that he take up swimming, because it opened up the airways, but in times of stress —as these past few weeks was definitely classed as— it never seemed to do much to help.

I just wanted to know that he was okay, but as I listened to the more frantic questions from the rest of them on what they should do to assist, I knew that in my current state of oh-my-God-world-please-stop-spinning, that I really didn't have a hope, even if I managed to find even a hint of an idea of what I could possibly do.

A/N: Another short one, but it gives you quite a bit to think about! I'm gonna be a bit mean and leave it there for now; I promise I won't leave it too long!

The next few days may possibly be sporadic on the updates front; I have a few things to do, but I am available for questions on the story, or even just to chat. There will definitely be no chapter tomorrow night, as I am going out with my mates from high school, but look out for one on Saturday! Have a good day/night guys!

Oh, and please don't forget to review!

-Pyre Xx